Peewee (Harold Gates) Character Analysis

Peewee and I had breakfast together. I asked him if he liked the army […]

“You got all this chickenshit to go through,” he said. “And I don’t like that. But this is the first place I ever been in my life where I got what everybody else got.”

“What does that mean?”

“Back home when everybody got new sneakers, I didn’t get none,” Peewee said. “Either Moms didn’t have the money, or she had the money, and we had to get some other stupid thing, like food. When everybody got a bike, I didn’t get one ’cause there was no way we could get the money for a bike. But anything anybody got in the army, I got. You got a gun, I got a gun. You got boots, I got boots. You eat this lousy-ass chip beef on toast, guess what I eat?”

“Lousy-ass chip beef on toast,” I said.

Later we went to the recreation hooch and watched the news. It was all about President Johnson trying to get a bill passed to help the urban poor, and then something about the Pueblo, which had been taken over by the North Koreans. Then there was a big thing on the Super Bowl, and whether or not the Packers had a dynasty going. It wasn’t real that people were thinking about things like that when all this shit was going on. It just wasn’t real.

Peewee skipped his meals the rest of the day. Monaco tried to talk to him, but he wouldn’t answer. It was Johnson who finally got him to talk.

“Hey, Peewee?”

“What?”

“You care anything about these damn kids over here, man?”

“They got kids over here?” Peewee asked.

“Naw, man, all they got is Congs,” Johnson said. “Congs and mosquitos.”

“And rats,” Walowick added.

“Yeah.”

“Hey, Peewee,” I said. “It’s okay to feel bad about what’s going on over here, man. It’s really okay.”

“Me? Feel bad?” Peewee turned over in his bunk and pulled his sheet up around his shoulders. “Never happen.”

I just told him that war was about us killing people and about people killing us […] I had thought this war was right, but it was only right from a distance. Maybe when we all got back to the World and everybody thought we were heroes for winning it, then it would seem right from there. Or maybe if I made it back and I got old I would think back on it and would seem right from there. But when the killing started, there was no right or wrong except in the way you did your job, except in the way that you were part of the killing.

What you thought about, what filled you up more than anything, was the being scared and hearing your heart thump in your temples and all the noises, the terrible noises, the screeches and the booms and the guys crying for their mothers or their wives.

Thoughts came. What would Morningside Avenue look like now? It would be day and the park would be filled with kids, their screaming and laughter would slide along the light beams into the helter skelter world of monkey bars and swings. On the courts there would be a tough game. Black bodies sweating and grunting to get the points that would let them sweat and grunt in the sun for another game. It wasn’t real. None of it was real. The only thing that was real was me and Peewee, sitting in this spider’s grave, waiting for death.

[…]

Pray.

God….What to pray? What to tell God? That I’m scared? […] That I didn’t want to die? That I was like everybody else over here, trying to cling to a few more days of life?

Peewee moved, adjusted position.

“I got to shit,” he said.

It was Monaco. He was sitting against a tree. He had his head in his hands. His piece was about ten meters in front of him. I wanted to go to him, but Peewee stopped me.

“He ain’t sitting there for nothing,” he said.

I looked around. Nothing. What the hell was wrong with this damn war? You never saw anything. There was never anything until it was on top of your ass, and you were screaming and shooting and too scared to figure out anything.

I got to sit up in a wheelchair, and the leg felt all right in spite of the cast. It felt good. I hoped it wasn’t. I could make it with a limp. I just didn’t want to go back to the boonies anymore.

We got a call from Lieutenant Gearhart on the ham radio network. He told us the other guys in the squad were all right. It was nice of him to call us, but it wasn’t true. Monaco wasn’t all right. Monaco was like me and Peewee. We had tasted what it was like being dead. We had rolled it around in our mouths and swallowed it and now the stink from it was coming from us. We weren’t all right. We would have to learn to be alive again.

