‘ “Sergeant Sharp, this needle is very sharp. You like my little joke? You should laugh, to show you appreciate Iraqi humour. We are a very humorous people. Now — if the needle goes into your eye, you will not feel much. But afterwards, I promise you, you will not see anything at all. Which is your master eye?”
‘I knew what was coming next, so I held my mouth shut.
‘ “You don’t know? Or you won’t say? It doesn’t matter. We’ll assume your right eye is master, and start with that. Perhaps when that is gone, you will see sense with your left.”
‘He held the syringe so close in front of my face that I couldn’t focus on it any more. I struggled and fought to free my good arm and my legs. I think I shat myself. I yelled at the top of my voice, “BASTARDS! The whole fucking lot of you are BASTARDS!’ ”
A noise somewhere close to me brought me back to Hereford. A loud knock had sounded on the door, which now burst open. Tracy’s head appeared in the gap. The saucy look had gone from her face, and she was looking quite scared. ‘You lot all right in here?’ she asked. ‘I thought the doc was getting attacked.’
‘It’s OK.’ Doc Lester smiled. ‘The devils are coming out of him.’
Tracy withdrew, and I apologized for making such a noise. Once again I was soaked in sweat.
‘Go on,’ the doctor said again.
‘He did it three or four times. I don’t know what happened in the end — whether I passed out, or whether he stuck the needle in my arm. I came round to find the operation done, and my arm in plaster.’
‘Whoever he was, he did a good job,’ said the doc. ‘Plated it, too. The X-rays show a perfect union.’
‘If ever I see him again I’ll make the shit fly out of him.’
Doc Lester took my wrist again and counted. ‘Your pulse-rate’s gone from 64 to 180,’ he remarked. He looked once more at the X-ray. ‘And then you were in gaol?’
‘Yes. Two weeks or so in the hospital, then five weeks in one prison or another, eating crap and feeling like death.’
‘But no torture?’
‘It depends what you mean by torture. There was no systematic interrogation, but every now and then the guards would give us a kicking or a beating. And they’d hit us around with whips. There was one who’d come and tap on my plaster cast with a wooden stick, harder and harder, until I yelled. The worst thing was that we hadn’t a clue about what was happening — in the war or anywhere else. The Iraqis kept giving us a load of shit about how the Coalition was losing, but we never heard any proper news.’
‘Who’s “we”?’
‘Myself and Tony Lopez, the American SEAL on the medevac chopper that got shot down. His cover story was similar to mine, and when he stuck to it, the Iraqis eventually put us together. He’s a great guy, Tony. Bags of guts. As it happens, he’s coming here on selection any time now.’
The doctor thought for a minute, then asked, ‘So now you’re getting headaches? When did they start?’
‘A couple of weeks ago. Also, I started getting this recurrent nightmare. It’s always more or less the same — a version of that scene in the hospital.’
‘I’m not surprised.’ The doc got up and walked to the window, looking out. ‘I think you’re suffering from delayed shock. It’s stress brought on by what you went through. People in our profession are starting to talk about something called post-traumatic stress. It’s to do with the after-effects of wounds and captivity — though nobody knows much about it yet. Have you seen a shrink?’
‘No. They offered us one, but none of the guys fancied it.’
‘How about taking your troubles home? Have you talked to your mum, for instance?’
‘I don’t have one.’
‘Or your dad?’
‘No. I’m an orphan.’
‘Oh.’ He picked up a sheet of paper from the desk and looked at it again. ‘I see. I’m sorry.’
‘No sweat.’
‘What about your wife?’
‘That’s the trouble.’ I sat up. ‘This is it, Doc. I can’t talk to her.’
‘Why not?’
‘I don’t know. It’s not her fault, it’s mine. She hasn’t changed, but I have. Could they have given me something in the prison?’
‘Like what?’
‘Something that would put me off her… that would kill my sex drive? Bromide or something?’
The doctor laughed, but not unkindly. ‘If they did they’ve got drugs the West has never heard of
‘So what’s happened, then? I don’t even fancy her any more. She gets on my nerves. Everything she says or does seems to jar. I used to love her, but I don’t now.’
‘As I said, it’s all down to delayed shock. The stress is catching up on you.’
‘So what can I do about it? The worst of it is, she’s busting herself to look after me, but that only seems to make things worse. I don’t want her around the place.’
‘You need a break. Do you have any children?’
‘One. Tim — he’s coming up for three.’
‘Does your wife have a family?’
‘Yes. They’re across the water, near Belfast.’
‘Could she go and stay with them for a while?’
‘Well, I suppose so.’ I thought about it for a moment, and asked, ‘You mean, we have a trial separation?’
‘That would make it into a bit of a drama. I wouldn’t call it that. Just call it a break. You could try it for two or three weeks. It would give you a chance to sort yourself out. Meanwhile, I’ll give you something to take. Two a day.’ He scribbled out a prescription and handed me the chit. ‘Take it easy,’ he said. ‘You’ll be OK in a while. Try and ease off the booze, as well. That’ll help.’
‘Thanks, Doc. Thanks for listening.’
‘It was a pleasure,’ he said. ‘I enjoyed hearing your story.’
I stood up and headed for the door.
‘That’ll be £57 .50,’ Tracy said as I came out.
‘I’ll send a cheque.’
‘Seriously, are you OK?’ She uncrossed her long legs and stood up. She was almost as tall as me.
‘More or less. I’ve been getting these headaches.’
She came and stood close to me, looking into my face. ‘It’s what happened over there, isn’t it?’
‘I guess so.’
‘Well — I’m sorry. I hope you’re better soon. You probably need time to get over it.’
‘That’s what the doc said.’
‘Good luck, then.’
‘Thanks, Tracy. Your medicine’s as good as anybody’s.’ I was going to give her a peck on the cheek, but at that instant the telephone rang.
After so much emotion, my Spanish course seemed deadlier than ever. There were eight of us studying, and the bait was the possibility that a team job might come up in Colombia, where the forces of law and order were fighting the drug barons in the war against cocaine. The thought of a trip to South America was certainly an incentive, but when it came down to the nitty-gritty — Jesus Christ! (Or, as they would say down there, ¡JesuCristo!) There I sat, struggling to concentrate on the strange words and pronunciation, while all the time my mind was on Kath and what I was going to tell her. What would my mates in the Squadron say if she went home? Would they write me off as a wanker? I supposed we could invent some problem — it was true that her mother was soon going into hospital for a hip replacement, and would need looking after for a while afterwards…
Our instructor was a flabby-looking major from the Education Corps, with thin, fair hair and a poncified accent. He could speak Spanish all right, but it was quiero hablar this and más desfacio, por favor that, until my headache was worse than ever, in spite of Doc Lester’s magic pills. I stuck out the day, but only because the thought of facing Kath was worse.
When I got home that evening, I didn’t say much at first. I repeated what the doc had told me about delayed reaction and the after-effects of stress, but I waited till Kath had tucked Tim up in bed before I nerved myself to put the knife in.