The Caine Mutiny (56 page)

On a whim, he took out his best tweeds, a beautiful soft tan suit which had cost two hundred dollars at Abercrombie and Fitch, and selected with fussy care a powder-blue wool tie, Argyle socks, and a white shirt with a buttoned-down collar. The trousers were too loose; the jacket struck him as overpadded and oversized. The tie seemed strangest of all when he knotted it, loud and effeminate, after two years of black ties. He looked at himself in the full-length mirror on the inside of his closet door. For an instant, his own face surprised him. He partly, perceived the changes his mother had seen. He was concerned by a thinness of his hair at the forehead line. But the effect blurred even as he stared at himself; and it was just Willie again, looking tired and not very happy in loud clothes. He came downstairs, feeling clumsy and self-conscious, aware of the heavy pads on his shoulders.

He was hungry; and while his mother chattered happily about his handsome appearance he ate up a large platter of eggs and bacon, with several rolls. “You never drank coffee like this before,” said Mrs. Keith, filling his cup for the fourth time, and watching him with mixed anxiety and respect.

“I’m a fiend now.”

“You sailors are terrible.”

“Let’s go into the library, Mother,” he said, draining his cup.

A ghost was in the brown book-lined room, but Willie fought down his feelings of awe and sadness. He dropped into his father’s red leather armchair, selecting the sacred spot deliberately; disregarding his mother’s wan sorrowful loving look. He told her the story of the mutiny. She fell silent after a few shocked exclamations, and allowed him to talk for a long time. The light in the room dimmed as heavy gray clouds rolled over the morning sky, blotting out the sunshine on the empty flower beds outside. When Willie finished and looked at her face she regarded him steadily and puffed a cigarette.

“Well, what do you think, Mother?”

Mrs. Keith hesitated, and said, “What does-have you told May about it?”

“May doesn’t even know I’m in New York,” he said irritably.

“Aren’t you going to see her?”

“I guess I’ll see her.”

The mother sighed. “Well, all I can say is, Willie, this Old Yellowstain sounds like an abominable monster. You and the executive officer are, perfectly innocent. You did the right thing.”

“The doctors say different.”

“You wait and see. The court will acquit your executive officer. They won’t even try you.”

His mother’s blind optimism did not comfort Willie. On the contrary, it annoyed him exceedingly. “Well, Mother, not that I blame you, but you don’t know much about the Navy, that’s obvious.”

“Maybe not, Have you decided anything about May, Willie?”

Willie didn’t want to answer, but he was cross, and nervous; and telling the mutiny story had shaken his self-control. “Well, this will probably please you very much. I decided that it wouldn’t work. I’ve given it up.”

The mother nodded slightly, and looked down at her lap, appearing to suppress a smile. “In that case, Willie, why are you going to see her? Wouldn’t it be kinder not to?”

“I can’t just ignore her, Mother, like a whore I once spent a night with.”

“You’ve picked up a little Navy language, Willie.”

“You don’t know Navy language.”

“It’s just that you’ll be letting yourself in for a pointless, agonizing scene-”

“May’s entitled to her scene.”

“When are you going to see her?”

“Tonight, if I can. I thought I’d call her now-”

Mrs. Keith said, with doleful amusement, “You see, I’m not so dumb. I’m having the family over tomorrow night. I imagined tonight would be taken.”

“It’ll be the only night. You’ll be all clear on the next four.”

“Darling, if you think I’m happy about this you’re mistaken. I share all your pain-”

“Okay, Mother-”

“Someday, Willie, I’ll tell you all about a man I didn’t marry, a very handsome and attractive and worthless man, who’s still alive.” And Mrs. Keith blushed a little, and looked out of the window.

Willie stood. “I’ll make my call, I guess.”

The mother came, put her arm around him, and leaned her head on his shoulder. Willie submitted. Outside a few thick flakes of snow drifted down through the black branches of the trees. “Darling, don’t worry about your court-martial. I’ll talk to Uncle Lloyd. He’ll know what to do. Believe me, nobody’s going to punish you for doing such a fine, daring thing.”

