“A virgin,” he said to himself, leaving the wheel and throwing open the door.
The mate returned and brought the door to. A curious expression was on his face; but he still smiled as he left once more for the bridge.
“That fish was picked up in Nagasaki,” said Rio aloud, and opened the door again.
The second mate slammed the door this time, standing by the wheel only a moment before wind cracked at his heels. Rio could see his tiny, blond mustache jump in the sunlight. But this time, Rio did not open the door. He followed the mate and stood beside him.
“For God’s sake! Get back to that wheel, you damned fool!” yelled the officer.
“Not till both doors are open and the weather’s cleared,” said Rio in an even voice. He leaned on the rail, his fine eyes glistening.
The second mate rushed into the house where the wheel had turned until the ship was twenty degrees off her course. Nervously, but with a calculated deliberation, he gave her a few spokes at a time, trying to protect himself from the captain’s eternal damnation. After awhile Rio walked past him, opened the weather door and took over. Neither man spoke until Rio was relieved.
The next day Rio was chipping spots on the deck when he felt a knee against his side. He pulled off his goggles and looked up. It was the second mate. Rio laid down his hammer and said, “I can hear.”
“You can hear—what?”
“I can hear trouble if that’s the way you wake me up again.”