Reflections in a Golden Eye (10 page)

The soldier had slept very little during the past two days and nights and his eyes were
swollen with fatigue. He made a half circle around the post until he reached the shortest
cut to the barracks. In this way he did not meet the sentry. Once in his cot he fell into
a heavy sleep. But at dawn, for the first time in years, he had a dream and called out in
his sleep. A soldier across the room awakened and threw a shoe at him.

As Private Williams had no friends among his barrack mates, his absence on these nights
was of little interest to anyone. It was guessed that the soldier had found himself a
woman. Many of the enlisted men were secretly married and sometimes stayed the night in
town with their wives. Lights were out in the long crowded sleeping room at ten o'clock,
but not all of the men were in bed at this hour. Sometimes, especially around the first of
the month, there were poker games in the latrine that lasted the whole night through. Once
at three o'clock Private Williams had encountered the sentry on his way to the barracks,
but as the soldier had been in the army for two years and was familiar to the guard on
duty, he was not questioned.

During the next few nights Private Williams rested and slept normally. In the late
afternoons he sat alone on a bench before the barracks and at night he sometimes
frequented the places of amusement on the post. He went to the movie and to the gymnasium.
In the evening the gymnasium was converted into a roller skating rink. There was music and
a corner set aside where the men could rest at tables and drink cool, frothy beer. Private
Williams ordered a glass and for the first time tasted alcohol. With a great rolling
clatter the men skated around in a circle and the air smelled sharply of sweat and floor
wax. Three men, all old timers, were surprised when Private Williams left his table to sit
with them for a while. The young soldier looked into their faces and seemed to be on the
point of asking some question of them.

But in the end he did not speak, and after a time he went away.

Private Williams always had been so unsociable that hardly half of his sleeping mates
even knew his name. Actually the name he used in the army was not his own. On his
enlistment a tough old Sergeant had glared down at his signature L. G. Williams and
then bawled out at him: 'Write your name, you snotty little hayseed, your full name!' The
soldier had waited a long time before revealing the fact that those initials were his
name, and the only name he had. 'Well, you can't go into the U.S. Army with a goddam name
like that,' the Sergeant said. 'I'll change it to E l l g e e. O.K.?' Private Williams
nodded and in the face of such indifference the Sergeant burst into a loud raw laugh. 'The
half wits they do send us now,' he had said as he turned back to his papers.

It was now November and for two days a high wind had blown. Overnight the young maples
along the sidewalks were stripped of their leaves. The leaves lay in a bright gold blanket
beneath the trees and the sky was filled with white changing clouds. The next day there
was a cold rain, The leaves were left sodden and dun colored, trampled on the wet streets,
and finally raked away. The weather had cleared again and the bare branches of the trees
made a sharp filigree against the winter sky. In the early morning there was frost on the
dead grass.

After four nights of rest Private Williams returned to the Captain's house. This time, as
he knew the habits of the house, he did not wait until the Captain had gone to bed. At
midnight while the officer worked in his study he went up to The Lady's room and stayed an
hour there. Then he stood by the study window and watched curiously until at two o'clock
the Captain went upstairs. For something was happening at this time that the soldier did
not understand.

In these reconnoiterings, and during the dark vigils in The Lady's room, the soldier had
no fear. He felt, but did not think; he experienced without making any mental resume of
his present or past actions. Five years before L. G. Williams had killed a man. In an
argument over a wheelbarrow of manure he had stabbed a negro to death and hidden the body
in an abandoned quarry. He had struck out in a fit of fury, and he could remember the
violent color of blood and the weight of the limp body as he dragged it through the woods.
He could remember the hot sun of that July afternoon, the smell of dust and death. He had
felt a certain wondering, numb distress, but there was no fear in him, and not once since
that time had the thought shaped definitely in his mind that he was a murderer. The mind
is like a richly woven tapestry in which the colors are distilled from the experiences of
the senses, and the design drawn from the convolutions of the intellect The mind of
Private Williams was imbued with various colors of strange tones, but it was without
delineation, void of form.

