DOCTOR AT SEA

by Richard Gordon

  'It sort of catches me round here,' she continued, twining her arm behind her and pushing her sharp bosom forward. 'Whenever I twist round suddenly-Ouch! See what I mean? I've been to doctors all over the world-London, Paris, New York, here in B.A. They never did me a bit of good, though. I still had my pain. Sometimes I woke up in the night and screamed.'

  'Very distressing for you, I'm sure.'

  'Oh, I began to lose faith in doctors. You don't mind my saying so, do you?'

  'Not a bit. Have a Fire Alarm.'

  'What is it?'

  'It's a drink. Very good for backache.'

  She giggled. 'Well, then I went to an osteopath in Wimpole Street-he was sweet. He told me I had a displaced spine. What do you think? He slipped it back again, like shutting a door. There!'

  'I think that…'

  'I only used to get it after that when it rained. Why do you think that was? And then I was playing tennis out at the Hurlingham Club last month, when Bingo! I…'

  'May I introduce you to our Third Officer?' I interrupted. 'You will find him very charming.'

  For the past few seconds Trail had been staring at my companion with his mouth open. He jumped at my remark so much he spilt his drink on the deck; then he stepped forward with the expression of a hungry deckhand going in for his Sunday dinner.

  'Mr. Trail,' I said, 'Miss…?'

  'Ella Robinson.'

  'Mr. Trail is our most popular officer,' I whispered to her. 'The Captain thinks highly of him. But if I may speak as a shipmate, he is a little shy and needs encouragement. Enjoying the dance, Three-o?'

  'Have another drink,' Trail said thickly.

  'I think he's cute,' Miss Robinson decided, flashing him a swift glance of appraisal. I had been treating his spots since we left Santos, and in his clean white jacket and painstakingly Brylcreemed hair he looked as presentable as an Ian Hay subby.

  'Har!' Trail said. 'How about a dance?'

  'Mmm! I've never danced with a sailor before! Be a sweetie and hold my glass, Doctor.'

  Grinning weakly, Trail drew her on to the chalked square of deck and began dancing with the spirit that nightly won him hearts in Reese's dance hall in Liverpool. I contentedly took another Fire Alarm from Easter and leant back on my ventilator. After the night at the Saratoga anyone so pressingly feminine as Miss Robinson was too much for me.

  When the music stopped the couple came back to my corner of the deck. Both of them were flushed and breathless.

  'You're a swell dancer,' Miss Robinson said to Trail, giving him a hot glance of admiration.

  'Am I really?' he asked eagerly. 'Go on!'

  'Yes, I mean it. Not like most Englishmen out here. When I dance with you I sure know I'm dancing.'

  'Have another Fire Alarm,' I said, signalling to Easter.

  'Do you dance, Doctor?' she asked.

  'Definitely no. I come from a family with very strong views on the subject.'

  'How amusing! Do you know, my pain's coming back. Look!' She turned round. 'Run your hand down my spine. That's right-just there! Ooo! Exquisitely painful! What do you think I ought to do about it?'

  'I should go and see a doctor.'

  She laughed playfully. 'Gee, you're funny! You're the nicest doctor I've ever met.'

  'Thank you. Down the hatch, now.'

  We drank our Fire Alarms, and the band began to play again.

  'Let's dance,' she said to Trail.

  'Not for a minute,' he said. 'Let me show you the steering gear.'

  'What on earth should I want to see the steering gear for?'

  'It looks most attractive in the moonlight,' I added encouragingly. 'Not many people are privileged to see it. Only Mr. Trail and the Captain have the key.'

  'C'mon,' Trail said. He gave her a look that would have terrified the heart out of any girl in England and strode off purposefully with her, hand in hand, towards the steel nooks and shadows of the stern. I moved to the rail, leant over the strip of dirty, oil-coated water between the Lotus and the quay, and exchanged glances with the two sour Argentine policemen standing at the foot of the gangway. The night was hot, and the awnings prevented ventilation. Shortly the ship's officers unhooked their high collars and wiped their foreheads with coloured handkerchiefs, and sweat began to run down the faces of the guests.

