The Caine Mutiny (5 page)

Willie hesitated.

“Well, Keith?”

“Do you mean as of now, sir, or as of 1935?”

“I asked the question now, not in 1935.”

“The Germans are sinking a lot of ships off Hatteras,” said Willie tentatively.

“I am aware of that. This is not a class in current events but in tactics. Have you prepared the lesson?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Answer the question.”

Willie estimated the situation swiftly. This was his last chance to recite in Tactics before the bilge. “Submarines, because of their small cruising range,” he declared, “are chiefly suitable for coastal defense.”

“Correct,” said Ensign Brain, writing down a perfect mark. “Why all the stalling?”

So Willie gave himself over to the bondage of brute memory. Doomsday came; and none of the three in Room 1013 bilged. Kalten in Room 1012 and Koster in Room 1014 were delivered into the jaws of their draft boards. Kalten, the son of a powerful Washington attorney, had flouted rules and done no studying. Willie felt much sorrier for Koster, a good-humored, effete boy brought up by maiden aunts. That evening when Willie visited Room 1014, the sight of the empty cot upset him. Years later he learned that Koster had died in the first attack wave at Salerno.

Now they were midshipmen, firmly rooted in the Navy, with blue dress uniforms, white officers’ caps, and most important, freedom on Saturdays from noon to midnight. This was Friday. They had been imprisoned incommunicado for three weeks. Willie telephoned May Wynn joyously and told her to meet him outside the school at one minute past twelve next day. She was there in a taxi; and she looked so beautiful stretching her arms eagerly to him that Willie momentarily pictured a wedding and all its consequences as he hugged her. He was still kissing her when he regretfully decided against it, for all the old reasons. They went to Luigi’s, and Willie was so stimulated by the beauty of his girl and the first taste of wine in three weeks that he ate a couple of pizzas. He slowed down, puffing, on the last bites, and glanced at his wrist watch.

“May,” he said reluctantly, “I’ve got to leave you now.”

“Oh? Aren’t you free till midnight?”

“I ought to drop in on my family.”

“Of course,” said May. The glad light began to die out of her eyes.

“Just for a while-a half hour, maybe an hour. You take in a matinee. I can meet you again at”-he glanced at his watch-“half-past five.”

May nodded.

“Look,” he said, taking money out of his pocket and flourishing it, “a hundred and twenty dollars. We’ll do the town.”

“Navy pay?”

“Twenty of it, yes.”

“Where’d you get the hundred?”

Willie choked a little over the word, but brought it out. “Mother.”

“I doubt she’d approve of your spending it on me.” May looked into his eyes. “Does she know I’m alive, Willie?”

Willie shook his head.

“You’re very wise. That innocent face hides plenty of cunning.” She reached across the table and touched his cheek affectionately.

“Where will we meet?” said Willie, feeling, as he rose, heavily freighted with dough, cheese, tomatoes, and wine.

“Anywhere.”

“Stork Club?” he said. She gave him a wistful smile. They parted at the restaurant door. Willie slept, snoring, on the train to Manhasset. Commuter’s instinct woke him up just before his station.

CHAPTER 4

Midshipman Keith in Trouble

The Keith home in Manhasset was a twelve-room Dutch colonial house with heavy white pillars, high-arching black wood-shingled roof, and multitudes of large windows. It stood on a knoll in the middle of two acres of lawns set with soaring old beech, maple, and oak trees and bordered by flower beds and a thick high hedge. Mrs. Keith’s family had presented it to her. Her income from Rhode Island bank securities still went to keep it up. Willie believed such surroundings were normal.

He walked up the avenue of maples to the front door and entered upon a prepared triumph. His mother hugged him. Relatives and neighbors, flourishing cocktails, greeted the war hero. The best china and the best silver were set out on the dining-room table, reflecting yellow beams from flaming logs in the marble-paneled fireplace. “All right, Martina,” cried Mrs. Keith, “put on the steaks! ... We have a feast for you, Willie. Everything you love-oysters, onion soup, steak-double sirloin for you, dear-with soufflé potatoes, and Bavarian cream. You’re starved, aren’t you?”

“I could eat a horse, Mom,” said Willie. There are heroisms in small acts. Willie sat down to his dinner, and ate.

“I thought you’d be hungrier,” said his mother, watching him poke without enthusiasm at the steak.

“I’m enjoying it too much to rush it,” answered Willie. He downed the steak. But when the Bavarian cream was set before him, rich, brown, and trembling, nature rebelled. Willie grew pale, turned away, and quickly lit a cigarette. “Mom, I’m through.”

“Come, you don’t have to be bashful, dear. We all know how sailors eat. Finish up.”

Willie’s father had been watching him quietly. “Maybe you had a little something before coming home, Willie.”

“Just a snack, Dad, to keep me going.”

Mrs. Keith permitted him to stagger off to the living room, where another fire crackled. Here the midshipman wheezily held court, describing the secrets of the Navy and analyzing the conduct of the war in all theaters. He hadn’t read a newspaper in three weeks, so it was not easy to do; but he improvised, and his words were eagerly listened to.