Through these first winter days only one realization came to Private Williams, and it was
this: he began to perceive that the Captain was following him. Twice a day, his face
bandaged and still raw with rash, the Captain went out for short rides. And then when he
had checked in the horse he lingered for a while before the stables. Three times on his
way to mess Private Williams had looked behind him to see the Captain only about ten yards
away. Far more often than chance could account for the officer passed him on the sidewalk.
Once after one of these encounters the soldier stopped and looked behind him. After a
short distance the Captain paused also and turned halfway around. It was late afternoon
and the winter dusk had in it a pale violet tint. The Captain's eyes were steady, cruel,
and bright Almost a minute passed before, with one accord, they turned to continue on
their ways.

It is not easy on an army post for an officer to bring himself into personal contact with
an enlisted man. Captain Penderton was now aware of this. Had he been serving as an
ordinary line officer such as Major Morris Langdon, heading a company, a battalion, or a
regiment, a certain amount of intercourse with the men in his command would have been open
to him. Thus Major Langdon knew the name and face of almost every soldier in his charge.
But Captain Penderton with his work at the School was in no such position. Except through
his riding (and no feat of horsemanship was reckless enough for the Captain these days)
there was no way at all for him to establish relations with the soldier whom he had come
to hate.

Yet the Captain felt an aching want for contact between them of some sort. The thought of
the soldier tantalized him continually. He went down to the stables as often as he could
reasonably do so. Private Williams saddled his horse for him and held the bridle as he
mounted. When the Captain knew in advance that he would meet the soldier, he felt himself
grow dizzy. During their brief, impersonal meetings he suffered a curious lapse of sensory
impressions; when he was near the soldier he found himself unable to see or to hear
properly, and it was only after he had ridden away and was alone again that the scene
developed itself for the first time in his mind. The thought of the young man's face the
dumb eyes, the heavy sensual lips that were often wet, the childish page boy bangs this
image was intolerable to him. He rarely heard the soldier speak, but the sound of his
slurring Southern voice meandered constantly in the back of his mind like a troubling song.

Late in the afternoons the Captain walked on the streets between the stables and the
barracks in the hope of meeting Private Williams. When from a distance he saw him, walking
with sluggish grace, the Captain felt his throat contract so that he could scarcely
swallow. Then, when they were face to face, Private Williams always stared vaguely over
the Captain's shoulder and saluted very slowly with his hand quite relaxed. Once as they
were nearing each other the Captain saw him unwrap a bar of candy and drop the paper
carelessly on the neat strip of grass bordering the sidewalk. This had infuriated the
Captain and, after walking for some distance, he turned back, picked up the wrapper (it
was from a bar of Baby Ruth), and put it in his pocket.

Captain Penderton, who on the whole had lived a most rigid and unemotional life, did not
question this strange hate of his. Once or twice, when he awoke late after taking too much
Seconal, he made himself uncomfortable by thinking back over his recent behavior. But he
made no real effort to force himself to an inward reckoning.

One afternoon he drove before the barracks and saw the soldier resting alone on one of
the benches. The Captain parked his car farther down the street and sat watching him. The
soldier sprawled in the abandoned position of one who is on the point of napping. The sky
was a pale green and the last of the wintry sun made sharp, long shadows. The Captain
watched the soldier until the call for supper. Then, when Private Williams had gone
inside, the Captain still sat in his car, looking at the outside of the barracks.

