Chapter 3 No.3

Apple-sauce for the Gander

The only thing that kept me from going crazy or doing something rash during this time was the problem of the would-be hero of the family, my dear twin. From the first day in camp all he did was complain and not a week passed without a long letter full of nothing but kicks and regrets and weeping words. Even his letters to Vyvy, who was walking around with her head in the clouds of pride, carried an obvious undercurrent of pessimism and dejection, which he tried to explain away to her by saying that it was caused by his being away from her "beautiful presence."

For a kid of his nature, it must have been a terrible experience from the beginning, which was a thorough physical examination in a roomful of naked men, not one of whom would ever suffer from inability to perspire, and during which poor Leon would have fainted dead away if the man next to him hadn't noticed his deathly pallor and pushed him to the one and only window in the room. He didn't actually pass out, but it seemed to him that from that moment on he was a marked weakling in the camp and there was none to give him a shred of sympathy.

When he went to get his uniform and equipment, the clerk took one look at him and threw a complete assortment of everything from underwear to blankets at him and when he came to array himself in these duds, he couldn't bear to look at himself, because the uniform billowed about him like the costume of a Turkish dancer with the sleeves of the blouse inches too short and the neckband two sizes too large. There must have been tears lurking behind his gentle eyes when he approached his sergeant and asked meekly, "Would it be possible to exchange these things for others of my size?"

And imagine how he felt when that hard-boiled individual rapped back, "Listen, Pretty Boy, who in hell do you think you are? In this man's army you take what they give ya and keep yer trap damn well shut! You ain't goin' to no swell tea party at the Waldorf-Astoria, ya know-ya're goin' to a first-class war, sweetie, so make up yer mind to it and don't bother me again with any damfool complaints about it. I ain't runnin' this war!" And he smiled sourly as if he had conferred a favor on the cringing recruit. Everyone else in the barracks laughed with the sergeant, as common soldiers naturally would do until the sergeant's back was turned, so Leon felt pretty small.... But he fooled them on the suit. He discovered there was a tailor shop in the camp and he was the first in his barracks to put himself in the tailor's hands. He really looked quite military when he finally got fitted correctly, but that didn't make him feel much better.

Then there was an obnoxious bunkmate by the name of Lowery who did his bit toward making life miserable for Leon. The very first night, when the twin was feeling blue anyway, this Lowery began to perform certain exceedingly unpleasant operations upon his feet, and when he noticed the look of anguish on Leon's face, he said, "I've walked so damn far in my time, buddy, that I got some kind o' trench foot. I get a new crop o' skin on my toes every bloody day and when it's hot they damn near drive me nuts." And to one toe he gave a yank that looked vicious enough to amputate it. "They itch like hell, believe me, fellow!"

Leon harbored thoughts of murder every time he saw Lowery start his nightly ceremony of rubbing and pinching, and there wasn't any way of avoiding it, because the afflicted man never turned in until last call and the sergeant would have blasted Leon's soul to seven vari-colored hells if he weren't in his blankets when the lights went out. "It's a terrible thing, young feller!" Lowery informed him after they had slept side by side for some days, but the information didn't make Leon feel any more sympathetic nor less sickened.

Yet Lowery's toes were nothing in comparison with the sergeant, who seemed from the first to have his evil eye on Leon. "Canwick," he would begin, as if he were about to confer a great honor, "somebody has got to go an' help take care o' the bathhouse to-day, and seein' the drillin' wears ya out so, I guess you'd better take to-day off and report over there. Ya see, we try to make everything as easy as possible fer everybody and also we try to teach every man somethin' worth while so that when ya get out ya can get a decent livin'. Now this bathhouse detail will teach ya so you can get a job in a Turkish bath when ya get out o' the army.... You'd go big in a Turkish bath fer women-ya know, they gotta have somebody's perfectly safe and harmless."

Everyone laughed at the insinuation and Leon hurried away to the new assignment, thinking that perhaps after all this work would be a little easier, only to discover that his duties were anything but pleasant for a tender-spirited person, what with having to scour pipes and scrub the concrete, pick up dirty discarded towels and other unclean things, distribute soap and collect slimy cakes, and watch the conglomerate mass of male humanity perform its ablutions amid a veritable barrage of dirty language and foul wit.... He was glad to be relieved and to let his legs ache the next day when an apparently indefatigable officer drilled them for hours and hours. His back and legs groaned in agony at every step and when he went to bed at night he wasn't at all sure he would be able to get up in the morning.

He had another honor conferred on him when the humorous sergeant extended a polite invitation to him to join the Kitchen Police for a few days o' rest. Leon told us that until that day he never had the least conception of how many potatoes there were in the world. He peeled and peeled and peeled until he felt certain there couldn't be any more potatoes in the country-but the next morning there was a brand-new batch even larger than the one he had done. His fingers got so numb that he couldn't feel the thousand and one cuts and scratches, and his wrists ached unmercifully while his back had a kink that seemed irremovable. After two days of this he returned to his bunk to find Lowery working on his toes and he prayed, not for Lowery's toes, but that he might be lucky enough to draw the dishwashing detail on the morrow.