He also told us that Captain Stewart had been promoted.

Peewee and I had breakfast together. I asked him if he liked the army […]

“You got all this chickenshit to go through,” he said. “And I don’t like that. But this is the first place I ever been in my life where I got what everybody else got.”

“What does that mean?”

“Back home when everybody got new sneakers, I didn’t get none,” Peewee said. “Either Moms didn’t have the money, or she had the money, and we had to get some other stupid thing, like food. When everybody got a bike, I didn’t get one ’cause there was no way we could get the money for a bike. But anything anybody got in the army, I got. You got a gun, I got a gun. You got boots, I got boots. You eat this lousy-ass chip beef on toast, guess what I eat?”

“Lousy-ass chip beef on toast,” I said.

Later we went to the recreation hooch and watched the news. It was all about President Johnson trying to get a bill passed to help the urban poor, and then something about the Pueblo, which had been taken over by the North Koreans. Then there was a big thing on the Super Bowl, and whether or not the Packers had a dynasty going. It wasn’t real that people were thinking about things like that when all this shit was going on. It just wasn’t real.

Peewee skipped his meals the rest of the day. Monaco tried to talk to him, but he wouldn’t answer. It was Johnson who finally got him to talk.

“Hey, Peewee?”

“What?”

“You care anything about these damn kids over here, man?”

“They got kids over here?” Peewee asked.

“Naw, man, all they got is Congs,” Johnson said. “Congs and mosquitos.”

“And rats,” Walowick added.

“Yeah.”

“Hey, Peewee,” I said. “It’s okay to feel bad about what’s going on over here, man. It’s really okay.”

“Me? Feel bad?” Peewee turned over in his bunk and pulled his sheet up around his shoulders. “Never happen.”

I just told him that war was about us killing people and about people killing us […] I had thought this war was right, but it was only right from a distance. Maybe when we all got back to the World and everybody thought we were heroes for winning it, then it would seem right from there. Or maybe if I made it back and I got old I would think back on it and would seem right from there. But when the killing started, there was no right or wrong except in the way you did your job, except in the way that you were part of the killing.

What you thought about, what filled you up more than anything, was the being scared and hearing your heart thump in your temples and all the noises, the terrible noises, the screeches and the booms and the guys crying for their mothers or their wives.

Thoughts came. What would Morningside Avenue look like now? It would be day and the park would be filled with kids, their screaming and laughter would slide along the light beams into the helter skelter world of monkey bars and swings. On the courts there would be a tough game. Black bodies sweating and grunting to get the points that would let them sweat and grunt in the sun for another game. It wasn’t real. None of it was real. The only thing that was real was me and Peewee, sitting in this spider’s grave, waiting for death.

[…]

Pray.

God….What to pray? What to tell God? That I’m scared? […] That I didn’t want to die? That I was like everybody else over here, trying to cling to a few more days of life?

Peewee moved, adjusted position.

“I got to shit,” he said.

It was Monaco. He was sitting against a tree. He had his head in his hands. His piece was about ten meters in front of him. I wanted to go to him, but Peewee stopped me.

“He ain’t sitting there for nothing,” he said.

I looked around. Nothing. What the hell was wrong with this damn war? You never saw anything. There was never anything until it was on top of your ass, and you were screaming and shooting and too scared to figure out anything.

I got to sit up in a wheelchair, and the leg felt all right in spite of the cast. It felt good. I hoped it wasn’t. I could make it with a limp. I just didn’t want to go back to the boonies anymore.

We got a call from Lieutenant Gearhart on the ham radio network. He told us the other guys in the squad were all right. It was nice of him to call us, but it wasn’t true. Monaco wasn’t all right. Monaco was like me and Peewee. We had tasted what it was like being dead. We had rolled it around in our mouths and swallowed it and now the stink from it was coming from us. We weren’t all right. We would have to learn to be alive again.

He also told us that Captain Stewart had been promoted.