Surgeon at Sea

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.'