The Race and Other Stories by Sinclair Ross

Jug and Bottle

Jug and Bottle Most people I tell it tojust shrug and ask if there aren't too many sentimental fools already muddling up the world. Forget him, they say,with a clear conscience. It isn't as if he were an old or valued friend. Obviously he wason his wayout anyhow.What I did for him and what I failed to do are beside the point. A leaky boat in a storm is doomed. It makes little difference which wave finally swamps it. As for TheJug and Bottle — well, it was just one of those things. Let it go at that. Don't read into it what wasnever there; don't try to fit it into some pattern of destiny or judgement. It isn't necessary; there's no blame to be shifted. I might, of course, have been more loyaland understanding, might have been there when the cable came,mighthavesuccessfully tided him over, but at best wouldn't it have been only a postponement? Sometimes the accidental is the inevitable. For me, though, disposing of him has never been sosimple. Partly, I suppose, because I failed him when he had greatest need of me; partly because you can't live six months in barracks with a man and not discover something of his character and story. The one has left me with a feeling of involvement and responsibility; the other with a conviction that beneath the failure and confusion there was something that might have grown and developed. He meant well. He got things badly tangled, but only because he wanted to straighten them. And draw a line, as he once said, and add the columns:isitonlyin the cramped little total of achievement that life has meaning and importance? In itself, without practical results, does a gesture of compassion count for nothing? We met in a BasicTraining Camp during the second yearof the war. He was a strange fellow, sullen and aloof in manner, 70 THE RACE AND OTHER STORIES outlandish in appearance. It isn't likely that in ordinary circumstances we would have had much to do witheach other, but barracks and the parade square have a way of arranging relationships. In this case it wasa combination of proximity and helplessness. He slept in the bed above me, and he had the most useless pair of hands I have ever seen on a man. Consequently he was always there, always needing something done for him. Iwas a helpless rookie myself in those days, but I had enough common-sense to get by on. I could fold my blankets to pass inspection, and I knew enough, no matter what I wasthinking, to keep a poker face in the presence of a chesty NCO. Part of Coulter's trouble, on the parade square anyway,was his height. Six feet three and thin — the sergeants couldn't miss him. His neck.was long, his nose a beak, his shoulders weak and drooping. Still worse, he had a peculiar, jerky gait when marching. His self-consciousness inclined him to hurry, like a nervous horse; then, to keep in step with the rest of the men, he had to hold back a little, so that he seemed to hesitate slightly every time he brought his foot down. The NCO's could no more have missed such a sight than they could have considered it a credit to their training. Allthey could do wasmake a butt of him and bellow. His difficulties, though, were not due entirely to his appearance and the ungainly way he marched. There was something exposed and vulnerable about him that invited bullying. No signs up, no defences. He drewjibes and sarcasm from the NCO's as the windows of a vacantbuildingdraw stones from schoolboys. There was one sergeant in particular called Pink, a trim, cocky little fellow who used to roll his eyes, exclaim despairfully "My God!" and spit. It wasto draw a laugh from the platoon, and because his stripes in those early, uneasy days stood for all the Army's complex power, he was usually rewarded. Then he would call Coulter out in front, and for five minutes give him special coaching. He wasalways bland, forbearing—that wasthe degrading part. Rifle drill especially — sloping arms. "Come, Private Coulter — when you get overseas you're going to need your eyes. Wait and let someone else poke them out for you." And finally, exhausted and smiling: "Yes, that time was much better. You're really starting to go places...