Herman Wouk - The Caine Mutiny

by The Caine Mutiny(Lit)

  But I've had a pleasant time, I can truly say that. I've loved reading and golf, and I've had all of that I wanted. The days have gone by all too fast.

  I wish I might have met this girl of yours. It seems to me that she, or the Navy, or both, are having quite a good effect on you. And believe me, Willie, that is by far the brightest thought I take with me into the hospital. I've let slide my relationship with you as I have so many other things, through plain sloth; particularly since your mother seemed anxious to take charge of you. It's too bad we had no more children. Just bad luck. Your mother had three miscarriages, which you may not know.

  I'll tell you a curious thing. It seems to me that I have a higher opinion of you than your mother has. She regards you as a hopeless baby who will have to be coddled through life. But I am coming to believe that though you are pretty spoiled and soft at the surface, you are tough enough at the core. After all, I see, you have always done pretty much as you pleased with your mother, while giving her the sense of ruling you. I'm sure this was no plan on your part, but you've done it anyway.

  You've never had a serious problem in your life, up to this Navy experience. I watched you in the forty-eight demerits business very closely. It had its comical side, but really it was a challenge. You rose to it in an encouraging way.

  Perhaps because I know I'll never see you again I find my-self sentimentalizing over you, Willie. It seems to me that you're very much like our whole country-young, na‹ve, spoiled and softened by abundance and good luck, but with an interior hardness that comes from your sound stock. This country of ours consists of pioneers, after all, these new Poles and Italians and Jews as well as the older stock, people who had the gumption to get up and go and make themselves better lives in a new world. You're going to run into a lot of strange young men in the Navy, most of them pretty low by your standards, I daresay, but I'll bet-though I won't live to see it-that they are going to make the greatest Navy the world has ever seen. And I think you're going to make a good naval officer-after a while. After a great while, perhaps.

  This is not criticism, Willie, God knows I am pretty soft myself. Perhaps I'm wrong. You may never make a naval officer at all. Perhaps we're going to lose the war. I just don't believe it. I think we're going to win, and I think you're going to come back with more honor than you believed possible.

  I know you're disappointed at having been sent to a ship like the Caine. Now, having seen it, you're probably disgusted. Well, remember this, you've had things your own way too long, and all your immaturity is due to that. You need some stone walls to batter yourself against. I strongly suspect you'll find plenty of them there on the Caine. I don't envy you the ex-perience itself, but I do envy you the strengthening you're go-ing to derive from it. Had I had one such experience in my younger years, I might not be dying a failure.

  Those are strong words, but I won't cross them out. They don't hurt too much and, furthermore, my hand isn't the one to cross them out any more. I'm finished now, but the last word on my life rests with you. If you turn out well, I can still claim some kind of success in the afterworld, if there is one.

  About your singing versus comparative literature-you may have a different outlook when the war is over. Don't waste brain power over the far future. Concentrate on doing well now. Whatever assignment they give you on the Caine, re-member that it's worthy of your best efforts. It's your way of fighting the war.

  It's surprising, how little I have to say to you in these last words. I ought to fill up a dozen more sheets, and yet I feel you are pretty good at getting your way-and in other matters any words I might write would make little sense, without your own experience to fill the words with meaning. Remember this, if you can-there is nothing, nothing more precious than time. You probably feel you have a measureless supply of it, but you haven't. Wasted hours destroy your life just as surely at the beginning as at the end-only at the end it becomes more obvious. Use your time while you have it, Willie, in making something of yourself.

  Religion. I'm afraid we haven't given you much, not having had much ourselves. But I think, after all, I will mail you a Bible before I go into the hospital. There is a lot of dry stuff in the Bible about Jewish wars and rituals that may put you off-but don't make the mistake of skipping the Old Testament. It's the core of all religion, I think, and there is a lot of everyday wisdom in it. You have to be able to recognize it. That takes time. Meantime get familiar with the words. You'll never regret it. I came to the Bible as I did to everything in life, too late.

  About money matters. I'm leaving all my property to your mother. Uncle Lloyd is the executor. There is a ten-thousand--dollar policy of which you're the beneficiary. If you want to get married, or go back to school, that should be enough to enable you to carry out your plans. Money is a very pleasant thing, Willie, and I think you can trade almost anything for it wisely except the work you really want to do. If you sell out your time for a comfortable life, and give up your natural work, I think you lose the exchange. There remains an inner uneasi-ness that spoils the comforts.

  Well, Willie, it's 3 A.M. by my old leather-covered desk clock. A waning moon is shining through the library window, and my fingers are stiff from writing. My toe is giving me the devil, too. Sleeping pills and bed for me. Thank God for barbiturate.

  Take care of your mother if she lives to be very old, and be kind to her if you come back from the war with enough strength to break away from her. She has many faults, but she's good, and she has loved you and me very truly.

  Willie began to sob. He read the last paragraphs through a blur of tears.

