Slow Learner (5 page)

"Yeah Nathan," Picnic said gently, looking up from the TCC-3. "You ought to feel like an old grad."

"Sure," Levine said, "sure, homecoming week. Why don't I just punch you in the mouth or something."

"Why don't you buy us a beer," Baxter said.

They found a small, collegiate-type bar a few blocks away. McNeese was holding summer session at the time and there were a few couples inside, dancing to rhythm and blues records. There was also a rack of beer mugs with people's names on them. It was that kind of a place. "Oh well," Baxter said cheerfully, "beer is beer."

"Let's sing college drinking songs," Rizzo said. Levine looked at him. "You serious?" he said.

"Personally," Baxter said, "I never could see this college crap. The way I figure nothing beats experience."

"Lout," Rizzo said, "you are in the presence of three of the army's first-rate intellectuals."

"Don't group me," Levine said quietly. "I'm a career man, is what I am."

"That's what I mean, hey Nathan," Baxter said. "You got a college diploma and you're still no better off than me, who never got past high school."

"Levine's trouble," said Rizzo, "is that he is at least the laziest bastard in the army. He doesn't want to work and therefore he is afraid to let down roots. He is a seed that casts himself on stony places, with no deepness of earth."

"And when the sun comes up," Levine smiled, "it scorches me and I wither away. Why the hell do you think I stay in the barracks so much?"

"Rizzo's right," Baxter said, "they don't come no stonier than Ft. Roach, Louisiana."

"The sun don't come any hotter, that's for damn sure," Picnic said. They sat and drank and talked till 3 in the morning. Back at the truck Picnic said, "Man, that Rizzo talks a lot." Levine folded his hands over his stomach and yawned. "Somebody's got to, I reckon," he said.

At daybreak Levine woke up to a great roar, a head-splitting clatter out in the middle of the quad. "Arrrgh," he said, holding his head in his hands, "what in the hell is that." It had stopped raining and Picnic was outside. "Look at 'em," he said. Levine stuck his head out and took a look. A hundred yards away, one by one, like giant insects, army helicopters were taking off to see what was left of Creole. "I'll be damned," Picnic said. "Last night, they were there all the time." Levine closed his eyes and settled back. "Nights get pretty dark here," he said and went back to sleep. He woke up at noon, hungry, his head throbbing. "Picnic," he groaned, "where the hell do you eat around here." Picnic snored. "Hey," Levine grabbed him by the head and shook him. "What," Picnic said. "I said I wonder if they got field kitchens or something someplace," Levine said. Rizzo climbed out of his truck and came over. "Christ you guys are lazy," he said. "We been up since ten." Out on the quad helicopters were taking off and landing with survivors. Ambulances and a swarm of medics and corpsmen were out there ready for them. Deuce-and-a-halfs and jeeps and ¾'s were parked all over the place and all sorts of army personnel, most of them in fatigues, with here and there a gleam of khaki and a flash of brass, were roaming around. "God," Levine said, "what hit this place."

"There's also newspapermen,
Life
photographers and probably a couple of newsreels around too," Rizzo said. "This is a disaster area now. Official."

"Goodo," Picnic said, blinking. "Man, look at the quail." For a summer session there did seem to be quite a few good-looking coeds roaming around among the olive drab horde. Baxter was jubilant. "I knew if I stuck around long enough at Roach," he said, "something good was bound to happen."

"Like Bourbon St. on payday night," Rizzo said.

"Don't remind me," Levine said. Then as an afterthought, "Still, here, N'Orleans, what the hell." He caught sight of a deuce-and-a-half about 20 yards away with 131st signal battalion written on the side. One fender was missing and there were dents all over it. "Hey Douglas," he yelled. A lanky redheaded PFC, sitting against one of the front wheels, looked up. "Well gaw damn," he called back. "What took you guys so long?" Levine went over. "When did you get here?" he said. "Hell," Douglas said, "they tried to send me and Steele through last night, right after it hit. Damn hurricane blew this ol' deuce-and-a-half right off the road." Levine looked at the truck. "How is it down there?" he said. "Hard to say," Douglas answered. "The only bridge over there is out. They got the engineers working their ass off to get a pontoon bridge over. From what I hear you never seen a town so screwed up. It's under maybe 8 feet of water and the only thing standing is the courthouse, on account of it's concrete. And stiffs, man they got tugboats bringing 'em in and stacking them up like firewood. Stinks pretty bad."