He said he must have had a clear line to Heaven, for sure enough the next morning he moved to the tubs and spent the day keeping the water clean and washing out the serving pans. After looking at the refuse in some thousands of mess kits three times a day, he was unable to eat anything himself. That night he didn't know what to pray for and before he could make up his mind he went to sleep.

A few days later he was promoted to the garbage detail, the sergeant telling him, "You'll never make a real soldier anyway, so you might as well get some kind of training and be earnin' yer thirty bucks a month." On the garbage wagon he did less but more nauseating work, emptying huge G.I. cans of vari-odored swill, cleaning the cans, and then riding to the disposal plant on the cargo, where the wagon had to be swept and washed with infinite care against possible inspections. He didn't eat much that day either, nor the day after; and when he was returned to the mess hall, he was glad enough to tend the tubs. He managed to serve out the week, but he swore he lost ten pounds during that time, just from inability to eat.

The sergeant welcomed him back to the company and for two weeks appeared to have forgotten his existence. Then one morning he delegated him a special emissary to the latrines, and the poor kid, just recovering his appetite, lost it in the course of a single day's work with mop and broom and disinfectant can. Nor could he see anything humorous in the song which the other members of the detail persisted in singing to cheer them at their tasks, for it was a very dirty ditty, an ode to Latrina, the patron saint of that particular place. Leon said he knew the words by heart but had never sung the song because the words wouldn't pass his lips. The Ode to Latrina must have been a ghastly thing-but I wanted to hear it as soon as I heard it existed. Some such things are funny because they are so foul; there is such a thing as "shocking" humor.

However, Leon thought he had endured about as much agony and misery as was possible without passing out and he was just wondering if there could be anything worse befall him when an opportunity to escape presented itself. The sergeant called for volunteers who could "parley-voo frog," and Leon couldn't report to him fast enough. About a dozen others also declared they could speak French. Leon went them all one better by adding, "I can read and write German and Italian, too."

"Who in hell cares if ya can talk Wop?" demanded the sergeant. "Pretty soon you'll be tellin' me you invented the laundry checks the Chinks use. What I ask was, 'Can ya parley the Frog'?"

"Yes-fluently," replied Leon stubbornly.

The non-com laughed. "That's a good word-maybe if ya pull that on them, you'll get the job, Grace. And it's a damn sight better job than a fly-weight like you deserves in this man's army." Whereupon he sallied forth for regimental headquarters, with all who had answered satisfactorily, in tow. Arrived there he reported to a Captain who took the men in charge and after a lot of hemming and hawing and crazy questioning, Leon found himself chosen for the job-whatever it might prove to be.

He discovered that he now had the laugh on his former comrades, who had made him the butt of their jokes, for while they were laboriously attending to latrines, garbage cans, kitchen work and drilling, he was in comparative comfort attending the clerical wants of a Colonel who was farsighted enough to equip himself with a French-speaking clerk before the necessity arose for one. When Lowery heard of the nature of the new job, he frankly observed, "Dog-robbin' is a hell of a good job fer an ole woman like you." But dog-robbing or not, Leon knew a good thing when he saw it and he determined to make himself indispensable to his Colonel.

It was just after his promotion that Aunt Elinor, Vyvy and I dropped in for a week-end visit and made him show us everything in and about the camp. He took us to his "office" and even pointed out the Colonel who was getting into a car just as we came up, which made it possible for Leon to take us in and show us all about his work. It really wasn't very intricate. I told him, afterwards, that as far as I could see, I could do his work as well if not better than he, and he retorted, "You'd probably make a better soldier than I am, anyway."

But he didn't feel so badly that day, what with Vyvy there and this new work so comparatively easy. The only fly in his ointment was that he feared this Colonel would be going overseas soon and that meant he'd go along. Leon was seriously worried about this. As he said, "Colonels have been known to get killed and anyone that's with one might more easily get hit. Now Generals hardly ever get up in the lines, so I'm looking around for a convenient General to attach myself to." His idea of unadulterated bliss (if such were possible in the army) was to be dog-robber to General Pershing. And he was so shameless about admitting it! However, I was glad he was making some kind of progress because the ordinary soldiers looked like a pretty dumb lot of cattle, not half so intelligent as the officers. Yet I would have been glad to be even a dumb private if I only could, which shows that my experience with Captain Winstead hadn't really changed me completely inside for I was still interested in men's affairs more than women's.

