Williwaw

by Gore Vidal

On several lanes, running inland from the main street, were the homes of the two hundred odd pre-war residents. Most of the houses had been vacated at the beginning of the war. The windows were boarded up and the privies leaned crazily in the back yards. Seven trees, which had been imported, were withered now, and their limbs had been made grotesque by the constant wind.

  A mile inland from the shore and the village was the army camp. It had been erected early in the war and its many barracks and offices duplicated the military life of the distant United States.

  Soldiers from the post and sailors from the Navy ships in the harbor wandered about the crooked lanes and along the main street. They were looking for liquor and women. There was much of one and little of the other in the Big Harbor. Prices were high for both.

  Bervick walked very slowly down the main street, proving to himself that he was in no hurry to see Olga. He would see her later in the evening.

  He stopped at a building somewhat larger than the rest. It was the Arctic Commercial Store, the main store in the village. Almost anything could be bought here. It was said that the store had made over a million dollars since the war.

  Bervick went inside. It was warm and crowded and cheerful. Sailors with beards in various stages of development walked about. Some wore gold earrings in their ears. Bervick grimaced. Earrings were an old sea custom recently revived. He did not like them.

  The shelves of the store were stocked with canned goods and souvenirs; upstairs was a clothing store. Bervick looked around at the counters. In the corner where souvenirs were sold, he saw several bright pink and blue silk pillow covers. On them were printed, in gay colors, maps of Alaska and various endearments.

  “How much is that one there?” Bervick asked the bearded man behind the counter.

  “What one?”

  “That one over there.” Bervick flushed and pointed to a pink one, inscribed To My Sweetheart.

  “You mean the Sweetheart one?” Bervick wondered if the man were deaf. For some reason he felt a little foolish. He nodded and said, “Yes, that’s the one.”

  The bearded man chuckled and handed it to him. Bervick paid him. The price was too high but that was not unusual here.

  He stuffed the fake silk cover in his pocket. When he saw Olga he would give it to her casually. The Chief had more money, but sometimes sentiment was much more important. His breath came shorter when he thought of Olga. He controlled himself. He would not go to her yet. She had probably already heard that his ship was in. He would make her wait for him. Bervick hoped the Chief would not try to see her tonight. The Chief had said that he planned to work on the engines. Bervick hoped that he would. The Chief wasn’t really much competition, though, thought Bervick.

  He walked down the street. Drunken sailors in groups went grimly from bar to bar. The Shore Patrol men stood warily on the wooden sidewalk, waiting for trouble. Fights would begin later in the evening.

  The Anchorage Inn was a popular bar. It rambled for a hundred feet or less on the main street, a few buildings from the Arctic Commercial Store. Bervick decided to have a drink.

  A blast of heat and light engulfed him as he entered. The smell of liquor, food, and too many people was strong in the room. It took him several minutes to get used to the light and heat.

  A long counter extended across one end of the building. Through the open kitchen door, behind the counter, he could see a fat woman cooking at a greasy stove; clouds of smoke and steam sizzled up from the stove. Two women and one man were serving at the counter and tables. Soldiers and sailors crowded the place. A half-dozen women were unevenly distributed. They worked in the shops and restaurants and bars. They made a lot of money.

  Sitting at a table with two sailors was a large woman who immediately recognized Bervick. “Hey, Joe,” she yelled. “You come over here.”

  “Hello, Angela. How’re you doing?” Bervick sat down at the table. The two sailors were young and seemed frightened by Angela. They looked relieved to see him.

  Angela was a huge and heavy breasted woman. She wore a green dress of thick cloth. Her eyes were narrow puffy slits and her face was painted carelessly. There was no reason for her to take pains up here, thought Bervick. Any woman was a beauty to men who had been without women for many months and occasionally years. Her hair was a bright brass red, dark at the roots. Angela was several years older than the forty she claimed to be.

  “What’s new, Joe?” she asked when he had made himself comfortable.

  “Not a thing. We just got in a little while ago.”

  “Yeah. I heard.”

