With all the love in my heart,
Linda
Wake vaguely heard the change of watch on the deck above him as he sat there, knowing she was right in so many ways and angry for it. For reasons he could never fully explain, even to himself, Wake loved the navy and his life at sea. And it appeared that Linda was about to give him the spousal ultimatum he had heard about from so many other officers.
He pulled two sheets of paper out of his desk drawer and began to write a letter. He explained his transfer and newest assignment, knowing what effect it would have on Linda and fearing her reply. But it didn’t come out as he wanted—it came out plainly, matter-of-fact, cold. Crumpling the paper, Wake started over, his mind blank, struggling for the right words. He felt tears forming from frustration and he buried his head in his hands on the desk, desperate to tell his wife what was in his heart and embarrassed that he couldn’t.
A moment later the steward knocked on his cabin door, announcing the boat for shore was being swayed out and readied for him. When Wake acknowledged the message he kept emotion from his voice. Returning the paper to the drawer, he went to his trunk and pulled out his seldom-used formal uniform accoutrements. Mechanically going through the procedure of dressing, his mind kept seeing Linda’s reaction when she would read his letter. His depression deepened as he fastened each button. By the time he adjusted the heavy dress uniform coat and gold epaulets, ridiculous to wear in the tropics, it was all he could do muster the strength to leave his cabin.
Exhaling loudly, Wake checked himself in the small mirror on the back of his door, set his jaw, and went up to the main deck, where he met the other officers. They were standing at the accommodation ladder, waiting for him to lead them into the diplomatic maze ashore that naval officers of all ranks were expected to navigate. They were excited, chattering about the evening to come. Wake didn’t hear a word they said.
***
“Good evening, Lieutenant, how very kind you are to join us tonight. We love to have Americans visit us here in our humble little island,” welcomed a beautiful girl. Wake handed her a glass of champagne from a passing steward’s tray. She was draped in a pale blue gown of soft-looking material and he guessed her age at around eighteen, though he found women very difficult to gauge on that matter. Her name was unpronounceable for him and so he bowed and said, “Merci, mademoiselle, it is our honor to be invited and our pleasure to attend.”
“Oh, Lieutenant!” she softly replied. “You Americans are so very gallant. So much kinder than those brutes, the British.”
The governor’s ballroom was hot but the partiers, men in formal evening attire and women in low-cut gowns displaying mounded bosoms, didn’t seem to notice. The glances and whispered asides regarding the social gossip of who was doing what to, or with, whom appeared to Wake to be the main occupation of the attendees.
A string quartet began an annoying tune he didn’t know—someone said it was Tchaikovsky—but which made the locals gasp in appreciation and spontaneous applause. The evening was like that for him, a swirl of unfamiliar conversational topics and social customs that reminded him of what it was like to steer a ship among uncharted reefs. Carrying on the role of representative of his nation’s navy was a tiring endeavor for him, but Wake saw Consul Mas sliding among the elite, speaking and laughing effortlessly. Mas made it look easy and gay, but Wake knew it was a very serious business. He cleared his mind of Linda and concentrated on his professional responsibilities.
It reminded him of what a Venezuelan diplomat friend, Pablo Monteblanco, had told him back in ’69—that naval officers were their nation’s warriors armed with cannons facing adversaries in battles, and diplomats were their nation’s warriors armed with words facing their adversaries at cocktail parties. A naval officer might certainly kill hundreds with cannon in a battle, Pablo had explained sadly, but a diplomat could arrange the death of millions over an aperitif.
Wake had been at the gathering for two hours when he decided it was time to round up Lieutenant Laporte and Engineer Grimsrud and head back to the ship. American prestige had been dutifully upheld and Wake was exhausted. He found his officers in a corner of the room surrounded by giggling young French ladies and nodded toward the door. Grimsrud, a second-generation Norwegian-American who normally was the quiet type, frowned. Laporte, who spoke a little French and was using every word he knew, did his best to ignore Omaha’s executive officer. Finally Wake walked over. “Gentlemen, it’s time we say good night to these charming ladies and get under way.”
Laporte’s eyes locked onto Wake’s and he glanced toward a very comely girl. “Lieutenant, can’t we stay just for a minute longer? I was just telling darling Yvette about how we went into Mobile Bay back in sixty-four.”
“Yeah,” said Grimsrud, suppressing a grin, “he told her about how Farragut asked him what to do next when that torpedo blew up Tecumseh. He was just explaining how he told the confused admiral to ‘just damn those torpedoes and steam at full speed ahead.’ You might want to hear this, sir. Turns out that our John was quite the hero at Mobile.”
Laporte was known aboard ship for stories of his suave ability with women. Now Wake knew how. “Really? Was it John who made that famous saying? And to think that Admiral Farragut got credit for it,” he asked, going along with the charade. Looking at Laporte’s pained expression, Wake smiled for the first time that night.
“Well, sir . . .
