By James Jones
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Extra info for To the End of the War: Unpublished Fiction
But they won’t do that,” said Wilkinsson. ” The look upon Wilkinsson’s face was very much like the look that had been on McCulloch’s face when Johnny met him in the Miami Beach bar, and Johnny wondered suddenly if his face ever bad that same look that he saw upon their faces and upon the countless faces in the hospital. His mind went back to McCulloch sitting in the bar, and the conversation passed over his ears untapped. Mac’s face had lighted up when he saw Johnny. They felt very close, having been through so much together.
I am back inside my body with its straining antenna of fear. I am safe—at least for now, But I cannot relax: I know I must go back some day—provided that I live. I must see this place in stillness—when the jungle has reclaimed it. Or I shall never rest. I cannot sleep tonight. . Perhaps a pill. Once his ankle began to improve, Jones was given passes to go into Memphis, where he rented a suite in the Peabody Hotel for six weeks. It was a wild, drunken time for him, with local women ready to go to bed with him.
After a moment, during which the chief clerk asked them their names, they came back out and sat down on the edge of the porch in the shade. ” the red-headed youth asked. “Camp Campbell, Kentucky,” Johnny said. ” “Well, Jesus Christ,” commented Gettinger. ” Johnny nodded. ” “These lousy cockbeaters,” said the dark saturnine Wilkinsson. ” Gettinger shook his red head. “What the hell do they want from a man anyway? ” “Yeah,” said Johnny. “That son of a bitch, O’Flagherty,” said Gettinger. He was referring to Captain O’Flagherty, in charge of convalescent surgery cases.