Herman Wouk - The Caine Mutiny

by The Caine Mutiny(Lit)

  "I know, sir."

  "Those demerits make sense. The values were carefully weighed. Any man who can't stay within the bounds of those penalties shouldn't be in the Navy."

  "I know, sir."

  "Unless," said the commander, and sipped for a while, "un-less extraordinary, once-in-a-million circumstances are in-volved. Keith, what's been happening to you?"

  There was nothing to lose. Willie poured out the tale of his troubles with May Wynn, including her appearance outside the fence. The exec listened unsmilingly. When the story was done, he pressed his fingertips together and mused.

  "In effect, your claim is one of temporary derangement due to a girl."

  "Yes, sir. But my fault, not hers."

  "Aren't you the boy," said Commander Merton, "who wrote the brilliant essay on the Frictionless Bearing?"

  "Well-yes, sir."

  "That was a brutal essay question, designed to knock out all but the best. The Navy can't afford, Keith, to lose a man with such a mind. You've done us a bad turn."

  Willie's hopes, which had risen slightly, fell again.

  "Supposing," said Commander Merton, "that I were to give you a total of forty-eight demerits and confine you to the school until graduation. Could you make the grade?"

  "I'd like to try, sir!"

  "Any offense would put you out-shoeshine, haircut, mussed bed. You'd live with your head on a chopping-block. Any bad luck would sink you-even the day before graduation. I've bilged men who had their ensign uniforms on. You wouldn't have an evening with this girl, Miss Wynn, for three months. Are you sure you want to tackle such an ordeal?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Why?"

  Willie thought a moment. Why, really? Even transfer to the Army seemed a relief in comparison, after all. "I've never failed anything I've tried yet, sir," he said. "I've never tried to do much, that's true. If I'm no good I might as well find it out now."

  "Very well, get on your feet."

  Willie jumped to stiff attention. The movement brought him back into the Navy.

  "Twenty-three demerits and confined till graduation," snapped Commander Merton, in dry, bitter tones.

  "Thank you, sir!"

  "Dismissed."

  Willie came out of the office full of resolution. He felt in debt to Commander Merton. His roommates respected his si-lence when he returned to the tenth floor. He flung himself upon his books with zeal and hate.

  That night he wrote a long letter to May. He promised that at the end of his imprisonment his first act would be to seek her, if she still wanted to see him. He said nothing about mar-riage. Next morning he got up with Keggs two hours before reveille and ground fanatically at ordnance, tactics, gunnery, navigation, and communications.

  There was a visiting time each day between five and five--thirty, when midshipmen could talk with parents or sweet-hearts in the lobby or on the walk in front of the hall. Willie intended to study through it, but came downstairs to buy cig-arettes at the vending machine. He was surprised to see his father seated in a corner of a leather-covered sofa, the cane resting across his knees, his head leaning wearily on an arm, his eyes closed.

  "Hello, Dad!"

  Dr. Keith opened his eyes and greeted Willie cheerfully, dis-pelling the picture of fatigue.

  "Where's Mom?"

  "She had a patrons' meeting at the museum. A few patients are pretty annoyed at me for canceling my office hours, Willie, but here I am."

  "Thanks for coming, Dad. How's your toe?"

  "The same- So, this is the good ship Furnald-"

  "Let's walk around. I'll show you the place."

  "No. Just sit and talk. Tell me about it."

  Willie explained the use of the alphabet flags hanging from the ceiling, rattled off his store of nautical language to de-scribe the massive anchoring tackle laid out in a corner, and explained the workings of the five-inch gun decorating the mid-dle of the lobby. Dr. Keith smiled and nodded. "You're learn-ing fast."

  "It's just a lot of talk, really, Dad. I'll be lost on a ship."

  "Not as much as you think. How are things going?"

  Willie hesitated. He felt glad of the chance to break the bad news to his father, rather than to his mother. He could not guess how she would receive the blow. He preferred to disclose his trouble to a man. He sketched his situation, keeping May's part in it brief. Dr. Keith lit a cigar, and watched Willie as though his son's face told him more than the words.

  "Pretty bad spot."

  "Bad enough."

  "Do you think you'll make it?"

  "If it's in me, I will. I used to think I was pretty sharp. Now I'm not sure what stuff I've got. I'm more curious than wor-ried."

  "Do you care about becoming a naval officer?"

  "I guess so. I can't see myself as a new John Paul Jones, but I'd hate to be licked in this silly way."

  "Did your mother tell you about Uncle Lloyd?"

  "What about him?"

  "His partner has gone into the Army as a colonel. Public Relations. Lloyd is almost sure they can pull you out of the Navy and get you an Army commission. Your mother has been looking into ways and means of transferring you from the Navy."

  "I didn't know."

  "It came up over the week end. You know your mother. She'll want to work it all out and hand it to you on a plate."

  Willie glanced out through the window. Midshipmen were lounging in front of the building in the sunshine. "Could I still get an Army commission if I bilged?"

  "I gather that it wouldn't make much difference. It might even expedite matters."

  "Will you do me a favor, Dad?"

  "Of course."

