Caine Mutiny, The - Herman Wouk [113]
Willie muttered something affectionate.
“Well, don’t try to come at me when I’m not ready,” said the girl. “I’m fast as a snake at dodging.”
“Sorry,” he said, and shambled back to his chair.
They passed two hours of desultory talk, May alternately gossiping about her life at home and questioning Willie about the Caine, all in the same bright sociable manner. Willie took off his coat and tie and lay on the bed, smoking continually, and keeping up his end of the dialogue, with growing grumpiness. He began to yawn, whereupon May yawned twice as long and hard. “Gosh, Willie, I had no idea how dead I was. I’m going to turn in.”
“Fine,” said Willie, with great relief, not moving from the bed. May looked at him quizzically, then went into the bathroom. She emerged in a few minutes, tying a blue woolen bathrobe around her nightgown. “You still here?”
Willie jumped up and took her in his arms. She kissed him affectionately and said, “Good night, darling.”
“I’m not going,” said Willie.
“Oh, yes you are.” She put her hand on the knob and opened the door. Willie pushed it shut with the flat of his hand, and held her close. “May, what the devil-”
“Look, Willie,” said May, leaning away and regarding him calmly, “you have wrong ideas. I’ve done my share and a little more to welcome the boys home-and never mind how I feel about it, at this moment-but that doesn’t mean you’re moving in with me. I like you, Willie, I’ve made that all too plain, but I haven’t picked up new habits. Don’t, don’t get strong and virile now. You’ll just make an ape of yourself, and anyway I can handle you with one hand tied behind me.”
“I believe you,” said Willie furiously. “I daresay you’ve had plenty of practice. Good night!”
The door slam was loud enough to wake everybody on the floor, and Willie, embarrassed, scuttled up the red-lit emergency stairway instead of ringing for the elevator.
At eight o’clock May’s phone woke her out of a restless doze. She reached for the receiver and said dully, “Yes?”
“This is me,” spoke Willie’s voice, weary and, subdued. “How about breakfast?”
“Okay. Be down in fifteen minutes.”
He was sitting at a table when she came walking through a broad beam of sunshine falling across the doorway. She wore a white sweater and gray skirt, with a little clasp of imitation pearls around her neck; her hair fell in soft rolls about her face; she was at her very prettiest. He stood and pulled a chair out for her, and two thoughts followed each other through his mind: “Do I want to live with this person for the rest of my life?” and “How can I live with anyone else? Where will I find her again?”
“Hello,” he said. “Hungry?”
“Not very.”
They ordered food, but left it uneaten. Their talk was desultory chatter about the scenery. They smoked and drank coffee. “What would you like to do today?” said Willie. “Anything you want.”
“Did you sleep?”
“So-so.”
“I’m sorry about last night,” said Willie suddenly, though he had not had any intention of apologizing.
May smiled at him wanly and answered, “There’s nothing to be sorry about, Willie.”
Willie was seized with a feeling of vertigo, an actual dizziness, as though he were teetering at the edge of a deck, looking into a turbulent sea, and experiencing an impulse to jump overboard. His mouth became dry. He swallowed hard, and jumped. “What would you think of spending the rest of your life with a monster like me?” he said with difficulty.
May looked at him, a little amused, a little saddened. “What’s this, now, dear?”
“I don’t know, it seems to me maybe we ought to start