Jesus Christ, without her hair glued to her head, she's a hell of a good-looking woman. I would give my left nut to get in the sack with her.
The officers and the missionary were a little carried away with the situation. They saw themselves, McCoy thought contemptuously, as patriots about to embark on a great espionage mission. McCoy had to temper his scorn, however, when Sessions took him aside and told him, dead serious, that no matter what happened today he wanted him to understand that he understood his position.
"This is one of those situations, Corporal, where we both must do what we believe is right. And I want you to know that I believe you thought long and hard about your obligations before you decided you couldn't go with me."
He's not so much of a prick as a virgin.
"Good luck, Lieutenant," McCoy said, and offered his hand.
What the hell, it didn't cost anything to say that. And if Sessions means what he said, then on the off chance they don't get bagged and Macklin tries to get me in trouble, maybe it'll help.
As they walked back to the hotel, Mrs. Feller's leg kept coming out of the flap of her bathrobe, and she kept trying to hold the robe closed. He remembered that all through dinner she had kept bumping her knee "accidentally" against his.
McCoy was now convinced she was just fucking around with him, getting some kind of sick kick out of trying to make him uncomfortable, the way some people get a sick kick out of teasing a dog. He intended to stay as far away from her as he could.
"Is there any interesting way you can think of to kill the time until they get back?" she asked, when they were inside the hotel.
She goddamned well knows there are two or three meanings I could put on that.
"Until it starts to rain, which should be about noon, you could fish, I suppose," McCoy said. "They've got tackle. I've got to work on the trucks."
"That doesn't sound very exciting," she said.
"I guess not," he said, turning and walking away from her down the corridor to his room.
He didn't see her at breakfast, and he ate with the Marines at lunch. They asked him where the officers and the Christer had gone, and how long that would keep them all in Chiehshom. Zimmerman had already told them he didn't know, they said, or else he wouldn't tell them. McCoy told them he didn't know, either.
At half- past three, a boy came to his room and told him that Sergeant Zimmerman wanted to see him in the lobby. When McCoy went down, there were two Japanese soldiers with Zimmerman, a sergeant and a corporal. They were both large for Japanese, and they were wearing leather jackets and puttees. Goggles hung loosely from leather helmets. Motorcycle messengers.
They bowed to McCoy and then saluted, and he bowed back and returned the salute. Then Zimmerman gave him two envelopes, one addressed to him and the other to Mrs. Feller.
"This is addressed to you," McCoy said.
"I can read," Zimmerman said. "And they want me to sign for it. I thought I better ask you."
One of the Japanese soldiers then handed McCoy some kind of a form to sign. He saw that it was just a message receipt form.
"Sign it," he said to Zimmerman.
"What is it?"
"A confession that you eat babies for breakfast," McCoy said.
Zimmerman, with obvious reluctance, carefully wrote his name on the form. He gave it to the Japanese sergeant, who bowed and saluted again, then marched out of the lobby with the other Japanese hopping along after him.
As he tore open the envelope and took out the message, McCoy heard their motorcycle engines start.
From what his note said, Lieutenant Macklin had obviously decided that the Japanese were going to read it before they delivered it:
Yenchi'eng
Sergeant Zimmerman:
The Reverend Mr. Feller, Mr. Sessions and I have accepted the kind invitation of the commanding general of the 11th Division of the Imperial Japanese Army to inspect the division.
I will send further orders as necessary.
R.B. Macklin 1/Lt. USMC
McCoy realized there was absolutely no "I Told You So" pleasure in his reaction. He felt sorry for them, and he felt a little sorry for himself. Sooner (if he could get through on the telephone now) or later, Captain Banning was going to eat his ass out for letting them get their asses in a crack.
"Well, what the hell does it say?" Zimmerman asked.
McCoy handed him the note.
"I figured it was something like that," Zimmerman said. "How come you didn't go? You knew they was going to get caught?"
McCoy shrugged.
"You figure the Japs'll find out Sessions is an officer?"
"What makes you think he's an officer?"
"Come on, McCoy," Zimmerman said.
"Christ, for his sake, I hope not."
"What do we do now?"
"We wait twenty-four, maybe forty-eight hours to see what the Japs do."
"Then what?"
"Then I don't know," McCoy said. "There's reason the guys have to hang around here, but I don't want them getting shitfaced in case we need them."
"Okay," Zimmerman said. He walked out of the hotel lobby, and McCoy went up the wide stairs to the second floor and knocked on Mrs. Feller's door.
When she opened it, her hair was up in braids again, and she was wearing a pale yellow dress just about covered with tiny little holes.
He handed her the letter addressed to her. She raised her eyebrows questioningly and then tore open the envelope.
Even with her hair up again, she still looks pretty good. And Christ, what teats!
When she had read the letter, she raised her eyes and looked at him, obviously expecting some comment from him.
"Nothing to be worried about," he said. "They'll show them marching troops and barracks, and feed them food they know they won't like; and tonight they'll probably try hard to get them drunk. But there's no danger or anything like that. If there was, they wouldn't have let them send the letters."
"My husband doesn't drink," she said.
"He probably will tonight," McCoy said.
She seemed to find that amusing, he saw.
"His letter says that you will look after me," she said. "Are you going to look after me?"
"Yes, ma'am," he said.
"Starting at dinner? I missed you at lunch."
"I had something to do over lunch," he said. "And I'm afraid I'll be busy for dinner, too. If you'd like, I can ask Sergeant Zimmerman to have dinner with you."
"That won't be necessary," she said coldly.
Fuck you, too, lady!
"Are you going to. do anything about this?" she asked. "Notify someone what's happened?"
"If I can get through on the phone," McCoy said.
It turned out he couldn't get through to Captain Banning in Shanghai, which didn't surprise him-and was actually a relief. Getting your ass chewed out was one of those things the longer you put off, the better.
And then he realized there was a way he could avoid it entirely. He thought it over a minute and went looking for Ernie Zimmerman.
(Three)
The Hotel am See Chiehshom, Shantung Province 0815 Hours 17 May 1941 McCoy had just finished a hard day and night in the country and was now lowering himself all the way into a full tub hot clean water when there was a knock at his door.
"Come back later," he yelled in Chinese.
"It's Ellen Feller," she said.
"I'm in the bathtub."
Her response to this was a heavy, angry-sounding pounding on the door.
"Wait a minute, wait a minute," he called. "I'm coming."
McCoy hoisted himself out of the tub, wrapped a towel around his waist, and walked dripping to the door.
The moment it was opened a crack, she pushed past him into the room. She was wearing her robe, and her hair was again unbraided and hanging nearly to her waist. When he came back she must have seen him from her window talking to Ernie Zimmerman in the courtyard, he decided.
She walked to his small window, turned, and glared at him.
"Close the door, or someone will see us in here," she ordered.