The bartender shot him an expression of disgust and turned to the MPs. "Are you guys going to do anything?"

"Why?" Green asked. "Is it against the law now to slip in a bathroom?"

The second MP, who was obviously the one in charge, looked the situation over closely. Green's story was weak, and the MP was not a fool.

He knew some sort of disturbance had been going on-but he also had been at his job long enough to know that he couldn't arrest every GI who got into a fight. The situation had obviously cooled down, and wiser heads had prevailed; as long as no one was seriously hurt, he could see no reason to pursue the matter further.

"You'd better watch your step more carefully next time, buddy," he said to Symington at last. Then, looking over to Connors, he added pointedly, "Both of you." He turned and started to leave.

"What about my door?" the bartender protested.

Green reached into his pocket and pulled out a fifty-dollar bill. "Here, this should cover it," he said, stuffing it into the proprietor's hand.

"But..."

"Leaving wet spots on the floor is negligence," Green pointed out. "You should feel lucky we're not suing you for damages. Come on, fellows, we've got a plane to catch." With Hawker and Symington at his heels he left the men's room. They picked up their suitcases from the table where they'd left them and walked out of the bar, down the street and into the bus depot, where they caught a bus to the airport.

Not until they'd boarded their plane did Green speak to Symington.

"Now, what was that little fracas all about?"

"I don't know," the big man said with a shake of his head. "That f.u.c.ker's crazy, that's all there is to it."

"There must be more than that. Tell me everything that happened.""I just walked in and saw Connors already there. I figured he must be on leave, too-and that meant he'd probably signed up for the project as well. I said, 'I see you changed your mind,' and he told me to shut up."

Symington grinned sheepishly. "I guess maybe that's it. I didn't shut up. I kept after him, wondering what had made him sign up after he'd been so down on the whole idea. He told me to shut up again, then he pushed me, so I pushed him back. Then all of a sudden he hauls off and hits me, right when I wasn't expecting it. He knocked me backward into the door, and I guess I broke it. I yelled at him what in h.e.l.l did he think he was doing, and all of a sudden he pulls that knife. Then you two came running in, and you know the rest." Symington shook his head again. "It was all so stupid."

"Some people don't like a big fuss made about it when they're forced to change their minds," Green mused. "It reminds them they were wrong the first time. Connors made such a big deal about being against the project at first that when you pressed him about finally joining up, it set him off."

He paused. "But I wonder what did make him change his mind. Most of us have to be pushed from behind by something in our lives, and he'd need a bigger push than anyone. I wonder what's doing the pushing." And it was a while before he engaged in any further conversation.

They spent the next day on a series of planes, getting to know one another better. They talked mostly about the immediate past, their experiences in Africa during the war, their various likes and dislikes.

Symington did much of the talking. He had a wealth of stories about Africa, many of them frankly incredible. "If even half his adventures are true," Green commented when Symington was away in the lavatory, "he'd be the most decorated sluggo in the whole f.u.c.king war."

By implied mutual consent, none of them talked about their families or their childhoods. It was as though they knew, on a subconscious level, that by committing themselves to this project, they were cutting themselves off from their past forever, and wanted to leave the ghosts buried where they were. There were plenty of other things to talk about; Symington alone could ramble on for hours without saying anything of importance.

Even Hawker managed to open up and talk a little. In fact, he spoke more to these new acquaintances than he could ever remember speaking to his oldest friends back home. Much to his own surprise-and quite against his conscious intentions-he found himself forming a friendship with these two comrades-in-adversity. He became more relaxed in theirpresence, felt less need to guard his psyche against their intrusions. He still could not match either of the others in volubility, but nonetheless he was drawn into the circle of intimacy that grew up around the trio.

By the time they reached Las Vegas, they felt they'd known one another for years. Green suggested that they check into a motel somewhere off the Strip to save their money, but Symington would have none of that. They were here to have fun, he insisted, and that meant first cla.s.s all the way.

Similarly, he insisted on a separate room for himself. "You guys can share if you want," he said, "but I plan on running the broads through like a cattle call, and I don't need you interfering, if you know what I mean."

This was accompanied by a broad wink to a.s.sure they knew precisely what he meant.