"All right, you cheerful bastard," Levine said. "I haven't had breakfast yet."

"Man, you're gonna be living off sandwiches and coffee for a while," Douglas said. "They got all kinds of broads running around offering it to you. Sandwiches and coffee I mean. Ain't seen any of the other, not yet anyway."

"Don't worry," Levine said, "you will. We all will. We damn well better, cause I ain't losing a leave for nothing." He went back to the truck. Picnic and Rizzo were sitting on the fenders eating sandwiches and drinking coffee.

"Where did you find that," Levine said. "Some broad came around," Rizzo said. "I'll be damned," Levine said. "For once that bum dope artist was telling the truth."

"Stick around," Rizzo said. "One'll come by."

"I don't know," said Levine, "I may starve to death. My luck's been known to run that way." He indicated with his head a group of coeds and said to Rizzo — sensing there a curious empathy which had also lain dormant for a while — "It's sure been a long time."

Rizzo gave a hollow laugh. "What are you, homesick or what," he said. Levine shook his head. "Not exactly. What I mean is something like a closed circuit. Everybody on the same frequency. And after a while you forget about the rest of the spectrum and start believing that this is the only frequency that counts or is real. While outside, all up and down the land, there are these wonderful colors and x-rays and ultraviolets going on."

"Don't you think Roach is on a closed circuit too?" Rizzo said. "McNeese is not the world but Roach ain't the spectrum either."

Levine shook his head. "You draftees are all alike," he said.

"I know, I know. R.A. all the way. But all the way to what?"

A little blonde came over with a basket full of sandwiches and paper containers of coffee, and Levine said, "Just in time, honey. You have saved me from certain death." She smiled at him. "Oh you don't look so bad."

Levine took three or four sandwiches and a cup of coffee. "You either," he said, leering. "They're making St. Bernards a hell of a lot cuter than they used to."

"That's a pretty dubious compliment," she said, "but it's in better taste than any I've had today."

"What's your name, in case I get hungry again," Levine said. "I'm called little Buttercup," she answered, laughing.

"A comedian," Levine said. "Why don't you get together with Rizzo. He's a college kid. You can play Spot This Quote or something."

"Don't mind him," Rizzo said. "He's just a plowboy."

She brightened. "And how do you like plowing?" she said.

"Later," Levine said and slurped coffee.

"Later indeed," she said. "See you around the quad."

Rizzo was singing Betty Coed in an off-key tenor, a crooked smile on his face. "Shut up," Levine said, "it's not funny." "Boy you're fighting it, ain't you?" Rizzo said.

"Who's fighting?" Levine said. "Hey," Douglas yelled over, "I'm taking a jeep down to the pier. Anybody want to come along?"

"I'll stand by the circuit," Picnic said. "Go ahead," Baxter said. "I'd rather stick around where there's broads." Rizzo laughed. "I got to keep an eye on junior," he said, "he might lose his virginity." Baxter scowled. "Your next'll be your first."

Levine climbed in next to Douglas in one of the battalion jeeps and they jolted off. At the edge of the campus they hit a macadam road whose surface steadily degenerated as they got closer to the Gulf. There was not much indication that the hurricane had passed that way: only a few trees and signs down, a few roof tiles or clapboards scattered around. Douglas kept up a running commentary, mostly second-hand statistics, and Levine nodded absently. He was beginning to have a vague idea that Rizzo might not be such a Perennial Undergraduate after all — that occasionally the little sergeant did manage to get a glimpse of the truth. He was also starting to worry: to anticipate some radical change, perhaps, after three years of sand, concrete and sun. It might only be that this was the first college campus he had set foot on since graduating from CCNY — on the other hand maybe it was just time for a change. Going AWOL when he got back to Roach, or taking off on a three-day drunk might help to relieve what he was just beginning to recognize as monotony.

