Williwaw

by Gore Vidal

  “Afraid we might sink?”

  “Sure, sure,” said Martin and he moved unsteadily to the wheelhouse.

  Bervick sat down on his bunk and looked at the darkness. Duval was dead. He imagined how it must have felt: the cold water, the numbing sensation, desperation, and then the whole elaborate business of living ended.

  Evans opened the door of his cabin. “You asleep?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “I’m going below now. Which ventilator did you fix? I’ve forgot.”

  “The starboard side. The one amidship.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “You going below now?”

  “I thought I’d look around before I turned in. Chief still up?”

  Bervick controlled his breathing very carefully. “No. He said he was going to hit the sack.”

  “I won’t bother him then. Good night.”

  “Night.” Evans closed the door.

  Bervick lay in the darkness. He rolled from side to side in his bunk as the ship lunged regularly on the waves.

  It was not his fault. He was sure of that. He had handed Duval the hammer. Well, he had thrown the hammer to him. He had not thrown it very hard, though. The Chief had lost his balance, that was all. Perhaps the hammer had hit him and thrown him off balance, but that was not likely. The ship had been hit by a wave and he was on the railing and fell off. Of course, the hammer might have been thrown much harder than he thought, but Duval had caught it all right. Well, perhaps he had not quite caught it; the hammer had hit him in the neck, but not hard enough to knock him overboard.

  Then Duval was in the water and Bervick had tried to get help but it was too late. No, that was not right, he had not tried to get help: he had only stood there. But what could he have done? Fifteen minutes would have passed before they could have rescued him. Duval would have been frozen by then. Of course, he should have tried to pick him up. They couldn’t lose time, though. Not in this weather. He had tried throwing Duval a line; no, that wasn’t true at all. He had done nothing at all.

  They would find he was gone by morning, or sooner. Then they would talk. Hodges would try to remember when Duval had left and he would remember hearing a splash: the hammer falling overboard. The Chief had gone back to the engine room or some place like that.

  Bervick slept uneasily. From time to time he would awaken with a start, but he could not remember his dreams. That was the trouble with dreams. The sensation could be recalled but the details were lost. There were so many dreams.

  iii

  “I don’t see how it happened,” said the Major. “It’s been so calm.”

  “I know, it’s been very calm,” agreed the Chaplain.

  Major Barkison, the Chaplain and Hodges were in the salon. A half-hour before, at three-thirty in the morning, Evans had told them that Duval was missing.

  In the galley the crew was gathered. The passengers could hear their voices as Evans questioned them.

  Hodges sat at the galley table playing solitaire. He had been asleep when one of the crew had come and asked him to see Evans in the salon.

  Hodges was sleepy. He hoped that Evans would finish his questioning soon and let them go back to bed. It was exciting, of course, to have a man disappear, and he wondered what had happened. Hodges could not believe that Duval had fallen overboard. That was too unlikely. That couldn’t happen to anyone he had talked to such a short time before.

  “The decks are quite slick,” commented the Major. “It’s easy to slip on them; all you have to do is slip and that’s the end.”

  “I can’t believe it happened that way,” said the Chaplain. “He must be somewhere around the ship. There must be a lot of places where he could be.” The Chaplain, like Hodges, could not grasp sudden death.

  “This isn’t a big ship,” said the Major serenely. “They must’ve looked everywhere.”

  “That water must be awfully cold,” said Hodges, beginning to feel awake.

  The Chaplain shuddered and muttered something under his breath.

  “Almost instant death,” said the Major. “Almost instant death,” he repeated softly. The Chaplain crossed himself. Hodges wondered how the water must have felt: the killing waves.

  Evans and Martin walked in from the galley. Evans looked worried.

  “Did any of you people see Duval tonight?” he asked.

  The Major and the Chaplain said they had not.

  “I did,” said Hodges.

  “About when?”

  “Around ten or eleven, I guess, I haven’t kept much track of time lately.”

