'No, thanks. Don't you want to save this for later, Jim? I've got to go.'
'Pour a drink, I said!' The bottle wavered in his hand. I took it, poured some in a glass in the bathroom, pretended to sip it.
'That's better. Lissen.' Jim's eyes were bloodshot, bleary.
His voice was loose, his face puffy. 'I've been meaning to tell you this for a long time-took too much whisky so I could.
Lissen. I'm a bastard.'
'No. you're not, Jim. Quit it. We can talk tomorrow.' I rose.
'Siddown! Gawdamit, Rich, the Captain of the Walrus, the best gawdam submarine in the Navy, wants to talk to ya.'
I sat. There seemed nothing else to do.
'I've been doing some thinking. All during these last patrols.
Not just last three. Before that. 'Member when you stopped my qualification on the old S-i6? I swore then I would get even with you. I swore I'd make you regret the day you did that to me.
I was gonna sabotage everything you tried to do. I was gonna mess you up so bad you'd wish you'd never seen me. Laura told me not to. Said she'd never marry me if I did that. Said the war would find you out for what you were. Said I should stick it with you for crew's sake.'
I sat staring, embarrassed to hear him. I had realized that Jim must have told Laura something of our contretemps, but naturally I could not have supposed it had gone this far. Nor had I suspected that Jim's apparent friendliness had all been a sham. But I couldn't see what he was driving at now.
Jim upended the bottle, took a deep swig. 'Siddown. I'm not finished yet. I pretended to like you, and went along with you and the Walrus, and all the time I hated your guts. I thought you were yellow for not tangling with that first Jap sub we saw, and I hated your guts all the way out to Japan. Then when ole Bungo Pete got after us I saw a real submarine skipper in action, and I realized it was you that saved us all. And gradually I came to know that you were a prince of a fellow and that I didn't know the first thing about being a skipper. When you gave me Walrus I found out.'
'You're drunk, Jim. You don't have to tell me all this 'Down, I said. I'm still not through yet. Gotta get this thing off my chest. This is war, tough racket, maybe I'll get sunk next time, maybe you will. May never get another chance to talk.'
He took another swig, wiped his mouth.
'So now I'm skipper of the Walrus. You gave her to me. I'd never have gotten her if you hadn't talked ole man Blunt into it. And I've had three patrols to learn what it's like to be all alone. There's nobody out there for the skipper to look to, tell him what to do… You know that? You're all alone. You got no buddies. You got friends-sure, everybody on the ship's your friend-but you got no buddies. Nobody to tell you what to do.
You got to figure it all out yourself, cause you're all alone on your own. That's what you been trying to teach me, Rich, ole man. I want you to know that I think you're a great man.
You're my best friend, an' you're wunnerful, an' I'm sorry I was such a bastard-an'-an' I already wrote to Laura and tole her so…. Tell her again too…'
The bottle slipped from his hands. He was swaying where he sat on the bed. His voice trailed off into an unintelligible mumble. I laid him back, pulled off his shoes, trousers, and shirt, threw a blanket over him. He wasn't quite gone yet. 'Laura,' he muttered, 'Laura, she's a sweetheart. I'm a bastard, always was.
Never should… never should…'
I quietly went out the door into the hall, turned out the light, and softly closed the door behind me. I felt sorry for him, and oddly at peace.
12
Despite my desire to see more of my old shipmates, our paths for the next three weeks were cast in dissimilar patterns. The three patrols they had made 'down under,' and the taste of Australia in between, were enough to set them apart, make them somehow different, from the men I had known. And now that they were back again from, patrol, entitled to temporary freedom from care at the Royal Hawaiian, there was a practical barrier too.
I caught a glimpse of Jim once, driving the station wagon issued to Walrus, with the handsome, dark face of Joan beside him. Neither of them saw me. She was sitting rather away from the right-hand door, but even so the breeze through the open window rippled her heavy black hair as she turned attentively in Jim's direction.
Keith I saw a couple of times. Being due for detachment upon Walrus' departure, he had been left in charge of her refit until the regular crew returned from their recuperation period.
This gave us a few opportunities to renew old acquaintance- ship as we occasionally encountered each other around the submarine base, and I came to notice him more particularly than before.
He had changed mightily from the willing but inexperienced youth who had reported to the S-16's fitting out and precommissioning office three years and some months ago. Tanned and fit, as most of us were who were fortunate enough to draw topside bridge watches, he was now poised, confident, sure of himself and his abilities. His wide-set eyes had turned a deep gray from their original pale blue-some of the color of the sea had seeped into them-and the set of his jaw betokened strength fired through experience. His once-boyish face was now a bit finely drawn, his hair bleached to a lighter shade by the sun and salt wind, his voice a perceptible amount deeper. He was the same old Keith, but a stronger, more vital one.
For that matter, Jim, too, had undergone changes. He was decisive, sure of himself, the old wayward immaturity long burned out of him. Probably all of us showed evidences of the passage of time and the effect of the hell of undersea combat.
There had been talk about sending the Walrus back to the States for overhaul, but it was eventually decided that she was in good enough condition to make one patrol before doing so. When the day came for her to depart, Keith and I were there to see her off. She looked beautiful in her coat of new gray paint, beautiful, lean, and deadly. The aura with which she had arrived was still there. Compared to some of the newer boats she might have an old- fashioned look about her, but neither could any of them boast her record of thirty-three ships sunk or damaged. It was hard to appreciate that she was only two years old-the Octopus had been still considered brand-new at the comparable time.
Next day Keith left for the States for a well-merited thirty days' leave, and I returned to my office, to the suddenly hum- drum routine of the Attack Teacher. I could hardly sit still.
That afternoon I sought out the Chief of Staff. 'Captain,' I. said without preamble, 'when may I have another ship?'
He looked at me thoughtfully. 'What's your hurry, Rich?
Tired of the routine of Pearl Harbor?'
'Yes. I just saw Jim Bledsoe go out for his eighth consecutive patrol. I've only made four. I've got a few more than that left in me.'
'Maybe we'll let you relieve Kane when he brings the Nerka back.'
'That's no good, Captain. She'll be going back to Mare Is- land, and Stocker rates bringing her back. I've spent enough time on soft jobs. Besides, my leg is OK now.'
'OK, Rich,' Blunt surrendered gracefully. 'I'll. put your name back on the active list.'
Back to the Attack Teacher. Back to making fifteen approaches a day, teaching doctrine to would-be dolphin-wearers, showing the latest tricks of the trade to skippers in for refresher, waiting for my ship to come in. The days passed, one upon another.
Three weeks later I was back to see Blunt. The boats had been going through Pearl steadily. Quite a few changes in skippers had been made, but always, it seemed, there was someone waiting to whom the available boat had already been assigned.
I was ready to put up a beef, but he didn't give me a chance.
'Sit down, Rich. I was about to send for you.' His voice was grim. 'Do you know what day this is?'
'Yes, sir. Tuesday, the twenty-fifth.'
