CHAPTER ONE
1
ACHILLES: Did you shave this morning, Cadet?
MERCURY: Yes, Sir.
ACHILLES: What with, Cadet?
MERCURY: Issue, Sir.
ACHILLES: Carry on, Cadet. Old Play (about 19â?)
end poetry block end rend Lowe, Julian, number â, late a Flying Cadet, Umptieth Squadron, Air Service, known as âOne Wingâ by the other embryonic aces of his flight, regarded the world with a yellow and disgruntled eye. He suffered the same jaundice that many a more booted one than he did, from Flight Commanders through Generals to the ambrosial single-barred (not to mention that inexplicable beast of the field which the French so beautifully call an aspiring aviator); they had stopped the war on him.
So he sat in a smouldering of disgusted sorrow, not even enjoying his Pullman prerogatives, spinning on his thumb his hat with its accursed white band.
âHad your nose in the wind, hey, buddy?â said Yaphank, going home and smelling to high heaven of bad whisky.
âAh, go to hell,â he returned sourly and Yaphank doffed his tortured hat.
âWhy, sure, Generalâor should I of said Lootenant? Excuse me, madam. I got gassed doing k.p. and my sight ainât been the same since. On to Berlin! Yeh, sure, weâre on to Berlin. Iâm on to you, Berlin. I got your number. Number no thousand no hundred and naughty naught Private (very private) Joe Gilligan, late for parade, late for fatigue, late for breakfast when breakfast is late. The Statue of Liberty ainât never seen me, and if she do, sheâll have to âbout face.â
Cadet Lowe raised a sophisticated eye. âSay, whatcher drinking, anyway?â
âBrother, I dunno. Fellow that makes it was gave a Congressional medal last Chuesday because he has got a plan to stop the war. Enlist all the Dutchmen in our army and make âem drink so much of his stuff a day for forty days, see? Ruin any war. Get the idea?â
âIâll say. Wonât know whether itâs a war or a dance, huh?â
âSure, they can tell. The women will all be dancing. Listen, I had a swell jane and she said, âfor Christâs sake, you canât danceâ. And I said, âlike hell I canâtâ. And we was dancing and she said, âwhat are you, anyways?â And I says, âwhat do you wanta know for? I can dance as well as any general or major or even a sergeant, because I just win four hundred in a poker game,â and she said, âoh, you did?â and I said, âsure, stick with me, kid,â and she said, âwhere is it?â Only I wouldnât show it to her and then this fellow come up to her and said, âare you dancing this one?â And she said, âsure, I am. This bird donât dance.â Well, he was a sergeant, the biggest one I ever seen. Say, he was like that fellow in Arkansaw that had some trouble with a nigger and a friend said to him, âwell, I hear you killed a nigger yesterday.â And he said, âyes, weighed two hundred pounds.â Like a bear.â He took the lurching of the train limberly and Cadet Lowe said, âFor Christâs sake.â
âSure,â agreed the other. âShe wonât hurt you, though. I done tried it. My dog wonât drink none of it of course, but then he got bad ways hanging around Brigade H.Q. Heâs the one trophy of the war I got: something that wasnât never bawled out by a shave-tail for not saluting. Say, would you kindly like to take a little something to keep off the sumniferous dews of this goddam country? The honour is all mine and you wonât mind it much after the first two drinks. Makes me homesick: like a garage. Ever work in a garage?â
Sitting on the floor between two seats was Yaphankâs travelling companion, trying to ignite a splayed and sodden cigar. Like devasted France, thought Cadet Lowe, swimming his memory through the adenoidal reminiscences of Captain Bleyth, an R.A.F. pilot delegated to temporarily reinforce their democracy.
âWhy, poor soldier,â said his friend, tearfully, âall alone in no manâs land and no matches. Ainât war hell? I ask you.â He tried to push the other over with his leg, then he fell to kicking him, slowly. âMove over, you ancient mariner. Move over, you goddam bastard. Alas, poor Jerks or something (I seen that in a play, see? Good line) come on, come on; hereâs General Pershing come to have a drink with the poor soldiers.â He addressed Cadet Lowe. âLook at him: ainât he sodden in depravity?â
âBattle of Coonyak,â the man on the floor muttered. âTen men killed. Maybe fifteen. Maybe hundred. Poor children at home saying âAlice, where art thou?â â
âYeh, Alice. Where in hell are you? That other bottle. Whatânâell have you done with it? Keeping it to swim in when you get home?â
The man on the floor weeping said: âYou wrong me as ever man wronged. Accuse me of hiding mortgage on house? Then take this soul and body; take all. Ravish me, big boy.â
âRavish a bottle of vinegar juice out of you, anyway,â the other muttered, busy beneath the seat. He rose triumphant, clutching a fresh bottle. âHark! the sound of battle and the laughing horses draws near. But shall they dull this poor unworthy head? No! But I would like to of seen one of them laughing horses. Must of been lady horses all together. Your extreme highnessââwith ceremony, extending the bottleââwill you be kind enough to kindly condescend to honour these kind but unworthy strangers in a foreign land?â
Cadet Lowe accepted the bottle, drank briefly, gagged and spat his drink. The other supporting him massaged his back. âCome on, come on, they donât nothing taste that bad.â Kindly cupping Loweâs opposite shoulder in his palm he forced the bottle mouthward again. Lowe released the bottle, defending himself. âTry again. I got you. Drink it, now.â
âJesus Christ,â said Cadet Lowe, averting his head.
