Voyage To Somewhere Part 22

Going to the bridge, I told Flags to let up on the whistle until we heard the news. Then I went back to the radio shack. The noise from the other s.h.i.+ps in the harbor still made reception difficult. Sparks kept his earphones on. I sat beside him. Looking up, I saw the whole crew gathered outside the door to the radio shack. They stood there seriously, without excitement. Finally Sparks put the earphones down.

"It's not official yet," he said, "but the j.a.ps have asked for peace. It sounds like the real thing."

As soon as he spoke Flags ran up and lashed our whistle cord down again.

"How about liberty?" White asked. "How about setting a security watch and letting the rest of us go ash.o.r.e?"

"If you want to stay aboard," I said, "I have a few bottles of gin. I'll give them to the cook and he'll make up a punch for all hands. You'd have a pretty tough time getting any decent liquor ash.o.r.e."

"All right," White said. "That will be swell."

I went down to my cabin and took from a drawer five bottles of gin. I had found them in Mr. Rudd's stateroom while packing his personal effects. I gave the bottles of gin to the cook. He poured them into a tremendous mixing bowl and added some cans of orange juice. The full bowl he put out on the well deck and surrounded it with cups. The crew gathered around and began to drink. Mr. Crane and I joined them. At first we drank seriously, almost as a duty. Gradually the liquor began to warm us up.

"How about a song?" White asked.

The men gathered and sang.

"San Francisco here I come, Right back where I started from ..."

For a few moments I sang with them, then wandered off by myself to the flying bridge. I had a full cup with me and sat up there sipping it.

"Well, it's all over," I thought. "This is the date. My children will memorize this date ..."

Already I could see the brown bound book, the History of World War II, with dates and summaries for cramming. Probably in the schools it would be known as a pretty hard course. Lots of dates to memorize. On what day did Germany invade Poland? When was Midway? When was Stalingrad?

I would fail the history examination.

Down on the well deck the men had changed their song to "Bless 'em All." I listened to them.

"Now when finally the war is all over, The b.a.s.t.a.r.ds who stayed home through all, Will be kissed on the street by each girl that they meet, I still say, my lads, bless 'em all!".

They sang on and began to subst.i.tute an obscene word for the word "bless."

Yes, this is the date, I thought. My children will study all the causes of the war. They'll read about it with sad, questioning eyes. They'll see monuments and drive past them wondering where they can buy a Coca Cola. I hope they won't be cynical about the war.

On deck the men had stopped singing, and I heard someone arguing. Looking down, I saw Wortly step up to Boats.

"I never have liked you, Boats!" Wortly said. "You've been throwing your weight around here too G.o.d d.a.m.n much. Now the war's over, I'm going to tell you what a b.a.s.t.a.r.d I think you are!"

Boats put a huge hand on Wortly's chest and sent him spinning backward. Wortly landed sitting on deck. Everybody laughed.

"Cut it out, fellows, let's sing!" White said. By himself in his beautiful clear voice, he began to sing.

"Oh, I once knew a girl from Rhode Island, She was the belle of the ball; She asked me to be hers only, But I said that I must bless them all."

The others joined him and their voices rose in harmony. I relaxed in my chair on the flying bridge. Maybe when my children were taking the history course they would ask me what the war had been like. After all, I'd been through the war-I ought to be able to tell them all about it. For a long while I sat there trying to think exactly what I would say. I couldn't make up my mind. I had been through the war, but I felt as though I had been on a night train, and on waking in the morning had been told that I had been through Arizona.

About the Author.

Sloan Wilson (19202003) was born in Norwalk, Connecticut, and graduated from Harvard University. An avid sailor, he joined the US Coast Guard shortly after Pearl Harbor, and during World War II commanded a naval trawler on the Greenland Patrol and an army supply s.h.i.+p in the South Pacific. Wilson earned a battle star for his role in an attack by j.a.panese aircraft, and based his first novel, Voyage to Somewhere, and two of his later books, Ice Brothers and Pacific Interlude, on his wartime experiences. In 1955 Wilson published The Man in the Gray Flannel Suit, a cla.s.sic portrait of suburban ennui heralded by the Atlantic as "one of the great artifacts of popular culture in the 50's." It was adapted into a successful film, as was its bestselling follow-up, A Summer Place.

An author of fifteen books, Wilson was living with his wife of forty years, Betty, on a boat in Colonial Beach, Virginia, at the time of his death.

All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fict.i.tiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright 1946 by Sloan Wilson.

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