Voyage To Somewhere Part 15

I wanted to say, "Stop saying yes, sir," and knew that would be absurd. "You go ahead and do your work now," I said suddenly. "And tell me if anyone really does anything bad to you, something I can be sure about."

"Yes, sir," he said again and did not move.

"That's all, Livingston, you can go now," I ordered.

"Yes, sir," he said. He turned and walked out of the cabin. I sat by myself and smoked. Starting to go to Mr. Rudd, I decided not to and sat down again. After a few moments I got up and went on deck. I found Boats working by himself.

"Livingston was just complaining to me about you, Boats," I said. "He complained about the way you talk to him. Have you treated him any different from anybody else?"

Boats put down the line he was splicing. "No, I haven't," he said at length.

"In the future talk to him as nicely as you can," I replied. "He's pretty sensitive."

Boats looked at me with a puzzled expression. "I'll do my best," he said.

I stood there somewhat at a loss. I could hear what Mr. Rudd would say if he were there: "What an awful thing-the captain of a s.h.i.+p tells a boatswain's mate to speak to a seaman as nicely as he can!" I looked at Boats, and saw that he was again preoccupied with the line he was splicing. Suddenly I wondered if Livingston had been right, if Boats had been unnecessarily hard on him.

"Boats, do you have anything against Negroes?" I asked abruptly.

"I'm no Southerner," he replied. "I don't have anything for or against them. But this Livingston is a d.a.m.n poor seaman. He just don't know how to do things. I have to be at him all the time."

"Well, he's just been in the service five months," I said. "Give him time to learn. He's probably never been aboard a s.h.i.+p before. Maybe he'll turn out all right."

Although air attacks became less and less likely as the j.a.ps were weeded out of the islands near Leyte, blackouts were still enforced. Blackout curtains still cut the air from our fetid living quarters. In the evening the heat was unbearable. Five minutes after we put on a fresh s.h.i.+rt it was as wet as though it had been dipped in a wash tub. Our skins became poisoned and irritated by their own sweat. A new rash, different from the New Guinea rot and the ubiquitous p.r.i.c.kly heat, afflicted us. Mr. Warren's entire back and chest looked as though he had just received a severe las.h.i.+ng. When we went on deck the wind chilled our wet s.h.i.+rts and made us sneeze. The enlisted men put away their s.h.i.+rts and the officers never wore them except while at meals. Finally I repealed even this rule, and we gathered half naked around the dinner table. Still we sweated, and while we ate we glanced away from one another.

"G.o.d, men are unattractive," I said at dinner, one night in March. "After this war is over I'm going some place where I never have to look at a man again. Do you know any place like that?"

"Some island," replied Mr. Crane. "You could buy some island down in the Society group, and stock it up with wh.o.r.es."

"The post war world at its best!" commented Mr. Rudd. "What an awful thing!"

"No," said Mr. Crane, "I guess we'd get tired of that. After this war I'm going to make so d.a.m.n much money that every woman in the country will be chasing me."

"I thought you were already married," Mr. Warren objected.

"I am," Mr. Crane replied, "but that doesn't prevent me from liking to have them chase me, does it?"

"After this war," Mr. Warren said, "I'm going to take adventage of the GI Bill of Rights. I'm going to take Rachel and go to some college in the Middle West where I can get a doctor's degree. You can live pretty cheaply at those colleges in the Middle West, and they're coeducational. Rachel and I could go to cla.s.ses together. She hasn't gone to college yet, but you should see the stuff she reads, stuff that's too deep for me. We'll live there on a little farm, maybe, and keep a cow or two, and go to cla.s.ses together."

"It sounds like a pretty good idea," Mr. Crane said hesitantly.

"Oh, it is," Mr. Warren continued. "It's not as impractical as it sounds at first. Do you realize that in Ohio you can rent a small farm for around ten dollars a month? Of course you don't get plumbing and heating and electricty, but Rachel and I won't mind that. Cla.s.ses would take only about half our time. The rest of the day we'd work on the farm. We'd grow vegetables and raise chickens."

