Chaplain O’Mahoney was sitting at the galley table, his jaw set and his face white. He was playing solitaire. He looked up as they came in and he managed to smile.
“I suppose it will be worse,” he said.
Duval nodded.
“That’s what I expected.”
“This’ll really be something to tell our grandchildren,” said Hodges cheerfully. The Chaplain laughed.
“Something to tell your grandchildren,” he said.
“If you ever live to have any,” remarked Duval.
They sat together around the table, each thinking of the storm. Duval watched the Chaplain’s hands. They were white and plump and helpless. The Chaplain, Duval thought, could not have fixed a valve or even changed a sparkplug in a car. Of course the Chaplain knew many things. He could speak Latin, and Duval was impressed by Latin and the Church rituals. O’Mahoney’s soft hands could give blessings and that was an important thing. Perhaps it made no difference that his hands were not practical.
“Are you Catholic?” asked O’Mahoney, turning to Hodges.
The Lieutenant shook his head. “No, we’re Episcopal down home.”