@@@@@Liquor seldom made him happyIt recalled in
@@@@@Liquor seldom made him happyIt recalled in his mind a monotonous suite of dingy barrooms and men drinking quietly, looking with resignation into the bottom of their shot glassesFor an instant he could see again the opaque rings of the glass baseHe closed his eyes and the rings seemed to flow into his brainHe felt himself sway drunkenly, and he opened his eyes, and sat upright fiercely"Fug ya, all of ya," he said
They paid no attention to himWilson looked around and saw Goldstein sitting alone at the next tent, writing a letterAbruptly, it seemed shameful to Wilson for them to drink without including anyone else in the squadFor a few seconds he watched Goldstein scribbling busily with a pencil, moving his lips soundlessly as he wroteWilson decided that he liked Goldstein but he was vaguely irritated that Goldstein did not drink with themThat Goldstein's a good fella, he said to himself, but he's kind of a stick-in-the-mudIt seemed to Wilson that Goldstein was missing a very fundamental understanding of life
"Hey, Goldstein," he roared, "come over here
Goldstein looked up, and smiled diffidently"Well, thanks, but I'm writing a letter to my wife now His voice was mild, but it had an expectant fearful quality in it as if he knew he would be abused
"Aw, forget that ol' letter," Wilson said, "it'll wait
Goldstein sighed, stood up, and walked over"What do you want?" he askedIt seemed an absurd question to him"Ah, hell, have a drinkWhat do ya think Ah asked ya for?"
Goldstein hesitatedHe had heard that the liquor made in the jungle stills was often poisonous"What kind is it?" he temporized