The Temple of Gold by William Goldman

Author:William Goldman
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9781453296004
Publisher: Open Road
Published: 1957-01-08T08:00:00+00:00

The Town

I DON’T REMEMBER MUCH about my first few days in the hospital.

I just lay there in bed, half asleep, half not, my knee stitched, my leg bandaged. Time slipped by on me as I lay there, listening to the orderlies walk along the halls, sometimes staring out the window at the sky. Then, the third day, I started snapping out of it, my head clearing. By evening, I was feeling pretty good again. Except for my leg.

He came to see me on the fourth day, a Captain from main post. He took off his hat and smiled at me as I sat up in bed. “You’re Private Trevitt,” he said.

I nodded.

“I’m from the Provost Marshal’s office, Trevitt. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

I didn’t say anything.

He smiled again, going on. “I’d like to know what happened, Trevitt. Out there in the weed field. I’m in charge of the investigation and there are a number of things that need clearing up. So why don’t you tell me what happened. In your own words.”

“Maybe some other time,” I said.

“Now’s as good a time as any,” he said, pressing it. “So why don’t you tell me what happened.”

“Kelly got blown apart by a hand-grenade,” I said.

“We know that.”

“I thought you wanted to know what happened, Captain. That’s what happened.”

“I’d like a few more details, Trevitt. Now. What went on in that weed field?”

“Just what I told you,” I said. “Kelly got blown apart by a hand-grenade.”

“How?”

“He pulled the pin and held it against his stomach. The rest was easy.”

“How did he get the grenade?”

“I suppose he stole it. I don’t know. Maybe he made it in his spare time.”

“Look, Trevitt,” he said. “I just want to ask you some questions. That’s all.”

“Well, you’re asking the wrong guy, Captain. It’s not me you ought to talk to.”

“No?” he said. “Who then?”

“Go see the Chief of Staff,” I answered. Then I lay back down and closed my eyes. He left me.

It was about an hour later that I first heard the news.

Major Downes, my doctor, told me. He came in humming, snipping away in the air with a scissors he always carried.

“Afternoon, Trevitt,” he said, faking a few snips at my head.

“Afternoon, Major Downes.”

He didn’t say anything for a while, but just smiled at me, almost laughing, grinning from ear to ear. I waited. “Trevitt,” he said, finally. “I envy you. Always envy lucky people. And Trevitt, you’re lucky. Me, I’m not. There I was, the most successful gynecologist in Dayton, Ohio, and what happened? I got drafted again. How’s the leg feel?”

“Fine, Major. Why am I lucky?”

He slapped me on the back. “Because you’ve got the million-dollar wound, Trevitt. You’re getting a medical discharge.”

“Why?”

“Your knee, Trevitt. That’s why.”

“What’s the matter with my knee?”

“Nothing fatal. But some of that shrapnel cut it. You’ll be walking with a limp, so just as soon as you’re able, out you go.”

I nodded, staring up at him while he fiddled with his scissors. Then I asked him.

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