Willie went to his mother’s bedroom, took the extension telephone from the bedside table, and plugged it into the jackbox in his own room. He called the candy store in the Bronx. While he was waiting for an answer, he shoved the door shut with his foot.. “May Wynn’s not home,” said a flat, vulgar voice, a woman with a foreign accent. “Try Circle 6-3475.”

He called the other number. “Hotel Woodley, good morning,” said the operator.

Willie knew the Woodley well: a shabby theatrical hotel on Forty-seventh Street. “May Wynn, please.”

“Miss Wynn? One moment.” There followed several repeated buzzes, and at last, “Hello?” But it was not May’s voice. The voice was masculine.

“I’m trying to get Miss May Wynn’s room,” Willie said, with a horrid qualm.

“This is May’s room. Who’s calling?”

“My name is Willie Keith.”

“Willie! Well, for Christ’s sake! This is Marty Rubin, Willie, how the hell are you? Where are you?”

“I’m home.”

“Home? Where? San Francisco?”

“I’m out on Long Island. Where’s May?”

“She’s here. This is terrific. Listen, Willie, did she know you were coming? She never said a word- Just a second, I’ll get her up-”

The pause was a long one. “
Hello
!
Willie
!”

“Hello, May. Sorry I woke you up-”

“Honey, don’t be silly. I-I can’t believe it! When did you get in?”

Willie had always disliked the threadbare “honey” of show-business chatter, and it grated on him especially when May used it, “and more especially at this moment. Her voice was muffled and high, as it usually was when she had just awakened. “Flew in about an hour ago.”

“Why didn’t you let me know, honey? Gosh-”

“I thought I’d surprise you.”

“I am surprised. I’m flabbergasted.” There was a silence which was very dreadful to Willie. “Well, honey, when am I going to see you?” she said.

“Any time you want to.”

“Oh, dear. Darling, you couldn’t have picked a worse day. I have the grippe or some damn thing, and-we might have lunch-no, wait, there’s something else- Marty, when are we cutting that damned audition record? When can I get away? ... Not till then? ... Oh, Willie, it’s such a mess! There’s this radio show I have to cut a record for-it has to be today-I’ve been doping myself to try to get in some kind of shape-Marty honey, can’t we call it off? ... Oh, Willie, you should have let me know-”

“Forget the whole thing. Don’t get upset,” Willie said, glaring at himself in the mirror of the closet door. “See you tomorrow, maybe.”

“No, no! Honey, I’ll be through around three-when, Marty?-three-thirty, Willie-meet me in the Brill Building, can you do that?”

“What and where is the Brill Building?”

“Oh,
Willie
. The Brill Building. Hell, I keep forgetting you’re not a song plugger. Well, you know, across the street from the Rivoli-the big gray building-listen, it’s the Sono-phono Studios, can you remember that? Sono-phono.”

“Okay. Three-thirty. I’ll be there. Don’t you go to school anymore?”

“Oh.” May’s voice became apologetic. “That. I’m afraid I’ve been playing hooky. I’ll tell you all about it.”

“See you later.”

“Yes, honey.”

Willie slammed the receiver so hard that the telephone went clattering off the table to the floor. He took off his civilian clothes, leaving them in a rumpled heap on a chair, and dressed in his uniform. He had two caps, a fairly new one, and the cap he always wore at sea, the gold trim of which was tarnished dull green. He selected the old cap and put a fresh white cover on it, which set off more strikingly the tarnish of the ornaments.

The glory of Manhattan which Willie had seen from the airplane was nowhere visible at Broadway and Fiftieth Street when he came up out of the subway. It was the same old dirty crowded corner: here a cigar store, there an orange-drink stand, yonder a flickering movie marquee, everywhere people with ugly tired faces hurrying in a bitter wind that whirled flapping newspapers and little spirals of dry snow along the gutters. It was all as familiar to Willie as his hand.

The reception room of the Sono-phono Studios, some seven feet square, consisted of plasterboard walls, a plasterboard door in back, a green metal desk, and a very ugly receptionist , with a plasterboard complexion, chewing a large wad of pink gum. “Yeah? What can I do for you?”

“I’m meeting May Wynn here.”