  No one bothered me, so I sipped my way through my drink and thought guiltily about England. I was interrupted by 'A hundred pipers an' a" from the corner where the band had been playing. It was almost eleven-thirty and the engine-room had by then taken over the party for themselves. The engineers were lolling round the piano with an air of genial possessiveness towards everything they could see, and McDougall was stripped to the waist, his dragon, hearts, and sailing ship glistening among the grey tufts of hair that sprouted from his thorax and shoulders like bracken on a Highland hillside. Singing with them was Captain Hogg, drunk to the point of harmlessness, and the Montmorency's. The music was provided by Easter, who was playing the piano in the style of Chico Marx.

  With a flourish Easter finished his piece, rose to his feet, and announced solemnly, 'Ladies and Gentlemen, for my next number to-night I shall give you my rendering of the famous old English ballad "The Lily of Laguna." Jolly good luck to you, gentlemen, jolly good luck!' He sat down heavily and began the tune, to which most of the audience sang the words of 'Annie Laurie.' McDougall then shouted it was midnight by ship's time as the clocks were to be advanced half an hour, and broke into Auld Lang Syne. This was taken up by the company, and I was swept into a chain of crossed hands. McDougall sang with his eyes tightly shut, swaying between a pair of other Scots; suddenly he stopped, shouted 'Kiss all the lasses!' and dived towards Mrs. Montmorency. He grasped her in his moist naked arms and kissed her hotly until he was elbowed out of the way by Macpherson, McPhail, and Macintosh. These were followed by Captain Hogg, Easter, Whimble, one of the Argentine policemen from the dock, the Quartermaster, Hornbeam, and myself. Then everyone sang Auld Lang Syne all over again.

  At the end of the verse Captain Hogg shouted 'Eight bells! Quartermaster, ring eight bells! Midnight, ship's time!' Mrs. Montmorency instantly threw her arms open, and was kissed by McDougall, Macpherson, Captain Hogg, McDougall again, myself, Easter, Hornbeam, McDougall once again, Macpherson, McPhail, and McDougall. She appeared to enjoy these unstinted tributes thoroughly, though Mr. Montmorency, who stood fidgeting beside her, and moved during her fourth embrace with McDougall, to murmur nervously, 'Steady on Maria! I say, steady on, old girl!' We sang Auld Lang Syne and kissed Maria Montmorency several times, as a member of the circle recalled that it was midnight in Greenwich, Glasgow, Greenock, or some other point of overwhelming importance to himself. Finally her husband grabbed her by the arm and led her to the gangway while everyone cheered and Easter played 'Sons of the Brave.'

  The engineers and Hornbeam then decided to visit the Taxi-Dance on the other side of the dock.

  'Come on, Doc,' Hornbeam urged. 'It's only over the ferry. We can get there in ten minutes.'

  'I thought you hadn't any money?'

  'I flogged some whisky to the policeman. It's a cheap joint-the girls will darn your socks as well for twenty pesos.'

  I shook my head. 'No thanks. I've got into enough trouble in B.A. already. Besides, I'm tired. I'm turning in.'

  I left my shipmates, who were already on the gangway with bottles sticking out of the pockets of their white ducks. I was tired and muzzy. Easter's Fire Alarms had an effect like anaesthetic ether, producing a disturbing numbness and inco-ordination of the extremities; all I wanted was to lie on my bunk, turn on the forced draught, and sink on to the soft foam that overlies the dark cool liquor of unconsciousness. Yawning, I unhooked my cabin jalousie, pushed the curtain aside, and turned on the light. On the deck was Trail, asleep; two half-empty whisky bottles and some broken glasses were on the desk; lying on my bunk, her skirt round her waist and snoring heavily, was Ella.

  I began with an attempt to resuscitate Trail by throwing the
remains of my drinking water over him. From this it was apparent that he was in a state of deep surgical anaesthesia, and I could have cut a leg off without his noticing it. While I was shaking him and slapping his face I heard a deep groan from the bunk, and noticed that Ella was wearily moving her arm. I dropped Trail and began flicking her face with the end of a towel. She shook her head and muttered something.

  'Ella! Ella!' I called. 'Wake up! Come on-for God's sake, woman! What's that?'

  I bent my ear close to her.

  Wanna be sick,' she said.

  'Oh, lord!' I lay the towel over her, poised my empty hot-water can on her bosom, and hurried down to the hospital to find some sal volatile.

