Evening star., 1952-09-13

Truly a Pile of Junk.
Willie wandered around the
Caine for a couple of hours. pok-
ing his nose down ladders and
|hatchways and into doorways. He
was ignored by the sailors as
though he were invisible, except
when he faced one in a passage
way. Then the sailor would fiatten
automatically against the bulk
head, as though to allow a big
animal to pass. Willie's Sight-see-
ing tour confirmed his first i'm
preston. The Caine was a pile Of
junk in the last hours of decay,
manned by hoodlums.
He drifted down to the ward
room. Overhead the metal scrap
erS pounded loudly. The long table
was covered with green baize now,
and the magazines and books had
been shelved. The room was empty
except for q very tall skinny coll
ored boy in Sweaty white under
shirt and trousers. who was list
leSsly dabhing at the deck with a
mop. I'm the new officer, Ensign
Keith" said Willie. Might I have
q cup Of coffee?"
''Yassuh." The stewards mate
put down the mop, and sauntered
to a Slick on q metal bureau in
the corner.
Whats your name?" said
Willie.
Whitaker, sub, stewards mate
second. Cream and sugar, Suh?"
Please" Willie glanced around.
The stewards mate set the coffee
before him.
How long have you been on
the Caine, Whitaker"
"Fo' months, Suh."
How do you like it?"
The Negro backed away, his
eyes bulging as though Willie had
whipped out knife. "Bes' ship in
de whole Navy, suh." He grabbed
the mop and ran out the door.
The clanking became louder; a
work party was starting to chip
paint. The air in the wardroom
was growing hot and foul as the
sun rose higher. He laid his head
on the table and groaned.
"HuIlo," said voice, "are you
Keith or Harding?" The speaker
stumbled Sleepily past him toward
the Slick. dressed in nothing but
an athletic supporter. 1t occurred
to Willie that the conventions of
modesty aboard the Caine were
simpler than those among the
Iroquois Indians.
'Keith," he answered.
"Fine. You work for me-"
you're Mr.. Keefer?"
Eyes"
Willie said, "Sir, I know your
brother Roland. We were room
mates in midshipmen's school.
He's here in Pearl now at the
BOO"
Really? Well have to get him
down here" Keefer coolly put
down the coffee cup. Come into
my room and tell me about
yourself"
Iron Cubicle His Home
Keefer lived in an iron cubicle
crisscrossed with pipes at the
head OF the passageway. There
were two hunks installed against
the curving hull and a desk piled
three feet high with books. PAM
phlets. wire baskets full of papers.
and registered publications in a
scrambled heap. on top of which
was a stack of freshly laundered
khakis. socks, and underwear.
There was prone naked figure in
the upper bunk.
While the communications off,
Ger shaved and dressed, Willie de-
Scribed his days at Furnald Hall
with Roland. His eye rambled
around the stuffy room. In shelves
welded over the desk and along
Keefer's bunk were crammed VOL
umes of poetry. fiction. and phi
losophy. you've really got the
books" said Willie.
"This life is slow suicide, unless
you read"
Roland told me you're a
writer"
II was trying to be one before
the war;" said Keefer, wiping
lather off his face with a wet
ragged towel.
Get to do any writing now?"
Some. Now, about your duties
we'll make you custodian of re-
IgiStered pubs, and of course
therell be coding-"
The stewards mate Whitaker
inserted his face through the
dusty green curtain. "Chadan,' he
said, and withdrew. The myster-
|ious word resurrected a figure in
the upper bunk; it rose, thraShed
Ifeebly, jumped to the deck, and
commenced dressing itself.
"Chadan?" said Willie.
"Chow down, in steward patois
LUNCH" said Keefer. "The name
of this vegetable with a face is
Carmody. Carmody, this is the
elusive Mr.. Keith"
Hello" said Willie.
"Um," said the figure, cropping
for shoes in the bottom of black
closet.
Coming along" said Keefer.
"and break bread with the officers
lof the Caine. There is no escape,
Keith. And the bread itself isn't
too terrible"
Continued Monday
(Copyrishted. 1851. by Herman Wouk
Distributed by Doubleday Syndicate.)
French Author Dies
l DADTC Caof 20 fN Dn~n