Read Online The Eternity Brigade by Stephen Goldin, Ivan Goldman - Free Book Online
Authors: Stephen Goldin, Ivan Goldman
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“I don’t suppose you really know what that can mean. I’m my father’s youngest son and his biggest disappointment. He told me so, constantly. ‘Davidka,’ he’d say, ‘you are the failure of my life, the ultimate frustration of all I’ve worked for.’ He said that even before I was ten years old. Some accomplishment for a little kid, huh? I’d hardly had a chance to do anything , and already he was convinced I’d betrayed him. I could never be smart enough or clever enough or good enough. Not that he didn’t push me to try—but he was always careful to stick his foot out in front of me to make sure I’d trip. With his support, there wasn’t a thing I couldn’t fail at.
“You mentioned before you thought I could go to college and maybe become a doctor or a lawyer. I’ve got one of each as older brothers. I’ve got another brother who’s a cantor. I think that made my father happiest of all. Me, I can’t even carry a tune.”
He paused and coughed a couple of times. “Everything in the house was very strict. My mother in particular made sure of that. Between her and my father, I didn’t have a chance. She was the one who set my attitudes about women. Shicksehs … that is, Gentile girls, were traif , not kosher. There was something unclean about them, as though they all had some slimy social disease all over their bodies. Only good Jewish girls were worth loving, and even then I had to wait until I married one. I got the impression, somehow, that non-Jewish girls never bathed, or used Pigshit #5 cologne, or something equally disgusting. Funny thing is, I’m told I’m the exact opposite of most Jewish men. To them, Gentile girls are a turn-on; they marry nice Jewish girls and carry on with Gentiles. Not me; I’m spoiled for life.
“I tried once, during the war. I was on leave with some of my buddies over in Africa—Salisbury, I think—and we went out and got drunk. I could barely stand up, but my friends steered me into a whorehouse, one of those cheap black places on the edge of town. The building was run-down and filthy, and the girls hadn’t bathed in several weeks. The room smelled of sweat—Negro sweat. I couldn’t do anything, and I broke down and cried. My friends thought it was because the girl was black, so they pooled their money and took me to a fancier white bordello. I couldn’t do anything there, either. I ended up vomiting all over the bed—hardly the most comforting experience for a young virgin, right?”
Hawker didn’t answer, and another long silence ensued. Finally Green spoke again. “I entered the army to get away from home. Isn’t that hysterical? There I am, running away from the authoritarianism of my parents, and where do I go to hide? The most authoritarian system in the world, the army. So you see, I must be more mentally defective than any ten Marine Corps boots combined. And that is what’s pushing me. I keep hoping that maybe, if I play Rip Van Winkle long enough, the world will change beneath me to something I can live with.”
“I’m sorry,” Hawker said at last, when he was sure his friend had finished. “I didn’t know.”
“Of course you didn’t know. I didn’t tell you. But that’s why Lucky threw me into such a tailspin when he brought those girls over. I just couldn’t face anything like that again. It’s so hard looking into the mirror and knowing what a complete and utter failure I’ve made of myself.”
Green stopped talking again, and it took Hawker several moments to realize his friend was crying. Hawker lay in bed for a time, not sure how to handle this development; then finally he threw the covers back, got up and crossed the room to where Green lay. Taking his friend in his arms, he held him tightly until all the tears were gone and Green had slipped off to sleep. Hawker left him then, at peace at last, and slipped out of the room to get himself a drink.
***
Green spent most of the next day nursing a raging
“You mentioned before you thought I could go to college and maybe become a doctor or a lawyer. I’ve got one of each as older brothers. I’ve got another brother who’s a cantor. I think that made my father happiest of all. Me, I can’t even carry a tune.”
He paused and coughed a couple of times. “Everything in the house was very strict. My mother in particular made sure of that. Between her and my father, I didn’t have a chance. She was the one who set my attitudes about women. Shicksehs … that is, Gentile girls, were traif , not kosher. There was something unclean about them, as though they all had some slimy social disease all over their bodies. Only good Jewish girls were worth loving, and even then I had to wait until I married one. I got the impression, somehow, that non-Jewish girls never bathed, or used Pigshit #5 cologne, or something equally disgusting. Funny thing is, I’m told I’m the exact opposite of most Jewish men. To them, Gentile girls are a turn-on; they marry nice Jewish girls and carry on with Gentiles. Not me; I’m spoiled for life.
“I tried once, during the war. I was on leave with some of my buddies over in Africa—Salisbury, I think—and we went out and got drunk. I could barely stand up, but my friends steered me into a whorehouse, one of those cheap black places on the edge of town. The building was run-down and filthy, and the girls hadn’t bathed in several weeks. The room smelled of sweat—Negro sweat. I couldn’t do anything, and I broke down and cried. My friends thought it was because the girl was black, so they pooled their money and took me to a fancier white bordello. I couldn’t do anything there, either. I ended up vomiting all over the bed—hardly the most comforting experience for a young virgin, right?”
Hawker didn’t answer, and another long silence ensued. Finally Green spoke again. “I entered the army to get away from home. Isn’t that hysterical? There I am, running away from the authoritarianism of my parents, and where do I go to hide? The most authoritarian system in the world, the army. So you see, I must be more mentally defective than any ten Marine Corps boots combined. And that is what’s pushing me. I keep hoping that maybe, if I play Rip Van Winkle long enough, the world will change beneath me to something I can live with.”
“I’m sorry,” Hawker said at last, when he was sure his friend had finished. “I didn’t know.”
“Of course you didn’t know. I didn’t tell you. But that’s why Lucky threw me into such a tailspin when he brought those girls over. I just couldn’t face anything like that again. It’s so hard looking into the mirror and knowing what a complete and utter failure I’ve made of myself.”
Green stopped talking again, and it took Hawker several moments to realize his friend was crying. Hawker lay in bed for a time, not sure how to handle this development; then finally he threw the covers back, got up and crossed the room to where Green lay. Taking his friend in his arms, he held him tightly until all the tears were gone and Green had slipped off to sleep. Hawker left him then, at peace at last, and slipped out of the room to get himself a drink.
***
Green spent most of the next day nursing a raging
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