by James White
Then one day they found themselves drifting onto the flank of a passing convoy.
They were pretty sure that it was daylight because of the number and quality of the explosions. The convoy was under heavy air attack -- the sound of a bomb hitting the deck of a ship having a much softer quality than the sudden, savage shock of a torpedo hit under water. There seemed to be a couple of U-boats sniping at the convoy from the wings as well, and the ocean all around them was filled with the thuds and thumps and crashes of bombs, depth charges, and torpedoes against a background of ships' engines which sounded like the rumble of distant trains.
When the rumble began to die away Dickson was taking his turn on the generator, Jenny Wellman was using a small part of its output for signaling purposes, the Murray girl was also signaling -- with a hammer against the inside of the hull -- and the doctor was tending his garden. Wallis, who had just come off the generator, was with the doctor. They were all aware that their various ideas for signaling with electrical discharges were unlikely to be effective without an antenna floating on the surface, that the sound of any given ship's own engines would almost certainly drown out the sound of their hammering, and that the ships' crews were too busily engaged to listen to odd noises from under the sea. Wallis had told everyone, including himself, that they should not feel too disappointed if the signals did not attract attention. Wallis did not know how the others felt, but he was so disappointed that he wanted to break something.
Suddenly Radford said, "Mr. Dickson and Miss Wellman have been. pestering me, Commander, singly and in small groups, but it's you they really want to talk to. You must have seen what is going on, sir. I think your duty is plain in the matter, sir."
The sounds of the convoy had died away until they were lost in the metallic echoes of Miss Murray's hammering. Three widely spaced blows, three close together, then three spaced out again.
SOS
Wallis said, "Eh?"
"Marry them," said the doctor.
Wallis found suddenly that he had completely forgotten the convoy as his mind grappled with this newer situation, even though it was a matter on which he had already spent a good deal of time and mental energy. But the doctor, apparently, had mistaken his silence for sheer astonishment.
"I realize that the Royal Navy doesn't instruct its officers on how to marry people," the doctor commented, "but I was married and I can remember the important parts of the service. Besides, it's becoming downright embarrassing to watch those two mooning at each other. As things are it's too blasted cold to do anything but hold hands! Supposing that they could find a private spot, and even if they were married and bundled together legally, I still think it's too cold for -- "
"I don't," said Wallis sharply. After a pause he retorted, "I had no idea that you were such a romantic soul, Doctor, or that your feelings would blind you to the realities of this situation! When two people marry there are not infrequently a number of by-products. Do you consider this a proper place. to bring up children? And how about dealing with a confinement without proper equipment, in this . . . this icebox! And suppose someone dies. Is there any possible way of disposing of the body?"
He stopped suddenly as a new thought occurred to him, then went on, "As a doctor you must have considered these problems, and very likely a lot more besides. I'd have thought that you would have been completely against any pairing off down here, utterly against it! The fact that you aren't suggests to me that you have good reason to think that we will not have enough time left to us for these problems to occur, that our Romeo and Juliet should have what fun they can while they can. Do you have reason for thinking like that, Doctor?"
Radford was silent for a long time. When he finally did reply it was not to answer Wallis's question.
He said, "When the Dicksons bundle up it will leave the Murray girl out in the cold, or at least without someone to keep her warm. Which is a pity, because she is still in a bad way mentally from the effects of the torpedoing. I'd even go so far as to say that her nightmares and general fidgets during the sleeping periods are partly the cause of Jenny Wellman's looking for a new sleeping partner. Only partly, of course. But the fact remains that without the comfort and reassurance of Miss Wellman, the Murray girl's sleep is likely to be seriously disturbed, which means that ours will be likewise. So I was thinking -- "
"You can stop thinking!" Wallis burst out, with feelings close to panic. "Dammit all, Doctor, are you trying to organize an orgy or something!"
The surgeon lieutenant did not answer that question either. Instead he said, "No matter how long we are here, sir, I don't think that we would ever reach the stage of fighting each other to the death for the only available woman, or anything equally melodramatic. At the same time I can see certain difficulties arising if the matter isn't settled fairly soon.
"You are the logical one, sir," the doctor went on. "Compared with myself, the age difference is much smaller, and I'm married already in any case. You should think about it, sir."
Wallis glared at the doctor and thought about it, and then with equal desperation tried not to think about it. There was no room for thoughts of the convoy or anything else in his mind, even though the sound of Miss Murray's still trying to speak to it filled the whole ship.
Bang-bang-bang, she was saying doggedly: Bang, bang, bang. Bang-bang-bang. . . .
