The Young Lions

Colclough didn't look up. "Tell him to wait," he said.

The Sergeant turned to Noah. "The Captain says for you to wait."

Noah sat down and watched the Captain. After half an hour, the Captain nodded to the Sergeant.

"All right," the Sergeant said. "Make it short."

Noah stood up, saluted the Captain. "Private Ackerman," he said, "has permission from the First Sergeant to speak to the Captain."

"Yes?" Colclough did not look up.

"Sir," said Noah, nervously, "my wife is arriving in town Friday night, and she has asked me to meet her in the lobby of the hotel, and I would like to have permission to leave camp on Friday night."

Colclough didn't say anything for a long time. "Private Ackerman," he said finally, "you are aware of the Company rule. The entire Company is restricted on Friday nights to prepare for inspection…"

"I know, Sir," said Noah, "but this was the only train she could get reservations on, and she expects me to meet her, and I thought, just this once…"

"Ackerman," Colclough finally looked at him, the pale spot on the end of his nose white and twitching, "in the Army, duty comes first. I don't know whether I can ever teach that to one of you people, but I'm goddamn going to try. The Army don't care whether you ever see your wife or not. When you're not on duty you can do whatever you please. When you are on duty, that's all there is to that. Now get out of here."

"Yes, Sir," said Noah.

"Yes, Sir, what?" Colclough asked…

"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir," Noah said, remembering the lecture on military courtesy. He saluted and went out.

He sent a telegram, although it cost eighty-five cents. But there was no answer in the next two days from Hope, and there was no way of knowing whether she had received it or not. He couldn't sleep all Friday night, in the scrubbed barracks, lying there knowing that Hope was only ten miles from him after all these months, waiting for him in the hotel, not knowing, perhaps, what had happened to him, not knowing about people like Colclough or the blind authority and indifference of the Army, on which love had no claims, tenderness made no impression. Anyway, he thought dreamily, as he finally dozed off just before reveille, I'll see her this afternoon. And maybe it was all for the best. The last traces of my black eye may disappear by then, and I won't have to explain to her about how I got it…

The Captain was due in five minutes. Nervously, Noah checked the corners of his bunk, the arrangement of the towels in his locker, the shine on the windows behind the bunk. He saw the man next to him, Silichner, buttoning the top button of the raincoat which hung in its ordered line among his clothes. Noah had made certain before breakfast that all his clothes were buttoned correctly for the inspection, but he looked once more at his own clothes. He swung his overcoat back and then blinked. His blouse, which he had checked just an hour ago, was open from the top button down. Frantically, he worked on the buttons. If Colclough had seen the blouse open he would have been certain to restrict Noah for the week-end. He had done worse to others for less, and he had made it very clear that he was not fond of Noah. The raincoat, too, had two buttons undone. Oh, God, Noah thought, don't let him come in yet, not yet, not until I'm finished.

Suddenly Noah wheeled round. Riker and Do

He checked each bit of clothing carefully, and leaped to the foot of his bunk just as the Sergeant shouted "Attention!" from the door.

Colclough looked him over coldly and carefully and stared for a long time at the rigid perfection of his locker. He went over behind him and fingered every piece of the clothing hanging from the rack. Noah heard the cloth swishing as Colclough let the coats fall back into place. Then Colclough stamped past him, and Noah knew it was going to be all right.

Five minutes later the inspection was over and the men started to pour out of the barracks towards the bus station. Noah took down his barracks bag and reached into the small oilskin sack at the bottom in which he saved his money. He drew the sack out and opened it. There was no money in it. The ten-dollar bill was gone. In its place there was a single piece of torn paper. On it there was one word, printed in oily pencil. "Tough."

Noah stuffed the paper into his pocket. Methodically he hung the barracks bag up. I'll kill him, he thought. I'll kill the man who did that. No scarf, no blouse, no anything. I'll kill him.

She was in the crowded lobby, among the surging khaki and the other wives.

Noah saw her before she saw him. She was peering, a little short-sightedly, through the milling soldiers and women and dusty potted palms. She looked pale and anxious. The smile that broke over her face when he came up behind her and lightly touched her elbow and said, "Mrs Ackerman, I presume," was on the brink of tears.

They kissed as though they were all alone.

"Now," Noah said softly, "now, now…"

"Don't worry," she said. "I'm not going to cry."

She stood back, holding him at arms' length, and peered at him. "It's the first time," she said, "the first time I've seen you in uniform."

"How do I look?"

Her mouth trembled a little. "Horrible," she said. Then they both laughed.

"Let's go upstairs," he said.

"We can't."

"Why not?" Noah asked, feeling a clutching sense of disaster.

"I couldn't get a room here. Full up. That's all right." She touched his face and chuckled at the despair she saw there. "We have a place. A rooming house down the street. Don't look like that."

They joined hands and went out of the hotel. They walked down the street silently, looking at each other from time to time. Noah was conscious of the polite, approving stares of the soldiers they passed who had no wives, no girls, and were only going to get drunk that afternoon.

The rooming house needed painting. The porch was overgrown with grape vines and the bottom step was broken. "Be careful," Hope said. "Don't fall through. This would be an awful time to break your leg."

The door was opened for them by the landlady. She was a thin old woman in a dirty grey apron. She stared coldly at Noah, exuding a smell of sweat, age and dishwater. "This your husband?" she asked, her bony hand on the door knob.

"Yes," said Hope. "This is my husband."

"Ummm," said the landlady, and did not smile when Noah gri

"This is worse than inspection," Noah whispered as he followed Hope towards the door of their room.

"What's inspection?" Hope asked.

"I'll tell you," Noah said, "some other time."

Then the door closed behind them. The room was small, with one window with a cracked pane. The wallpaper was so old and faded that the pattern looked as though it was growing out of the wall. The bed was chipped white iron and there were obvious lumps under the greyish spread. But Hope had put a small bunch of jonquils in a glass on the dresser and her hairbrush was there, sign of marriage and civilization, and she had put a small photograph of Noah, laughing, in a sweater, taken on a summer holiday, under the flowers.

They avoided looking at each other, embarrassed.

"I had to show her our marriage licence," Hope said. "The landlady."

"What?" Noah asked.

"Our marriage licence. She said you had to fight tooth and nail to maintain a respectable establishment with a hundred thousand drunken soldiers loose on the town."