  “What was he doing?”

  “Well, he and Bervick were arguing about fixing the ventilator or something.”

  “I know all about that. Did you see him around later?”

  “No. He and Bervick went outside to fix this thing. Bervick came back in alone. He said something or other about the Chief going below.”

  Evans sat down on the bench. The lines in his face were deep now. He seemed to Hodges to have stood about all he could. First the williwaw and then this.

  “Go get Bervick,” said Evans, turning to Martin.

  Martin left.

  “I guess he fell off, if he did fall off, after Bervick came in,” said Hodges.

  “Could be,” said Evans.

  “I can’t really believe this has happened,” said the Chaplain. “He must be somewhere on the ship.”

  “I wish he were,” said Evans. “I wish he were.”

  “There will probably be an investigation,” said the Major.

  Evans nodded. “They’ll be running all over the ship.” Bervick and Martin joined them. Bervick looked sur-

  “Chiefs missing. That right?”

  “Yeah, he’s gone. The Lieutenant here didn’t see the Chief after you and him went out to fix the vent.”

  Bervick nodded. “We went out and when we finished the Chief said something about going up forward. I went on back to the salon. I guess he went on below later.”

  “Or else he fell overboard after you left,” commented Evans. He turned again to Martin, “Get the assistants, will you?”

  The assistant engineers were as surprised as the rest.

  “I don’t know nothing about it,” said the heavy-set one. “Chief, he went on up top around ten o’clock and he didn’t come back down, or at least I didn’t see him again.” The other assistant had not seen him either.

  “Well, there’s the story,” said Evans. “On his way back he must have slipped.”

  “But it wasn’t rough at all,” said the Major. “I wonder how he managed to fall over.” The Major carefully made his large-nosed profile appear keen and hawklike.

  “Well, he’d been sitting on the railing when I was fixing the ventilator. He might have sat on the forward railing after I left,” said Bervick.

  “He could lose his balance then?”

  Bervick nodded, “Easiest thing in the world.”

  I see.

  “We had a deckhand fall off that way once.”

  “Of course, that’s what I feel must have happened. The decks are so slick.”

  “And you can lose your balance on a railing.”

  “I suppose so.”

  The Chaplain was calm now. He remembered his duty as a priest. “There will have to be some sort of service,” he said, looking at Evans.

  “That’s right,” Evans agreed. “I’m supposed to give it but if you wouldn’t mind I’d rather have you take care of it.”

  “That’s perfectly all right. I should be glad to give the service.”

  “What kind is it?” asked the Major dubiously.

  “The Burial at Sea one,” said Evans. “Masters of ships are supposed to read it when one of the men dies at sea.”

  “Do you have a copy somewhere?” asked the Chaplain. “I’m afraid I don’t know it. Not quite in my line, you know.”

  “Yeah, I’ve a copy up top.” Evans looked into the galley. “Hey, Jim,” he said, “go up and
get that Manual, the gray one on my desk.”

  There was loud grumbling from Jim as he obeyed.

  “Will you make a sermon?” asked the Major.

  “No, I don’t think so. Well, perhaps.”

  Hodges could see that the Chaplain was rising to the occasion with considerable gusto.

  “Perhaps a short prayer after the service. Something very simple, something to describe our, ah, thankfulness and so on.”

  “That will be nice,” said Major Barkison.

  “Yes, after all it’s our duty to do this thing right.”

  “I’ll bet the Chief would get a kick out of this,” commented Martin.

  Bervick, who was standing beside him, nodded. “Chief would really like all this attention.”

  Hodges sat beside Evans on the bench. “What kind of report you going to make, Mr. Evans?”

  Evans shrugged. “The usual one, I guess. Lost at sea in line of duty, accident.”

  “That’s the simplest, I suppose.” Hodges looked at the others. They were very solemn. Death had a sobering effect on people: reminded them that they were not immortal.