Passengers were interested and Yaphank soothed him. âNow, now. They wonât nothing hurt you. You are among friends. Us soldiers got to stick together in a foreign country like this. Come on, drink her down. She ainât worth nothing to no one, spit on his legs like that.â
âHell, man, I canât drink it.â
âWhy, sure you can. Listen: think of flowers. Think of your poor grey-haired mother banging on the front gate and sobbing her grey-haired heart out. Listen, think of having to go to work again when you get home. Ainât war hell? I would of been a corporal at least, if she had just hung on another year.â
âHell, I canât.â
âWhy, you got to,â his new friend told him kindly, pushing the bottle suddenly in his mouth and tilting it. To be flooded or to swallow were his choices so he drank and retained it. His belly rose and hung, then sank reluctant.
âThere now, wasnât so bad, was it? Remember, this hurts me to see my good licker going more than it does you. But she do kind of smack of gasoline, donât she?â
Cadet Loweâs outraged stomach heaved at its muscular moorings like a captive balloon. He gaped and his vitals coiled coldly in a passionate ecstasy. His friend again thrust the bottle in his mouth.
âDrink, quick! You got to protect your investment, you know.â
His private parts, flooded, washed back to his gulping and a sweet fire ran through him, and the Pullman conductor came and regarded them in helpless disgust.
âTen-shun,â said Yaphank, springing to his feet. âBeware of officers! Rise, men, and salute the admiral here.â He took the conductorâs hand and held it. âBoys, this man commanded the navy,â he said. âWhen the enemy tried to capture Coney Island he was there. Or somewhere between there and Chicago, anyway, wasnât you, Colonel?â
âLook out, men, donât do that.â But Yaphank had already kissed his hand.
âNow, run along, Sergeant. And donât come back until dinner is ready.â
âListen, you must stop this. You will ruin my train.â
âBless your heart, Captain, your train couldnât be no safer with us if it was your own daughter.â The man sitting on the floor moved and Yaphank cursed him. âSit still, canât you? Say, this fellow thinks itâs night. Suppose you have your hired man bed him down? Heâs just in the way here.â
The conductor, deciding Lowe was the sober one, addressed him.
âFor Godâs sake, soldier, canât you do something with them?â
âSure,â said Cadet Lowe. âYou run along; Iâll look after them. Theyâre all right.â
âWell, do something with them. I canât bring a train into Chicago with the whole army drunk on it. My God, Sherman was sure right.â
Yaphank stared at him quietly. Then he turned to his companions. âMen,â he said solemnly, âhe donât want us here. And this is the reward we get for giving our flesh and blood to our countryâs need. Yes, sir, he donât want us here; he begrudges us riding on his train, even. Say, suppose we hadnât sprang to the nationâs call, do you know what kind of a train youâd have? A train full of Germans. A train full of folks eating sausage and drinking beer, all going to Milwaukee, thatâs what youâd have.â
âCouldnât be worse than a train full of you fellows not knowing where youâre going,â the conductor replied.
âAll right,â Yaphank answered. âIf thatâs the way you feel, weâll get off your goddam train. Do you think this is the only train in the world?â
âNo, no,â the conductor said hastily, ânot at all. I donât want you to get off. I just want you to straighten up and not disturb the other passengers.â
The sitting man lurched clumsily and Cadet Lowe met interested stares.
âNo,â said Yaphank, âno! You have refused the hospitality of your train to the saviours of your country. We could have expected better treatment than this in Germany, even in Texas.â He turned to Lowe. âMen, we will get off his train at the next station. Hey, General?â
âMy God,â repeated the conductor. âIf we ever have another peace I donât know what the railroads will do. I thought war was bad, but my God.â
âRun along,â Yaphank told him, ârun along. You probably wonât stop for us, so I guess weâll have to jump off. Gratitude! Where is gratitude, when trains wonât stop to let poor soldiers off? I know what it means. Theyâll fill trains with poor soldiers and run âem off into the Pacific Ocean. Wonât have to feed âem any more. Poor soldiers! Woodrow, you wouldnât of treated me like this.â
âHey, what you doing?â But the man ignored him, tugging the window up and dragging a cheap paper suit-case across his companionâs knees. Before either Lowe or the conductor could raise a hand he had pushed the suit-case out the window. âAll out, men!â
His sodden companion heaved clawing from the floor. âHey! That was mine you throwed out?â
âWell, ainât you going to get off with us? We are going to throw âem all off, and when she slows down weâll jump ourselves.â
âBut you throwed mine off first,â the other said.
âWhy, sure. I was saving you the trouble, see? Now donât you feel bad about it; you can throw mine off if you want, and then Pershing here, and the admiral can throw each otherâs off the same way. You got a bag, ainât you?â he asked the conductor. âGet yours, quick, so we wonât have so damn far to walk.â
âListen, soldiers,â said the conductor, and Cadet Lowe, thinking of Elba, thinking of his coiling guts and ...