  When I came back she was sitting on the edge of the bunk, her head held heavily in her hands, her long black hair scattered uncaringly over her shoulders and forehead, her eyes closed, and her face white. She looked like a patient at the end of a long operation.

  'Here! Ella! Drink this,' I said cheerfully.

  She pushed me away clumsily.

  'Don't wan' another drink.'

  'This isn't drink-it's medicine. Make you feel better, see? Jolly good stuff. Look! I'm having some myself.'

  'Wanna go home.'

  'Yes, I know. But drink this first. It's something special.'

  'For Chrissake take me home. For Chrissake.'

  'Oh, all right then. Where do you live?' There was a pause. She slowly shook her head.

  'Dunno.'

  I looked hopefully at Trail, but he seemed unlikely to take part in any conversation before noon the following day.

  'Ella,' I said gently. 'Think please. Where do you live? Haven't you got a phone number?'

  Wanna go to bed.' She started to roll back on my bunk, but I caught her.

  'No, you can't go to sleep,' I told her firmly. 'There'll be hell to pay if I don't get you out of my cabin and off this ship. Now try and remember where you live. The street will do.'

  I spotted her handbag wedged down the side of the bunk, opened it, and found one of her visiting cards. It bore an address in the Palermo district, which I thought was somewhere on the other side of Buenos Aires.

  'All right,' I said, slipping my arm under her shoulders. 'We're going for a walk.'

  The gangway quartermaster gave me a grin.

  'Lovely grub, eh, Doctor?' he said. He winked and smacked his lips, in case I had missed the point of his remark.

  'Benson,' I said sternly. 'I need about two hundred pesos. I should be obliged if you would lend it to me, if you have it. I see no prospect of repaying you until we return home, but if you refuse I shall give you hell should you happen to fall sick on the voyage back. Thank you.'

  We stumbled down the gangway together, Ella grasping my collar and groaning. After picking our way over the railway lines and bollards on the quay we reached the little office of the dock police by the gate. I gave the policeman ten pesos and asked him to call a taxi; twenty minutes later we were bumping along the dirty road beside the Frigorifico, Ella already asleep and snoring on my shoulder.

  The cab stopped outside a tall block of flats several miles from the ship. I gave Ella a shake, and she woke up with a start.

  'You're home,' I said. 'End of the line.'

  'Oh God, I feel horrible.'

  'So do I.'

  'Take me in…Please!'

  'Can't you make it yourself?'

  She shook her head.

  'Oh, all right then.'

  I helped her out of the cab, making signs to the driver to wait. We went into a small hall, which contained a staircase and an automatic lift. As I opened the lift doors Ella leant heavily on my shoulder and burst into tears.

  She told me, through sobs, she lived in number seventeen, on the third floor; the key was in her handbag. I took her up to her own door and opened it. At that moment her knees gave way. She began to slide slowly down the doorpost.

  'The room opposite,' she muttered. 'For God's sake help me in.'

  I supported her across the hallway and into the room opposite the flat door. I turned on the light with my free hand, and found I was in her bedroom.

  'Put your arm round my neck,' I commanded. She obeyed, and I lifted her up, laying her on the bed heavily.

  'All right,' I said. 'You can unclasp my neck now.'

  I heard a noise behind me and turned. Standing in the doorway was a tall, stern, greying gentleman with a stiff moustache and a military eye, dressed in a yellow silk dressing-gown. Behind him was a timid, sandy, becrackered woman in a faded housecoat.

  'I've a damn good mind to horsewhip you,' the grey gentleman said decisively.

  Now look here, I say…' I began.

  'I might tell you I consider you an unmitigated cad. I've no idea what your upbringing is, but I don't imagine it's very savoury. If I were a few years younger I'd give you a good hiding with my bare fists. A young puppy like you needs teaching a good lesson.'

  'Be careful, Charles,' the woman said nervously. 'You know what you did to the Rolleston boy.'

  Charles twitched his muscles under his dressing-gown. Ella seemed to have Bulldog Drummond for a father.

  'I should never have let her go on that damn ship,' he said bitterly. 'I believed at least the officers would be gentlemen. I was mistaken.'