"That's not the life for me," Mr. Crane interrupted heartily. "What I want is money. I've been thinking. I may not go back to that brokerage office with that b.a.s.t.a.r.d Howard. I'm thinking of starting a night club. Have you any idea how much night clubs make? You buy one bottle of cheap whisky for about ninety cents wholesale, and you sell it for fifty cents a shot. For the privilege of paying fifty cents a shot, the customer has to sh.e.l.l out a two buck cover charge. You get yourself a menu that calls hamburger Salisbury steak. That Salisbury steak will cost the customer two bucks and a half. He'll pay it too. I've done it myself."

"It's funny the way everybody wants to make money," Mr. Warren said. "I don't want it at all. Do you know what I think about when I think what I'll do after the war? I think about sitting in a field somewhere reading. I'd have my wife out there too. We'd be reading and talking about what was in the books. I wish you could meet Rachel. She's pretty, but she's intelligent too. You've seen her picture, haven't you, Captain?"

"Yes," I said hastily. "She's very lovely."

"She's just as smart as she is pretty," Mr. Warren went on. "I'll tell you how I met her. It was in Los Angeles about two weeks before we sailed. I didn't know anybody there and I was walking through the park. I saw this girl sitting on a bench reading. As I went by I saw that the book was a copy of the Odyssey. It seemed funny to see such a pretty young girl sitting there reading Homer, so I sat down on the bench and in a little while managed to strike up a conversation with her. A week later we were married!"

"That's real nice," Mr. Rudd said soberly.

No one else said anything. Mr. Rudd took a fingernail file from his pocket and started filing his nails. The file made a surprisingly loud rasping sound, and he put it away again.

"Right now," Mr. Warren said brightly, "Rachel has a job selling dresses. She's saving the money she makes so we can go to college. She asked me to send her all my money so she can put it in the bank with hers. She's got quite a job. It keeps her real busy. I kind of hate to think of her working all the time, but I can't help admiring her for it. It takes a lot of guts for a young girl to go out and take a job. Do any of your wives work?"

"My wife has to stay home with the kid," said Mr. Crane.

"My wife works sometimes," I offered.

"Well, I think it's much better for a girl to be working if she doesn't have any children," Mr. Warren continued. "I think it's much better for them to work than to just sit around with nothing to do but think and worry and write letters."

Mr. Crane suddenly pushed his chair from the table and got up. He stood there for a moment looking a little surprised at himself, then mumbled something about its being too hot to eat anyway, and went to his stateroom. A moment later Mr. Warren finished his meal and excused himself.

"When I get back to the States," I said to Mr. Rudd, "I'm going to look that guy's wife up and if she's what I think she is I'm going to beat the h.e.l.l out of her."

"You can't tell," said Mr. Rudd. "You can't tell what she is."

"Two letters!" I said. "That guy's received just two letters from her since we left the States. And all he does is talk about that d.a.m.n woman like she's an angel."

"Maybe she's just a scatterbrained young girl," replied Mr. Rudd. "You can't tell. What difference does it make? He's happy as a king."

"He sends her all his money so she can put it in the bank with hers!" I said. "I bet she puts it in the bank with hers!"

"As long as he can talk like he talked tonight he's getting his money's worth," answered Mr. Rudd.

"And when he gets home he'll start his post war world with one h.e.l.l of a surprise!" I replied.

"And so will we all," said Mr. Rudd.

He lit a cigar. The smoke quickly filled the stuffy little wardroom. I lit my pipe in defense.

"What the h.e.l.l," I said, "maybe she's all right. She is just a kid. From her picture I don't think she's more than nineteen years old."

"And if she's what you think she is," Mr. Rudd replied, "Warren knows it as well as you do. Way deep down he won't be a d.a.m.n bit surprised when he has to face it."

"Did he ever tell you about a letter a friend of his wrote him about her?" I asked.

"Yes," said Mr. Rudd, "he asked me about that too. That might be just like she says it was. Anyway, as long as he doesn't go home it will be the happiest marriage that ever was."

When we returned to Tacloban from one of our trips to Guian we saw the SV-131 moored where we usually unloaded. We tied up alongside her. Mr. Stuart, her skipper, was ash.o.r.e. I sat on the wing of our bridge looking down on deck. Our seamen were talking to friends they had on the other s.h.i.+p. While I sat there I saw Livingston come out of our forecastle and lean on the rail. At the same time a Negro on the SV-131 walked out on her deck. They saw each other at the same time, and walked over to stand opposite each other.

