by Alan Chin
Once the sauces were done, he pulled a slab of beef from the walk-in refrigerator and proceeded to slice off thick, red steaks, concentrating on the knife as if it were a precision instrument. He grilled them only enough to warm the center, added a dab of horseradish, and placed them on plates already filled with salad.
He studied the menu: shallot pancake appetizers, rare prime on a bed of Caesar salad, ice cream with crushed cherry dessert, and cheese with yellow pears to go with coffee. It was not as much as he wanted, but it was the best he could do while riding a roller coaster.
Grady stumbled through the hatchway to take the officers’ dinner to the wardroom. Stokes was right on his heels.
“Are you ready?” Stokes asked Andrew. He zeroed in on the bowls of cherry-covered ice cream sitting on the counter while moistening his lower lip with his tongue.
Andrew dropped a spoon into a bowl and pushed it toward him. “Knock yourself out. I made plenty.”
“Jesus, thanks.”
Andrew stuffed a knapsack with food—everything on the officer’s menu, including a container of ice cream. He walked to the pantry and positioned his body so that Cocoa could not see what he was up to. He pulled a whiskey bottle from behind two large jars, filled a flask, and tucked the flask in his hip pocket. He hid the whiskey again and, returning to the galley, donned a pea coat and watch cap.
He turned to Stokes, who had a layer of cream around his lips. “Take the thermos and I’ll take this.” Andrew slung the knapsack over his shoulder.
They trudged down the center passageway, cut through the mess hall, and stepped onto the deck outside, clutching at the hatchway stanchions. The wind slanted rain horizontally across the deck. It whipped Andrew’s pant legs and drove drops of water into his face with stinging force. They inched along the deck, groping for handholds.
The bow plunged into a trough and disappeared into the next wave, spouting streams of water as it rose again. Water funneled down the deck. A moment later a wall of black water rose over the port side fifteen feet higher than Andrew’s head. When it seemed the wall was about to fall on them, the ship lurched upward, balanced on top of the wave, and plunged. Another wall rose on the starboard side. Watching the Pilgrim’s hull twist over every wave, Andrew wondered how much stress the twenty-five-year-old vessel could tolerate. If she foundered, he knew, there was no hope of a rescue ship reaching them.
Andrew felt himself panting from an intense, nervy rush as he crawled toward the fantail with Stokes dogging him. He used both hands to grab hold of different parts of the ship as they struggled by the torpedo launchers. Out of nowhere, a wave collapsed upon them, rocketing them along the deck. Andrew kept from being swept overboard by locking an arm though the port depth-charge rack. Stokes saved himself by latching on to Andrew’s legs.
They scrambled to their feet and ran before another wave could catch them. Stokes threw open the hatch leading into the airless cell that was used for the brig. Andrew peered down into the faintly luminous compartment. An armed marine sat in front of the cell, which surprised Andrew until he remembered that whenever marines were stationed aboard a Navy ship, they always took responsibility for guarding prisoners.
They descended the ladder and the marine stood while loosely holding his M1 rifle.
“We’ve brought dinner for the prisoner,” Stokes said.
“I need to check that bag. This prisoner gets only bread and water.”
“Give me a break, corporal,” Andrew said. “I can’t bake bread in this storm.”
“Orders are orders.”
Andrew set his knapsack on the deck but didn’t lift the cover. He pulled the flask from his hip pocket and unscrewed the lid. The pungent aroma of whiskey filtered through the air. Andrew winked at the corporal. “Medicine,” he said, in a drawn-out way, and told the guard that he intended to pour about half of the whiskey into the coffee and give the corporal the other half for safe keeping. Andrew suggested that the corporal cop a smoke break in the chow hall while they fed the prisoner.
The corporal nodded as Stokes unscrewed the thermos lid and Andrew added a healthy dose of whiskey. He handed the flask to the corporal, who disappeared up the ladder and out the hatch.