The pier was as crowded as the quadrangle had been, but the pace slower, more obviously ordered. The oil company tugs would bring in a bunch of corpses, the work detail would offload them, the corpsmen would spray them with embalming fluid to keep them from falling apart, another detail would load them into deuce-and-a-halfs and the deuce-and-a-halfs would cart them off. "They're keeping them in some junior high gymnasium," Douglas informed Levine, "ice all over the place. Having a hell of a time identifying them. Water screws up their faces or something." The smell of decay hung in the air, like vermouth, it seemed to Levine, after you'd been drinking it all night. The death detail worked precisely, efficiently, like an assembly line. Every once in a while one of the offloaders would turn aside to vomit, but the work flowed on smoothly. Levine and Douglas sat watching them while the sky got darker, losing more of the sun which nobody could see. An old master sergeant came over to them and leaned against the side of the jeep and they talked for a while. "I was in Korea," he said after one of the bodies had disintegrated from clumsy handling, "I can understand
guys
shooting at each other, killing each other, but this - " He shook his head. "Jesus Christ." There were brass wandering around, but none of them bothered Levine or Douglas. Despite its machine-like efficiency the operation had a certain air of informality: hardly anyone wore hats, a colonel or a major would stop to chat with the corpsmen. "Like combat," the sergeant said. "All the rules are out. Hell, who needs 'em anyway." They stayed till half past five and then drove back. "Where do you find a shower," Levine said, "or don't you." The PFC grinned. "I got a buddy took one in a sorority house last night," he said. "Damn near anyplace you can find one, I reckon."

When they got back to the trucks Levine looked in on Picnic. "Cut out," he said. "If you can find a shower someplace let me know."

"Damn, that's right," Picnic said. "It
is
July, isn't it." Levine took his place at the Angry Ten and listened to the circuit for a while; nothing much was happening. Half an hour later Picnic was back. "What the hell," he said, "Rizzo's listening over there. He wants to

be R.A., why should we sweat it. What you do is you go about a block past the chapel, there's this dormitory. You can't miss it. All kinds of people going in and out."

"Thanks," Levine said, "back in five. We'll go get a beer or something." He got a clean change of skivvies and fatigues and his shaving kit out of the laundry bag and walked out into the warm heavy darkness. The copters were still landing and taking off, their head and taillights making them look like something out of a science fiction movie. Levine found the dormitory, went in, showered, shaved, changed clothes. When he got back Picnic was reading
Swamp Wench
. They went out and found another bar, noisier and thronged with a Friday night crowd. They got a glimpse of Baxter, trying to put the make on a girl whose date was already too drunk to want to fight about it. "Oh god," Levine said. Picnic looked at him. "Not to sound like Rizzo or anything," he said, "but what's the matter, Nathan? Where is the old Sgt. Bilko type soldier we used to know and love? Is the past beginning to close in or are you on the verge of undergoing an intellectual crisis or what."

Levine shrugged. "It's probably only my stomach," he said. "After all the time I've been developing and caring for this here beer belly, something like those stiffs comes along and throws it out of kilter."

"Bad, I guess," Picnic said. "Yeah," Levine said. "Let's talk about something else."

They sat and watched the college kids, each trying to look at it as something unusual and nothing they had ever been or would ever want to be part of. The blonde who called herself little Buttercup came over and said, "Spot this quote."

"I know a better game," Levine said.

"Ha, ha," the blonde said and sat down. "My date was ill," she explained, "he had to go home."

"There but for the grace of god," Picnic said.

"Been working hard?" little Buttercup asked with a bright smile. Levine leaned back and put his arm carelessly over her shoulders. "I only work hard when the end is worth it," he said, looking at her, and they tried to stare each other down for a while until he smiled with a kind of small triumph and added, "or attainable."

She raised her eyebrows. "Maybe even then you don't have to work so hard," she said.

"What are you doing tomorrow night," Levine said, "we'll find out." An adolescent-looking rebel in a cord coat came staggering up to them and flung an arm around her neck, knocking over Picnic's beer in the process. "Oh Jesus Christ," she said, "are you back?" Picnic gazed down at his soaked fatigues sadly. "What a dandy excuse for a fight," he said. "Shall we, Nathan." Baxter had been eavesdropping. "Yeah," he said, "now you're talking, Benny buddy." He swung a wild roundhouse at nobody in particular which caught Picnic on the side of the head and knocked him off the chair. "God," Levine said, looking down, "you all right Benny?" Picnic did not answer. Levine shrugged. "Come on, Baxter, let's take him back. Excuse me, little Buttercup." They picked up Picnic and carried him back to the truck.