"h.e.l.lo," I heard Livingston say.

"h.e.l.lo," the other Negro replied.

There was a long silence while the two looked each other over. The other Negro was much bigger than Livingston, and looked like an athlete. He was very black.

"Any more colored boys on your s.h.i.+p?" the big Negro asked.

"No," said Livingston, "I'm the only one."

They stood there indecisively a moment. I got up and went below. I walked out on the stern and stood idly smoking. Guns came aft, holding the monkey on a string. The monkey jumped up on the rail and sat there fingering his fur.

"Come here, Horrid," Guns said. "Stop doing that!"

"What do you call him?" I asked.

Guns grinned. "Little Horrid," he said. "That's his name. I've had a h.e.l.l of a time catching him to tie him up. The minute we came alongside here he tried to go over the hill."

I stood watching the monkey scratch himself. Up forward I saw Livingston climb over the rail and walk with the big Negro into the galley of the other s.h.i.+p. At the same time I saw Mr. Warren climb up on the dock on his way to see if there were any mail. Reasonlessly I had a desire to curse, not just the way I usually did, but much worse; I wanted to invent words so horrible they would blot out everything else. Suddenly the monkey let a stream of urine fall from the rail to the deck. Guns started to laugh.

"Look at that," he said. "The little b.a.s.t.a.r.d p.i.s.sed."

I laughed too. A few minutes later when Mr. Rudd walked aft he found Guns and me laughing as though we had just heard the best joke in the world.

The next morning after breakfast I went over to the SV-131 and called on Mr. Stuart.

"I see you've got a Negro seaman," I said. "How does it seem to be working out?"

"Working out?" said Mr. Stuart. "Why, he's one of the best men I've got."

"Did you ever stop to think how lonely those fellows must be?" I said. "They never should put just one on a s.h.i.+p."

"I don't think Clay is lonely on here," Mr. Stuart replied. "He gets along fine with all the men."

"He does?" I said. Unwillingly, I found this news made me feel uncomfortable.

"Well, Livingston doesn't get along fine on my s.h.i.+p," I added. "Maybe the trouble is with me."

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR.

EVERY MORNING at breakfast in the wardroom we listened to short wave broadcasts on the radio. There was one in particular that fascinated us all. It came on at eight o'clock, and we always waited and watched Mr. Rudd expectantly. After the station identification came a girl's voice which with a cloyingly seductive intonation said, "h.e.l.lo, fellas."

At this Mr. Rudd always put down his knife and fork.

The voice continued. "This is GI Jane with her GI Jive. Remember, when I sing I sing for you."

At this Mr. Rudd always exploded. He had different patterns of explosion. Sometimes he made a sound as though he were vomiting convulsively. Sometimes he banged the table with his fist and said, "Turn it off, G.o.d d.a.m.n it! Turn it off!" Always he described the unprintable things he wanted to do to the songstress. His explosions always lasted through the first song. After Mr. Rudd was through we always turned the radio off.

As the long weeks of running between Tacloban and Guian dragged on, however, his ferocious outbursts died down. It actually worried me when one morning in April he let GI Jane get halfway through her little talk without profanity. When she got through telling us about how she was singing for us, he merely looked up and said, "I hope she sings that one about mares eat oats," and went back to his coffee. The next morning he let GI Jane finish her talk without interruption. When he put down his knife and fork it was only to remark that he was G.o.d d.a.m.n sick of powdered eggs. After that morning we never turned the radio on at all.

I began to spend most of my time alone in my cabin. It seemed that whenever the three officers and I got together in the wardroom we ended up in some kind of an absurd argument. We all began to keep away from each other. Because I slept so much in the daytime I had insomnia at night. The nights seemed longer than they ever had before. Lying restlessly on the hot linen of my bunk, I listened to the countless small noises about the s.h.i.+p. There was the striking of the clocks in the wardroom, the galley, and the bridge. There was the rattling of dishes in the galley as the watch got coffee and sandwiches, and the subdued mumble of conversation. These restrained noises were rea.s.suring. Often they lulled me to sleep.

