1919 by John Dos Passos Read Free Book Online Page A

relieved when he saw it didn’t have a bomb in it and dumped everything out on the desk. “So you pretend to be an American?” the man yelled at Joe. “Sure I’m an American,” said Joe. “What the hell do you want to come to England in wartime for?” “I didn’t want to come to . . .” “Shut up,” the man yelled.
    Then he motioned to the bobbies to go, and said, “Send in Corporal Eakins.” “Very good, sir,” said the two bobbies respectfully in unison. When they’d gone, he came towards Joe with his fists clenched again. “You might as well make a clean breast of it, my lad. . . . We have all the necessary information.”
    Joe had to keep his teeth clenched to keep them from chattering. He was scared.
    â€œI was on the beach in B.A. you see . . . had to take the first berth I could get. You don’t think anybody’d ship on a limejuicer if they could help it, do you?” Joe was getting sore; he felt warm again.
    The plainclothes man took up a pencil and tapped with it threateningly on the desk. “Impudence won’t help you, my lad . . . you’d better keep a civil tongue in your head.” Then he began looking over the photographs and stamps and newspaper clippings that had come out of Joe’s cigarbox. Two men in khaki came in. “Strip him and search him,” the man at the desk said without looking up.
    Joe looked at the two men without understanding; they had a little the look of hospital orderlies. “Sharp now,” one of them said. “We don’t want to ’ave to use force.” Joe took off his shirt. It made him sore that he was blushing; he was ashamed because he didn’t have any underwear. “All right, breeches next.” Joe stood naked in his slippers
while the men in khaki went through his shirt and pants. They found a bunch of clean waste in one pocket, a battered Prince Albert can with a piece of chewing tobacco in it and a small jackknife with a broken blade. One of them was examining the belt and pointed out to the other the place where it had been resewed. He slit it up with a knife and they both looked eagerly inside. Joe grinned, “I used to keep my bills in there,” he said. They kept their faces stiff.
    â€œOpen your mouth.” One of them put a heavy hand on Joe’s jaw. “Sergeant, shall we take out the fillin’s? ’E’s got two or three fillin’s in the back of ’is mouth.” The man behind the desk shook his head. One of the men stepped out of the door and came back with an oiled rubber glove on his hand. “Lean hover,” said the other man, putting his hand on Joe’s neck and shoving his head down while the man with the rubber glove felt in his rectum. “Hay, for Chris’ sake,” hissed Joe through his teeth.
    â€œAll right, me lad, that’s all for the present,” said the man who held his head, letting go. “Sorry, but we ’ave to do it . . . part of the regulations.”
    The corporal walked up to the desk and stood at attention. “All right, sir . . . Nothin’ of interest on the prisoner’s person.”
    Joe was terribly cold. He couldn’t keep his teeth from chattering.
    â€œLook in his slippers, can’t you?” growled the inspector. Joe didn’t like handing over his slippers because his feet were dirty, but there was nothing he could do. The corporal slashed them to pieces with his penknife. Then both men stood at attention and waited for the inspector to lift his eye. “All right, sir . . . nothin’ to report. Shall I get the prisoner a blanket, sir? ’E looks chilly.”
    The man behind the desk shook his head and beckoned to Joe, “Come over here. Now are you ready to answer truthfully and give us no trouble it won’t be worse than a concentraytion camp for