They ended up staying at the MGM Grand Hotel. Hawker and Green did decide to share a room, while Symington went off on his own. None of them had ever been to Las Vegas before, but Symington fell immediately into the fever pace of a twenty-four-hour town. Hawker and Green were tired after their long plane flights, and slept for most of the first afternoon.

By the time they awoke and went down to the hotel's casino, they found Symington playing the roulette wheel with reckless abandon, placing bets with his right hand while his left was clamped firmly about the waist of some pretty girl he'd already managed to pick up.

The pair wandered about the casino floor for a while, dropping some coins into the slot machines and sitting in for a few hands of blackjack, but not getting totally involved in anything. By the time they wandered back to the roulette table Symington had vanished, along with the girl, and they didn't press their investigation any further.

They went to the bar for a few drinks, had dinner, saw the Folies Amtricaines revue, then gambled some more in earnest before finally calling it a night at 3 A.M. and collapsing in their room. The next day they bought swimming trunks and sat out by the pool, lazily soaking up the desert sun. That was where Symington eventually caught up with them again.

"Close your eyes, fellows," he said as he approached them. "I've got a surprise for you."

Obligingly, Hawker and Green closed their eyes until Symington told them they could look again. The big man had brought with him a trio ofbeautiful women, absolute knockouts in their skimpy bikinis. "I never did properly thank you for saving my a.s.s back there in the bar," he said. "I just thought this was one way to show my appreciation. Take your pick-except Laura here, I'm afraid I saw her first."

Hawker and Green were both speechless, so Symington, never one to abide a long silence, jumped into the breach. "Felicia, why don't you get yourself acquainted with my friend the Hawk over there? Maya, this is my friend David Green. Normally he talks a lot; I guess he's just struck dumb by how beautiful you are." As the girl named Felicia moved over to stand beside Hawker's chair, Symington brought Maya over and set her gently down in Green's lap. "There, isn't that better?"

Felicia was rubbing her long-nailed hands through the hair on Hawker's chest in an erotic pattern that instantly produced the desired results. Self-consciously Hawker crossed his legs to hide the growing bulge in his trunks.

Hawker's embarra.s.sment, though, was nothing compared to Green's.

That young man's face was brick-red, and he made a great effort to keep his hands firmly on the arms of his chair and away from Maya's tempting flesh. "Uh, Lucky, this is very kind of you..."

Think nothing of it, ol' buddy. I always repay favors."

"It's just that I, uh, right now that is..."

"Don't be so shy, Dave. You don't want Maya thinking you're queer, do you?"

If anything, Green's blush only deepened. "I, uh, I forgot I already made another appointment." He lifted Maya off his lap and stood up. "If, uh, if you'll excuse me..." He backed away a few steps, then turned and walked quickly back into the hotel.

Symington was left with his mouth open. "I'll be d.a.m.ned." Turning to Hawker, he added, "You don't suppose he really is a f.a.g, do you?"

Hawker was equally puzzled by their friend's behavior. "I don't know,"

he said. "I didn't think so. He seemed perfectly normal. I don't know what got into him."With a characteristic shrug, Symington dismissed the problem from his mind. "Oh well, that just means there's more for us, doesn't it?" He put an arm around the deserted Maya and pulled her closer to him. "I never tried it with two at once before; it might be kinda fun. Have fun with Felicia," he waved back at Hawker as he led his two women off to his room.

Hawker was worried about Green, but Felicia's expert ministrations soon made him put the thought to the back of his mind. He was a little concerned, as he led the women back to his own room, that Green might already be there and he knocked self-consciously before entering. But Green was not there; Hawker and Felicia had the room and the afternoon all to themselves.

Afterward, Hawker made sure to give Felicia a generous tip, even though he was sure Symington had already paid her well. Felicia smiled and thanked him, and told him that she stopped by the hotel every couple of days if he should want to see her again. After she left, Hawker returned to his bed and slept soundly for several hours.

It was after dark when he awoke. There was no sign that Green had returned to the room. Now seriously worried, Hawker set out to search for him. He checked the casino and the restaurants without success. A waitress in the bar said Green had spent most of the afternoon there, running up an enormous tab and getting progressively drunker. She remembered him staggering out several hours ago, and he hadn't been back since.

