“Fine. Now the next line.”
“Y-A-N-K-E-E-G-O-H-O-M-E.”
“Keep going. Read the next few lines.”
“Manufactured by—” Penny squinted at the small print. “—the People’s Republic of Red China.”
“Twenty-twenty. Move along.”
The dental examination came next. The dentist eyed the bumps under the towel covering Penny’s chest appreciatively. He managed to secure a handhold on one of them as he peered into Penny’s mouth. “You have beautiful teeth,” he observed. “I can’t see any cavities. Open wider, will you please.”
Penny stretched her jaws.
“There seems to be something missing.”
“The throat doctor already told me that. Amazing how you can tell by looking in my mouth.”
“That’s not where I’m looking.”
“I beg your pardon.” Penny followed the dentist’s glance downward and saw that the towel had ridden up over her hips. “Oh, I see.” She reached down to adjust it. The dentist’s hand stopped her. He quickly tilted the chair and scrambled on top of her. “What are you doing?” Penny protested.
“I’m just going to fill that cavity. As long as you’re here, I mean, why not?”
“No! No!” Penny’s flailing arm reached up and tripped the drill. Inadvertently, she pressed it against the base of the dentist’s skull.
“Ouch!” he screamed, quickly sticking his finger in the little hole the drill had made.
“Fill that cavity!” Penny told him huffily, taking advantage of his discombobulation to flee the dental chamber.
Again Penny was ushered along with the others. This time she found herself in a room where several soldier-clerks were seated at desks and interviewing the prospective draftees. Finally her turn came.
“Have you ever had measlesmumpstyphoidfeversmallpoxchickenpoxscarletfeversyphilisgonorrhealeprosycancer or hives?” The clerk rattled off the question in a bored voice.
“Yes,” Penny replied.
“Have you ever broken your armlegcollarbonehipbone spineribsanklesorknees?”
“Yes.”
“Have you ever been treated for opthalmiaprostatetroublepalsybraind iseasekidneytroublehemorrhoidsoracne ?”
“I have."
“Okay. Move along.”
“Hold it!” The soldier at the next desk leveled a finger at Penny. “Cancer?”
“No. I’ve never had it.”
“But you can never tell when it will strike.” He jiggled a can at her and there was the clink of coins. “Give now before it’s too late. Help fight the crusade against cancer.”
Penny dropped in a few coins and kept going.
“Wait!” Another can was rattled under her nose.
“Muscular dystrophy!”
“I don’t care for any, thank you,” Penny said sweetly.
“Whatta you, a wise guy? Come on! Cough up!”
Penny coughed up.
“Motion Picture Relief Fund!” This time it was a basket barring her way.
“Now that’s going too far,” Penny protested.
“Ahh, come on. I’m a professional fund raiser, and this is the only pitch I could get into. Jobs is scarce, you know. All them amateurs is ruining the business. Please. Just give what you can afford.”
Penny dropped her remaining coins into the basket and started to flee the room.
“Hold it right there, soldier!” An authoritative voice brought her up short. “Don’t forget your Red Cross.”
“I’m not a soldier,” Penny told him. “And I’m out of change.”
“Bills are okay. Come on now. Look to the future. Some day you may be lying wounded in a foxhole in some far-off place, and you’ll be damned glad your Red Cross is on the job.”
“What will they do for me?”
“Bring you a doughnut. And don’t think you won’t appreciate it. Out there in No Man’s Land, with your guts spilling out, a doughnut and a cuppa java’ll go real good.”
“I guess under circumstances like that hot coffee would be pretty welcome,” Penny granted.
“Who said anything about hot coffee? Lukewarm is the only kind we serve. But don’t forget that doughnut.”
“Are you sure it won’t be stale?”
“Of course it’ll be stale! An’ damn lucky for you, too! You’ll be damn glad to have stale doughnuts to bombard the enemy with!”
“All right,” Penny sighed, slipping him a bill and heading for the door.
“Help plant a tree in Israel!” Another fund raiser blocked the exit.
“I’m not Jewish,” Penny told him. “And besides, I have no more money left.”
“Anti-Semite!” he muttered, grudgingly stepping out of her way.
At last Penny managed to make her exit. Now she was in a large classroom filled with desks. A sergeant indicated that she should seat herself at one of the desks. When the room was filled, he passed out test forms, placing one on each desk face-down.
“Now these here is aptitude tests,” he announced. “Dey tell us iffen you got language skills, or mechanical talent, or what all. Also, dey is intelligence tests, to see if you got logic. Iffen youse score high on dese, den maybe de Army sends you to Officer Training School. Only da creama da crap — I mean da crop—gets to be chicken looies. Now, turn ya papers over an’ begin.”
Penny turned her paper over. The first series of questions was multiple choice. Two plus two equals: a)three; b) four; c) seven; d) one hundred thirty-nine. Penny thought a moment and then deliberately checked c. Rapidly, she went through the entire test this way, trying to give the answers she knew were wrong. She finished quickly and handed in her paper.
“Tru dat door for da psycho-whatzis.” The sergeant jerked his thumb. “He’ll see ya soon as dis here is marked.”
Penny went through the door and sat down on a bench at the end of yet another line of men. A moment or two later someone sat down beside her.
“Hey, Penny.”
Penny looked up. It was Studs Levine. “Hello, Studs,” she greeted him.
“What are you doing here?”
“You tell me. All I did was stop to talk to you, and here am.”
“Well, I’ll be damned.” Studs chuckled.
“It’s not funny. They can’t draft a pregnant woman! Can they?”
“Don’t ask me, baby. I’ve got my own problems.”
“How does it look?” Penny asked. “Do you think you’ll be able to stay out?”
“It all depends on this psycho-joker. If I can convince him I’m a three-dollar bill, I’ll be all right.”
“How are you going to do that?”
“Hey, buddy,” another prospective draftee interjected. “It’s easy. Just grab him by the groin, that’s all.”
“I don’t know,” said another. “I heard they’re not rejecting fruits any more. Me, I’m playing it safe. I brought a note from my family physician that says I’m an incorrigible bed-wetter.”
“Are you?” Penny asked, curious.
“Just lead me to a bed and I’ll manage.”
“You big phony!” Still another joined the conversation. “It’s guys like you make it tough for us genuine bed-wetters! I been wetting beds all my life, and now I have to compete with an amateur. It ain’t fair!”
“I hear the army handed out a contract to Firestone for rubber sheets,” another said. “And now they’re going to take all you bed-wetters. I’ve got a better dodge than that. I loaded myself up on goofball pills this morning so’s my blood pressure would shoot up. Drove the heart specialist crazy, too.”
“That’s dishonest,” a new voice pointed out. “I’d never do that. I have scruples. I’m asking for an exemption as a conscientious objector.”
“On what grounds?”
“Religious. I’m a devout coward.”
Just then Penny was tapped on the shoulder. “Okay, you, inside,” the soldier told her. He led her over to a small office and closed the door behind her.
Penny found herself seated across the desk from a small man with a goatee and a pince-nez. He looked remarkably like pictures she had seen of Sigmund Freud.