Fallen Angels by Walter Dean Myers Read Free Book Online Page B

me,” Peewee said. “I might have to straighten a few things out, though.”
    “Like what?” Sergeant Simpson asked.
    “Like Brunner,” Peewee said. “That boy got a quick lip on him.”
    “Uh-huh.” Sergeant Simpson looked away. “He might got him a quick lip, but Captain Stewart is the one eligible.”
    “Eligible for what?”
    “For major,” Sergeant Simpson said. “And his best chance of making it is while he over here. His tour is up the fifteenth day of March.”
    “That’s his problem,” Peewee said.
    “If he don’t pick up his body count soon,” Sergeant Simpson started to get up, “it’s going to be your problem.”

Chapter 5
    The talk about us going to Hawaii was stronger than ever. Me and Peewee decided to save our money and have a blast in Hawaii. I also thought about taking some courses at the University of Hawaii.
    I got a letter from Mama at mail call. Peewee got a letter from his girlfriend, but I don’t think he liked it. He crumpled it up and threw it in a butt can. Then he got it out again and reread it.
    “Peewee, my mother says you shouldn’t eat any native food over here,” 1 said. “She says it’ll give you the runs because of the heat and everything.”
    “Where was she when I needed her?” Peewee answered. He had spent the better part of two days on the crapper.
    “How was that wine, anyway?”
    “How I know?” Peewee turned over on his bunk to face me. “The only other wine I had in my damn life was some Bird back home.”
    “How old you got to be in Chicago to drink?” “Old enough to carry some money to the man,”
    Peewee said. “What else your moms got to say?” “You wouldn’t be interested,” I said.
    “How you know?”
    “You want to hear about how her feet swell up when she walks?”
    “My mama’s feet used to swell like that,” Peewee said. “She went to four doctors, and they couldn’t do shit for her. Then she went to a mojo lady who gave her something to soak her feet in.”
    “That work?”
    “Yeah, she can walk all day now.”
    “My mother’s a Baptist,” I said. “She wouldn’t go to a mojo lady.”
    “My mama’s a Baptist, too, but she what you call a sore-feet Baptist. Your feets get sore enough, those mojo ladies start looking pretty good.”
    Walowick came in pissed off because some motor pool guys were over from Chu Lai to play poker and one of them was smoking pot.
    “You know what this guy is?” Walowick was stripped down to his drawers and helmet. “A damn white hippie.”
    “A what?”
    “A hippie!” Walowick said.
    “Yeah, but you said he was a white hippie before,” Peewee said.
    “Well, he is white,” Walowick said.
    “All hippies is white,” Peewee said.
    “No, they’re not,” I said. “You got to come to New York, and you can see some black hippies.” “Everybody in New York is white,” Peewee said. “Perry is from New York, and he sure ain’t white.” “Yes, he is, he passing!”
    “You know, we had something like you back in Galesburg,” Walowick said. He spoke carefully, as if he wasn’t sure of the language. “We cut it up and put it in formaldehyde.”
    “Didn’t that leave your daddy lonesome?” “What’s that got to do with my daddy?” “Nothing, Walowick,” I said. “Peewee’s just running off at the mouth.”
    “He’s a crazy dude,” Walowick said. He got his towel and went out to our makeshift showers.
    The next day we got a new film in. It was something about how Julie Andrews wasn’t going to be pushed around anymore. We watched it once and then we watched it again with the reels mixed up, just to be different. Johnson wanted to get the kids from the village up to the base, but a captain said we couldn’t do that, so Johnson and a guy from Delta Company worked on a way to get a generator down to the village so we could show the movie to them.
    For two days we didn’t do anything. Nothing. We didn’t have any formations, patrols, nothing. Beautiful.
    A new