I thought we had cheered the twin by our visit, but if we did its effects disappeared as soon as we left him, for his letters continued to be full of complaints and regrets. He wasn't satisfied at all and his letters betrayed a yellow streak the width of his back. Apparently every moment he wasn't busy, his mind was filled with gory imaginings and horrible visions of shell-torn bodies, stinking carcasses, burning flesh, blood, muck and god-awful corruption; and at night his dreams contained more gruesome details of his fate than fancies about his Vyvy. Each such night of mental anguish served to spur him on to work for promotion. His one consuming desire at the time was to go up, because he thought that safety lay in getting way up in the organization.... I was acutely ashamed of him because I realized that his ambition was prompted solely by cowardly fear. Such a man surely couldn't get very far in the army.

Another thing which disturbed him considerably was the dirty army songs and rank stories. He thought it was incredible that officers who looked like gentlemen could enjoy passing along a rotten joke or a shady anecdote. He couldn't possibly see that a little dirt now and then is relished by the best of men. He thought it was all very unnecessary and depressing, almost as bad as the foul ditties about the mademoiselles and their odd ways of loving or the legend of the Alsatian maiden who welcomed the invading Germans with the remark, "Well, officer, when do the atrocities begin?"

I really began to hate the thought of his going overseas because no one could tell what he might do in a pinch. He was scared to death already and although he had to act interested when his Colonel talked about going across, he actually was shivering in his boots and praying that something would happen to delay them.

But weeks passed and in doing so rather induced a lull in my worries about him because it seemed that they were never really going. Vyvy planned a big party for Leon, to take place whenever he could get away, and he made inquiries and told her to go ahead and plan on a certain week-end, at which time he felt sure he could get a leave. So Vyvy sent out invitations and had all her arrangements made-when on the Friday before the day of the affair, a letter came from him carrying the awful news that his outfit had received waiting orders and all leaves had been canceled. What a monkey wrench that was! And I had a note from Jay-Jay saying that he wasn't sure whether or not he could be present but asking me again if I would marry him on any condition at all. I answered immediately to the effect that I wouldn't even consider it unless he made an effort to go overseas. Now that Leon was going, poor specimen that he was, I had no patience with such a patriotic flat tire as Jay-Jay, in his soft and easy berth supervising "entertainments for the soldiers."

By this time I had lost all hopes of hearing from the Captain. I often thought of him and worried my poor brains trying to imagine what had happened to him; I kicked myself for not telling him flatly that night how much I loved him, because then I would have known by his silence that he wasn't interested at all. But this ignorant suspense was bewildering and devastating and I escaped from it all by reverting to my previous type-I projected myself into Leon's place and revived my never-dead tomboyish attitude and its interests.

That was the frame of mind I was nourishing when the news of Leon's confinement to camp arrived. I sympathized with Vyvy and tried to cheer up Auntie, who thought that going to France meant going to certain death, and my efforts were helped considerably that night when a second letter came from Leon, saying that he couldn't possibly get away because "orders are orders in this damnable place, although we surely won't go for a good many days yet and I'll be lying around here all the week-end doing nothing at all when I could just as easily be enjoying myself in Wakeham!"

You see, as soon as we learned that he probably wouldn't be going overseas yet, we all began to wonder how his getting away could possibly be arranged, if only for a few hours. I felt sorry for the poor kid, and for Vyvy, with her party all planned for the next night and both of them so eager for this last farewell meeting. It didn't seem reasonable to me that he could be only a hundred miles away and still be unable to spend just one evening in Wakeham with his Vyvy. She had got him into the War and now he couldn't even get away long enough to collect a farewell kiss in reward. I decided that there had to be some way out.... Leon had to get to that party, if someone had to die for it!

The next morning I drove down to the camp, carrying a suitcase containing one of his suits of civies, with cap, socks, shoes, shirts and everything. I planned to get there by noontime, find out what could be done and if worst came to worst, put my brilliant "last resort" idea into action, at the cost of my curly locks and perhaps my personal freedom. I would have had the haircut in Wakeham, but I decided that it would be bad luck: if I had it cut, Leon would manage to get a pass of some kind just to make my sacrifice in vain, for that was my luck. Not that I really wanted to carry out my great idea-I just entertained sneaking hopes. And besides I had to work very circumspectly in order that Aunt Elinor wouldn't get suspicious, for I figured that although she could be depended upon after the deed was done, she wouldn't approve of it beforehand. As it was, she thought I was insane to drive down there in a snowstorm on what had every indication of being a wild-goose chase.

I said prayers again as Esky and I sped along the snow-covered roads-and the prayers had nothing to do with the snow, nor were they exactly complaints this time. I prayed for a sporting chance, for just a "break," and I was in such excitement that I quite forgot about Captain Winstead as well as Jay-Jay Marfield and his proposals, for I was on the threshold of adventure-an adventure that would beat anything the fiction writers could offer for a heroine.

I was confident that, if my sneaking hopes materialized, I would learn to my own satisfaction that what was apple-sauce for the gander could still be sauce for the goose.