That first day there were at least two hundred
crap games on the deck, and while Eddie got into one, he did it listlessly,
just to keep his hand in, and not to tire himself, because he knew that the
important stuff was coming later. Between the chicken games Eddie moped about
and did a good deed or two to get himself into a state of grace he knew was
necessary later. He helped to carry a “B” bag for a slightly tipsy GI and
reluctantly accepted a pint of bourbon, which canceled out the good deed, to
Eddie’s way of thinking. He wrote a letter to his wife, whom he hadn’t seen for
twelve years, and would have posted it if he could ever have found a stamp.
Occasionally he drifted back to the deck and
got into a small game to keep his wrist limber and his head clear, but he
didn’t have to. Eddie had a roll. He didn’t have to build up a bank in the
preliminaries. He steered clear of spectacular play for two reasons. First, it
was a waste of time. It was just as well to let the money get into a few hands
before he exerted himself, and second, Eddie, at a time like this, preferred a
kind of obscurity and anonymity. There was another reason too. The ship sailed
on Tuesday and Eddie was waiting for Sunday, because he was particularly hot on
Sundays, a fact he attributed to a clean and disinterested way of life. Once on
a Sunday, and, understand, this is Mulligan’s story, Eddie had won a small
steam roller from a road gang in New Mexico, and on another Sunday Eddie had
cleaned out a whole camp meeting, and in humility had devoted 10 per cent of
his winnings to charity.
As the week went on the games began to fade
out. There were fewer games and the stakes were larger. On Saturday there were
only four good ones going, and at this time Eddie began to take interest. He
played listlessly Saturday morning, but in the afternoon became more active
and wiped out two of the games because his time was getting short and he didn’t
want too many games going the next day.
At ten o’clock the next day Eddie appeared on
the deck, clean and combed and modest and bulging at the pockets of his field
jacket. The game was going, but there were only three players in it. Eddie said
innocently, “Mind if I get in for a pass or two?” The three players scrutinized
him cynically. A Pole with one blue eye and one brown eye spoke roughly to him.
“Froggy skins it takes, soldier,” he said, “not is playing peanuts.”