Hawker checked the lobby and the casino again, but there was still no sign of his friend. If Green had wandered off to one of the other hotels along the Strip, there would be no way of finding him until he decided to reappear. Hawker was half ready to make the rounds of the city anyway, but decided to give the grounds one more search. On a hunch he checked out by the pool, and that was where he spotted the lone figure sitting motionless in a deck chair staring into the surface of the water.

Hawker came up slowly behind him, and saw that it was indeed Green.

The young man had a drink in his hand, but was staring intently into the swimming pool as though trying to fathom from it the secrets of the universe. He looked up as Hawker reached his side, then returned his gaze to the water.Hawker pulled up another chair and sat down beside his friend. For a long time, neither man spoke. The night was warm and quiet. Finally Green tired of the silence. "I suppose you think I'm h.o.m.os.e.xual."

"I don't know," Hawker shrugged.

"Sure, why not? That's the logical a.s.sumption, isn't it? I'll bet that's what Lucky thinks."

"He asked me if I thought you were," Hawker said. "I told him I didn't know."

"There's a lot of things you don't know, isn't there?" Green raised his gla.s.s to his lips, then put it down again without drinking from it. Taking a deep breath and letting it out again, he continued, "Well, I'm not. So there. But it might simplify a lot of things if I were."

Hawker accepted that with his usual silence.

Green let the quiet reign for a few more minutes before breaking it again. "We're all being pushed, Hawk. We're all being pushed into this d.a.m.ned project, and there's not a d.a.m.n thing we can do about it."

"No one forced us to volunteer."

"The push was made a long time ago," Green said, shaking his head.

"Before we ever knew what was happening. Except for someone like Lucky.

I really think he enjoys this kind of c.r.a.p. A natural-born volunteer. He's going to die in action with a smile on his face.

"Connors, too. Something pushed him hard. He didn't like it. Probably fought it like a wildcat. No use. That's why he blew up at Lucky. He was mad at himself for being pushed, and had to let it out somewhere. Lucky just got in the way."

Green paused and looked straight into Hawker's face. "And you, my little sphinx. You're the major mystery. Something pushed you, and I can't read what it was. You look like you're drifting, but you're pushed just like the rest of us. Wish I knew why."

Hawker wanted to explain the fear he'd felt at being forced out on his own, the anxiety at taking responsibility for his own life, the dread ofmaking decisions. It was all much simpler, he wanted to say, when the choices were made for you-then you could just accept it and not have to worry.

But the words refused to come. He was not comfortable with words, and especially around someone as smart as Green. He didn't want to look like a dummy, so he preferred to say nothing. With any luck, most people would interpret his silence as wisdom rather than stupidity.

Green kept staring at him, and Hawker was forced to turn away. After a few minutes, the other man said, "Well?"

"Well, what?" Hawker asked.

"Aren't you going to ask me?"

"Ask you what?"

Green exploded. "Ask me what's pushing me, you moron! Aren't you interested? Don't you want to know?' Don't you have even the faintest shred of curiosity? G.o.d gave you a brain, the most magnificent computer ever devised, to set you apart from the chimpanzees and the orangutans; are you just going to let it go to waste? Don't you even care what's going on around you? Don't you care what makes things work? Don't you wonder, even a little bit, why people do the things they do?"

Hawker was dazed by the sudden outburst. "I... I always sort of thought that was none of my business."

Green relaxed again, and then began laughing uncontrollably. "You are one of a kind, you know that?"

"I don't see what's so funny," Hawker said, hurt that the other man would be laughing at him.

"You wouldn't," Green said, and continued laughing.

Spurred to anger by his friend's callousness, Hawker exploded a bit himself. "Yes, d.a.m.n it, I wondered. A guy like you could have it made it civilian life. You're smart, you could go to college and make something of yourself. Doctor, lawyer, politician, I don't know- something big. For me and Lucky, the army's the best thing that happened to us, but I nevercould figure out what you were doing here. I figured that was your business, though. If you wanted me to know, you'd tell me, otherwise it wasn't right to ask. But you have no right to laugh at me, just because I respect your privacy."

