Caine Mutiny, The - Herman Wouk [47]
“Hurry it,” he said. He fled up the ladder.
“How’s it going back there?” said Adams when he returned to the quarterdeck. The sun was shining, and boatswain’s pipes and loudspeaker’s calls were filling the air in the repair basin. Barefoot sailors were hosing down the deck.
“They’re getting up,” said Willie.
Adams nodded satirically. “Excellent. You may secure now. Lay below and get yourself some eggs and coffee.”
“Aye aye, sir.” Willie took off the gun belt, and his haunches felt pleasantly light.
In the wardroom the officers were already at breakfast. Willie fell into his chair and ate what was placed before him, not knowing or caring what it was. He wanted to fill his gnawing stomach and return to the clip shack and stay there for the day, stack gas or no stack gas.
“Say, Keith,” said the communications officer, buttering a roll, “I saw Roland last night. Says he’s coming out here later today to pay us a visit.”
“Swell,” said Willie.
“We’ve gotten kind of stacked up on messages, by the way,” added Keefer. “How’s about decoding for a couple of hours after breakfast?”
“Love it,” said Willie, a little desperately.
Captain de Vriess looked up at him from under thick blond eyebrows. “What’s the trouble, Keith? Saddle bothering you?”
“No, sir!” exclaimed Willie. “I’m glad to have something to do.”
“Fine. Ambition becomes an ensign.”
An hour later, as Willie toiled over a decoding device spread out on the wardroom table, the letters suddenly became a blur. The wardroom jerked back and forth, and began to rotate gently. His head fell on his hands. The fact that Lieutenant Maryk was reading official mail at the table beside him made no difference. He was done in.
He heard the opening of a door, and then the captain’s voice: “Well, well. Siesta time for Ensign Keith.”
He did not dare raise his head.
“Sir,” he heard Maryk say, “that clip shack is no place to sleep. The kid is shot.”
“Kind of ripe in port, but it’ll be fine under way. Hell, Maryk, this boy’s had four months’ temporary in Pearl. Like to know how the hell he arranged it. He ought to have soaked up enough sleep to go without for a month.”
The captain’s voice was mocking and cruel. It filled Willie with rage. What right had De Vriess to be so damned red hot? De Vriess was the man who permitted all the filth and sloth of the Caine, for which he deserved a court-martial. He seemed to reserve all his energies for baiting ensigns. Willie’s accumulated resentment, weariness, and disgust coagulated at that moment into hatred of Captain de Vriess. The ship was the measure of the commanding officer. He had fallen into the hands of a bullying stupid sloven. He gritted his teeth, and as soon as De Vriess was gone he pulled himself erect and resumed decoding with new energy released by hate.
There was an enormous pile-up of coding traffic. He had to keep working until lunch time, and then for an hour after that. At last it was done. He dropped the decodes on Keefer’s cluttered desk, went aft to the clipping shack, and fell asleep instantaneously.
It was Adams again who shook him awake. “Keith, you have visitors in the wardroom-”
“Huh-visitors?”
“Keefer’s brother, and two of the prettiest nurses I’ve ever seen. Lucky boy-”
Willie, sat up, suddenly refreshed. “Thank you, sir. Sir, what’s the procedure for getting off the ship?”
“You check out with the senior watch officer-me.”
“Thank you, sir. I’d like to check out.” Willie reached for his clothes.
“Sure. Just let me have the assignment.”
Willie had to search his memory. Through the cloud of recent happenings came a dim recollection of the officers’ qualification course. “I haven’t had time to touch it, sir.”
“Sorry, Keith. Better clear with the skipper, then. Orders are that assignments must be up to date prior to any shore leave.”
Willie dressed and went down to the wardroom. He found the captain, in smart tropical khakis festooned with campaign ribbons, chatting with the nurses