X
Surgeon Lieutenant Radford could not make everyone agree to taking a bath, but he won a minor victory by getting them to periodically change their clothes. It was a matter of added warmth, he had insisted, as well as of simple hygiene. The uniforms which they stood up in -- and lay down in and did everything else in -- were so dirty and greasy that they were poor insulators at best, and in their present surroundings the heavy serge would be impossible to clean. Besides, it was a well-known fact that a light, open-weave garment was warmer than a thick, closely woven type, provided that there was protection against moving currents of air. He did not have to remind them that Gulf Trader was singularly free from moving currents of air.
The new outfits were made from sacking and took the shape of a one-piece coverall with an attached hood. They were washed in sea water and dried by first battering them against the nearest bulkhead to remove most of the water and then whirling them around rapidly in the air. As well as keeping the people warm who were not serving on the generator, the doctor said that the constant washing and battering dry would soften the fibers of the sacking so that they would soon feel comfortable against the skin.
But they found that each needed two of these outfits worn one on top of the other to keep warm, and the girls were kept busy making them for a long time. Dickson began talking about sweatshops and poor, down-trodden workers and his plans for forming a union for their protection, several times a day. Marriage had not changed Dickson's sense of humor, Wallis thought: it was still lousy.
Apart from working the generator and sewing sacks together there was not very much for them to do except think about their troubles; and that was something to be avoided, because they had so many that to dwell on them was simpiy asking for more trouble -- such as the Murray girl's crying in her sleep, their sitting and either staring silently at nothing or arguing endlessly and senselessly about nothing at all until they were close to murder.
The time, according to the doctor, was late May. It was a little warmer in the ship, but still bitterly cold. The air was definitely going stale.
Wallis lay with the doctor under their heap of sacking and tried not to think about these things. What little experience he had of air going foul told him that it should be hot and stuffy and that he should have a dull headache and be inclined toward shortness of breath. He was sure that his breathing was faster and there was no doubt about his headache, but the air was so cold that it did not seem to be stuffy at all. In these circumstances it was hard to tell just how foul the air had become or to estimate the time left to them before it became unbreathable. At the same time there was always the possibilit
y that it was not nearly so foul as he thought it was, and that it was bad mainly because he thought about it too much.
But it was difficult not to think about things. All around him there was silence and he had to listen hard to hear the sighing and gurgling sounds of the sea pressing against their hull, the even breathing of the doctor beside him, or the low muttering that told of Miss Murray's having bad dreams again. Wallis was beginning to feel comfortably drowsy. He thought that if he could find something pleasant, or at least constructive, to think about he might go to sleep.
In some ways their position was similar to that of survivors in an open boat. In a lifeboat there is food and water enough to live, but men grow cold and sleepy and die if they don't find ways of exercising their muscles and keeping awake. In Gulf Trader it was their minds rather than their bodies which needed the exercise if they were to continue to survive, and, just as in the hypothetical lifeboat, the exercises they performed could be utterly senseless in themselves.
He fell asleep thinking about guessing games and ideas more suited to a children's party than to the dark and frigid hold of a sunken ship. . . .
Wallis was awakened, he did not know how much later, by the sound of Miss Murray's crying. It was not a loud noise, just the low, gasping, sobbing sound of someone who is trying vainly not to make any sound at all. Miss Murray didn't like disturbing people, and usually everyone kept still and pretended to be asleep so that she would not feel bad when she did. But tonight she was crying so quietly that everyone but Wallis seemed still to be asleep, so he didn't even have the comfort of knowing that he was not suffering alone. The sound went on and on, stopping only long enough to let him hope that she had gone back to sleep, then starting again.
After what seemed like hours of listening to her and staying perfectly still Wallis could stand it no longer. He wriggled carefully from under the sacking so as not to let the cold in on the doctor and sat up in the darkness.
He had no idea what he was going to do or say to her that would make her stop crying, only that he had somehow to put an end to that terrible, not quite silent sobbing before it made him run amuck. A few quiet words of reassurance might do it, or a pat on the back, or a gentle reminder that she needed her sleep, that they all needed sleep. Then again, that might simply make her worse. The thought came suddenly to him that if he did anything at all, considering the highly nervous state she was in, she might get the wrong idea and start screaming that she was being assaulted or something. But when he found the torch and switched it on he saw that she was sitting up, wide awake, and shivering. Her arms were folded tightly against her chest, her head was bowed so that her cowl hid her features, and the only motion about her was the constant steaming of her breath.
Wallis moved across and gently shook her shoulder. He had to do it several times before she took notice; then she said, "I'm cold."
A number of angry and impatient replies rushed to Wallis's lips, like weren't they all cold and what did she expect when she was sitting on top of all the blankets instead of lying inside them? She had been given all the sick-bay blankets to make up for the loss of Jenny, and they were much warmer than the sacking everyone else had to be satisfied with. But Wallis fought back the things he wanted to say and said instead, "I've been meaning to check the water level in the coffer dam. Maybe a walk aft would warm us both up. . . .
