Caine Mutiny, The - Herman Wouk [3]
“You wait.” The pharmacist walked away, and returned with a lieutenant characterized by a black mustache, puffy eyes, and a stethoscope. “Look at that, sir.”
“That” was Willie, erect as he could get.
“Can he touch?”
“Hell, no, sir. Hardly gets past his knees.”
“Well, that’s quite a breadbasket he’s got.”
Willie hauled in his stomach, too late.
“I don’t care about the breadbasket,” said the pharmacist’s mate. “This joker has a hollow back.”
The naked candidates behind Willie on line were fidgeting and murmuring.
“There is a lordosis, no doubt of it.”
“Well, do we survey him out?”
“I don’t know if it’s that serious.”
“Well, I ain’t gonna pass him on my responsibility. You can, sir.”
The doctor picked up Willie’s record. “How about the pulse?”
“I didn’t bother. What’s the point if he’s a lordosis?”
The doctor took Willie’s wrist. His eyes emerged in surprise from the red puffs. “Ye gods, boy-are you sick?”
Willie could feel his blood galloping past the doctor’s fingers. Various tropical bacteria, and above all, the shadow of the United States Army, were pushing up his pulse rate.
“No, just worried.”
“I don’t blame you. How on earth did you get past the receiving station? Did you know the doctor?”
“Sir, I may be chubby, but I play six hours of tennis at a stretch. I climb mountains.”
“There’s no mountains at sea,” said the pharmacist’s mate. “You’re Army meat, my friend.”
“Shut up, Warner,” said the doctor, noticing in the record that Willie was a Princeton man. “Leave pulse and back vacant. Send him down to Captain Grimm at the Navy Yard for a recheck.”
“Aye aye, sir.” The doctor left. Sullenly, the pharmacist’s mate took a red pencil, scrawled on a memo pad, “Lordosis-Pulse,” and clipped the crimson indictment to Willie’s record. “Okay. Report to the exec’s office right after inspection tomorrow, Mister Keith. Best of luck.”
“Same to you,” said Willie. They exchanged a look of pure hate, remarkable on such short acquaintance, and Willie moved off.
The Navy now dressed him in blue jumper and trousers, black shoes, black socks, and a perky sailor hat, marked with the special blue stripe of a midshipman. Then it filled his arms with books, of all shapes, colors, sizes, and degrees of wear. As Willie left the book-issuing room, seeing his way with some difficulty over the pile of prose in his arms, a sailor at the door laid on top a stack of mimeographed sheets which brought the heap level with his eyebrows. Willie craned his neck around the corner of his burden, and sidled crabwise to the elevator-the “HOIST,” said a freshly lettered sign over the push buttons.
When the elevator reached the top floor, only Willie and a skinny horse-faced sailor remained. Willie walked down the hall, scanning the names posted outside each room, and found a door labeled:
ROOMS 1013
KEEFER
KEITH
KEGGS
He went in, and dropped the books on the bare springs of a cot. He heard the twang of springs again directly behind him.
“My name’s Keggs,” said the horse face, poking an arm toward him. Willie shook the hand, which enveloped his in a big moist grip.
“I’m Keith.”
“Well,” said Keggs mournfully, “looks like we’re roommates.”
“This is it,” said Willie.
“I hope,” said Keggs, “that this Keefer doesn’t turn out to be too much of a drip.” He looked at Willie earnestly, then his face maneuvered its length into a slow smile. He picked up Naval Ordnance from the pile on his cot. “Well, no time like the present.” He sat on the only chair, put his legs up on the only desk, and opened the book with an unhappy sigh.
“How do you know what to study?” Willie was surprised at such industry.
“Brother, it makes no difference. It’s all going to be too much for me. Might as well start anywhere.”
A heap of books entered the door, walking on stout legs. “Make way, gentlemen, heah Ah come,” spoke a muffled voice. The books fell and bounced all over the remaining cot, unveiling a tall, fat sailor with a cheery flushed face, small