Dark came on and the building was brightly lighted. In a recreation room downstairs he
could see the men playing billiards or lounging with magazines. The Captain thought of the
mess hall with the long tables laden with hot food and the hungry soldiers eating and
laughing together with lusty camaraderie. The Captain was not familiar with enlisted men
and his picture of the life inside the barracks was greatly enriched by his imagination.
The Captain was drawn toward the Middle Ages and had made a careful study of European
history during feudal times. His imaginings of the barracks were flavored by this
predilection. As he thought of the two thousand men living together in this great
quadrangle, he felt suddenly alone. He sat in the dark car and as he stared at the
lighted, crowded rooms inside, as he heard the sounds of shouts and ringing voices, the
tears came to his glassy eyes. A bitter loneliness gnawed in him. He drove quickly home.

Leonora Penderton was resting in the hammock by the edge of the woods when her husband
arrived. She went into the house and helped Susie finish in the kitchen, as they were to
dine at home that evening and then go out to a party. A friend had sent them half a dozen
quail and she planned to take over a tray to Alison, who had had a bad heart attack on the
night of their party more than two weeks ago, and was now kept permanently in bed. Leonora
and Susie arranged the food on a huge silver waiter. On a service plate they put two quail
and generous helpings of several vegetables, the juices of which ran together to form a
little pool in the middle of the plate. There were a good many other dainties besides, and
when Leonora staggered out carrying the big waiter, Susie had to follow after her with a
tray holding the overflow.

'Why didn't you bring Morris home with you?' the Captain asked when she returned.

'Poor fellow!' said Leonora. 'He was already gone. Eating his meals at the Officers'
Club. Think of it!'

They had dressed for the evening and were standing before the fire in the sitting room
with a bottle of whiskey and their glasses on the mantelpiece. Leonora wore her red crepe
frock and the Captain his tuxedo. The Captain was nervous and kept tinkling the ice in his
glass.

'Hah! Listen!' he said suddenly. 'Here is a pretty good one I heard today.' He put his
forefinger along the side of his nose and drew his lips back over his teeth. He was going
to tell a story, and was sketching out the skeleton in advance. The Captain had a nice
feeling for wit and was a sharp gossip.

'Not long ago there was a telephone call for the General, and the Adjutant, recognizing
Alison's voice, put it through immediately. “General, here is a request,” said the voice
in a very poised and cultivated manner. “I want you to do me the great service of seeing
to it that that soldier does not get up and blow his bugle at six o'clock in the morning.
It disturbs Mrs. Langdon's rest.” There was a long pause and at last the General said: “I
beg your pardon, but I don't believe I quite understand you.” The request was repeated,
and there was a still longer pause. “And pray tell me,” the General said finally, “whom do
I have the honor of addressing?” The voice answered: “This is the garcon de maison to Mrs.
Langdon, Anacleto. I thank you.”'

The Captain waited soberly, for he was not one to laugh at his own jokes. Neither did
Leonora laugh she seemed puzzled.

'What did he say he was?' she asked.

'He was trying to say “houseboy” in French.'

'And you mean Anacleto called up like that about reveille. Well, if that doesn't beat
anything I ever heard. I can hardly believe it!'

'Nit wit!' said the Captain. 'It didn't really happen. It's just a story, a joke.'

Leonora did not get the point. She was no gossip. First, she always found it a little
difficult to picture a situation that did not actually take place in the room with her.
Also, she was not in the least malicious.

'Why, how mean!' she said. 'If it didn't happen, why should anyone go to the trouble to
make it up? It makes Anacleto sound like a fool. Who do you suppose started it?'

The Captain shrugged and finished his drink. He had fabricated any number of ridiculous
anecdotes about Alison and Anacleto, and they had all gone the rounds of the post with
great success. The composition and sharpening of these scandalous vignettes afforded the
Captain much pleasure. He launched them discreetly, making it understood that he was not
the originator but was passing them on from some other source. He did this less out of
modesty than from the fear that they might sometime come to the ears of Morris Langdon.

Tonight the Captain's new story did not please him. In the house alone with his wife he
felt again the melancholy that had come to him while sitting out in the car before the
lighted barracks. He saw in his mind the deft, brown hands of the soldier and felt himself
shiver inwardly.