  "Tell Mom, as nicely as you can, to call off Uncle Lloyd."

  "Don't be hasty."

  "That's what I want, Dad."

  "We can always keep it in reserve, you know."

  "No, thanks."

  "I doubt very much you'd go overseas in that billet."

  "I wish to hell I'd known about it sooner."

  "Suppose you bilge next week? One smudged collar will do it, Willie."

  "If I bilge," said Willie, "I'll enlist as a sailor." He had formed no such resolve. The words came to his tongue.

  The gong clanged. Dr. Keith looked around and saw other visitors moving to the door. He rose awkwardly, leaning on the cane. His movements gave Willie a twinge of anxiety.

  "You're not in good shape, are you?"

  "I'll live," laughed the doctor. He took Willie's arm, but didn't lean on it, merely holding it as they walked to the en-trance. "Well, farewell to the prisoner of Furnald. I'll break it to your mother as gently as possible."

  "She can still visit me here. I hope you will, too."

  "I can't help saying," Dr. Keith remarked, stopping at the door, "that your devotion to the Navy surprises me."

  "I'm not devoted to it. If you want to know, what I've studied seems to me a lot of rubbish. The rules, the lingo, strike me as comical. The idea of men spending their lives in this make-believe appalls me. I used to think it was preferable to the Army, but I'm sure now that they're both the same kind of foolishness. I don't care. I picked the Navy. I'll see this stupid war through in the Navy."

  "Do you need any money?"

  Willie smiled ruefully. "Cigarettes are cheap here. No tax." The doctor put out his hand. "Good-by, Willie." He held his son's grip a little longer than necessary. "Much of what you say about the Navy is probably true. But I wish I were one of your roommates."

  His son grinned, surprised. "Be nice to have you here. But you're doing more for the war in Manhasset."

  "I'm compelled to try to think so. Good-by."

  Willie looked after the limping figure, and vaguely thought that he ought to have talked more with his father before the war.

  In the weeks that followed May came often to visit him. She was contrite and cheerful. With simple tact she found out when his mother was likely to come, and stayed away on those days. Twice Willie saw her come to the entrance of Furnald
, observe him talking to his mother, and depart with a discreet wave. In February her visits became less frequent; she enrolled in Hunter College, and had several late classes. But sometimes she cut these to come to him. Willie was un-easy about her return to school, but she laughed at him.

  "Don't worry, dear, all that is finished. I'm not doing this for you, but for me. You've had one good effect on me. I've decided I'd rather not be an ignorant canary all my life."

  Willie stuck to his resolve to improve his shaky position with high marks, and he rose gradually to a place among the leaders in the school. In the first hours of fiery determination he had set his goal at Number One, but he soon saw that that would be denied him. A mandarin-like midshipman named Tobit, with a domed forehead, measured quiet speech, and a mind like a sponge, was ahead of the field by a spacious percentage. Bunched behind him were three other masterminds. Willie couldn't compete with their weird photographic registry of print; he soon realized this, and stopped despairing at marks which fell short of perfect. He drudged away in the niche that he found, varying between eighteenth and twenty-third in Furnald.

  His struggle against odds was notorious. The midshipmen and even the ensigns were fond of telling their girls about the unhappy devil carrying forty-eight demerits. This celebrity was useful to Willie. No ensign, not even the punctilious Brain, wanted to be the one to drop the guillotine on him. Once Acres came into the room during a study period and found Willie collapsed in sleep over the desk, a plain case costing eight demerits. Willie shook all day, but the offense was never reported.

  Mrs. Keith was outraged at Willie's position and violently sympathetic. She spent several visiting periods urging Willie to accept Uncle Lloyd's Army commission, but she gave up at last when she saw that Willie was evidently winning his battle and taking deep satisfaction in it.

  In the last weeks, Willie faltered, partly from numb fatigue, partly from a sense that the danger was passing. When the final standings were `posted, four days before graduation, he had dropped to the thirty-first place.

  That same day a sensational document appeared on the bul-letin board: a list of the types of duty open to graduates of Furnald. When the midshipmen returned to their rooms after morning classes they found mimeographed forms on their cots. Each midshipman was asked to list the three types of duty he most desired, and to state the reasons for his first choice.

  Nobody could find out how heavily these sheets would count in deciding orders. There were rumors that everyone would get his first choice if the reasons were well put; other rumors that the sheets were just more meaningless Navy paper; still other darker rumors, the more believed for their pessimism, that the purpose was simply to trap those who wanted to avoid dangerous duty, in order to make sure they got it. Some ad-vised asking for the riskiest duty; others were for putting down frankly the desires of the heart. Men like Willie, known for a gift of words, were pressed into service to write convincing reasons wholesale. An enterprising ex-newspaperman named McCutcheon on the eighth floor enjoyed a burst of prosperity by charging five dollars per reason.

  Keefer instantly chose Staff Duty, Pacific, saying, "That's for me. Laying around on your duff in Hawaii, with all them nurses around, maybe running to get the admiral a dispatch once in a while. That's my kind of war." He daringly left blank the other choices. Keggs agonized over the blank sheet for an hour and at last filled it in with a shaking hand. His first choice was Mine Disposal Training, a horrible bogey which no other man in school dared place on his sheet at all. Next he chose Submarines, Pacific-and third, in small letters, he wrote his true choice, Local Defense, Atlantic.

