John Passos - Three Soldiers

When he turned the corner into the familiar street where his room was, a thought came to him. Suppose he should find M.P.’s waiting for him there? He brushed it aside angrily and strode fast up the sidewalk, catching up to a soldier who was slouching along in the same direction, with his hands in his pockets and eyes on the ground. Andrews stopped suddenly as he was about to pass the soldier and turned. The man looked up. It was Chrisfield.

Andrews held out his hand.

Crisfield seized it eagerly and shook it for a long time. “Jesus Christ! Ah thought you was a Frenchman, Andy… Ah guess you got yer dis-charge then. God, Ah’m glad.”

“I’m glad I look like a Frenchman, anyway… Been on leave long, Chris?”

Two buttons were off the front of Chrisfield’s uniform; there were streaks of dirt on his face, and his puttees were clothed with mud. He looked Andrews seriously in the eyes, and shook his head.

“No. Ah done flew-the coop, Andy,” he said in a low voice.

“Since when?”

“Ah been out a couple o’ weeks. Ah’ll tell you about it, Andy. Ah was comin’ to see you now. Ah’m broke.”

“Well look, I’ll be able to get hold of some money tomorrow… I’m out too.”

“What d’ye mean?”

“I haven’t got a discharge. I’m through with it all. I’ve deserted.”

“God damn! That’s funny that you an’ me should both do it, Andy. But why the hell did you do it?”

“Oh, it’s too long to tell here. Come up to my room.”

“There may be fellers there. Ever been at the Chink’s?”

“No.”

“I’m stayin’ there. There’re other fellers who’s A.W.O. L. too. The Chink’s got a gin mill.”

“Where is it.”

“Eight, rew day Petee Jardings.”

“Where’s that?”

“Way back of that garden where the animals are.”

“Look, I can find you there tomorrow morning, and I’ll bring some money.”

“Ah’ll wait for ye, Andy, at nine. It’s a bar. Ye won’t be able to git in without me, the kids is pretty scared of plainclothes men.”

“I think it’ll be perfectly safe to come up to my place now.”

“Naw, Ah’m goin’ to git the hell out of here.”

“But Chris, why did you go A.W.O.L.?”

“Oh, Ah doan know… A guy who’s in the Paris detachment got yer address for me.”

“But, Chris, did they say anything to him about me?”

“No, nauthin’.”

“That’s funny… Well, Chris, I’ll be there tomorrow, if I can find the place.”

“Man, you’ve got to be there.”

“Oh, I’ll turn up,” said Andrews with a smile.

They shook hands nervously.

“Say, Andy,” said Chrisfield, still holding on to Andrews’s hand, “Ah went A.W.O.L. ’cause a sergeant… God damn it; it’s weighin’ on ma mind awful these days… There’s a sergeant that knows.”

“What you mean?”

“Ah told ye about Anderson… Ah know you ain’t tole anybody, Andy.” Chrisfield dropped Andrews’s hand and looked at him in the face with an unexpected sideways glance. Then he went on through clenched teeth: “Ah swear to Gawd Ah ain’t tole another livin’ soul… An’ the sergeant in Company D knows.”

“For God’s sake, Chris, don’t lose your nerve like that.”

“Ah ain’t lost ma nerve. Ah tell you that guy knows.” Chrisfield’s voice rose, suddenly shrill.

“Look, Chris, we can’t stand talking out here in the street like this. It isn’t safe.”

“But mebbe you’ll be able to tell me what to do. You think, Andy. Mebbe, tomorrow, you’ll have thought up somethin’ we can do… So long.”

Chrisfield walked away hurriedly. Andrews looked after him a moment, and then went in through the court to the house where his room was.

At the foot of the stairs an old woman’s voice startled him.

“Mais, Monsieur André, que vous avez l’air étrange; how funny you look dressed like that.”

The concierge was smiling at him from her cubbyhole beside the stairs. She sat knitting with a black shawl round her head, a tiny old woman with a hooked bird-like nose and eyes sunk in depressions full of little wrinkles, like a monkey’s eyes.

“Yes, at the town where I was demobilized, I couldn’t get anything else,” stammered Andrews.

“Oh, you’re demobilized, are you? That’s why you’ve been away so long. Monsieur Valters said he didn’t know where you were… It’s better that way, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” said Andrews, starting up the stairs.

“Monsieur Valters is in now,” went on the old woman, talking after him. “And you’ve got in just in time for the first of May.”

“Oh, yes, the strike,” said Andrews, stopping half-way up the flight.

“It’ll be dreadful,” said the old woman. “I hope you won’t go out. Young folks are so likely to get into trouble… Oh, but all your friends have been worried about your being away so long.”

“Have they?” said Andrews. He continued up the stairs

“Au revoir, Monsieur.”

“Au revoir, Madame.”

“NO, nothing can make me go back now. It’s no use talking about it.”

“But you’re crazy, man. You’re crazy. One man alone can’t buck the system like that, can he, Henslowe?”

Walters was talking earnestly, leaning across the table beside the lamp. Henslowe, who sat very stiff on the edge of a chair, nodded with compressed lips. Andrews lay at full length on the bed, out of the circle of light.

“Honestly, Andy,” said Henslowe with tears in his voice, “I think you’d better do what Walters says. It’s no use being heroic about it.”

“I’m not being heroic, Henny,” cried Andrews, sitting up on the bed. He drew his feet under him, tailor fashion, and went on talking very quietly. “Look… It’s a purely personal matter. I’ve got to a point where I don’t give a damn what happens to me. I don’t care if I’m shot, or if I live to be eighty… I’m sick of being ordered round. One more order shouted at my head is not worth living to be eighty… to me. That’s all. For God’s sake let’s talk about something else.”

“But how many orders have you had shouted at your head since you got in this School Detachment? Not one. You can put through your discharge application probably… ” Walters got to his feet, letting the chair crash to the floor behind him. He stopped to pick it up. “Look here; here’s my proposition,” he went on. “I don’t think you are marked A.W.O.L. in the School office. Things are so damn badly run there. You can turn up and say you’ve been sick and draw your back pay. And nobody’ll say a thing. Or else I’ll put it right up to the guy who’s top sergeant. He’s a good friend of mine. We can fix it up on the records some way. But for God’s sake don’t ruin your whole life on account of a little stubbornness, and some damn fool anarchistic ideas or other a feller like you ought to have had more sense than to pick up… ”

“He’s right, Andy,” said Henslowe in a low voice.

“Please don’t talk any more about it. You’ve told me all that before,” said Andrews sharply. He threw himself back on the bed and rolled over towards the wall.

They were silent a long time. A sound of voices and footsteps drifted up from the courtyard.

“But, look here, Andy,” said Henslowe nervously stroking his moustache. “You care much more about your work than any abstract idea of asserting your right of individual liberty. Even if you don’t get caught… I think the chances of getting caught are mighty slim if you use your head… But even if you don’t, you haven’t enough money to live for long over here, you haven’t… ”

“Don’t you think I’ve thought of all that? I’m not crazy, you know. I’ve figured up the balance perfectly sanely. The only thing is, you fellows can’t understand. Have you ever been in a labor battalion? Have you ever had a man you’ld been chatting with five minutes before deliberately knock you down? Good God, you don’t know what you are talking about, you two… I’ve got to be free, now. I don’t care at what cost. Being free’s the only thing that matters.”