  The Chaplain sat muttering to himself. Hodges wondered if the Chaplain enjoyed this sudden call on his professional services.

  Major Barkison, whom Hodges admired, was indifferent, or at least he seemed indifferent. His face was cold and severe. Hodges tried to look cold and severe, too.

  Martin was excited. His face was flushed and his eyes unusually bright. He talked with Bervick who seldom answered him.

  Hodges tried to remember something. He was reminded of this thing by the sound of waves splashing on the deck.

  He scowled and thought and concentrated but the thing floated away from his conscious mind.

  Evans was talking to one of the assistant engineers. “I want you to get the Chief’s stuff together. I’ll have to inspect it and then we’ll send it back.”

  “I’ll get the stuff together.” The two engineers were less moved than any of the others.

  Evans turned to Martin, “You better make out that usual notice, you know the one about all people owed money by the Chief, that one.”

  “I’ll write it up tomorrow.”

  The deckhand named Jim returned and gave Evans a flat gray book.

  “Here’s the book,” said Evans.

  “Oh, yes.” The Chaplain stood up and Evans handed him the book. The Chaplain thumbed through the pages muttering, “Fine, fine,” to himself. “A very nice Burial,” he announced at last. “One of the best. I suggest you call the men together.”

  Evans nodded at Bervick and Bervick went into the galley. The Chaplain took his place at the head of one of the tables. Evans stood beside him. Hodges joined Martin and the Major at the far end of the salon.

  The crew wandered in. There was a low growl of voices as they talked among themselves. Bervick assembled them in front of the Chaplain. Then he stood beside Evans. “Everybody’s here except the man on watch.”

  “O.K.,” said Evans. “You want to start, Chaplain?” The Chaplain nodded gravely. “I wish,” he said in a low voice, “that I had my, ah, raiment.”

  “It’s in the hold,” said Evans. “I don’t think we could get it.”

  “Perfectly all right.”

  Hodges strained to remember the thing that hovered in the back of his mind; the thought that made him uneasy.

  The Chaplain was speaking. He was saying how sad it was that Duval was dead.

  Hodges watched the Chaplain. He seemed to expand, to become larger. His voice was deeper and the words came in ordered cadences.

  He began to speak:

  “Unto Thy Mercy, most Merciful Father, we commend the soul of our brother departed, and we commit his body to the deep; in sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life through our Lord Jesus Christ.

  “I heard a voice from Heaven saying....”

  Hodges looked at Bervick. His face was tired. A wave hit over the ship; there was a splashing sound.

  The Chaplain began to speak Latin and Hodges looked at Bervick again.

  Chapter Seven

  i

  “SNOW’S starting to clear,” said Martin.

  Evans looked up from the chart table. “We’ll see Arunga when the snow clears.”

  A high wind had sprung up during the afternoon and snow flurries swept by them constantly. For a while Martin had been afraid there would be another williwaw, but now that they were so near to Arunga it made no difference. A williwaw near port was much different from one at sea.

  Martin watched Evans as he measured distances on the chart with a pair of dividers. Already he was relaxed. He was whistling to himself.

  “Looks like we’re going to make it,” said Martin.

  “I guess so.” Evans did not look up from his chart.

  “That williwaw, that was pretty close, wasn’t it? I mean we were almost knocked out.”

  “I’ll say.” Evans stood up straight and stretched himself. He looked at the barometer and smiled. “We’ll have sunshine soon,” he said.

  “That’ll be the day.”

  “It could happen.”

  Evans walked over and looked at the compass. “Five degrees to port,” he said.

  The man at the wheel began to swing the ship over. Martin looked out the window at the whiteness. He thought of Duval. His name had not been mentioned since the service early that morning.

  “What’s the procedure when somebody dies aboard ship, when somebody disappears?”

  “An investigation.”

  “Just a routine one?”

  “Usually. It’s different if they disappear and nobody sees them.”

  “What happens then?”