Green stopped laughing, and wiped the tears from his eyes. "I wasn't laughing at you, just at this whole preposterous thing. Forget it. Forget I ever mentioned the subject." He tried to stand, and got halfway before sinking back into the chair. Hawker got up and helped his friend to his feet.

"Thanks," Green said. "I've been drinking a lot on an empty stomach.

That's not good for me. What do you say we get some dinner and go to bed?"

"Fine."

After a quick snack at the restaurant they returned to their room.

Hawker helped his friend undress, and both lay down in the darkness on their respective beds. Hawker, though, wasn't tired; his nap after the afternoon's activities had left him feeling wide awake now. He lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling. Through the darkness, he could tell that Green was awake, too.

Finally, Hawker said, "What is pushing you, David?"

Minutes went by without an answer, and Hawker began to think he must have been mistaken about Green's being awake, or else that the other man was too tired-or too upset-to answer him. But then suddenly Green replied, in a near-monotone, "My father is an Orthodox rabbi."

"Oh?"

"Yeah." More silence, then, "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 att.i.tudes about women. Goyisha ... 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 Pigs.h.i.t #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 wh.o.r.ehouse, 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 frightful hangover, but once that was behind him he re-turned to his old cheerful, sometimes cynical, self. By some implied understanding, neither man mentioned their talk of the night before; the subject was as closed as two friends could ever make it. Nonetheless, Hawker knew they had turned a corner in their relationship. Before last night, they had been friends by convenience, two people thrown together by similar circ.u.mstances making the best of their awkward situation. Now, though, that had evolved into a deeper feeling.

Hawker felt actual concern for Green's welfare, an admiration and liking stronger than any he'd experienced except for some old boyhood friends.

He could tell, too, from the look in Green's eyes that the feeling was returned. There was trust, now, the feeling of intimacies shared and nurtured.

They saw Symington occasionally as the big man dashed to and fro through this playground city. Hawker at least found a chance to take Symington aside and tell him-without going into details-that Green's refusal of the girls was a personal problem that had nothing to do with being h.o.m.os.e.xual. Symington, easygoing sort that he was, accepted this explanation without question.

For the most part, Symington was too busy to care. He was always either chasing women or gambling-or both-and seemed to be having more success with the former. At one point, after a week and a half, he came to Hawker and Green asking for a stake to help with his gambling, and the two were convinced he had squandered his entire bonus already.

He repaid them, though, the next day-with interest-and never brought the subject up again, so they could never be sure what his situation reallywas.

For Hawker and Green, though, the time pa.s.sed more quietly. They went to all the big shows along the Strip, seeing star performers they'd never thought they'd see in person; they gambled a bit, losing somewhat more than they won and writing the losses off to experience; they spent some time in the bars, watching basketball games on TV and arguing with other sports fans; and they lounged about the swimming pool, soaking up the sun and getting a modic.u.m of exercise. They avoided any deep, personal discussions; that one night had been more than sufficient for both of them. Much of the time they didn't talk at all, and when they did it was of superficial matters. The one subject that was completely off limits was Project Banknote. The future would hit them fast enough- they were here to forget it in the meantime.

The problem was, neither of them could forget it-and as their hours of freedom ticked away they were oppressed by the knowledge that soon they'd be leaving the safe, familiar world behind them, venturing into a future as frightening as it was uncertain. During the second week of their leave, they found themselves talking less and less. Each man immersed himself in contemplation of what the future held for him-and neither could quite bring himself to discuss the problem with the other.

Although the desert sun shone brightly, Hawker began to feel as though he were walking underneath a perpetual raincloud. The artificial gaiety and the forced frantic pace around him began to ring hollow; he found himself smothering in a blanket of gloom he could not lift.

With a week still to go on his leave, Hawker packed his gear together and took off by himself, leaving behind only a brief note to Green, saying he'd see him again in a week, back at the base. Then Hawker took a taxi to the airport and bought a ticket on the next flight to Los Angeles.

Hawker had never been to Los Angeles before, and knew no one there.

In part, that was the charm the city held for him. For his one last week in the real world, he wanted to bury himself in anonymity. He'd heard about the L.A. mystique, and thought this was a perfect opportunity to experience it firsthand.