Tired? Restless? Knock up a dame? Join The Army.
Martinez is a buck private in 1937. He is still a private in thirty-nine. Nice shy Mex kid with good manners. His equipment is always spotless, and that's sufficient for the cavalry.
There are details. You weed the officers' gardens, you can be houseboy at their parties. You groom a horse after you ride it; if it is a mare you swab out its dock. The stables are hot and fermy. (I will buy you many dresses.) A soldier strikes a horse across the head. That's the only way that dumb four-legged sonofabitch knows. The horse neighs with pain, lashes out with its feet. The soldier strikes it again. Sonofabitch kept tryin' to throw me today. Treat a horse like a nigger and it'll act up right.
Martinez steps out from his stall, is seen for the first time. Hey, Julio, the soldier says, keep your mouth shut.
The instinctive quiver. (Hey, you boy, hurry up that chili.)
The nod, the grin. I do that, Martinez says.
Fort Riley is big and green and the barracks are of red brick. The officers live in pretty little houses with gardens. Martinez is orderly for Lieutenant Bradford.
Julio, will you do a good job on my boots today?
Yes, sir.
The Lieutenant takes a drink. Want one, Martinez?
Thank you, sir.
I want you to do a real good job on the house today.
Yes, sir, I do that.
The Lieutenant winks. Don't do anything I wouldn't do.
No, sir.
The Lieutenant and his wife leave. Ah think yore the best boy we eveh had, Hooley, Mrs. Bradford says.
Thank you, ma'am.
When the draft starts Martinez makes corporal. The first time he drills a squad he is so frightened he can barely sound the commands. (Fugged if I'll take an order from a Mex.) Squad left, left by squads. To the rear, march; to the rear, march. (You men must understand your responsibility. There is nothing more difficult in the world than to be a perfect noncom. Firm and aloof, firm and aloof, those are the keywords.) COL-umn RIGHT. The shoes tamping on the red clay, the sweat drips down. Hut, hup, hip, hor, hut, hup, hip, hor. (I frig white Protestant girls, firm and aloof. I WILL BE GOOD NONCOM.)
Squad halt! PaRADE rest!
Martinez is in the cadre for General Cummings's infantry division, goes overseas as a corporal in recon.
There are discoveries. Aussie girls can be made. The streets of Sydney, the blonde girl with the freckles who holds his hand. I think you're awful cute, Joolio.
You too. The taste of Aussie beer, and the Aussie soldiers hitting him for a buck.
Yank, got a shilling or two?
Yank? Okay, he mumbles.
The blonde prostitutes to whom he makes love. Oh, what a roll you got, Joolie, what a bloody bloody roll. Gi' it to me, again.
I do that. (I frig Mrs. Lieutenant Bradford now, I frig Peggy Reilly and Alice Stewart, I will be hero.)
Martinez looks at a blade of grass. BEE-Yowww, BEE-Yoww. The whip of the bullet is lost crying in the wilderness. He crawls, slithers behind a stump. BEE-Yowwww. The grenade is heavy and dull in his palm. He lofts it into the air, hugs his head in the deep secret embrace. (Momma's arms are great and her breasts are soft.) BAAA-ROWWWWWMM.
Did ya get the sonofabitch?
Where the hell is he?
Martinez inches forward. The Jap lies on his back with his chin jerked toward heaven. The white tripe of his gut makes
Martinez is a buck private in 1937. He is still a private in thirty-nine. Nice shy Mex kid with good manners. His equipment is always spotless, and that's sufficient for the cavalry.
There are details. You weed the officers' gardens, you can be houseboy at their parties. You groom a horse after you ride it; if it is a mare you swab out its dock. The stables are hot and fermy. (I will buy you many dresses.) A soldier strikes a horse across the head. That's the only way that dumb four-legged sonofabitch knows. The horse neighs with pain, lashes out with its feet. The soldier strikes it again. Sonofabitch kept tryin' to throw me today. Treat a horse like a nigger and it'll act up right.
Martinez steps out from his stall, is seen for the first time. Hey, Julio, the soldier says, keep your mouth shut.
The instinctive quiver. (Hey, you boy, hurry up that chili.)
The nod, the grin. I do that, Martinez says.
Fort Riley is big and green and the barracks are of red brick. The officers live in pretty little houses with gardens. Martinez is orderly for Lieutenant Bradford.
Julio, will you do a good job on my boots today?
Yes, sir.
The Lieutenant takes a drink. Want one, Martinez?
Thank you, sir.
I want you to do a real good job on the house today.
Yes, sir, I do that.
The Lieutenant winks. Don't do anything I wouldn't do.
No, sir.
The Lieutenant and his wife leave. Ah think yore the best boy we eveh had, Hooley, Mrs. Bradford says.
Thank you, ma'am.
When the draft starts Martinez makes corporal. The first time he drills a squad he is so frightened he can barely sound the commands. (Fugged if I'll take an order from a Mex.) Squad left, left by squads. To the rear, march; to the rear, march. (You men must understand your responsibility. There is nothing more difficult in the world than to be a perfect noncom. Firm and aloof, firm and aloof, those are the keywords.) COL-umn RIGHT. The shoes tamping on the red clay, the sweat drips down. Hut, hup, hip, hor, hut, hup, hip, hor. (I frig white Protestant girls, firm and aloof. I WILL BE GOOD NONCOM.)
Squad halt! PaRADE rest!
Martinez is in the cadre for General Cummings's infantry division, goes overseas as a corporal in recon.
There are discoveries. Aussie girls can be made. The streets of Sydney, the blonde girl with the freckles who holds his hand. I think you're awful cute, Joolio.
You too. The taste of Aussie beer, and the Aussie soldiers hitting him for a buck.
Yank, got a shilling or two?
Yank? Okay, he mumbles.
The blonde prostitutes to whom he makes love. Oh, what a roll you got, Joolie, what a bloody bloody roll. Gi' it to me, again.
I do that. (I frig Mrs. Lieutenant Bradford now, I frig Peggy Reilly and Alice Stewart, I will be hero.)
Martinez looks at a blade of grass. BEE-Yowww, BEE-Yoww. The whip of the bullet is lost crying in the wilderness. He crawls, slithers behind a stump. BEE-Yowwww. The grenade is heavy and dull in his palm. He lofts it into the air, hugs his head in the deep secret embrace. (Momma's arms are great and her breasts are soft.) BAAA-ROWWWWWMM.
Did ya get the sonofabitch?
Where the hell is he?
Martinez inches forward. The Jap lies on his back with his chin jerked toward heaven. The white tripe of his gut makes
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