  “News travels fast, I guess.”

  “It sure does.”

  The two young sailors mumbled something and moved away. Angela winked, “There they go...my admirers.”

  “I guess you still got a lot of them.”

  “Oh, I don’t do so bad. When you going to visit me? I live over the store now, you know.”

  “So I heard.”

  “News travels fast.” They laughed.

  “How’s little Olga?” Angela asked.

  “I suppose she’s O.K. I don’t see her so much any more.”

  “That’s just as well. I don’t like to talk much about the other girls, you know I don’t, but that Olga is just plain loose. I’m not saying the rest of us are any the better, I mean I know I’m not such a pure...well, you know, but after all I don’t take on more than one....”

  “For Christ’s sake!” Bervick snapped at her. He was disgusted by this corrupt mass of a woman saying such a thing of Olga. “That’s hard to believe,” he added more calmly.

  “What? That I don’t go with more than one? Why you know perfectly well I don’t. My only fault is that I’m just too affectionate.” She purred this last, and under the table her knee was pushed against his.

  “I guess that’s right.” You couldn’t be angry with Angela, he thought. He wondered if Olga would be waiting for him.

  “Then of course you know about her...Olga, I mean...two-timing that Frenchman off your boat. What’s his name?”

  “I know about that. That’s old.” Bervick spoke with authority, and Angela was impressed as he intended her to be.

  “Well, maybe she’s through with him.” She sighed and her great breasts rippled. Bervick wondered if Olga might marry him if he asked her. That would certainly cut the Chief out, he thought viciously. He frowned.

  “What’s the matter, darling?” asked Angela, leaning over the table, her face close to his. Cheap perfume floated up from her in heavy waves; it made him want to cough.

  “Not a thing, Angela, not a thing.” He moved back in his chair.

  “Well, don’t frown so,” she said peevishly, and then more brightly, “What about a drink? They’ve got some good stuff here. Hey, Joe,” she yelled at the waiter. He came over to their table.

  “Two shots, Joe.”

  The man went behind the counter and returned a moment later with two jiggers of whiskey. Bervick started to pay.

  “Never mind.” Angela pushed his money aside. “This is on the house, isn’t it, Joe?”

  “Sure.” Joe walked away.

  “I know so many things about Joe, you see.” Angela giggled. They gulped the whiskey. A tall blond sailor across the room caught her eye. She smiled and winked at him. The sailor came over to their table.

  “Hello, beautiful,” he said.

  “Hello, handsome.” Angela made fluttering feminine movements. Bervick stood up.

  “I think I’ll go now,” he said. He noticed the sailor wore a gold earring in one of his ears.

  “Bad luck, soldier,” said the sailor, leering and putting his arm around Angela. Bervick turned away.

  “Give my best to Olga,” said Angela. He did not answer. He walked outside into the cold air of the Arctic night. The whiskey had warmed him and he did not feel the cold. He was glad he had taken it.

  The street was crowded with sailors. They were becoming more noisy. Bervick walked on the extreme edge of the road in
the shadow of the buildings. He wanted no trouble tonight.

  The restaurant where Olga worked was called the Fall Inn. It was owned by a man named Fall who had a great sense of humor. Olga used to laugh a lot with Bervick when she thought of the funny name Mr. Fall had thought of. She liked to explain to customers why the name of the restaurant was so funny.

  The Fall Inn was a large, well-lighted frame house on one of the lanes that went back from the main street. Near it was a withered evergreen tree surrounded by a picket fence. This had been Mrs. Fall’s idea.

  Bervick stepped inside. He stood in the doorway, accustoming his eyes to the light. Behind the counter, stood Olga. She was waiting on a dozen or so customers. Olga was a tall girl with a slim figure. Her features were rather flat and without distinction, but her eyes were a beautiful shiny china blue. Her hair was silver-gold, long and untidy, and her complexion was white and smooth. She had thick legs and graceful hands.

  She saw Bervick when he came in. She looked away quickly and busied herself with the cash register.

  He went over to her and sat down at the counter. “How are you?” he asked, not knowing anything else to say.

