Caine Mutiny, The - Herman Wouk [214]
“Go ahead, Willie. I have plenty to do.”
He picked up a newspaper in the hallway and glanced at the headlines as he trotted upstairs; MacArthur Advances on Manila. He came into his room, and tossed aside the newspaper. A gear seemed to shift in his mind, and his old identity began to operate smoothly. He felt no strangeness, no sense of contrast or of vanished time, no particular gladness at seeing his old books and phonograph. He undressed, hanging his uniform among his suits. Only the heavy gush of water from the shower head surprised him. He was used to the jagged sparse spray of the Caine’s wardroom shower. The wonderful thick flow, the ease with which he could adjust the mixture hot and cold, seemed more luxurious to him than anything else in his home. On the Caine hot water was achieved by letting live steam into a half-clogged cold-water pipe. A small error in adjustment could boil one alive like seafood in a matter of seconds. More than once Willie had issued howling from a cloud of billowy steam.
On a whim, he took out his best tweeds, a beautiful soft tan suit which had cost two hundred dollars at Abercrombie and Fitch, and selected with fussy care a powder-blue wool tie, Argyle socks, and a white shirt with a buttoned-down collar. The trousers were too loose; the jacket struck him as overpadded and oversized. The tie seemed strangest of all when he knotted it, loud and effeminate, after two years of black ties. He looked at himself in the full-length mirror on the inside of his closet door. For an instant, his own face surprised him. He partly, perceived the changes his mother had seen. He was concerned by a thinness of his hair at the forehead line. But the effect blurred even as he stared at himself; and it was just Willie again, looking tired and not very happy in loud clothes. He came downstairs, feeling clumsy and self-conscious, aware of the heavy pads on his shoulders.
He was hungry; and while his mother chattered happily about his handsome appearance he ate up a large platter of eggs and bacon, with several rolls. “You never drank coffee like this before,” said Mrs. Keith, filling his cup for the fourth time, and watching him with mixed anxiety and respect.
“I’m a fiend now.”
“You sailors are terrible.”
“Let’s go into the library, Mother,” he said, draining his cup.
A ghost was in the brown book-lined room, but Willie fought down his feelings of awe and sadness. He dropped into his father’s red leather armchair, selecting the sacred spot deliberately; disregarding his mother’s wan sorrowful loving look. He told her the story of the mutiny. She fell silent after a few shocked exclamations, and allowed him to talk for a long time. The light in the room dimmed as heavy gray clouds rolled over the morning sky, blotting out the sunshine on the empty flower beds outside. When Willie finished and looked at her face she regarded him steadily and puffed a cigarette.
“Well, what do you think, Mother?”
Mrs. Keith hesitated, and said, “What does-have you told May about it?”
“May doesn’t even know I’m in New York,” he said irritably.
“Aren’t you going to see her?”
“I guess I’ll see her.”
The mother sighed. “Well, all I can say is, Willie, this Old Yellowstain sounds like an abominable monster. You and the executive officer are, perfectly innocent. You did the right thing.”
“The doctors say different.”
“You wait and see. The court will acquit your executive officer. They won’t even try you.”
His mother’s blind optimism did not comfort Willie. On the contrary, it annoyed him exceedingly. “Well, Mother, not that I blame you, but you don’t know much about the Navy, that’s obvious.”
“Maybe not, Have you