“Lieutenant,” Rainy says, and nods. Protocol does not call for saluting in this situation.
The lieutenant makes a show of reading the name tag on her uniform. “Schulterman, is it?”
“PFC Rainy Schulterman, sir,” Rainy acknowledges.
He smiles. It’s not a leer, nor is it a friendly smile. It’s a practiced smile. He’s carrying only a briefcase, no duffel. His boots are shined; his uniform is crisp. He’s perhaps twenty-five, with watery-blue eyes behind glasses, blond hair, scrubbed pink skin, thin lips and shoulders. He’s a crease-checker, one of those men who reach compulsively to pinch the crease in his trousers, making sure it stays straight, that it stands tall above the thigh before being flattened by the pressure of the kneecap.
“Where you headed, PFC?”
“South, sir.”
“Just south?” Again, the practiced smile. “That covers a lot of ground.”
“Yes, sir.”
He considers this, and the train jerks as the big steel wheels engage. The platform and its waving, weeping population slide away, made to look like a dreamscape by the wreaths of steam.
“Girl like you, I guess you’re headed to Fort Ritchie, right?” He waits a beat for an answer and gets nothing. “It’s all right, Private, we’re on the same side.” He laughs confidentially. “I swear I won’t tell a soul.” He makes the sign of the cross over his heart.
&nb
sp; “Is that where you’re heading, Lieutenant?”
He pretends not to hear.
The passed-out drunk is sliding as the train moves, feet beneath the seat, knees extending, back slipping; he’ll be on the floor as soon as they hit a turn.
The officer pulls a pack of cigarettes from his chest pocket. He taps one halfway out and offers it to Rainy.
“No thank you, sir.”
“Don’t smoke?”
“It seems a bit . . . close . . . in here,” Rainy ventures.
“Do you mind if I . . .” He holds a cigarette hovering near his lips.
“Not at all, sir,” she says. She does mind, but she’s not going to chide a military intelligence officer. That is of course what he is, she has no doubt of that, despite the lack of any revealing insignia.
He lights his cigarette and blows a blue cloud. “What do you think of all this, if you don’t mind my asking, Private?”
“All what, sir?”
He shrugs and waves the cigarette in an arc encompassing the compartment and perhaps more. “Must be strange, being a girl and all.”
“No, sir. I’ve been a girl my whole life.”
It’s the kind of response that walks right up to the line of being a smart-ass answer. The lieutenant’s grin is quick and genuine this time. “Yeah, I guess it’s not so bad for some girls. You might meet a nice fellow.”
Rainy doesn’t answer.
“You’re not so talkative, are you, Private?”
Rainy manages a tight smile, and this seems to encourage him. “Well, maybe I haven’t introduced myself properly. Lieutenant Janus. Heading to Pittsburg myself. I’m in supply and logistics there.”
Sure you are.
“Pleasure to meet you, sir.”