  'Mind your temper, Charles,' the woman added timidly, covering her eyes with her hands.

  Now, look here,' I said angrily. 'I assure you I have had nothing to do with your daughter…'

  Charles snorted. 'Pray, how do you explain that lipstick all over your shirt? A disgusting exhibition! By God, I'm not at all certain I shan't horsewhip you after all…'

  'Charles, Charles!'

  'You have got quite the wrong end of the stick..

  Charles by now had time to look at me carefully and find I was much smaller than he was. He advanced, going red in the face.

  'Put them up, you young hound!' he growled.

  There was nothing for it. I threw one of Ella's pillows at him, sidestepped quickly, and dashed for the door. I shot into the lift, leaped for the taxi like a survivor grasping for a lifeboat, and drove back to the ship, looking nervously through the back window at every turn for cars bearing greying gentlemen in silk dressing-gowns, who were anxious to relieve the strangling monotony of Buenos Aires' social life by avenging the honour of their daughters. And when I got back I found Trail had recovered sufficiently to climb into my bunk.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I spent the rest of our time in Buenos Aires walking the broad, criss-crossed, sun-drenched streets looking for a cheap watch. I kept out of the bars, and if I thought a woman looked at me I jumped.

  The momentum that had carried us headlong into the pleasures of South America had expended itself by the end of the dance; afterwards our lives settled into the unexciting routine of a ship in port. Every morning I read carefully through the English _Buenos Aires Standard,_ had a cup of tea with Hornbeam, and strolled round the active decks; in the afternoon I filled my cabin with the last squirts of our D.D.T. spray and slept soundly until tea, in defiance of the rattling winch just beyond my head. Now and then I picked up _War and Peace,_ but the freezing plains of Russia seemed so fantastic I killed a few cockroaches with it and finally put the books away for the voyage home.

  In the evening, when the sun had gone down and a breeze sometimes blew off the River Plate to refresh our decks, we sat in Hornbeam's cabin with a case of tinned beer flaying sober games of bridge or liar-dice. I felt that I had been living alongside the wharf in Buenos Aires for a lifetime, and I sometimes stared at the familiar angles of my cabin in disbelief that they had ever been softened with the shadows of an English winter's day. When I told the others this one evening Hornbeam said: 'You'd get used to living in Hell, Doc, if we sailed there. All these places are the same, anyway.' He lay on his bunk half-naked, fanning himself with a copy of the _Shipping World._ 'They're hot and sweaty, and full of blokes ready to cut your throat for tuppence. It's the same out East and on t
he African coast. There's no more romance at sea than there is round Aldgate tube station.'

  'When are we leaving for home?' I asked.

  He shrugged his shoulders. 'I couldn't say. Maybe a week, maybe two. It depends how the cargo goes in. Once you're in port the wharfies have got you, whether it's in Cardiff or Calcutta. I heard from the agent to-day the boys might be cooking up a strike. That would fix us, right enough.'

  'I wouldn't mind a pint of old English wallop out of the barrel just now,' Archer said seriously. 'Or a bit of backchat with a Liverpool barmaid. You can have too much of these high-pressure floozies out here.'

  We sat looking miserably into our beer glasses, all suddenly homesick.

  'I reckon I ought to have married and settled down,' Hornbeam continued. 'I nearly did once. I'm still engaged to her, if it comes to that. She's in Sydney. Sends me letters and sweets and things. I see her about once every two years.'

  'I should have stuck to selling refrigerators,' Archer said to me. 'I did it for a bit after the war, but I had to give it up. Your money doesn't go anywhere ashore these days.'

  'You fellows don't know how well off you are in the Merchant Navy,' I told him.

  'The Merchant Navy!' Hornbeam said, folding his hands on his bare stomach reflectively. 'It's a queer institution. A cross between Fred Karno's army and a crowd of blokes trying to do a job of work.'

  'There's no security at sea,' Archer added gloomily.

  'Maybe it's better than sitting on your fanny in an office till you drop dead,' Hornbeam said. 'Pictures every Saturday night and Margate for a fortnight in summer. Drive me up the pole, that would.'

  'Margate's all right,' Trail remarked, joining the conversation. 'I knew a girl who lived there once. Her father ran a shooting-alley in Dreamland.'

  Chapter Seventeen