“She ain’t through. You can’t go in, they’re on mike.”

Willie sat in the single yellow chair, opening his muffler and bridge coat. The receptionist glanced at his ribbons, ‘counted the stars, and threw him an unsettling flirtatious leer. From behind the plasterboard he heard a man’s voice, “Okay. Let’s make this the master now.” A small orchestra struck up, and then Willie heard her voice:
“Don’t Throw Bo-kays at me-”

At once the heat and shabbiness of the
Caine
wardroom, and the hopeless hatred of Queeg, rushed into his mind, most incongruously mingled with sweet stirrings of his early love for May. An immense black sadness overcame him as the song went on. When it ended Marty Rubin opened the door and said, “Hi, Willie! Great to see you! Come on in!”

He was fatter than ever. His green suit was ill-chosen for his yellowish skin, and his tinted glasses were so thick that his eyes were distorted behind them to dots. He shook the lieutenant’s hand. “You look marvelous, kid!”

May stood at the microphone, talking to two men in shirt sleeves. The musicians were packing their instruments. The studio was a bare room cluttered with cables and recording machines. Willie halted uncertainly inside the door. “He’s here, May!” the agent called. She turned, ran to Willie, put an arm around his neck, and kissed him on the cheek.

“We’ll get out of here in a few seconds, darling,” she whispered. Willie stood with his back to the doorway, getting hotter in his heavy coat, while the girl talked for ten minutes with the agent and the men in shirt sleeves.

“I want a drink,” May said, when they were alone at a table in the deserted upstairs room of Lindy’s, “and then I want some breakfast.”

“You’re keeping queer hours- What’s that?” he said as May popped a white pill into her mouth.

“Aspirin. Feel my forehead.” Her skin was hot. Willie looked at her with concern. She was haggard, her hair was carelessly pinned up on her head, and there were blue shadows under her eyes. She grinned sadly and a little defiantly. “I’m a mess, I know. You picked a great time to fall out of the sky, dear.”

“You ought to be in bed, May.”

“Bed is for those who can afford it- Well, tell me all about the war.”

Instead Willie questioned her about herself. She was singing at a Fifty-second Street club, her first job in several weeks. Her father had been ill for half a year, and the fruit store, managed by her mother alone, was earning nothing. May was supporting the family. She had taken a room in a downtown hotel because she feared the long subway rides at night would give her pneumonia. “I’m kind of run down, Willie. School and night-club singing don’t mix too well, after all. Sleep generally gets lost in the shuffle. I pass out on subways, in classes-it’s awful.”

“Are you giving up school?”

“No, no. I cut a lot of classes, that’s all. I don’t care. I don’t want to be a Phi Bete. I just want to pick up some information. Let’s talk French. I can talk French.
Avez-vous le crayon de ma tante
?”

She laughed. Her eyes seemed wild to Willie, and her expression was opaque. May drank off her coffee. “I’ve found out two things about my singing, Willie. First of all I haven’t much talent-I really know that now-and secondly most of the other girl singers have even less. I can always scratch a living-until I become a hag, that is. Which, at the rate I’m going, will be next Tuesday. I’ll tell you what. Let’s go up to my room. I can lie down while we talk. I still have to sing tonight. Did I tell you that you are three times as good-looking as you used ,to be? You look more like a wolf than a bunny, now.”

“You seemed to like the bunny-”

“Well, a wolf-like bunny is more nearly right. I think I’m a little loopy, dear. A martini before the first meal of the day is not a good idea. I must remember that. Let’s go.”

In the taxicab she suddenly kissed him on the mouth. He smelled the gin. “Do I utterly disgust you?” she said.

“What kind of question-”

“Sick, tacky-look at this dress, of all dresses I had to put on this thing-mixed up with crummy musicians in a crummy studio-we are star-crossed lovers, Willie. See, I told you I’d learn to read and write. Star-crossed lovers. Come, gentle night, give me my Willie. And when he shall die, take him and cut him out in lit-tle stars, and he will make the face of heaven so fine that all the world will be in love with night. Did you think I was living with Marty Rubin, dear, by any chance?”