Behind a wall of bars, Hudson sat cross-legged on the deck. He was seminaked and his shaved head leaned forward, as if bent in prayer. Bruises shaded everything from chin to scalp, his eyes were swollen, and pus oozed out of the eyelids like tears. His lips were easily twice their normal size and his left ear was so swollen it resembled a cauliflower.
“Hey, sailor, chowtime,” Stokes said.
Andrew knelt on the deck and pulled two containers from the knapsack.
Hudson lifted his head and tried to focus through the slits of his puffy eyelids. “Thought you were gyrenes come to nursemaid me.” He strained to stand, and with bandaged hands grabbed hold of the bars to steady himself. “Say, is that ice cream? Sweet Jesus, pass that here, quick. I’m a starved man.”
Andrew stuck a spoon into the ice cream and passed it through a hole in the bars. Hudson lunged for it and wolfed it down, smearing gobs of cherry-colored cream around his lips as he shoveled it in. Through a mouthful he said, “Say, rookie, show me your face.”
Andrew moved closer and Hudson inspected the purple bruises and swollen left cheek.
“Lord, I did some damage, but nothin’ that won’t heal proper. Rookie, you should know better than to come between two men in a fist fight.”
“Had to. It was the only way to save you.”
“Save me? You was saving me? Ha! Listen rookie, I don’t blame you. I mean, everybody knows you have a crush on him. And to tell you the truth, he is the whitest son of a bitch that ever wore a gold braid, but don’t try to bullshit old Hud into believing you was helpin’ me.”
“If he hadn’t tackled you,” Stokes said, “you’d be doing ten to twenty in Sing Sing instead of three days bread and water. No doubt in anybody’s mind whose ass he saved back there, even if you’re too stupid to figure it out.”
Hudson fell silent, chewing as he glared at Andrew.
“Never figured it that way. Guess I owe you.”
“Look, Hudson, let’s put it behind us.” Andrew said.
“Call me Hud. You earned the right. And I still owe you.”
Hudson polished off the ice cream and they passed him the plate of steak and the thermos of coffee. He took a whiff of the coffee and his broken lips spread into a smile. He drank two deep gulps and glared at Stokes though his puffy eyelids.
“So where the hell were you when we was tearing the town apart?”
“With a girl. The girl I aim to marry.”
“She sure is pretty,” Andrew told Stokes. “With a girl like that, a fella can’t live in the White House, but you can sure be happy raising babies in Papeete.”
“Marry,” Hudson scoffed. “She must be a great piece of ass if you’re thinking of getting hitched. Take it from me, don’t buy the cow when you’re already up to your ass in milk.”
“She’s not like that,” Stokes said with a shy grin. “She’s a virgin and she’ll stay that way until our wedding night. Her father owns a grocery store. She was working the counter and I saw her through the window. Man, her smile lights up the moon. Andy, is there anything special I need to know about marrying an Asian girl?”
“How would I know? I was raised in a boy’s school. I’ve never been with a girl.”
“Hold on there,” Hudson said. “Forget about this virgin bullshit. I’ve been with women in every port. Take it from me, boys. Any woman between the age of sixteen and sixty, married or single, will spread her legs when the right man comes along.”
Stokes and Andrew gaped at each other, while Stokes’s face colored a precise shade of red.
“I don’t give a damn who she thinks she is,” Hudson said, “she’ll do it with a dozen different men in the same year if a dozen right men happen to come along. With most of them broads, you get a shot of whiskey in ’um, and any s
winging dick’s the right man. Yes sir, they’re all whores underneath those fancy clothes and pretty manners. I don’t know how many nice girls have given me a dose of the clap, but if you line them up end to end, it would sound like a fucking standing ovation.”
Hudson stuffed a slice of steak into his mouth and chewed while waiting for a response. Both Andrew and Stokes dropped their gaze to hide their embarrassment. Hudson’s chewing slowed to a standstill under their unresponsiveness. He swallowed, choking on his crumbling prestige.
“Hud,” Andrew said, “have you ever been with a woman that you didn’t meet in a barroom or a whorehouse? I mean, one that you didn’t pay for?”
