Caine Mutiny, The - Herman Wouk [270]
With the smoke of the dead sailor’s cigar wreathing around him, Willie passed to thinking about death and life and luck and God. Philosophers are at home with such thoughts, perhaps, but for other people it is actual torture when these concepts-not the words, the realities-break through the crust of daily occurrences and grip the soul. A half hour of such racking meditation can change the ways of a lifetime. Willie Keith crushing the stub in the ashtray was not the Willie who had lit the cigar. That boy was gone for good.
He began writing in longhand the draft of a letter to Horrible’s parents. The phone buzzer rang. It was Keefer, speaking in a quiet, decidedly cordial tone: “Willie, if you’re all squared away would you mind coming up here for a moment?”
“Aye aye, Captain. Right now.”
On the well deck many sailors were perched along the rails in the afternoon breeze, and there was a lively hum of chatter. Willie heard the words “Mr. Keith” repeated several times. The conversation died down when he stepped out of the hatchway. Some of the sailors jumped off the rail. They all regarded him with a look he had not seen on their faces before-directed at him. Long ago he had noticed them looking that way at Captain de Vriess after some neat ship handling. It was a wonderful look. “Hello, Mr. Keith,” several of them said, quite pointlessly, since Willie went in and out of the hatchway twenty times every day without being greeted.
“Hi.” Willie grinned at them, and went to Keefer’s cabin. The novelist was on his bunk in a red bathrobe, resting against a pile of pillows. The sling hung empty around his neck, and the bandaged arm lay along the side of the bunk. He was drinking something dark brown in a water glass. He waved the glass at Willie, slopping the contents over the rim. “Medicinal brandy. Specific for loss of blood, prescribed by the pharmacist’s mate-Also I dare say for nerves tried by a day of of heroism. Have some.”
“I will, thanks, Captain. Where is it?”
“Locker under the bunk. Use the glass on the washbowl. Good stuff. Help yourself, and have a seat.”
The brandy ran down Willie’s throat like warm water, without the slightest sting. He rocked back in the swivel chair, enjoying the glow. Keefer said suddenly, “Ever read Lord Jim?”
“Yes, sir, I’ve read it.”
“Good yarn.”
“His best, I’d say.”
“Curiously apropos to today’s events.” The novelist swung his head around heavily and stared at Willie, who kept his face politely blank. “Don’t you think?”
“How, sir?”
“Well, guy jumps overboard when he shouldn’t-commits this one act of impulsive cowardice-and it haunts his whole life-” Keefer drank off his glass. “Pass me the brandy. I just got this by visual. Read it.”
He took the bottle and gave Willie a despatch. CO Caine report Commodore Wharton aboard Pluto 1700.
“Can you go, sir? Is your arm all right?”
“Hell, it’s just stiff, Willie. A few muscles torn. Nothing. No excuse whatever. I’m afraid I’ll have to go. Will you come with me, please?”
“Certainly, Captain, if you think I’m needed-”
“Well, you know a little more about what went on than I do. Seeing as how I was safely in the drink all the time you were saving my ship-”
“Captain, your decision to abandon ship wasn’t an act of cowardice, there’s no point in your stewing over it. With the whole deckhouse blowing up and men jumping overboard and the flame and smoke and the general obscure picture, any prudent officer might have done the same-”
“You don’t really think that,” Keefer said, looking him straight in the face, and Willie took a swallow of brandy and didn’t answer.
“Nevertheless,” the captain said, “I’ll be everlastingly grateful to you if you’ll say as much to Commodore Wharton.”
“I’ll say it to the commodore.”
After a silence Keefer said, “Why did you stay on board, Willie?”
“Well, Captain, don’t forget, I’d seen the actual damage amidships and you hadn’t. And you were wounded and shocked, and I wasn’t-if things had been the other way around-”
“I would