One night just after the midwatch had gone to the bridge, I was lying awake in my cabin and heard two men walking up and down the deck. They stopped near the porthole of my cabin. One was Wortly, the c.o.xswain, and the other was Widen, the machinist's mate. Their voices were quiet and matter-of-fact. I rolled over and tried to make my mind blank enough to receive sleep. The voices did not bother me very much, and I was just on the point of going to sleep when my ear unconsciously picked up the thread of their conversation.

"Today I finally got laid," Wortly said.

"Did you?" Widen asked. "How the h.e.l.l did you manage to do that?"

"I made a deal with a Filipino dogface," Wortly replied. "I asked him where I could get a woman. He said that if I would give him five cartons of cigarettes I could have his wife. I came back to the s.h.i.+p, got the cigarettes, and went to this Flip's shack. His wife came out and when he talked to her she started to cry. He yelled at her and finally hit her. Then she got down on the floor and I had her. The whole time I was with her she cried. When I was through she got down on her knees and prayed."

There was a long pause during which I sat up in horror. Then Widen said in a perfectly normal conversational voice, "How was she? Was she good-looking?"

"For a Flip she was swell," Wortly replied.

I got to my feet and reached for my clothes. As I dressed I could still hear the men talking.

"I'll take you up there tomorrow if you want to go," Wortly said. "That Flip will do anything for a carton of cigarettes."

"No," Widen replied. "I don't think I'd want to go."

I heard Wortly laugh and say something obscene. Just at that moment I opened the door.

"Wortly, come here at once!" I roared.

Wortly and Widen appeared and blinked at the light in the door. They looked astonished, and I realized I had just spoken in a tone I had tried never to use. I felt angrier than I had ever felt before. I did not know what to do. All I could think of was that I had to say something to them. I did not know what. The men walked into my cabin and stood there glancing at each other.

"What do you want, sir?" Wortly asked innocently.

Suddenly it came to me that I could say nothing at all. I was too angry to say what I wanted to say, and it was not my job to lecture anyway. A wave of horror swept over me. It was followed by weariness. I sat down on the edge of my bunk.

"Go back to the forecastle and quit talking right outside my cabin," I said. "Just get out of here. I'll see you in the morning."

Still looking surprised, they walked out. As soon as they were out of sight I heard them whispering. I went back and lay down. Sleep came much sooner than I thought it would.

In the morning when I awoke I thought at first that I had dreamed the whole episode. I still could hear as clearly as when it had been spoken the terrible story: "His wife came out and when he talked to her she started to cry. He yelled at her and finally hit her. Then she got down on the floor and I had her. The whole time I was with her she cried. When I was through she got down on her knees and prayed." Every time I thought about it I got angrier. I finally resolved to have a talk with the other officers about it and decide what to do. After breakfast I closed the wardroom door and told Mr. Crane, Mr. Rudd, and Mr. Warren the whole thing. I took care to use Wortly's exact words. When I had finished I asked Mr. Rudd what he thought we should do.

"Forget it," he said. "You can't really court-martial him for a story you happened to hear him tell. It's just one of those awful things that happen. Chalk it up to love-romance in the Philippines."

"I'd figure out some way to court-martial him," Mr. Crane said. "G.o.d d.a.m.n it, for once you're in a position to really fix a b.a.s.t.a.r.d like that. For just one time the whole military system of giving one man power over another could be justified. I'd get him in here and throw the book at him."

"After all," Mr. Warren interrupted, "the men are under one h.e.l.l of a strain out here. You can't expect them to be plaster saints."

Mr. Crane and Mr. Rudd looked at him in amazement.

"That doesn't sound like you," Mr. Rudd said. "I thought you'd be all for hanging the guy up by the thumbs."

Mr. Warren s.h.i.+fted uneasily in his chair. He spoke very rapidly. "I don't know," he said. "I've been thinking a lot lately, and I've decided you can't expect too much from people. After all, these men are out here without women. I think we'd be foolish to make a fuss over a thing like this. There's nothing wrong with Wortly. He's always talking and joking around the s.h.i.+p. I think he's a pretty good kid."

"That's it," said Mr. Rudd. "Wortly is a swell kid. What an awful thing!"