Caine Mutiny, The - Herman Wouk [16]
“Keith.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
“What is the submarine chiefly suitable for, and why?” The educator held an open copy of Submarine Doctrine, 1935 in his hand. Ensign Brain was a prematurely baldish, prematurely wrinkled, prematurely ferocious martinet of twenty-five. He was a drillmaster. About this subject he knew nothing. But he had once learned to read.
Willie hesitated.
“Well, Keith?”
“Do you mean as of now, sir, or as of 1935?”
“I asked the question now, not in 1935.”
“The Germans are sinking a lot of ships off Hatteras,” said Willie tentatively.
“I am aware of that. This is not a class in current events but in tactics. Have you prepared the lesson?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Answer the question.”
Willie estimated the situation swiftly. This was his last chance to recite in Tactics before the bilge. “Submarines, because of their small cruising range,” he declared, “are chiefly suitable for coastal defense.”
“Correct,” said Ensign Brain, writing down a perfect mark. “Why all the stalling?”
So Willie gave himself over to the bondage of brute memory. Doomsday came; and none of the three in Room 1013 bilged. Kalten in Room 1012 and Koster in Room 1014 were delivered into the jaws of their draft boards. Kalten, the son of a powerful Washington attorney, had flouted rules and done no studying. Willie felt much sorrier for Koster, a good-humored, effete boy brought up by maiden aunts. That evening when Willie visited Room 1014, the sight of the empty cot upset him. Years later he learned that Koster had died in the first attack wave at Salerno.
Now they were midshipmen, firmly rooted in the Navy, with blue dress uniforms, white officers’ caps, and most important, freedom on Saturdays from noon to midnight. This was Friday. They had been imprisoned incommunicado for three weeks. Willie telephoned May Wynn joyously and told her to meet him outside the school at one minute past twelve next day. She was there in a taxi; and she looked so beautiful stretching her arms eagerly to him that Willie momentarily pictured a wedding and all its consequences as he hugged her. He was still kissing her when he regretfully decided against it, for all the old reasons. They went to Luigi’s, and Willie was so stimulated by the beauty of his girl and the first taste of wine in three weeks that he ate a couple of pizzas. He slowed down, puffing, on the last bites, and glanced at his wrist watch.
“May,” he said reluctantly, “I’ve got to leave you now.”
“Oh? Aren’t you free till midnight?”
“I ought to drop in on my family.”
“Of course,” said May. The glad light began to die out of her eyes.
“Just for a while-a half hour, maybe an hour. You take in a matinee. I can meet you again at”-he glanced at his watch-“half-past five.”
May nodded.
“Look,” he said, taking money out of his pocket and flourishing it, “a hundred and twenty dollars. We’ll do the town.”
“Navy pay?”
“Twenty of it, yes.”
“Where’d you get the hundred?”
Willie choked a little over the word, but brought it out. “Mother.”
“I doubt she’d approve of your spending it on me.” May looked into his eyes. “Does she know I’m alive, Willie?”
Willie shook his head.
“You’re very wise. That innocent face hides plenty of cunning.” She reached across the table and touched his cheek affectionately.
“Where will we meet?” said Willie, feeling, as he rose, heavily freighted with dough, cheese, tomatoes, and wine.
“Anywhere.”
“Stork Club?” he said. She gave him a wistful smile. They parted at the restaurant door. Willie slept, snoring, on the train to Manhasset. Commuter’s instinct woke him up just before his station.
CHAPTER 4
Midshipman Keith in Trouble
The Keith home in Manhasset was a twelve-room Dutch colonial house with heavy white pillars, high-arching black wood-shingled roof, and multitudes of large windows. It stood on a knoll in the middle of two acres of lawns set with