  Willie's one aim in filling out the form was to remain near May. First he placed Staff, Atlantic, calculating that this must land him on the East Coast, possibly even in New York. Next he put Large Ships, Atlantic (large ships spent a lot of time in port). Last he wrote Submarines, Pacific, to show that he was really a daredevil at heart. This last touch was admired on the tenth floor and much imitated. Willie himself thought that his list showed an incisive knowledge of Navy mentality. For a while he was tempted to apply for communications school, a five-month course at Annapolis. Keefer had a brother, Tom, who had attended the school and enjoyed a wild time with the Baltimore girls. But it seemed to Willie that asking outright for half a year more of shore duty would show his hand. Tom Keefer had been sent to Annapolis after requesting an aircraft carrier. When Willie found that out, it decided him against listing the school.

  Graduation was one day off, and during a study period the midshipmen of the tenth floor were droning over books, carry-ing out to the last the pretense of work though the marks were all totaled and nothing counted any more. A word crackled down the corridor like a spark. "Orders!" The midshipmen crowded to their doors. Down the hall came the mate of the deck with a bundle of envelopes. He came to 1013 and thrust two envelopes into Keefer's hand. "Good luck, mates."

  "Hey," said Keefer, "there's three guys in here."

  The messenger riffled through his bundle. "Sorry. Guess Keith's orders are held up. There's another batch coming." Keefer ripped open his envelope, burst into a cheer, and danced. "Made it! Made it! Staff, Pacific, by Christ!" Willie pounded his back in congratulation. All at once Keefer so-bered, and pulled himself out of the hug. "Hey, Ed-what the Shinola's eating you?"

  The horse face was leaning against the wall, trembling as though he stood in a bumping trolley car. His envelope lay on the desk.

  "What did you draw, Eddy?" said Willie anxiously.

  "Dunno. I-I can't open it, fellows." He was staring at the envelope as though it were a live mine.

  Keefer snorted. "Want me to?"

  "Please."

  The Southerner rasped it open and read the orders. "Jesus," he murmured. Keggs fell on his cot with his face to the wall, groaning.

  "For God's sake," said Willie, "what is it?"

  "'Report to San Francisco for transportation to DMS 21--U.S.S. Moulton.' "

  Keggs sat up. "A ship? A ship? Not Mine Disposal-a ship?"

  "A ship," said Keefer. "Now what is a DMS?"

  "Who cares? A ship!" Keggs fell back on his cot, threw his legs and arms in the air, and neighed, wept, and giggled all at once.

  Keefer drew a picture manual, Ships of the Navy, 1942, from a shelf. "DMS-DMS-I swear to God there ain't no such ship-no wait. Here it is-DMS-page 63."

  The others crowded around him as he flipped the stiff pages to a picture of a queer narrow three-stack vessel. He read aloud: " `DMS-Destroyer Minesweeper. World War I de-stroyer converted for high-speed sweeping.' "

  "Oh, God!" breathed Keggs. "Mines. Mines." He dropped into the chair and writhed.

  "Hell, boy, that's a sight better than Mine Disposal. Sweep-ing is nothing."

  Willie couldn't muster up any such false cheer. The three had often talked about minesweeping and agreed it was the worst seagoing horror the Navy had to offer. He pitied Keggs. All up and down the floor shouts were being exchanged. Most of the men had received their first preferences. Those who had been honest rejoiced; the others sulked or shivered. Willie was annoyed to learn that everyone who had asked for communi-cations school, even as third choice, had been sent there. He had missed a chance. But Staff, Atlantic, was fair enough.

  The mate of the deck appeared in the doorway. "Here's yours, Keith. Just came up."

  Willie opened the envelope with a thrust of his forefinger and yanked out the sheaf of papers. His eye darted to the third paragraph. The words seemed to rise up at him with a sound of trumpets: Report to Receiving Station, San Francisco, for transportation to

  DMS 22-U.S.S. CAINE.

  PART TWO

  THE CAINE

  6

  Dr. Keith's Letter

  When Ensign Keith followed the bellboy into his room in the Mark Hopkins Hotel in San Francisco, he was struck at once by the view of the city in the sunset. The hills were twinkling. under a sky massed with clouds, pink in the west, fading to rose and violet in the east. The ev
ening star shone clear, hang-ing low over the Golden Gate Bridge. Eastward the lamps were burning along the gray arches of the Oakland Bridge, a string of amber gems. The bellboy turned on lights, opened closets, and left Willie alone with the sunset and his bags. The new ensign stood by the window for a moment, stroking his gold stripe, and wondering at so much beauty and splendor so far from New York.

  "Might as well unpack," he said to the evening star, and opened his pigskin valise. Most of his belongings were in a wooden crate in the hotel's check room. In the valise he carried only a few changes of clothes. On top of a layer of white shirts lay two mementos of his last hours in New York-a phonograph record and a letter.