“Bud—”
“Get the hell away from me!”
“Bud, I’m sorry. Buddy, please, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Buddy,” and Bud looked up to see him crying. He reached out tentatively and then pulled his hand back, and he felt his own face beginning to crumble, and he bit down hard on his lip, and he tightened his hand around the beer glass until he thought it would shatter.
“Cut it out,” he said harshly. “The guys’ll see you. Goddamnit, cut it out!”
Andy’s shoulders heaved, and the tears streamed down his face, and then he extended his hand, and Bud squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to take the hand, not wanting to, no, no, no, and then he put out his own hand and took Andy’s and said very softly, “Forget it. It’s done with now.”
Perhaps it would have been better if, in his drunkenness that night, he had gone to the telephone and called Helen and told her that he loved her. But Andy was there, and there was Andy’s need, and the stone of responsibility was heavy within Bud, and he could see no way in his adolescence of reconciling his love for Helen and his friendship with Andy. So he had taken Andy’s hand, and Andy had stopped crying, and they drank beer and ate potato chips together, all the boys, locked in arm-in-arm camaraderie. Reen said, “I’ve only got one thing to say to you, boys,” and everyone shouted, “Speech, speech!” and Reen held up his hands until there was quiet, and then his eyes focused on Andy and Bud, and his eyes were curiously solemn, and he said, “Now, jus’ remember this. A li’l hair around the balls doesn’t make a man. Now jus’ remember that,” and everyone laughed and sang the old songs and toasted Reen and toasted Reen again, and Reen was the only one of the lot who seemed somehow sad about the whole occasion.
He left for the army the next day, and he began his training as an Infantry rifleman.
It was June, and then July, and then the summer was upon them, and one by one the boys were leaving. For Andy, this was the happiest time he’d ever known. For Andy, this was pure happiness, happiness that knew no bounds. To be with Carol and Bud, to be with his sweetheart and his best friend, this was complete happiness. If he could have chosen a time to end his life, if someone had given him the choice, he would have unhesitatingly replied, “After all this. Let the ending come after all this. Let this be the first and the only ending. Let there never be a second ending, let my life end now, after I’ve experienced all this, after all this happiness, now.”
Bud left for the navy on September eighteenth. He kissed Carol on the cheek, and then he clasped hands with Andy. He went then to join the other boys with their overnight bags in the milling line waiting for the train.
There were tears in Andy’s eyes. The tears were there because his best friend was leaving. He did not know, nor could he have known, that the end of summer was — for all practical purposes — the real end of his life.
Part Three
16
“Reen is dead, isn’t he?” Andy asked.
He sat up in bed, and those were the first words he spoke, as if the knowledge had eluded him while talking yesterday and then rested on his unconscious all night long; as if his long reminiscence had touched on the truth, ignored it, stored it, and was only now reluctantly exposing it to the light of a new day.
“Yes,” Bud said, “he’s dead. A German bullet in the town of St. Vith.”
“To the biggest and the best, from the Boys,” Andy said.
“Yes,” Bud answered. He had been up for a half hour already, silently washing and dressing while Andy slept. This was Tuesday morning, and his test was at nine, and he couldn’t afford to be late, not after the pitiful amount of studying he’d done. He’d never been afraid of an examination in his life, but he was truly frightened this morning, knowing he was unprepared and blaming Andy for his lack of preparation.
Yesterday, while Andy had talked and talked endlessly, Bud had repeatedly asked himself, “Am I my brother’s keeper?” and each time the answer had been a crashing No! and each time he had allowed himself to be caught in the sticky web of Andy’s memory, being drawn back over the years in spite of himself. He had not wanted to become a part of it. The past was dead, as dead as Reen. It had no place in the present scheme of things. Andy had no place in that scheme either, and he’d been a fool to take him in. He should have—
“I forget things sometimes,” Andy said. “Like Reen.”
“You’d never know it,” Bud answered, somewhat caustically.
“Like his being dead,” Andy went on, unperturbed. “I can’t get used to the idea that he’s dead.”
“He’s been dead for a long time,” Bud said.
Andy nodded. “Him and me both.”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing,” Andy said. He seemed suddenly angry. “Nothing at all.”
“Well, I’ve got to get out of here.” Bud glanced at his watch. “The exam is at nine, and I don’t want to be late — even though I’ll flunk the damned thing, anyway.”
“You’ll pass it,” Andy said disinterestedly.
“Yeah,” Bud said. He looked at his watch again. “Where’s Carol? She said she was coming over this morning, and here it is—”
“Why’s she coming over?”
“Because she wants to, I guess.”
“Relieving the watch, huh?”
“She wants to see you,” Bud said.
“Sure, she wants to see me. She wants to guard the prisoner, you mean.”
“Look, Andy—”
“Did I say I’m blaming either of you? Well, I’m not. You probably both think I’m a lot of hot air, and maybe you’re right. But I know in my heart that this time it’s for good. I may be mixed up, but I’m not stupid.”
“No one said you were.”
“I’m not stupid, and I know this particular treadmill leads nowhere, man, nowhere. So I’m getting off it, and damned fast. I don’t need Carol or you to watch me.”
“Nobody’s watching you, Andy.”
“No, nobody,” he said, and again there was the hurt anger in his voice. “You’d better go. You don’t want to miss that exam, do you?”
“No, I sure as hell don’t. Tell Carol I waited as long as I could, will you?”
“Sure. And don’t worry. Nothing’s going to happen.”
Bud nodded. “Listen, if you want any breakfast, all the stuff is in the refrigerator — milk, eggs, butter, anything you might need. There’s bread in the breadbox, and there’s instant coffee and Corn Flakes in the cabinet over the stove. Just help yourself.”
“The condemned man ate a hearty meal,” Andy cracked.
Bud ignored him. “Carol should be here soon,” he said.
“Don’t worry. I won’t leave my cell.”
“Now look, Andy—”
“Is it all right to play some records?”
“Anything you like.”
“Thanks. I appreciate all you’re doing, Bud.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“You’re an honorable man,” Andy said, and again there was this controlled anger in his voice. “Doing all this for old-times’ sake. Real honorable.”
“It has nothing to do with honor,” Bud answered, beginning to get a little irritated himself.
“Maybe not. I guess you’re the type who’d take in any stray dog in a storm, huh?”
“Any dog,” Bud said nastily, finally fed up.
“I figured, man. Go take your test.”