Part 11 (1/2)

”What did the j.a.p officer do?” everyone asked.

”Oh,” said Wortly, ”he cut off the fellow's head.”

The first five days at sea were cloudy and the nightly rain squalls with their attending poor visibility made everyone nervous of collision, but the sixth night the clouds cleared away and the s.h.i.+ps sailed under a waning moon as clearly outlined against the sky as s.h.i.+ps painted on gla.s.s. In spite of the fact that the moon made possible attack on us easier, we all welcomed the ease it gave to standing watch. The men debated about the possibility of our getting torpedoed.

”I figure a sub would let us go by and try for one of the big s.h.i.+ps,” the chief boatswain's mate said.

”That's what I think too,” Flags replied. ”h.e.l.l, this bucket isn't really worth a torpedo. How much does a torpedo cost, anyway?”

”I heard about twelve thousand dollars,” the Chief answered.

”And how much do you suppose this s.h.i.+p cost the government?” Flags asked.

”About eight hundred thousand I heard,” the Chief said.

”h.e.l.l,” said Flags, ”I guess we would be worth torpedoing.”

Our good weather held. When we had been at sea ten days the moon had faded to a thin bright sickle, but the stars were so bright that the thin streaks of cloud still looked white against the deep blue sky. At two in the morning a course change was scheduled, and I went on the bridge. Ahead of us and to our right the blacked out s.h.i.+ps were clearly visible. At the bow of each was the white arc of the bow wave, and each trailed a dim wake of phosph.o.r.escence.

”Not much trouble keeping position tonight, is there?” I said to Mr. Warren.

”No, sir,” he said. ”Just like day.”

Just then the commodore signaled with a deep-throated whistle blast. The lead s.h.i.+ps started to turn to the prearranged course. I waited till we had turned, then, seeing we were still in position, I started to go below. As I went down the companionway I saw Mr. Rudd sitting on the after end of the boat deck. He was sitting on a chair he must have carried there, and he was leaning back with his feet on a deck box. From where I stood I could see only the silhouette of his thick figure and broad head. Changing my mind about going to bed, I went onto the boat deck and sat down on a capstan beside him.

”What are you doing up here at this time of morning, Mr. Rudd?” I asked. ”Don't you trust us?”

”Somebody's got to watch you flag wavers,” Mr. Rudd replied, but instead of continuing the banter, he lapsed into silence. I pulled my pipe from my pocket and started to light it, then remembering the blackout, I put it back in my pocket.

”Nice night,” I said.

”It is that,” he replied. ”If every night was like this I'd be glad I was a sailor.”

”The profession would be overcrowded,” I said.

There was a long silence while we watched the glowing wake reel out behind us.

”Did you ever think of staying at sea?” Mr. Rudd asked. ”After the war, I mean?”

”No,” I said. ”I've got a wife. After the war I'm going home and build a house and raise a family.”

”Well,” replied Mr. Rudd, ”I'll call on you. Will you give me a drink?”

”The best in the house,” I said.

Mr. Rudd pulled a cigar from his s.h.i.+rt pocket and put it in his mouth. He made no attempt to light it, but he held it in his lips as though he were smoking.

”You know,” he said, ”I used to have a wife. A pretty nice girl, too, in her way.”

”Did she die?” I asked.

”No,” he said. ”She divorced me.”

”Oh,” I could think of nothing else.

”You see,” continued Mr. Rudd, ”I met her in Stoneham when I went back to visit my mother and father, after I had graduated from college. She lived next door, and she taught Sunday school in my father's church. She was pretty.”

He paused, and gave me a look which was nearer to embarra.s.sment than any I had ever seen on his face. ”I wasn't so fat then,” he said.

”Of course.”

”We got married, and I was pretty happy. We moved back to Boston where I had my research job. My mother and father were real pleased about it, and they came to visit us all the time. It was just as though I had never left home. We lived in one room on Beacon Street. We didn't have much money, but I was happy all the time. I had a wonderful job, more like studying than working for pay. We were trying to find out more about the composition of wood cells, and indirectly, about all living cells. Then, when I was through, I came home, and I was happy.” He spoke almost defensively.

I felt called upon to say, ”Of course you were happy, Mr. Rudd. It sounds like a wonderful life.”

”It was,” he said. ”But the pay wasn't very high. My wife wanted to move into an apartment. We couldn't really afford the kind of apartment she wanted. I used to talk to her a lot about my work. She always said, 'Yes, but why don't they pay you more?' We started to get into debt ...” He paused.

”Bill collectors can be pretty tough,” I said.

Mr. Rudd continued, ”I wouldn't have minded them so much, but it kind of changed things between me and my wife. Then one day she told me I just had to go out and get a job paying more money. 'Have you ever thought of selling?' she asked. The next day I got a job selling for the same chemical company I had been doing research for.”

”How did that go?”

Mr. Rudd shrugged. ”Oh, fine,” he said. ”I made all kinds of money. After we got all our bills paid off, my wife suggested we build a house in Stoneham. I said all right.”

He paused again, and was silent so long I was afraid he was not going to continue. I took my pipe from my pocket and held its smooth bowl in my hand. ”d.a.m.n it, I wish we could smoke.”

Mr. Rudd said suddenly, ”I joined my father's church and the local country club and sold chemicals wholesale. Before I knew it I was just another G.o.d d.a.m.n salesman playing golf every Sunday and calling Pullman porters 'George.' I started drinking a lot and my wife and I started fighting.”

He turned and peered at me. ”Not fighting in a nice way,” he said. ”Fighting like we meant it over little things. It started when we built that G.o.d d.a.m.n house. The architect called on us to show us the blueprints. 'Here in the cellar.' he said, 'We're going to have a rumpus room.'

”'A what?' I asked.

”'A rumpus room, darling,' my wife said.

”'I will not have anything called a rumpus room in my house,' I said. 'Call it a play room or a cellar or a bar or a game room or anything else, but not some d.a.m.n cute name like rumpus room!'”

He paused and looked at me again. ”It's funny I remember that argument,” he said. ”We had so many.”

”Things get tough sometimes,” I replied. ”It's hard to tell why, but they do.”

”After a while,” continued Mr. Rudd, ”I went to h.e.l.l. I started to drink too much. They had a lot of tea parties around Stoneham. My wife always was trying to get me to go to them. I started insulting people. I'd sit there listening to them talk. Sometimes I couldn't stand it any more. I started shocking them just for the h.e.l.l of it. Usually when I was drunk.”

”You were in the wrong town,” I said. ”I can see how that could happen.”

”Well,” replied Mr. Rudd, ”it happened all right. Then one night I came home drunk and was sick. My wife stood there watching me. It's funny, I was drunk, but I can still remember it. She didn't try to help me. She just stood there watching me. When I got to bed she still watched me, even after I had my eyes closed. I lay there knowing she was watching me, and I yelled at her, 'Why the h.e.l.l are you looking at me?'