Caine Mutiny, The - Herman Wouk [77]
Keefer said, “Will that be all now, sir?”
“That’s all, Tom,” said Queeg, shuffling down the passageway.
The communications officer went into his room. He lay back on his bunk and picked up Aurelius. He lit a cigarette and took quick, deep puffs. Soon he lay in a cloud of gray curling smoke, reading.
Willie Keith came to the quarterdeck at eleven o’clock that night, looking for Keefer. The gangway petty officer, spruce and surly in white uniform, told him that the OOD was inspecting the forward lines. Willie walked out on the breezy forecastle and found Keefer sitting on a folded blanket, his back against the anchor, his feet dangling over the side, his gun belt lying on the deck. He was smoking, and staring up at the black starry night. “Hi,” said Willie.
“Hi.”
“Busy?”
“Not very. Composing a sonnet.”
“Sorry to disturb you.”
“Not at all. It’s a stinking sonnet. What can I do for you?”
“I’ve been hitting that registered pubs manual for three hours. I think I’ve got the first part memorized.”
“Well done.”
“Mind if I go over and visit my friend on the Moulton?”
“Go ahead.”
“I looked in on Mr. Gorton to ask him. But he was asleep.”
“Hell, you, don’t need the exec’s permission to visit in the nest. Shove off.”
“Thanks. Lots of luck with the sonnet.”
In the immaculate wardroom of the Moulton several officers were sitting around in dejected attitudes, reading magazines or drinking coffee, but Keggs was not among them. Willie went up the passageway to Keggs’s room, and pulled aside the green curtain. His friend was slumped at the desk, snoring, his long face resting on a pile of unfolded blueprints. The desk lamp was shining directly upon his closed eyes. His hands dangled awkwardly, the knuckles brushing the deck. Willie hesitated, then touched Keggs’s shoulder. The ensign started up wildly, with a gasp. He glared at Willie in horror for a moment, then recognition dawned and he greeted his friend with a sweet, sad smile. “Hello, Willie.”
“What the hell are you studying blueprints for?” said Willie.
“I’m taking an engineering course.”
“Engineering? You’re a deck man.”
“Skipper’s got, all the engineering men studying deck and all the deck men studying engineering. Makes us rounded officers, he says.”
“That’s great,” said Willie, “providing you don’t have to run a department and stand watches and fight a war- I thought we could play a game of chess, maybe.”
“Jesus, I’d love it, Willie,” said Keggs cautiously. He peeked out into the passageway. “Looks like the coast is clear. I’m game. Come on.” They went into the wardroom. Keggs took down a board and a box of red and black plastic chessmen, saying to a pudgy lieutenant, “When will he be back?”
“Not before midnight, I guess,” mumbled the lieutenant, who was slouched almost horizontal in an armchair, gazing dully at a ragged Life.
“This is great, Willie. Glad you came over. Say, the hell with it. Let’s have a couple of cokes.”
“Sure.”
Keggs disappeared into the pantry and emerged in a moment with two frosty bottles. “Anybody else?” he queried, looking around. Most of the officers ignored him. Two of them turned lackluster eyes on him and shook their heads. “If I drink another coke,” said the sloucher in the armchair, “I’ll go into shock.”
Willie said, “You fellows still restricted?”
“Till Sunday,” said Keggs.
“When we’ll probably get a despatch,” said the sloucher, “to proceed to Truk and sweep mines.”
As Willie set up the chessmen, Keggs took a long pull at the coke bottle. “Ah, this is a great coke. I feel good. You guys mind if I turn on the radio?” Nobody answered. He switched on a blast of jazz. “Hot dog. For a change, no Hawaiian music. Get those men ready, Willie. I’m going to take your pants. Breep-de-broop, breep-de-broop-”
He danced as he sang, a queer angular jig, his elbows stuck out, his arms dangling. The lieutenant in the armchair