Caine Mutiny, The - Herman Wouk [182]
“Yes, suh.” Whittaker grinned and ran off.
“Close the door, Tom,” said Maryk when the novelist arrived. “Not the curtain. The door.”
“Aye aye, Steve.” Keefer slid the squeaking metal door shut.
“Okay. Now, I’ve got something for you to read.” Maryk handed over the folder. “Get comfortable, it’s pretty long.”
Keefer sat in the chair. He glanced quizzically at the exec when he saw the first paragraphs. He read a couple of pages. “Jesus, even I’d forgotten some of this,” he murmured.
“Don’t say anything till you’ve finished-”
“So this is the mysterious novel you’ve been writing all these months, hey, Steve?”
“You’re the novelist, not me. Go ahead and read it.”
The gunnery officer read through the entire log. Maryk sat on his bunk, slowly rubbing his naked chest with his palms, watching the other’s face. “Well, what do you think?” he said when Keefer put the folder down on the desk.
“You’ve got him cold; Steve.”
“You think so?”
“I congratulate you. It’s a clinical picture of a paranoiac, a full case history, not a doubt in the world of it. You’ve got him, Steve. It’s an amazing job you’ve done-”
“Okay, Tom.” Maryk swung his legs over the edge of the bunk, and leaned forward. “I’m ready to go up to Com Fifth Fleet here on the beach and turn in the skipper, under Article 184. Will you come with me?”
Keefer drummed his fingers on the desk. He pulled a cigarette out of a pack in his breast pocket. “Sure you want me along?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Tom, I told you why long ago when we were alongside the Pluto. You’re the one who knows psychiatry. If I start talking about it I’ll make a goddamn idiot of myself and flub the whole thing-”
“You don’t have to talk. Your log does all the talking.”
“I’m going to be walking in on admirals, and they’ll be calling in doctors, and I just can’t present the thing myself. Anyway, I’m no writer. You think the log is enough. A hell of a lot is in the way a thing is written up, for an outsider. You know all these things happened, but when someone reads about them cold-I’ve got to have you along, Tom.”
There was a long silence. “The son of a bitch kept me from seeing my brother,” Keefer said unsteadily. His eyes glared.
“That’s beside the point, Tom. If the old man’s sick in the head there’s nothing to be sore about.”
“True enough-I’ll-I’m with you, Steve.”
“Okay, Tom.” The exec jumped to the deck and offered his hand, looking up into Keefer’s eyes. The squat barrel-chested fisherman and the slender writer clasped hands. “Better put on a fresh uniform if you’ve got one,” Maryk said.
Keefer looked down at his grease-smeared clothes, and smiled. “That’s what happens when you go wriggling through magazines looking for a nonexistent key.”
Maryk was lathering his face when a radioman brought him a message. “TBS, sir. I knocked at the captain’s door and looked in but he seemed to be fast asleep-”
“I’ll take it.” The despatch read: All ships Apra Harbor prepare to get under way not later than 1700. Task units will steam southward and maneuver to avoid typhoon Charlie approaching Guam. Wiping his face wearily with a damp towel, the exec took his phone from the wall bracket and buzzed the captain several times. Queeg answered at last, and sleepily told him to get the ship ready for sea.
Keefer was in his underwear, shining his shoes when the exec came into his room and showed him the message. The novelist laughed and tossed. aside the shoebrush. “Reprieve.”
“Not for long. We do it first thing when we come back-”
“Sure, Steve, sure. I’m with you. But I’m not looking forward to it-”
“Neither am I.”
CHAPTER 28
A Visit to Halsey
For two days the Caine steamed through rain, gusty winds, and ugly cross-swelling seas, in a motley company of ships which had bustled out of Apra Harbor. The typhoon blew by, a hundred fifty miles to the north. On the third morning the sea subsided, and a temperate wind blew a gray drizzle over the water. The ships separated into two groups, one returning to Guam, the