“That’s got nothin’ to do with anything. We all pay one way or another. I keep things simple by taking women who operate on a cash-only basis.”
“So, you’ve never had a woman who felt love for you?” Andrew tilted his head to one side. A wave of sadness rushed through him.
“Don’t you feel sorry for me, God damn you. I chose this life and no man has the right to look down his nose at me. You don’t even know what the fuck you’re talking about. You’re the virgin in this conversation, so keep your stinking yap shut.”
It occurred to Andrew that Hudson was searching for something every time he went after a woman, but he couldn’t find it because he was looking in the wrong places.
“I hope someday you find what you’re looking for,” Andrew said.
“Rookie, thanks for the chow and thanks for saving my ass from Sing Sing, but take your pity somewheres else. I don’t need that shit thrown in my face, so fuck off.” Hudson turned his back and waited for them to leave, head bowed and silent.
Andrew glanced at Stokes, who shrugged his shoulders. Andrew began to apologize, but Stokes touched his shoulder, shaking his head, and nodded at the exit hatch.
They gathered the empty dishes and returned topside. Out on the rolling deck, there was no sign of the corporal. They checked the mess hall and carefully searched the fantail, with no result. They fought through the howling wind to the aft-crew’s quarters, where the marines were berthed, and found Lieutenant Hurlburt lounging on his bunk. Andrew asked the officer if the corporal was down there. Hurlburt replied negative, so Andrew was forced to tell him about the smoke break and the possibility of the corporal being washed overboard.
Hurlburt leaped to his feet and ran up the ladder. The crew made a full search of the ship before they reversed course and spent four hours hunting the dark water for the missing marine, without success.
ANDREW marched into the wardroom and snapped to attention before Bitton, Mitchell, and Hurlburt, who were seated at the green felt table.
“Seaman Waters,” Bitton said. “You’re here because our mission is now in jeopardy. You see, the marine we lost was the only one in Lieutenant Hurlburt’s squad who could speak and read Japanese. The lieutenant feels that, to do an adequate job, he needs someone with enough command of the Japanese language that they can read any document that might fall into their hands. You are the only other person aboard who may have that knowledge. Can you give us an idea of how well you speak the language?”
“Sir, I read Japanese better than I speak it, because they use many of the same characters as the Chinese. I should be able to make out what a document says, although it won’t be easy.”
“Excellent,” Bitton said. “The other consideration is your lack of training in jungle warfare. I’ll let Lieutenant Hurlburt be the judge of whether you would be an asset or a hindrance to his mission.” Bitton glanced at Hurlburt, passing the conversation to him while Mitchell chain-lit a Lucky Strike.
“While you were in Indochina,” Hurlburt said, “did you spend time in the wild country?”
“I had a number of experiences in the forest.”
“How much time did you spend there?” Hurlburt asked.
Andrew struggled with the question. “Time is a measurement that doesn’t apply in the wild country, as you call it. Time only applies to civilized things, sir.”
Hurlburt nodded.
“I don’t understand,” Bitton said.
“Sir, I once stood on a ridge looking into a ravine where a springbuck was feeding. As I watched the buck, I noticed a tiger stalking it. I couldn’t actually see the cat, it blended with the foliage and it crept so slowly, but I could feel its presence. Believe me, it was terrifying and beautiful at the same time. After an eternity, the tiger crouched into position, ready to pounce. The buck lifted its head and cocked its ears. At that moment, when the springbuck recognized the tiger, the entire universe stopped. I mean, it literally halted. No wind, no sound, no movement, no me, and certainly no time. In that place, that still universe, I didn’t exist. I was reduced to simply witnessing the interplay between the cat and the buck. I have no idea how long that lasted. It could have been a century for all I know. It certainly felt like it.”
Andrew paused for a moment, looking from one face to another. “The cat and the buck both sprang. In the instant that it took my mind to comprehend that the cat had lunged, it was over. Before my mind could engage, the buck had already gotten away and I was left trying to understand what had happened in that eternity that lasted a thousandth of a second. What I’m trying to explain is that, in the wild, simple things can span ages and complex relationships begin and end in the blink of an eye. Time has no relevance. It is a measurement that exists only in the human mind.” Andrew took a deep breath, exhaled, and added, “So how much experience have I had in the forest? Enough. In daylight and at night, enough.”