  Think of me and of what I might have been, Willie, at the times in your life when you come to crossroads. For my sake, for the sake of the father who took the wrong turns, take the right ones, and carry my blessing and my justification with you.

  I stretch out my hand to you. We haven't kissed in many, many years. I liked to kiss you when you were a baby. You were a very sweet and good-natured child, with wonderful large eyes. God! Long ago.

  Good-by, my son. Be a man.

  DAD

  The ensign rose, wiping his eyes, and hurried downstairs to the telephone booth. He dropped a coin into the box. "I want to call the United States-"

  "Sorry. Private calls only at Central Building with censor's permission. One week delay on them," said the operator with a Hawaiian accent.

  Willie ran out into the naval base and went from building to building until he found the telegraph office. How is Dad? he cabled, and paid the urgent rate, giving the office as his return address. Next morning at eight when the office opened Willie was waiting outside. He sat on the steps smoking until eleven-thirty, when the answer was brought to him. Dad died three days ago. Sent you his love in last words. Please write. Mother.

  Willie went straight to the office of Captain Matson, who greeted him cordially.

  "Have they put you to work yet, Keith?"

  "Sir, on reconsidering, I'd like to fly out to look for the Caine, if I may."

  The captain's face fell. "Oh? What's the matter? They give you some rugged coding detail?"

  "No, sir."

  "I've already told the admiral you're set here. He was ex-tremely pleased."

  "Sir, if I may say so, it just doesn't seem like fighting the war-playing piano for the admiral."

  A hard distant look came over the captain's features. "There's plenty of work to do in this establishment. You'll find that a shore billet is as honorable as any other."

  "I don't doubt it, sir-"

  "You were placed in the officer pool at your own request."

  "Yes, sir, I know, but-"

  "Your orders have been put through and sent to the Bureau. I see no reason to countermand them. Your request is denied." The captain picked up a paper before him and put on his glasses.

  "Thank you, sir," said Willie, and left.

  And so Willie stayed at Pearl Harbor, decoding messages which told of great actions around Rendova and Munda, of the victor
ious night battle at Vella Lavella, and of huge prep-arations for further invasions. Often he came upon the name of the Caine in dispatches showing her in the thick of the opera-tions. And across the world the Allies smashed into Sicily and Italy, and Mussolini fell. Meantime Willie played piano for the admiral.

  7

  The Caine

  But the soreness over his father's death lessened gradually, and Willie began to enjoy Pearl Harbor. His coding duties involved eight hours a day of drudgery in a cement vault underground, and this hardship soothed his conscience. He avoided the girls and the liquor for a couple of weeks, but then the admiral had another party, and Willie got drunk, and soon he was back at the old round. Honolulu was full of easy pleasures. The climate was soft, the sun brilliant, the moon beautiful, the air perfumed by ever-blooming flowers. Except for the curfew and the black-out and some barbed wire along the beaches the war caused little inconvenience. Willie went on many picnics with the nurses. He acquired a rosy tan and became plumper.

  He continued writing tremendously affectionate letters to May. The plan for dropping her was discarded. Willie had de-cided that May was not too old to waste a year or two. He might marry her, he might not. But their relationship was too valuable an "experience" to be cut short. May's letters were all that could be desired: long, loving, cheery, and usually con-taining good news. She was enjoying college, though she felt like a grandmother, she said, among the freshmen. Her marks were high, and the language in her letters improved each month.

  The roommates lay on their cots, reading newly arrived mail one sultry July afternoon. Flies buzzed at the screens, though there was no attraction inside the room but the smell of hot dry wood. Keefer lolled on his side, naked except for white shorts, his hairy stomach bulging over the waistband. "Christ on a bicycle!" he exclaimed, rising on one elbow. "What's the name of your ship again-Caine, ain't it?"

  "Yes," said Willie, absorbed in a letter from May.

  "Well listen, boy, I think my brother Tom is on that ship!"

  Willie glanced up in surprise.

  "I think it's the Caine," said Keefer. "Never can make out my pap's doggone handwriting. Here, how do you read this?" Willie peered at the word indicated by Keefer's thumb. "Caine all right."

  "Sure enough. They sent him there from communications school. Whaddya know!"

  "Fine. It's a lucky break. It'll be like having a relative on board. Does he like the ship?"

  "Hell, no. He wrote Pap it's the foulest bucket in the Navy- But that don't mean nothing," he added quickly, seeing Willie wince. "Hell, don't take anything that Tom says too serious. Tom's queer as a three-dollar bill. The Caine's probably a great ship if he don't like it."

  "What kind of guy is he, Rollo?"

  "Well, you try to figure how different from me a guy can get-and that's Tom. See, he's only my half brother. I've seen very little of him. His mother was my dad's first wife-Catholic. They got married Protestant, and it didn't last long, and she hauled off home to Boston where she come from, with Tom."

  Keefer put aside the letter, lit a cigarette, and lay back with his arms under his head.