Willie noticed for the first time when the party went into the living room that his father limped and walked with a cane. After a while Dr. Keith interrupted the question session. “Time out,” he said, “while a man has a few words in private with his sailor son.” He took Willie by the arm and led him into the library, a mahogany-paneled room full of leather-bound collected editions of standard authors and motley best sellers of twenty years. The windows looked out on the garden behind the house, where patches of old snow lay in shady corners of the brown empty flower beds. “How is it, really, Willie-the Navy?” Dr. Keith said, closing the door, and leaning on his cane.

“Fine, Dad. I’ll get by. What’s the matter with your leg?”

“Nothing much. Infected toe.”

“I’m sorry. Bother you much?”

“Some.”

Willie glanced at his father in surprise. It was the first time he had heard his father complain of an ailment. “Well-what can I say to a doctor? You’ve had it looked at?”

“Oh, yes. Nothing to be done. It will simply take time.” Father and son looked into each other’s eyes for a moment. “I shouldn’t keep you from the company,” said the doctor, limping toward the window. “But we’ve really never talked much, have we? I’m afraid I’ve let your mother do all the upbringing. And now you’re off to the wars.”

Willie did not know what to answer. It seemed that his father wanted to say something but could not find a way to begin.

“I never got overseas myself, Willie, in the first war. Maybe you’ll he lucky, too.”

“I’ll take what comes,” said Willie. “The Navy’s spending a lot of time and work on me. Maybe I ought to go overseas if I’m good enough for it.”

Dr. Keith ran his fingers across his small black mustache. His eyes searched Willie’s face. “You’re changing a little. What’s doing it? The Navy?”

“I’m afraid I’m the same poor lug.”

“Do you get a chance to play the piano?”

“Forgetting what one looks like.”

“Willie,” said his father, “have you met a girl?”

Willie was too startled to lie. “Yes, sir.”

“A good girl?”

“In her way, wonderful.”

“Do you want to marry her?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Well-it’s not that kind of thing.”

“Don’t be too sure. Bring her out here to meet us.”

A picture flashed across Willie’s mind: the narrow dark fruit store in the Bronx which he had once visited, tended by May’s mother and father. The mother was fat, wore a shapeless rusty black dress, and had a hairy face. The father was a wizened man in a dirty apron, with gaps in his brown teeth. They had both seemed warmly good-natured in the few broken sentences they had spoken to him. Another grotesque image presented itself: Mrs. Minotti and his mother shaking hands. He shook his head.

“Well, there was a nurse I once didn’t marry,” said his father thoughtfully. “But I have no regrets. Your mother and I have had a fine life- Well, they’ll be wondering what happened to us.” Still he made no move to go.

“Dad, is there something else you want to talk about?”

The father hesitated. “Nothing that can’t wait.”

“Why don’t you visit me down at school? It’s kind of interesting.”

“I’m not free much.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Maybe I will, though.” Dr. Keith put his hand on his son’s shoulder. “This isn’t necessarily a bad time for you, Willie. The Navy.”

“Not if I emerge in one piece. It might do me good.”

“It might- Let’s go.”

Willie glanced at his watch as they re-entered the living room. Five to four. He made hasty excuses to the guests, overriding his mother’s loud protests. She followed him to the door. “When will I see you again, dear?” she said as he pulled the belt tight on his blue raincoat.

“Next Saturday, Mom, if I stay out of trouble.”

“Oh, no. I’ll come and see you before that.”

It was twenty past six when he rushed into the Stork Club. Hurriedly pulling off his coat at the check room, he caught a glimpse of May. The phrases of apology faded from his mind. Marty Rubin, the agent, sat with her. “Now, what is that Jew doing here at this point?” he thought. His greeting to both of them was cool.

“Congratulations on making midshipman. May’s been telling me about it,” said the agent. “I envy you your uniform.”

Willie glanced from his own brass-buttoned blues to Rubin’s gray single-breasted suit cut too full for the taste of Manhasset and Princeton. The peering baldish fat agent seemed a living cartoon of the Civilian. “I envy you yours,” he said with a quiet irony, and chose a chair opposite May, leaving Rubin between himself and the girl. “What are you drinking?”

Rubin beckoned to a waiter. “Scotch,” he said. “What will you have?”

“Double scotch,” said Willie.

“Good heavens,” said May. She regarded Willie in an intent, not quite friendly way.

“A man’s drink for a naval officer,” Rubin remarked. He lifted his half-empty glass. “I’ll finish mine and run along. May and I were just talking a little business till you got here.”

“Don’t rush off,” said Willie. “Have dinner with us. Sorry I’m late, May.”

“Marty is very good company. I didn’t mind,” answered the girl.

“Thanks,” said the agent. “I know when it’s time for a fill-in act to get off.” He drained his drink and stood. “Have yourselves a time, kids. By the way, your dinner is paid for.”

“Don’t be absurd,” said Willie.

“My pleasure. I’ve seen Frank,” he said, indicating the headwaiter. “Don’t let the sailor pay for anything, May. They’ll be gypping him. So long.”