Bitton cleared his throat and said, “Waters, because of the danger involved in this mission coupled with your lack of training, I won’t order you to go. If we decide that you would be an asset to this mission, you will have to volunteer. Are you willing?”
Andrew stared at Mitchell, pausing to consider. “Confucius said: To shirk your duty when you see it before you shows want of moral courage. I was the cause of the corporal’s death. It seems it’s my karma to replace him.”
Mitchell closed his eyes, his chin dropped.
Bitton nodded. “That is all, Waters. We’ll inform you of our decision as soon as we make it.”
As Andrew exited the room, Hurlburt said, “I’ll take a chance on this kid. He knows what he’s talking about and he doesn’t try to bullshit you into believing he knows more than he does.”
“No.” Mitchell’s voice rang raw. “As exec, I’m responsible for the crew, and I won’t go along with this. Andy’s had no training in jungle warfare.”
“Andy? You’re on a first-name basis with this boy?” Bitton asked. “Let’s not forget we are at war, and when the need arises, we are asked to do the impossible. Waters could mean the difference between success and failure, and that translates into lives saved at invasion time.”
“But sir—”
“I’m overruling you this time, Nathan. Much as I hate losing the best damned cook in the Navy.”
“Sounds to me,” Hurlburt said to Mitchell, “like you’re letting personal feelings cloud your sense of duty. If that’s true, you need to sort out your priorities.”
Mitchell leaned close to Hurlburt. His eyes narrowed. “You bring him back with so much as a stubbed toe, Lieutenant, and I’ll track you down and crawl right up your ass with personal. You read me, mister?”
Chapter Fourteen
April 27, 1942—2000 hours
THE Pilgrim took a brutal thrashing as it drove through a cross-swelling sea, rolling over the top of white-ridged waves and plunging into cavernous troughs. Anything not tied down vaulted across the deck. Two inches of water streamed through the passageways, and pumps worked at full capacity to keep the old lady afloat. Men staggered about like drunkards, ate cold food, and couldn’t sleep in bunks that galloped like elevators gone haywire.
The crew’s consciousness acclimated to the pounding in the same way people acclimatized to the heat of the desert. But even so, the men stayed on edge. They didn’t like their situation
. Within the cramped quarters of the forecastle, they were jumpy and easily moved to quarreling, which led to open fighting.
Secured to his bunk with makeshift straps that he had fashioned from ropes, Andrew closed his eyes and tried to force his mind into sleep. Exhaustion finally lulled him into unconsciousness.
When the dream came, he saw himself alongside Clifford at the Bai Hur Sze Temple, exploring the compound. This revered historical and religious shrine had been constructed in the Ming Dynasty, sometime before the fifteenth century. Andrew had never seen anything that rivaled the temple’s beauty. The carved stone buildings were surrounded by immaculate gardens, which were equally magnificent in design and simplicity. Beyond the gardens and amidst the golden sun rays in the morning sky soared the famous cranes.
“Le-Le-Le-Let’s catch one,” Clifford whispered, gazing at the birds wheeling above. Clifford’s beauty was only marred by one flaw: he stuttered. He had difficulty uttering the first sound of any sentence. Once the threshold of the sentence was breached, the rest of the words flowed smoothly through his lips. But that first syllable became embroiled in his mouth, caught in a precarious struggle, like a delicate bird trying to extricate itself from a net.
Andrew nodded, and the boys ran into the rushes skirting the water. Only a few yards from the shoreline, a majestic crane waded beyond a stand of willows, lifting and placing its feet with precision. They dropped to their hands and knees. Andrew took the lead, snaking through stalks of willows. The bird froze, intent on a fish below the surface. They slowly rose to a crouched position, Andrew nodded, and they sprang forward with arms outstretched and fingers grasping.