Caine Mutiny, The - Herman Wouk [75]
“Skipper wants to see you. Put on your saddle and report to the sawdust ring.”
“With pleasure,” growled Keefer, leaping out of his bed.
Captain Queeg was standing at the washbasin in his room, shaving. “Hello, hello, Tom,” he said. “Be with you in a minute.” He did not invite Keefer to sit. De Vriess had also ignored that formality with his department heads. They had been in the habit of dropping into the armchair without being asked. Keefer was not sure of his ground with Queeg. He leaned against the captain’s bunk, and lit a cigarette to show that he was not overawed. Queeg scraped away at his lathered face, humming. He wore only short drawers, and Keefer inspected with secret amusement the unprepossessing figure: flat hairless white chest, bulging little round stomach, and pallid skinny legs.
“Lousy light,” remarked Queeg, squinting at his image in the mirror. “A wonder De Vriess didn’t cut his throat.”
“We can get you a brighter bulb, sir.”
“Well, I don’t think that will be necessary- Tell me, Tom, what do you think of your assistant, Keith?”
“Willie? He’s a good kid.”
“I mean, as an officer?”
“Well, he has a lot to learn, like any ensign. He’ll be fine.”
“I’m not interested in what he’ll be. As of now, I agree with you that he’s a nice kid-and also extremely immature. Particularly for a custodian of registered publications.”
Keefer said hastily, “Sir, I’m certain Keith can handle that assignment to perfection-”
“What training has he had for it?”
“Training?”
“I understand you had five months in communication school.”
“Yes, sir. But you don’t need that to-”
“Has he studied the registered publications manual?”
“I assume that in V-7 school they gave them the basic-”
“You can’t assume a damn thing in the Navy, Tom,” said Queeg sharply, shifting his eyes to Keefer’s face and away again. “Could he pass a test on that manual this afternoon?”
“Well, without warning-”
“Could you?”
“I certainly could,” snapped Keefer, offended.
Rinsing his razor, Queeg said pleasantly, “I’m sure of it. That’s why I think you should resume the duties of custodian.”
“But, sir-”
“The boy obviously knows nothing about classified stowage, Tom. Why, secret pubs are jammed and flopped around in that safe like garbage. And he has pubs in the radio shack, pubs on the bridge-not a single custody receipt to show for them, either. Is that your idea of registered stowage, hey?”
It was exactly Keefer’s idea, as a matter of fact. Willie had inherited an appalling mess, but the novelist had airily laughed, saying, “This isn’t a battleship, Willie. Forget about that custody-receipt malarkey. We’re all pals together on the Caine.” The ensign had innocently believed him.
Keefer said, “Well, of course, sir, things could be a bit more shipshape-I’ll get on his tail-”
“Nothing doing. You relieve him.”
“Sir, pardon me, there isn’t a ship in this squadron with a full lieutenant as custodian-it’s an ensign’s collateral duty-always is-”
“Well, I don’t want to be unreasonable about it,” said Queeg. “How long do you think it would take you to train up Keith as a custodian?”
“A few days, a week at most, and Willie can know that manual by heart.”
“Fine. We’ll let it go at that.”
“Aye aye, sir. Thank you.”
“Don’t get me wrong,” said Queeg. “Meantime I want you to relieve him. This evening.”
“What! And go through an inventory and a transfer report? And then, again, in reverse, three days from now?”
“We have lots of time and transfer forms.”
“Sir, a department head who’s a top watch-stander doesn’t have an infinite amount of time. If you expect efficient performance of my main duties-”
“I expect efficient performance of all your duties. This business may cut into your novel-writing a little. But of course, none of us is aboard to write novels.” In the poisoned silence that followed, Queeg opened his drawers. They slid to the deck, and he kicked them into a corner. “Well,” he said cheerfully, picking up a towel, “I hope the shower has hot water.”
Keefer said in a slow, strangled tone, “Sir, do you object to my working on