Caine Mutiny, The - Herman Wouk [259]
Proceeding in the same calm, diffident tone, Greenwald reviewed all the damaging evidence against Queeg, laying especial stress on the points that had seemed to impress Blakely. He emphasized that both psychiatrists had admitted, in one form of words or another, that Queeg was sick. And he repeated over and over that it was up to the court, who knew the sea, to decide whether or not the sickness of Queeg was bad enough to incapacitate him. He referred briefly and apologetically to Queeg’s behavior in court-his evasiveness, incoherence, changing stories, and inability to stop speaking-as further unfortunate evidence of his mental illness. He said very little about Maryk. It was all Queeg, Queeg, Queeg.
The court debated for an hour and ten minutes. Maryk was acquitted.
Maryk and Greenwald were surrounded on the sidewalk outside the court-martial building by a small jubilant knot of people. The exec’s mother clung to him, weeping and laughing: a fat little woman in a green hat, with a round seamed face like a wrinkled photograph of her son’s. Beside her stood the father, a heavy quiet shabby man, patting her shoulder. All the officers of the Caine were there. Willie Keith capered and shouted, slapping everyone on the back. All was noise and congratulation and joy. Greenwald was jostled by eager handshaking. “All right now listen, listen everybody,” yelled Keefer. “Listen to me. We’re going to celebrate!”
“Sure! Sure! Celebrate! Let’s celebrate! Let’s all get stiff! Fried! Boiled!”-a ribald chorus.
“No, will you listen? It’s all arranged. Dinner at the Fairmont! I’ve hired a room. I’m paying. I’m rich!” shouted Keefer. “It’s a double celebration! I got the contract on my novel in the mail this morning, and a check for a thousand bucks! It’s all on Chapman House!”
Sailors a block away from the building turned to stare in amazement at the frantic little group of officers yelping and dancing in the hot sunshine. “I will get monumentally drunk,” cried Harding. “I will wake up in the alcoholic ward. And I’ll love it.” Jorgensen hugged and kissed the trunk of a eucalyptus tree in excess of joy. His glasses fell off and shattered. He peered around, giggling wildly. “Nothing but champagne will be served,” yelled the novelist. “Champagne to toast the Fifth Freedom. Freedom from Old Yellowstain!”
Maryk blinked confusedly. “Greenwald’s invited, isn’t he?”
“Invited! Hell, he’s the guest of honor,” Keefer bawled. “A Daniel! A Daniel come to judgment! Momma and Poppa, too! Wire your brothers! Tell ’em to fly down! Bring anyone you want!”
Greenwald said, “You guys have a fine time. Leave me out of it-”
The mother said through sobs, “You’re a good boy, Steve. You never did anything wrong-”
“The hell with that,” Maryk said to Greenwald, wriggling in his mother’s embrace. “If you don’t come I don’t. It’s all off.”
“Man, don’t ruin it,” said Keefer, throwing his arm over Greenwald’s shoulder. “What’ll the party be like without the hero of the occasion?”
“You’re the hero-a thousand bucks-” said the lawyer, disengaging himself.
Keefer cried, “I’ll send a limousine and chauffeur for you-”
“That won’t be necessary. Fairmont? Okay. I’ll be there.” Greenwald turned and started up the steps.
“Where you going, Barney?” Maryk said anxiously.
“Got to clean up the debris with Challee. You go along, Steve. See you tonight.”
Keefer shouted after him, “Give Challee a crying towel, with the