‘Since when is thinking about shortcake treason?’ Charlie regarded some wax from his ear with great curiosity.
‘It’s not thinking, it’s saying!’
‘I’m starved,’ said Charlie. ‘And the other guys, look, touch ’em and they’d bite. It ain’t workin’, Doug.’
Doug stared around the circle at the faces of his soldiers, as if daring them to add to Charlie’s lament.
‘In my grandpa’s library there’s a book that says Hindus starve for ninety days. Don’t worry. After the third day you don’t feel nothing!’
‘How long’s it been? Tom, check your watch. How long?’
‘Mmmm, one hour and ten minutes.’
‘Jeez!’
‘Whatta you mean “jeez”? Don’t look at your watch! Look at calendars. Seven days is a fast!’
They sat a while longer in silence. Then Charlie said, ‘Tom, how long’s it been now?’
‘Don’t tell him, Tom!’
Tom consulted his watch, proudly. ‘One hour and twelve minutes!’
‘Holy smoke!’ Charlie squeezed his face into a mask. ‘My stomach’s a prune! They’ll have to feed me with a tube. I’m dead. Send for my folks. Tell ’em I loved ’em.’ Charlie shut his eyes and flung himself backward onto the floorboards.
‘Two hours,’ said Tom, later. ‘Two whole hours we’ve been starving, Doug. That’s sockdolager! If only we can throw up after supper, we’re set.’
‘Boy,’ said Charlie, ‘I feel like that time at the dentist and he jammed that needle in me. Numb! And if the other guys had more guts, they’d tell you they’re bound for Starved Rock, too. Right, fellas? Think about cheese! How about crackers?’
Everyone moaned.
Charlie ran on. ‘Chicken à la king!’
They groaned.
‘Turkey drumsticks!’
‘See.’ Tom poked Doug’s elbow. ‘You got ’em writhing! Now where’s your revolution?!’
‘Just one more day!’
‘And then?’
‘Limited rations.’
‘Gooseberry pie, apple–butter, onion sandwiches?’
‘Cut it out, Charlie.’
‘Grape jam on white bread!’
‘Stop!’
‘No, sir!’ Charlie snorted. ‘Tear off my chevrons, General. This was fun for the first ten minutes. But there’s a bulldog in my belly. Gonna go home, sit down real polite, wolf me half a banana cake, two liverwurst sandwiches, and get drummed outta your dumb old army, but at least I’ll be a live dog and no shriveled–up mummy, whining for leftovers.’
‘Charlie,’ Doug pleaded, ‘you’re our strong right arm.’
Doug jumped up and made a fist, his face blood–red. All was lost. This was terrible. Right before his face his plan unraveled and the grand revolt was over.