  “What do you want?” She spoke nervously.

  “I just wanted to see you,” he said. “I guess it’s O.K. for me to sit here.”

  “Go ahead, it’s a public place.” Still she did not go away. A man across the room shouted for some coffee. Slowly she went back into the kitchen. She seemed frightened.

  “Not making any headway with her, are you?” Bervick looked behind him. Duval was standing there. He had been there for some time.

  Bervick felt sick to his stomach. For a moment he said nothing. Then he asked easily, “What are you doing here?” He was careful to control his voice.

  “Just what do you think, Sergeant?” Duval grinned. “I’m just here having some coffee and maybe having Olga later on. I haven’t made up my mind yet.” Duval sat down beside him.

  “I thought,” Bervick spoke slowly, “that you weren’t going to see her tonight.”

  “I never said I wasn’t. Besides it’s her and my business. She don’t want nothing to do with you anyway.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong.”

  “Well, you just go ask her, sucker.” Duval played with the sugar container.

  Olga came back from the kitchen. She was frowning. Her light brows almost met.

  “What are you doing tonight? Are you going to see this guy?” Bervick asked. Olga flushed and thought a moment. Bervick knew already what she would answer. Olga liked money too well. But, knowing this, he still wanted her.

  Olga decided to be angry. “What makes you two think you’re so good you can tell me what to do? I think you’re both conceited. Maybe I ain’t interested in neither of you.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” said Duval. “I guess I’ll just pay for some coffee and get on out.” Then he opened his wallet and let her see the thick sheaf of bills. Her eyes narrowed.

  “What you in such a hurry to go for? My gracious, you’d think I was poison or something.” A customer yelled for food and she went back into the kitchen.

  “I’d like to break your back,” said Bervick very deliberately, making each word a curse.

  “Don’t get upset, Sergeant. I just got more than you. I been keeping Olga ever since she got tired of you. You know that, so why do you keep hanging around? What you want to do? Marry her?”

  Bervick felt sick. He watched the Chief’s wide mouth move as he spoke. He noticed the Chief had a bright gold upper tooth. It gleamed cheerfully as he spoke.

  Duval went on talking. “There’re some other girls around here. What about that fat girl who’s so stuck on you? What’s her name? Angela?”

  “Angela!” exclaimed Olga. She came back from the kitchen in time to hear the name “Angela.”

  “Why she’s just a big fat you-know-what. So you been seeing her.” She turned on Bervick, glad at last of an excuse to be rid of him. “Well, you got your nerve to want to do anything with me after you been with her. Why I bet she’s got everything wrong with her.” A customer wanted to pay for his meal. She went to the cash register.

  “Too bad,” said Duval. “You aren’t much of a lover, are you? You go see Angela. She’s just your speed.”

  Unsteadily Bervick got to his feet. He buttoned his parka. Olga did not look at him; she pretended to be busy figuring change. The Chief absently twirled the sugar container between his broad hands.

  Bervick walked out of the Fall Inn. He did not shiver when the cold hit him. Some men from the boats were urinating beside one of the buildings. They did it all the time, all over the place. It was unpleasant, he thought. Someone should put a stop to it. Thinking of this and not of Olga, he walked back to the Anchorage Inn.

  Angela was not surprised to see him. The blond sailor with the gold earring was sound asleep in the chair beside her. On the table was a half empty bottle of whiskey. Wearily Bervick walked over to her.

  “Hello, darling,” she said brightly. “Was Olga mean to you?”

  “That’s right,” he said. He sat down beside her. The sailor stirred sleepily. His long hair fell in his face.

  “Nice, isn’t he?” commented Angela, with a motherly air.

  “Yeah. What are you doing tonight?”

  She looked at him. The playfulness left her face. She was strictly business now. “Sure, darling, sure,” she said. “But you know how it is.”

