The Story of Dr. Wassell (6 page)

The officer swung his glance back to the doctor, and the glance stiffened
into a gaze and the gaze into a glare. “What the devil have you been up to? I
said to bring only those who could stand a rough passage—”

The doctor’s voice was very calm. “These men can stand a rough passage,
sir.”

“Are you crazy?”

“These men, after what they’ve gone through, sir, can stand anything.”

“But the stretcher cases—don’t you realize the ship may be
torpedoed—what sort of chance would they have?”

“They’ll take that chance, sir, whatever it is.”

“They’ll do nothing of the kind, and I’ve no time to argue. I shall have
argument enough with the captain to make him take
any
of these
men…and the stretcher cases are simply out of the question. Good God, sir,
you might have known that!”

“But—what’ll I do with them?”

“Get ‘em back where they came from, and that’s an order!”

The doctor stood his ground in sheer incredulousness. “You mean I’m to
take these eight men back to a hospital hundreds of miles away?”

“Yes, and be thankful it
is
that far—don’t you know an air
raid’s expected here any time?” Something in the doctor’s expression made the
other add, less brusquely: “I’ll take your walking cases on board
now—give me the list of names. And you be off as quick as you can with
these others, for God’s sake.”

The doctor had no time to say good-bye to the men who were leaving, but
some of them waved to him and he waved back. As for the eight men on the
stretchers, it would not have been easy for him to pass on the bad news to
them, so he was rather glad that they must have overheard most of the
conversation. The thought that he had suffered humiliation in being rebuked
in front of them by a superior officer did not even occur to him, and even if
it had, it would have seemed of very small account just then. All he said
was: “Well, boys, I guess you heard what’s happened. I feel just as sick
about it as any of you, but an order’s an order…We’d better get going.”

Fortunately the ambulances had not left the dock, so that within an hour
he had the men back at the railway station. There, however, he had no similar
luck with the hospital train, for it had already left for some unknown
destination. But it was true enough that there was nothing for it but to
return to the hospital somehow. Even apart from the risk of an air raid,
there was no place in Tjilatjap that could take the men, and probably not
even a roof under which he could find sleeping room for them. Eventually he
persuaded the railway authorities to hitch a box car to a train that was
about to leave for the interior; it was far from comfortable, but at least
the men could stay on their stretchers without being disturbed. And the
journey, being by night, would at least be fairly cool.

One thing he hardly noticed till his eyes grew used to the dim light in
the box car after the train began to move, and that was the return of
McGuffey, slightly the worse for wear.

It was a quiet, sad journey back. There was very little talking. The men
did not want to talk at all, except McGuffey, and the doctor did not want to
talk to him. The men were depressed and disappointed, and to be frank, he did
not blame them. He did not know quite what else he could have done, or how a
smarter man might have handled the entire situation better; but he had so
often had this kind of mystification in life that he could no longer think of
it as much of an excuse. The only cheerful thought was that at least the
thirty-two walking cases had had some luck.

He also thought that McGuffey had let him down, but the matter seemed too
unimportant to argue about at such a moment. When, however, the train stopped
at a junction station for a quarter-hour wait, he told the boy sharply to
fetch the men bottles of beer while he went to the telephone. “And don’t
drink any yourself. You’ve had enough already, I can see.”

He knew he must somehow telephone the hospital to be prepared to receive
the men; he had tried to get through from Tjilatjap, but without success.

He managed it now, but the conversation was not easy. He detected a note
of quizzical surprise in the reply of Dr. Voorhuys after a long pause that of
course, of
course
they would have everything ready.

Perhaps the anonymity of the telephone released a little of the doctor’s
private emotion, for he added, in not quite his usual voice: “And please, Dr.
Voorhuys, if you could—if you could tell the nurses also—to make
the men feel as if you were all glad to have them back.”

He was speaking too closely from the heart to think of any aspersion that
might be implied by such an appeal; certainly none was intended. There was
another long silence before an answer came. Then Dr. Voorhuys said, and hung
up immediately afterwards: “But we
are
glad. We shall not have to
pretend anything.”

The doctor went back to the train and found the men enjoying their beer as
little as beer was ever enjoyed. He could understand that, and made no
comment. Nor did the men thank him for the beer.

