Caine Mutiny, The - Herman Wouk [177]
It was still raining next morning when the Caine entered Apra Harbor in Guam, and the craggy hills of the island were misty gray. The ship tied up at a mooring buoy, alongside a new 2200-ton destroyer, the Harte. As soon as the lines were secured, Queeg ordered armed guards posted every twenty feet along the port side, to prevent anybody from passing the key across to some friend on the destroyer. He also sent Jorgensen over to the Harte, requesting the chief censor to notify the Caine’s captain if any keys appeared in the mail on the Harte. The censor, a skinny lieutenant with black-rimmed hollow eyes, looked at Jorgensen as though he suspected him of being insane, and made him repeat the request twice. Then he reluctantly nodded.
Meanwhile, Willie was helping the jubilant Ducely pack his belongings. Queeg had at last detached the ensign, who had arranged to go to the beach with the boat of the Harte at ten o’clock. “Why don’t you stick around and watch the search?” said Willie.
Ducely giggled, snapping the brass fasteners on his beautiful pigskin suitcase. He was dressed in blues redolent of camphor, the left breast decorated with a new yellow ribbon and two battle stars. “Willie, I’m getting off this hell ship while the getting is good. I have hated every single second of it, and there have been far too many seconds, already. As far as the search goes, you’re not going to find any key. There isn’t any.”
“I don’t think so, either, but the spectacle will be something-”
“I’m not saying what I think, Willie. I know there isn’t any key.” The ensign stooped to look in the mirror and combed his long blond hair.
“What do you know, exactly?”
“Nothing that I’ll tell you. I’m not going to get involved again with that potbellied little maniac, when I’m about to go free.” Ducely shook pink hair oil on his brush, and stroked his locks carefully. Willie grabbed his shoulder and spun him around.
“Duce, damn your whipped-cream soul, do you know anything that can clear up this crazy mess? Tell me, or I’ll tell Queeg you’re holding something out, so help me-”
The ensign laughed. “Now, Willie, you won’t tell Old Yellowstain anything. I know you. I’ve been abusing that weakness of yours for ten months. I’m sorry I threw you, Willie. I told you the first time we talked that I was no good. That’s me. I have a certain slight charm in New York, where I can-”
“What do you know about those goddamn strawberries, Duce?”
The willowy ensign hesitated, and bit his nails. “It’s a shame not to tell you, really, but I insist on a deal. You say nothing about it until twenty minutes after I’ve left-”
“All right, all right. What do you know?”
“It was the mess boys. I saw them scraping out the container. It was one o’clock in the morning. I came down off the midwatch to use the head. They were having such a good time, I guess they didn’t see me pass the pantry-”
“Why the hell didn’t you speak up at that meeting?”
“Willie, have you no heart? Did you see Whittaker’s face that night? Red-hot wires under my nails wouldn’t have dragged it out of me.” He swung his bag off the bed. “God, to think that I’m going free, free of this madhouse-”
“Lucky boy,” snarled Willie. “Did you take your corset ad?”
Ducely looked embarrassed, and laughed, and turned red. “I guess you can blackmail me about that after the war. Willie, for ten days she seemed absolutely divine to me. I don’t know. If I stayed on this ship much longer I think I’d begin insisting I was Lord Nelson.