Caine Mutiny, The - Herman Wouk [119]
Mrs. Keith was aware that the Caine had changed Willie. His face was narrower. The innocent curves which she affectionately thought of as baby fat were disappearing, and her own marked cheekbones and square jaw were taking shape in her son’s countenance. His eyes and mouth gave less the impression of his old easy good humor than of fatigue and a certain petulant doggedness. His hair seemed thinner, too. These things Mrs. Keith had noted in the first moments on the pier. But there was a deeper change now, an uneasiness and gloomy abstraction, and the mother had a good idea of what the trouble was. “May Wynn is a remarkably pretty young woman,” she said, breaking a long silence, pouring tea for Willie.
“She sure is.”
“How do things stand between you and her?”
“I think I may marry her, Mother.”
“Oh? Pretty sudden, isn’t it?”
“No. I’ve known her along time.”
“How long?” Mrs. Keith smiled. “You’ve been very cagey about it all, I must say, Willie.”
He told his mother briefly about the romance, and explained that he hadn’t talked to her of it because until recently he hadn’t regarded it seriously.
“But now you do, eh?”
“Obviously, Mother.”
“Well, you underestimated her from the first, Willie. She’s extraordinarily attractive. What’s her background? Do you know her parents?”
Willie admitted everything. He added some sentiments about the equality of all Americans and the need to judge people on their merits rather than their background. He put in a good word for May, in conclusion, by disclosing that she was working her way through college so as to be more worthy of him. Mrs. Keith took the whole revelation calmly, allowing Willie to talk himself out. She lit a cigarette, left the table, and stood at the window, looking out at the bay. Willie had the curious sensation that he had been through such scenes before. He realized that he had felt the same way in childhood, discussing a bad report card with his mother.
“Have you proposed to her?”
“Yes.”
“You proposed out at Yosemite, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“I rather thought so.”
“She hasn’t exactly accepted me,” said Willie, stating the fact as though it added to May’s stature. “She said I’d better think about it some more, and tell you.”
Mrs. Keith smiled pityingly over her shoulder at her son and said, “I think she’ll accept you, Willie.”
“I hope she will.”
“Willie-what’s your exact relationship with this girl?”
“That’s a hell of a question, Mother.”
“I think you’ve answered me, Willie.”
“Don’t get any wrong ideas. She isn’t a tramp, and I haven’t been living with her-”
“I’m sure she’s not a tramp-”
“She’s a sweet, good girl, and you’ll just have to take my word for that.”
“Willie, you’re through with your dinner, aren’t you? Come here and sit with me on the sofa. I want to tell you a story.”
She sat close beside him, and took his hand in hers. Willie disliked the touch; it was too intimate, too parental, made him too much the confused child needing guidance, but he lacked the heart to pull his hand away. “Before your father married me,” said Mrs. Keith, “while he was a medical student and an intern, he lived for three years with a nurse. I don’t suppose you know that.”
Willie did remember his father’s short, bleak reference to the nurse, in their one conversation about May, but he said nothing.
“Well, I never met her, but I saw her picture and found out a lot about her. Her name was Katherine Quinlan, and she was a tall, beautiful brunette, with lovely large eyes-a little cow-like, if you’ll forgive my saying it, but lovely-and a gorgeous figure. I knew about her before we married. Your dad told me the whole story. It almost broke up our engagement. I was furiously jealous.” She gave a soft reminiscent sigh. “Well, I took his word that it was all over, and it was. But he too, Willie,