Caine Mutiny, The - Herman Wouk [31]
“Don’t tell me,” said the fat lieutenant, “they fouled up this berthing chart again-” He searched through a heap of dispatches in a box on his desk. “Oh. Pardon me. Yep, she’s gone. Shoved off this morning.”
“Where to?”
“Sorry. Classified.”
“Well, what do I do now?”
“I don’t know. You should have caught her.”
“My ship just got in an hour ago.”
“That’s not my fault.”
“Look,” said Willie, “all I want to know is, how do I get transportation from this point to catch up with the Caine?”
“Oh. You want Transportation. Well, I’m Personnel. You’ll have to see Transportation.” The lieutenant got up, put a nickel in a Coca-Cola machine, drew out a frosty bottle, and drank noisily. Willie waited till he had seated himself again.
“Who and where is Transportation?”
“Jesus, I don’t know.”
Willie walked out of the office. Blinking in the glare of the sun, he noticed a sign on the next door: Transportation. “He doesn’t know much,” muttered Willie, and entered the office. A dried-up woman of thirty-seven or so sat at the desk.
“Sorry,” she said, as Willie entered, “no more scooters.”
“All I want,” said Willie, “is transportation to the U.S.S. Caine.”
“Caine? Where is it at?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then how on earth do you expect to get to it?” She pulled a Coco-Cola bottle out of a desk drawer, flipped off the cap against the edge of her desk, and drank.
“Nobody will tell me where the ship is bound for. It left this morning.”
“Oh. It’s not in the yard?”
“No, no. It’s at sea.”
“Well, then, how do you expect to get to it on a scooter?”
“I don’t want a scooter,” exclaimed Willie. “Did you hear me ask for a scooter?”
“You came in here, didn’t you?” snapped the woman. “This is the scooter pool.”
“It says ‘Transportation’ outside.”
“Well, a scooter is transportation-”
“Okay, okay,” said Willie, “I’m new here, and very stupid. Please tell me how to get a start toward my ship.”
The woman pondered, clicking the green bottle against her teeth. “Well, I guess you want Fleet Transportation. This is Yard Transportation.”
“Thank you. Where is Fleet Transportation?”
“Jesus, I don’t know. Why don’t you ask Personnel next door?”
Willie gave up for the day. If the Navy was in no hurry to send him after the Caine, he was in no hurry to go. He went back to the bachelor officers’ quarters, thoroughly tired of piling a crate and two bags in and out of taxis.
“Just in time, boy.” Keefer was fresh and cool in newly pressed khaki shirt and trousers. Willie still wore his hot, heavy blues. “Big doings. Admiral giving a party for the nurses tonight. Jonesy and Carter got permission to bring us along.”
“Which admiral?”
“Who knows? They thick as fleas on a dog’s back around here. You find your ship?”
“Shoved off today. Nobody will say where.”
“Fine, fine. Nice delay, probably. Shower up.”
The admiral’s party, at his handsome home inside the base, started as a quiet affair. Most of the guests were within earshot of an admiral for the first time and they minded their manners. The admiral, a big bald man with startling black hollows under his eyes, received everyone with genial majesty in his straw-matted, flower-filled living room. After drinks had flowed for a while the atmosphere warmed. Willie, urged on by Keefer, timidly sat at the piano and played. The admiral brightened at the first notes, and moved to a seat near