Caine Mutiny, The - Herman Wouk [36]
“Yes,” said Willie, absorbed in a letter from May.
“Well listen, boy, I think my brother Tom is on that ship!”
Willie glanced up in surprise.
“I think it’s the Caine,” said Keefer. “Never can make out my pap’s doggone handwriting. Here, how do you read this?” Willie peered at the word indicated by Keefer’s thumb. “Caine all right.”
“Sure enough. They sent him there from communications school. Whaddya know!”
“Fine. It’s a lucky break. It’ll be like having a relative on board. Does he like the ship?”
“Hell, no. He wrote Pap it’s the foulest bucket in the Navy- But that don’t mean nothing,” he added quickly, seeing Willie wince. “Hell, don’t take anything that Tom says too serious. Tom’s queer as a three-dollar bill. The Caine’s probably a great ship if he don’t like it.”
“What kind of guy is he, Rollo?”
“Well, you try to figure how different from me a guy can get-and that’s Tom. See, he’s only my half brother. I’ve seen very little of him. His mother was my dad’s first wife-Catholic. They got married Protestant, and it didn’t last long, and she hauled off home to Boston where she come from, with Tom.”
Keefer put aside the letter, lit a cigarette, and lay back with his arms under his head.
“Tom’s a high-brow, pretty much, writes short stories, plays-had some stuff in magazines. Gets real dough for them. I got to know him a little bit at William and Mary. He was a senior when I was a freshman. But he ran around with that literary crowd, you know, reading poetry by candlelight, with a few dames around for when the candles went out-that kind of Shinola. I guess he figures me for a moron, he’s never bothered with me a damn. He’s not a bad guy. Pretty witty and all that. You and him will probably get along good, with you reading all that Dickens and all.”
It was the first of September when Willie and Keefer staggered into the BOQ at four in the morning, full of hog meat and whisky which they had consumed at a hilarious luau arranged by the nurses. They fell on their beds still giggling and singing ribald parodies of Hawaiian songs. Soon they were heavily, happily asleep.
Next thing Willie knew, he was being shaken, and a strange voice was whispering loudly, “Keith? Keith? Are you Keith?”
He opened his eyes. Day was just dawning. In the dim light he saw a short, swarthy ensign in shapeless frayed khakis standing over him.
“Yes, I’m Keith.”
“Better come along. I’m Paynter, from the Caine.”
“The Caine?” Willie sat up. “She’s here?”
“Yep. We’re shoving off at 0800 to do some target towing. Get your gear together.”
Willie sleepily reached out for his trousers. “Look, I’ll be glad to report aboard, Paynter, but I’m still attached to the officer pool here.”
“No, you’re not. That’s all fixed. We’ve got a visual despatch detaching you. We’ve been waiting for you a long time, Keith.”
He said it pleasantly, but Willie felt obliged to defend himself. “I did what I could. Missed you by a few hours back in May when you shoved off. They stuck me into the officer pool-”
“Hell, I wouldn’t blame you if you never showed up,” said Paynter. “I hate to be the guy who does this to you. Can I help you with your gear?”
All this talking was in low tones. Keefer snored obliviously. As Willie emptied drawers of the bureau into his wooden foot locker, he said, “Do you have an officer aboard named Keefer? Tom Keefer?”
“My department head,” said Paynter.
“That’s his brother.” Willie pointed to the sleeper. Paynter looked at Keefer dully. Willie, more wide awake, noticed that the Caine officer was slumping with fatigue.
“How screwy is he?” said Paynter.
“Why? Is your department head screwy?”
“I didn’t say that. Better bear a hand, Keith. The boat’s waiting on us.”
“Are we leaving Pearl for good?”
“Why?”
“If we are I’ll wake up Roland and say good-by.”
“No. We’re not leaving for good. At least not according to orders.