Paper Doll Read Online Free Page A

humiliation—not excel, not learn, not stand out, simply avoid humiliation—and he was distressed to have learned that things hadn’t changed in the Army. He was more frightened of Lewis than of the Germans, and Lewis knew it and used it. Bryant knew nothing. In high school history his senior year they had spent a week coloring in the countries of Europe—blue for France, black for Germany, cross-hatching for the conquered areas—and his Germany Proper had stretched from Normandy to Leningrad. His teacher had held the paper up to ridicule in front of the class. His high school English teacher had shown three weeks of sketches she’d done of the Acropolis and then had tested them on Greek tragedy, and he’d gotten a 17 as a score, on a scale of 1-100. At the bottom of the test he’d written, “Nice sketches,” and she on the report card that went home that fall wrote, “Non-constructive and childish attitude.” He’d seen her on the street a week before he left and she’d congratulated him on becoming an American Eagle, and he’d said, “Why don’t you shut up?”, wishing he’d had a wittier rejoinder.
    Lewis took Bryant’s roll and smoothed whitish margarine onto it with a finger. “Ah, we were as bad as you are,” he said. “Worse. We were cockier. We used to shout, ‘You’ll be sor-ry!’, at incoming crews. You get over that fast.”
    â€œNot funny,” Bryant said.
    Lewis leaned dangerously far back in his chair. “I’m in love with Gene Tierney,” he said. “I’ve got it bad, and that ain’t good. We’ve got this afternoon to kill. Any ideas?”
    Bryant shook his head, and Lewis pulled a small assemblage of leather straps out of his pocket, and unfolded it. It looked like a small and complex muzzle.
    After a moment of silence Lewis said, “It’s a cat harness.”
    Bryant went on looking to indicate he needed more information.
    â€œI’m thinking about organizing a cat throw,” Lewis said. “You interested?”
    Bobby Bryant shook his head. “I’m disgusted, is what I am,” he said. “Really and truly.”
    â€œIt’s absolutely safe,” Lewis said. “This design is based on our parachute design. Distributes the stress.”
    Bryant finished his milk. “Who says our parachutes distribute the stress?”
    â€œYou got me there,” Lewis admitted.
    â€œWhy don’t you do something normal?” Bryant asked. “Like read a magazine?”
    â€œOr smell the flowers,” Lewis said. “Or both at the same time.”
    â€œWell, don’t tell Bean, whatever you do,” Bryant said. Bean loved cats. It dawned on Bryant that that was the point.
    Lewis said, “You just go read a book, Commander. Maybe this isn’t your event.”
    They sat together under a huge hangar door and looked out at the steady drizzle. Ground school had been canceled and no one was forthcoming with any reasons why. The day had clouded up badly, as expected, and the sky was a depressing color. On nearby concrete engine block supports, water marks from the rain drooped like icing. Piacenti, Bean, Snowberry, and Bryant were rolling dice.
    â€œThis is what they call ‘bright intervals,’” Piacenti complained.
    Snowberry was picking at his scalp. “Now usually I hate bedbugs in my hair,” he said. “But this one had that Certain Something.”
    They hadn’t formulated a game and were simply noting who rolled higher numbers. It was not an interesting way of passing the time. Bean and Piacenti sat with their backs to the hardstand and behind them in the distance a small knot of men had formed around Lewis. Bean glanced over his shoulder and returned to the dice.
    â€œWhat’re they doing over there?” Piacenti asked.
    Snowberry shrugged. A small flailing object was tossed upward, a thin