  "Tom's a high-brow, pretty much, writes short stories, plays-had some stuff in magazines. Gets real dough for them. I got to know him a little bit at William and Mary. He was a senior when I was a freshman. But he ran around with that literary crowd, you know, reading poetry by candlelight, with a few dames around for when the candles went out-that kind of Shinola. I guess he figures me for a moron, he's never bothered with me a damn. He's not a bad guy. Pretty witty and all that. You and him will probably get along good, with you reading all that Dickens and all."

  It was the first of September when Willie and Keefer stag-gered into the BOQ at four in the morning, full of hog meat and whisky which they had consumed at a hilarious luau ar-ranged by the nurses. They fell on their beds still giggling and singing ribald parodies of Hawaiian songs. Soon they were heavily, happily asleep.

  Next thing Willie knew, he was being shaken, and a strange voice was whispering loudly, "Keith? Keith? Are you Keith?"

  He opened his eyes. Day was just dawning. In the dim light he saw a short, swarthy ensign in shapeless frayed khakis standing over him.

  "Yes, I'm Keith."

  "Better come along. I'm Paynter, from the Caine."

  "The Caine?" Willie sat up. "She's here?"

  "Yep. We're shoving off at 0800 to do some target towing. Get your gear together."

  Willie sleepily reached out for his trousers. "Look, I'll be glad to report aboard, Paynter, but I'm still attached to the officer pool here."

  "No, you're not. That's all fixed. We've got a visual despatch detaching you. We've been waiting for you a long time, Keith."

  He said it pleasantly, but Willie felt obliged to defend him-self. "I did what I could. Missed you by a few hours back in May when you shoved off. They stuck me into the officer pool-"

  "Hell, I wouldn't blame you if you never showed up," said Paynter. "I hate to be the guy who does this to you. Can I help you with your gear?"

  All this talking was in low tones. Keefer snored obliviously. As Willie emptied drawers of the bureau into his wooden foot locker, he said, "Do you have an officer aboard named Keefer? Tom Keefer?"

  "My department head," said Paynter.

  "That's his brother." Willie pointed to the sleeper. Paynter looked at Keefer dully. Willie, more wide awake, noticed that the Caine officer was slumping with fatigue.

  "How screwy is he?" said Paynter.

  "Why? Is your department head screwy?"

  "I didn't say that. Better bear a hand, Keith. The boat's waiting on us."

  "Are we leaving Pearl for good?"

  "Why?"

  "If we are I'll wake up Roland and say good-by."

  "No. We're not leaving for good. At least not according to orders."

  "Fine." Willie finished packing and dressed in silence. He shouldered his foot locker and stumbled out through the door. Paynter followed with his two bags, saying, "But don't be sur-prised if we take off west and never see civilization for a year. It's happened before."

  Outside the BOQ in the chill misty morning stood a small gray Navy dump truck. "Not very classy," said Paynter, "but that's all I could get at five in the morning. Pile in."

  They rattled down the road toward the fleet landing. Willie's luggage jumped and lunged around in the back as though trying to escape. "Where's the ship?" said Willie, wondering at the dour silence of Ensign Paynter.

  "Moored to a buoy in the stream."

  "Are you regular Navy?"

  "No."

  "Are there any regulars aboard?"

  "Three."

  "Are you V-7?"

  "Yes."

  "Deck?"

  "No, engineering."

  "What are your duties on the Caine?"

  "Communications."

  Willie was startled. "Isn't that a queer assignment for an engineer?"

  "Not on the Caine."

  "I take it you don't like the Caine."

  "I didn't say that."

  "What's the ship like?"

  "You'll see for yourself."

  "Seen a lot of action?"

  "Yes and no."

  "You been aboard her long?"

  "Depends."

  "On what?"

  "On what you call long."

  "I call a year long."

  "I call a week long sometimes."

  The truck pulled up at the head of steps leading down to the fleet landing. Paynter honked. Three sailors lying in a half--canopied greasy gray boat alongside the dock rose wearily and mounted the steps. Their blue dungarees were ragged, and the shirttails hung outside the trousers. They loaded Willie's gear into the boat while Paynter turned the truck in to a car pool a few yards down the road. The two officers stepped into the boat and sat on cracked black leather seats inside the canopy.

  "All right, Meatball, shove off," said Paynter to the cox-swain, a fat sailor dressed in amazingly dirty rags, with a
pure--white new hat tilted forward almost to his nose.

  A bell clanged in Willie's ear and he jumped. His head was no more than an inch from the bell. He shifted to another cushion. The boat engineer started up the motor, after several failures which he commented on with filthy epithets delivered in an indifferent monotone. He was perhaps nineteen, small and gaunt, with a face blackened half by stubble and half by grease, and covered with pimples. Long, coarse black hair fell over his tiny squinting eyes. He wore no hat. He was addressed by the other sailors as. "Horrible." As soon as the boat chugged away from the landing he took off his shirt, exposing a mon-key-like growth of hair.