Caine Mutiny, The - Herman Wouk [42]
At last, when Willie was honestly expecting to faint and even looking forward to it, Carmody said, “Well, I guess that does it.” He led them forward to the well deck. “Just one more thing now. You climb that mast.”
It was a wooden pole topped by a radar, and it looked about five hundred feet high. “What the hell for?” whined Willie. “A mast is a mast. I see it, that’s enough.”
“You’re supposed to explore the ship,” said Carmody, “from the bilges to the crow’s-nest. There’s the crow’s-nest.” He pointed to a tiny square iron grille at the very top of the mast.
“Can’t we do that tomorrow? I’m a tired old man,” said Harding, with a wistful smile. His face was youthful and kindly; his hair receded deeply at the crown, leaving only a narrow blond peak in the middle. He was slight and had pallid blue eyes.
Carmody said, “I’m supposed to report compliance prior to dinner. If you don’t climb that mast I can’t report compliance.”
“I have three kids,” said Harding, shrugging and setting his foot on the lowest of the metal brackets that studded the mast to the top. “Hope I see ’em again.”
Slowly, painfully, he began to go up. Willie followed, clutching each bracket convulsively. He kept his eyes on the seat of Harding’s trousers, ignoring the dizzying view around him. The wind flapped his sweat-soaked shirt. They reached the crow’s-nest in a couple of minutes. As Harding scrambled up on the platform Willie heard the ugly thump of a skull striking metal.
“Ouch! Christ, Keith, watch out for this radar,” moaned Harding.
Willie crawled onto the crow’s-nest on his stomach. There was barely room on the rickety grille for the two men side by side. They sat with feet dangling into empty blue space.
“Well done!” came Carmody’s voice thinly from below. “Good-by now. I’m going to report compliance.”
He disappeared into a passageway. Willie stared down at the faraway deck, then quickly pulled his eyes away and took in the surrounding view. It was a fine one. The harbor sparkled beneath them, plain as a map in all its contours. But Willie took no pleasure in it. The height made him shudder. He felt he could never climb down again.
“I regret to tell you,” said Harding in a small voice, his hand to his forehead, “that I am going to have to vomit.”
“Oh, Christ, no,” said Willie.
“Sorry. Height bothers me. I’ll try to keep from getting any on you. Jesus, though, all those guys down below. It’s awful.”
“Can’t you hold off?” begged Willie.
“Not a chance,” said Harding, his face a poisonous green. “Tell you what, though. I can do it in my hat.” He pulled off his officer’s cap, adding, “Though I hate to. It’s my only hat-”
“Here,” said Willie swiftly, “I have two others.” He offered Harding his new officer’s cap, upside down.
“This is damned cordial of you,” gasped Harding.
“You’re perfectly welcome,” said Willie. “Help yourself.”
Harding threw up neatly into the extended hat. Willie felt a terrible urge to do likewise, but he fought it down. Harding’s color improved somewhat. “God, thanks, Keith. Now what do we do with it?”
“Good question,” said Willie, staring at the mournful object in his hands. “A hatful of-that-is an unhandy thing.”
“Scale it out over the side.”
Willie shook his head. “It might turn over. Wind might catch it.”
“It’s a cinch,” said Harding, “you can’t put it back on.”
Willie unfastened the chin strap and looped the hat carefully to a corner of the crow’s-nest, bucket-fashion. “Let it hang here forever,” said Willie, “as your salute to the Caine.”
“I can never get down from here,” Harding said feebly. “You go ahead. I’ll die and rot here. Nobody will miss me except my family.”
“Nonsense. Do you really have three kids?”
“Sure. My wife’s on the way to a fourth.”
“What the hell are you doing in the Navy?”
“I’m one of those silly jerks who thought he had to fight the war.”
“Feeling better?”
“A little, thanks.”
“Come on,” said Willie. “I’ll go first. You won’t fall.