As they were passing through the old sick bay into Number Twelve and they both began fighting for breath, Wallis said, "The air is quite fresh. If we die of asphyxiation it will be purely psychological."
She gave a small laugh, the sort a junior officer has to give when a senior makes a crack which is supposed to be a joke.
After they had checked the coffer dam bulkheads and climbed up and down the ladder often enough to be fairly warm, Wallis stopped her as they were returning through the sick bay. He pointed to the litter which had belonged to Dickson and asked her to sit down, then hooked the torch onto a projecting pipe and sat beside her. Not too close.
After a couple of false starts, he said, "You know, being caught down here when the ship was torpedoed was probably a good thing for us. If we'd been up top the chances are that we would have spent some time in the water and a much longer time, maybe three or four days, in a lifeboat or raft. We might not have survived that, and you girls certainly would not have done so, injured and unable to exercise as you were. You're still alive and you could have been dead.
"I know it's cold," he went on, "and the air is going foul. But summer is coming and the doctor is beginning to show results with his beans, and we have plenty of food and just enough water and we're dry. It might be a long time before we're rescued, but we will be, eventually. So there is nothing immediate to be afraid of, nothing for you to lose any sleep over. . . ."
There was no response for a long time; then she said, "I understand, sir. We can't get torpedoed again down here."
Wallis grinned suddenly. "That's it exactly," he said.
"I used to be good looking, you know," she said. "And I know what a burned face looks like. My . . . my boyfriend bailed out of a burning plane. His face was . . . was . . . He used to tell my parents that we were Beauty and the Beast."
His smile must have looked somewhat strained, Wallis thought, as he said, "It says a lot that his looks didn't matter to you. Even so there are going to be a great many people scarred by this war, and war-scarred heroes earn special respect. The same applies to war-scarred heroines, although in their case the plastic surgeons would make an extra effort to repair the damage. But you're lucky. If the surgeons can't fix you up completely, and the doctor tells me that they probably can, you'll be able to compare operations with your boyfriend."
His tone must have been a bit too hale and hearty, too insensitive. She began to cry again. Wallis put his arm across her back and patted her shoulder awkwardly. The movement caused her cowl to fall away from her face, revealing the devastated left side spotlighted by the hanging torch. Even the hair on that side was affected; it was gray at the roots and patches were missing, and the only good thing about it was that it hid her damaged ear. Wallis had helped the doctor to dress that ear a few times and he didn't particularly want to look at it again. But the most horrifying thing about the Murray girl's face was that the right half of it was smooth and unblemished and beautiful.
"I'm sorry," said Wallis. "I shouldn't joke about things like that."
"We were engaged," she said suddenly. "Just before he was killed."
"I'm sorry," said Wallis again, wishing that he was dead himself, or somewhere out of this acutely embarrassing position.
"Don't be," said the girl. "I didn't like him very much. But he felt so awful about his face that it seemed the right thing to do at the time. I used to tell him that his bad looks made my good looks better by comparison, and it made him laugh sometimes. But the second time he was shot down he wasn't able to bail out.
"Maybe he would have wanted me -- he knew what it felt like to be this way," she went on, so quietly that Wallis had to bend closer to hear her. "But nobody else will. Your war-scarred heroes will want, will deserve, Beauties, not another female Beast like themselves. I can't see myself, but the side of my mouth feels tight and my eye feels wrong and my face is . . . is like the bark of a tree. Can you imagine anyone looking at it without wanting to turn away and be sick? Can you imagine anyone wanting to kiss it?"
"Yes," said Wallis.
The trouble with a lie, he thought, is that if it is to sound like the truth it has to be supported from several different directions. Well-meaning, kindly lies seemed worst of all in this respect. All he wanted to do was to make her feel better, from motives selfish as well as selfless; he wanted to stop her crying so much and upsetting everyone, and to feel better generally, and to stop having the bad dreams which kept her and everyone else awake. Merely telling a lie, though, he knew instinctively, would not be enough. Radford and Dickson would never know how hard he was working to ensure their sleep.
&
nbsp; Briefly, lightly, he kissed her on the mouth.
She did not seem angry, or surprised, or anything in particular. Wallis felt that his lie was not convincing, that he was making a proper hash of things generally. He said brightly, "You kept your eyes open. I thought all girls closed their eyes when they were being -- "
"I wanted to see if you closed yours," she said dully, "and I think you did. You couldn't look at me close up and you couldn't bear to touch me for more than a second."
Wallis badly wanted to leave just then. His rule-of-thumb psychology was not working out, and because of his meddling Miss Murray was in a worse state now than when he had started. His well-intentioned lying had not come off, probably because it had been a ridiculous and unbelievable lie, the sort of lie which calls black white. Maybe if he had mixed a little more of the truth into it, cruel though the truth was, the lie might have been believed. Or maybe not. But there was still time to try again.