Willie felt obliged to get up and shake Rubin’s hand. “Thank you,” he said. “That really wasn’t necessary.”

“My bit for the war effort,” said Rubin, and walked off with his heavy waddling gait.

“That was sweet of Marty,” said May. “I didn’t know he’d done it.”

“Very sweet. Also a bit vulgar,” said Willie, sitting and taking a deep gulp of his drink. “I don’t like favors to be pressed on me.”

“Go to hell,” said May. “Marty Rubin is my best friend in the world, and I include you-”

“I gather that. You’re inseparable.”

“I keep him around to remind me that there are decent men in the world who don’t consider every girl a thing to be jumped at and pawed-”

“Sorry I’m such a beast as to find you attractive. Possibly your friend prefers tall girls.”

May was conscious enough of her height to wear extra-high heels. The blow knocked out her wind for a moment, but she rallied. “How dared you talk to him like that?”

“I was very pleasant. I invited him to dinner-”

“The way you’d invite a dog to lie down by your chair.”

“I wanted to be alone with you because I love you and haven’t seen you for three weeks.”

“Three weeks and an afternoon.”

“All right.”

“Plus an extra hour.”

“I apologized for being late.”

“It would have been better, of course, for me to sit here by myself for an hour, looking as though I wanted to be picked up.

“May, I’m glad he was with you. I’m sorry I had to leave you. We’re together now. Let’s start from there.” He took her hand but she slipped it free.

“Possibly you don’t like Jews. Or Italians, either. They have a lot in common.”

“You really want to fight.”

“Yes!”

“What about? Not about Marty Rubin.”

“No. About us.” The girl’s fists were clenched in front of her on the table.

Willie’s heart ached, because she was so beautiful in the gray dress, with her dark red hair falling to her shoulders. “Wouldn’t you rather eat first?”

“I don’t want to eat.”

“Thank God. I couldn’t get down an olive myself. Let’s go to the Tahiti. One drink, then we fight.”

“Why there? If you think I’m sentimental about that place you’re wrong-”

“I said I’d meet my roommates there for a few minutes-”

“All right. I don’t care.”

But when they came to the Tahiti the check-room girl and Mr. Dennis and the musicians came flocking around to admire Willie’s uniform and joke about his romance with May. The thread of the quarrel was broken. They sat drinking glumly while the place filled with a noisy swelling crowd, mostly Army and Navy officers with their girls. Just before the ten o’clock floor show Roland Keefer came rolling through the smoke and din. His hair was disheveled, his paper collar wilted, his eyes bloodshot. He was towing a fat blonde of about thirty-five in a pink satin dress. Her features were not clearly visible through her make-up.

“Hey, Willie! H’ya, fella! How’s the old mainspring holding up tonight?”

He giggled happily and inspected May. Willie stood and introduced him. Keefer greeted May with respectful, suddenly sober politeness. “Hey, whaddya think of old horse-face Keggs?” He dropped back into hilarity. “Went to a concert, I swear he did. They give him a free ticket at the officers’ club. He wanted me to come. I said ‘Shinola on that!’ ” He pinched the blonde’s arm. “We make our own concert, hey, sweetie?”

“Don’t be fresh,” said the blonde. “Why don’t you introduce me to your friends?”

“This here is Tootsie Weaver, folks. Tootsie, this fella comes from Princeton.”

“How do you do,” said Tootsie, in her best Senior Prom manner.

“See you, folks,” said Keefer, dragging Tootsie off as she seemed settling herself to be sociable, “we got drinking to do.”

“Don’t forget,” called Willie, “five demerits for every minute you’re late after midnight.”

“Son, you talking to the human time clock,” shouted Keefer. “Bye-bye.”

“Keefer has odd tastes,” Willie said as he sat.

“Maybe he thinks you have,” said May. “Order me another drink.”

The floor show ran its usual course of comic master of ceremonies, girl singer, and knockabout comedy team in funny clothes. “With us tonight,” blared the master of ceremonies after the last act, “are two great entertainers who delighted audiences here at the Tahiti for many weeks last March. May Wynn, the lovely singer who just finished a triumphant run at the Krypton Room, and Willie Keith, who is now in the service of his country.” He pointed and clapped his hands. The pink spotlight swung to the couple. They rose reluctantly and the crowd applauded. When the servicemen saw May the handclapping became stronger. “Maybe we can induce this charming couple to give us a number. Don’t they look nice together, folks?”

“No, no,” said Willie, and May shook her head, but the applause grew.

“Mozart!” shouted the hat-check girl, and the audience, having no idea what the cry meant, took it up all the same. “Mozart! Mozart!” There was no escape. They walked to the piano.

May sang deliciously, with sweet sadness in her tones. There was something in the performance that hushed the customers, a note of farewell and regret for passing love that cut through the fumes of tobacco and alcohol and touched all the men who were soon to leave home and fight-and even those who had intelligently arranged to remain behind were touched, too, and felt vague pangs of shame. Tootsie Weaver, squeezed in a corner of the bar, put a heavily perfumed handkerchief to her eyes.