  “I know just how it is. I only got ten dollars,” he lied. Angela sighed. Then she smiled, her fat face creased with kindness. “I’ll lose my reputation for this,” she said with a chuckle, “but for an old pal, that’s a deal.” Bervick thanked her. He wondered to himself how these wrecks of women would ever be able to adjust themselves to peacetime when no man would look at them. “Of course you might take me to the show first,” she added coquettishly: a female elephant trembling at the thought of love. “I suppose I could. What’s on tonight?”

  “Saturday Magic. I hear it’s real good. I saw it advertised when I was in Frisco ten years ago.”

  “That sounds good to me.” Bervick helped her up. The sailor was still asleep. Angela took the bottle of whiskey and slipped it in her coat pocket.

  “He’ll never miss it. Besides we might want some in the movie,” she said cozily. They pushed their way through the crowd of soldiers and sailors. Standing outside the door were two Shore Patrol men waiting gloomily for the eventual riot.

  “Nasty bunch them SP’s,” remarked Angela, and then, “Jesus but it’s cold.” She pulled her coat tight about her neck. Quickly they walked to the small theatre at the end of the street.

  The theatre held about two hundred people. It was almost filled now and the show had begun. They found seats at the back. A shot was being fired on the screen and Angela, hearing it, squealed with gay terror. Two rows in front of them a man vomited. Bervick shuddered.

  “That’s all right, dear. You’ll be warm in a minute,” whispered Angela. He put his arm around her thick shoulders. She giggled and let her hand rest on his knee. Together they watched the figures on the screen and thought of each other.

  iii

  Morning came whitely over the harbor. The water was oily calm. A small Navy boat went through the channel and the crews of the different boats began to stir about on the docks.

  Bervick walked down the deserted street of the village. The houses looked unlived in. There was no sign of life away from the docks. His footsteps sounded sharp and clear in the emptiness of the morning.

  He thought of Angela and felt sick at the memory of her making love in a torn silk dressing gown, her frizzled red hair hanging stiffly down her back. Olga was so much cleaner. He would not think of Olga, though.

  The ship was already awake. The crew was straggling up out of the focs’le. He could see Evans moving around in the wheelhouse. Martin was out on the forward deck.

  “Have a good time?” yelled Martin when he saw him.

  �
�Sure. Don’t I always?”

  “Sure.”

  Bervick climbed aboard and stood beside Martin who was adjusting the hatch cover.

  “Who were you with last night? Olga?”

  “No. I was with Angela.”

  “That pig?”

  “I know it.” Bervick sighed and began, for the first time, to recall Angela’s large torso. “She’s got a nice personality,” he said absently.

  “Don’t they all?” said Martin. He kicked the edge of the canvas into place. “Let’s have chow.”

  Evans was sitting alone at the table when they came in. He muttered a good morning. They sat down.

  Bervick was hungry. He ate even the cold-storage eggs, which Smitty invariably served them and which they seldom ate.

  Martin looked up. “Say, Evans,” he said, “what’s this story I hear about John Jones? You know, the Indian guy from Seldovia.”

  “He killed himself.” Evans pushed himself back from the table and teetered his chair on the deck.

  “What went wrong?” Bervick was interested. He had been on a power barge with Jones.

  “He drank a bottle of methyl alcohol last night.” Evans made himself appear bored. He always did when anyone they knew died.

  “Well, what did he do that for?” Evans irritated Bervick sometimes. Evans always wanted to be asked things, as if he were an authority.

  “The girl he had back in Seldovia, an Indian girl, she left him and gets married. She writes him about it and he locks himself up in the head and drinks this stuff. They found him around midnight. He looked pretty awful they said. I guess he took the girl too seriously.” Bervick knew the last remark was intended for him and he did not like it. He would not kill himself for a woman, not himself, that was certain.

  “That’s life,” said Martin helpfully. The Chaplain and the Major entered the salon. Both were cheerful and both looked rested. They announced that young Hodges was still asleep.

  “We played poker for a little while last night. Where were you, Sergeant? We needed an extra man.” The Major spoke genially to show that aboard ship he was not conscious of rank.

  “I was visiting friends in the village, sir.” Bervick shifted uneasily in his chair.