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and at Joe and then himself. Under the table Joe clicked his heels, and briskly raised his hand and held it salute-like at his brow: ‘Commander Saldi, sir. Captain Devereaux wishes the Commander to join him at the O Club sir. In the bar sir. He says if the Commander wishes to go back to the ship instead, sir, he is to send me to get the Captain and the Captain will take the Commander back to the ship in the Captain’s boat. Sir.’ He snapped off the salute. ‘Jesus Christ, Ray, I’ll drink with you. You don’t have to send them out with .45’s.’
    The girl lowered the drinks and Joe reached for his wallet but the Captain was quicker and paid.
    â€˜What about lunch,’ Joe said. ‘Have you had lunch?’
    The girl was waiting.
    â€˜I’ll buy you a lunch,’ the Captain said.
    He watched the girl going back to the bar, then he looked at Joe, and Joe raised his glass and the Captain raised his and they touched them over the table.
    â€˜Old Captain Devereaux.’
    â€˜Old is right. I don’t sleep much, out there. My gut’s going too.’
    â€˜Gimlets’ll back up on you.’
    â€˜It’s the lime, not the gin.’
    â€˜Right.’
    â€˜How do you know? Is yours on the blink too?’
    â€˜Not now. It has been.’
    â€˜Not an ulcer.’
    â€˜Oh hell no. You don’t have one, do you?’
    â€˜Just acid. I ought to retain the booze and get rid of cigarettes and coffee.’
    The girl gave them the menus and then went away.
    â€˜You ought to have the lasagna, Joe.’
    â€˜Where is it?’
    â€˜It’s spelled sukiyaki.’
    â€˜I don’t like lasagna anyway.’
    â€˜Really?’
    â€˜Too heavy.’
    â€˜I’ll have the sukiyaki.’
    â€˜So will I.’
    â€˜Should we have sake too?’
    â€˜How’s your gut?’
    â€˜Fine. I’m going to lay off this lime juice.’
    â€˜Then let’s have hot sake.’
    When they laid down the menus the girl came and took their order and the Captain told her to bring his friend another drink but to leave him out.
    â€˜It’s my stomach,’ he told her. ‘It needs gentleness.’
    â€˜Oh? I could bring you some nice milk.’
    â€˜No, not milk, thanks.’
    â€˜What about Asahi?’
    â€˜Yes: fine. Bring me a big Asahi.’
    She brought Joe’s gimlet and his beer, and after a glass of it he quietly belched and felt better but not good enough, so he told Joe he’d be right back and he went to the men’s room and took from his pocket the aspirin tin containing six Maalox tablets and chewed two of them. He went back into the bar, approaching the table from Joe’s rear and, looking at his shoulders and the back of his head, he felt a power he didn’t want but had anyway, and he felt like a traitor for having it.
    â€˜You ought to get up more,’ Joe said.
    â€˜I know.’
    â€˜Let’s do it then.’
    â€˜When?’
    â€˜After lunch. We can walk over to the field and go up for an hour.’
    â€˜With gin and beer and sake.’
    â€˜Oxygen’ll fix you up.’
    â€˜I can’t though. I have things at the ship.’
    â€˜Let them wait.’
    â€˜They won’t.’
    â€˜Tomorrow then.’
    â€˜Tomorrow?’ He frowned, pretending he was trying to remember what tomorrow held for him, then he said: ‘All right. Tomorrow,’ and saying the word gave him a sense of plaintive hope that somehow and impossibly this moment with drinks and waiting for lunch would flow into a bright afternoon of tomorrow with Joe off his wing as they climbed from Iwakuni and out over the blue sea. And with that hope came longing: he wanted Foster and Todd to vanish, he wanted to go to sea next week and launch Joe into the wind, he wanted to not know what he knew and, with this longing, fear came shivering into his breast, and he did what he could not