  “Still an investigation; a little more so, maybe.”

  “What are you going to tell them?”

  “Just what I know. Last anybody heard the Chief was out on deck. Then he fell overboard.”

  “I wonder what they’re going to think happened.”

  “Nothing happened except that. What makes you think anything else happened?” Evans spoke sharply.

  “I don’t think anything different happened,” said Martin. “It’s what they’ll think, that’s all.”

  “This thing’s happened before. They know what to do. They’ll be routine.”

  “I hope so.”

  Evans looked at him a moment. Then he looked out the window.

  Martin yawned and watched the small gray waves splatter against the bow. Then the snow was suddenly gone. Weather was like that here. A snowstorm would stop in several minutes. A gale could blow up and be gone in five minutes.

  “There it is,” said Evans.

  “What?”

  “Arunga, off the port bow.”

  Martin looked and saw, for the first time, the black bulky coastline of Arunga.

  “See that cape?” asked Evans.

  “Yes. That the port?”

  “That’s the port,” Evans said happily. “Go down and see what shape the lines are in.”

  “How long before we’ll dock?”

  “Couple of hours.”

  “Fine.” Martin went below. Outside on deck the wind was cool and direct. The air was clear and he could make out details of the island mountains.

  One of the deckhands came out of the focs’le, the ship’s dog with him. The dog sniffed the air suspiciously and then, satisfied, headed for the galley.

  “Is that Arunga, Mate?” asked the deckhand.

  “That’s Arunga.”

  “I guess we really made it. I guess it was pretty close some of the time.”

  “I’ll say. We had luck.”

  “That’s no lie.” The deckhand walked back to the galley. Martin examined the lines. They seemed to be in good shape. He walked to the afterdeck and checked the stern line: undamaged. He walked into the salon.

  The passengers were talking loudly. Their baggage was piled on the deck of the salon and they were ready to go ashore.

  “Somebody wou
ld think you people wanted to get off this boat,” said Martin.

  The others laughed. “We’ve enjoyed it, of course,” said the Chaplain charitably. “But, we are, ah, land creatures, if you know what I mean.”

  “I thought it was pretty interesting,” said Hodges. “Not everybody sees a wind like that.”

  “At least not many people get a chance to tell about it,” agreed Martin.

  Hodges and the Chaplain began to talk about the trip. Major Barkison, looking almost as young as he actually was, turned to Martin. “I hope there’ll be no trouble about the accident.”

  “You mean Duval?”

  “Yes. If I can be of any help at all just let me know. Tell Evans that, will you? I feel sure that nothing happened for which any of you could be held responsible.” Having said this, the Major joined the Chaplain and Hodges.

  Martin sat down. He knew what the Major thought. He knew what some of the crew thought, too: that Bervick had had something to do with Duval’s death. No one would say anything about it, of course. The crew would be loyal to Bervick. Evans would pretend that the thought had never occurred to him. Of the passengers only the Major appeared to suspect anything. The Chaplain would never think of it. Hodges might.

  “When are we docking?” asked Hodges.

  “Around an hour or so.”

  “Isn’t that marvelous,” exclaimed Chaplain O’Mahoney. “I’m sorry,” he added quickly. “We’ve all appreciated what you’ve done.”

  “I know how you feel,” said Martin. “It’s too bad we had to have so much excitement.”

  “That,” said the Chaplain, “is life.” There was no answer to this. Martin went into the galley and watched Smitty fixing supper.

  “We going to Seward next, Mate?” asked Smitty.

  “Some place like that. We’ll have to go to drydock somewhere.”

  “Well, I want to get off somewheres. I don’t like this stuff.”

  “That’s too bad.” Martin was getting tired of Smitty’s complaints. He went slowly up the companionway to the wheelhouse.

  Bervick and Evans were talking. They stopped abruptly when Martin entered.

  “How’re the lines?” asked Evans.

  “Good shape.”

  “We’ll be docking soon.”