As soon as the train restarted, McGuffey came over to the corner where he
sat and, handing him some change, remarked: “I suppose you’re wondering what
happened to me, Doc?”

“No, I’m not wondering at all. I know. You went off with a girl and you
had some drinks and by doing all that you lost your chance of getting
out.”

“I know that too.”

“Well, it’s all your own fault.”

“Sure…But besides the girl and the drinks there was something else. I
went to the Navy people and tried to join one of the ships.”

“Then you must be crazy. You’re under orders—same as we all
are…don’t you realize that? You can’t go acting like the lone ranger in
this outfit—nobody can…I suppose they made that pretty clear to
you.”

“Sure, they did, and I got mad. One of them—he was a
doctor—told me I had to have plastic surgery on my ear and it would
take six months. I told him he was a damn fool and I didn’t want any plastic
surgery, I wanted to get back in the Navy. So he booted me out, and then I
was so mad I had more drinks, and when I got to the dock the
Breskens
had left. I thought you’d all of you gone on it, but then somebody said you
were back at the railway station. I got here just in time to jump on the
train.”

“Just in time is right. Well, I hope it teaches you a lesson.”

“There’s only one more thing, Doc. Since I
am
back with you, and
there’s nothing either of us can do about it, you might let me give you a
hand sometimes.”

“I’ll not only
let
you,” answered the doctor grimly, “I’ll
make
you.”

McGuffey did not seem discomfited by the reply. “Okay, Doc. Then let’s
have a drink on it.” He produced a couple of bottles of beer from some
mysterious hide-out.

“I told you not to get one for yourself.”

“You said not to drink any, Doc. And I didn’t…so far.”

“All right, all right.”

Presently McGuffey remarked: “I guess it counts against you in the Navy to
do what I did.”

“You mean asking to be taken back before they want you?”

“No, not so much that—but—well, making a scene and calling a
doctor a damn fool.”

For some reason (certainly not one he could explain to McGuffey) the
doctor began to smile. “Listen,” he said, suddenly less angry with McGuffey
because of a recollection that crossed his mind. “Listen, son…it’s no good
crying over spilt milk. And as for the doctor—aw, don’t worry about
that
. I’ve called plenty of doctors fools in
my
time…”

He kept recollecting, during the rest of the long train journey; because
most of the men had fallen asleep, and he couldn’t sleep himself. Even
McGuffey had fallen asleep. He remembered that diphtheria business, when he
was medical officer and wanted to give free inoculations to everybody and
some of the local doctors had claimed it was unethical to do things for
nothing if patients could pay for them. “You damn fools,” he had said then,
at an association meeting, “I suppose you’d rather have a diphtheria epidemic
than lose a few of your measly little two and a half bucks…” Which, of
course, had possibly been unfair, and had certainly been unwise. But then he
had done quite a few unwise things in his life. Enough, anyhow, to give him a
slight fellow feeling for McGuffey.

He moved quietly round the box car, watching the men as they slept. And
suddenly a queer feeling came over him—that they were not just the men
from the
Marblehead
any more; they were
his
men, even including
McGuffey. It was an awful and yet a rather gentle thought. He lit a cigarette
and stuck it into his long cigarette holder and began puffing at the doorway
of the car—a sliding door that stood a few inches open to admit enough
night air for ventilation. The Javanese countryside rushed past, the strange
trees almost brushing the train, and all at once, on a horizon momentarily
disclosed by a dip in the slope of the railway cutting, he saw a pale glare
flashing upwards to the sky.

They arrived just after dawn, and the doctor thought he had never seen
anything more beautiful. It was almost as if he had never before noticed how
beautiful the hospital and its grounds really were. The sun rose over the rim
of the hill and flooded the tops of the trees with light, while deep in their
shadows the bungalows and one-story wings were still half-hidden. Then, as
the ambulance took the curving upward drive that led to the main entrance, a
little cool breeze stirred the foliage, so that the first sunshine made a
patchwork on the stucco walls, on the stone portico when they approached it,
and on the faces of the nurses who were there to greet them.

This, the doctor thought, as he began to wave his greeting from a hundred
yards distant—this was the place where, in any sane world, the men
would stay till they were completely healed, where they could rest till they
were ready to make the journey down to the sea and the ships.

But it was not a sane world.

Until dawn he had been able to see flames on the horizon that meant either
air raids or that the Dutch were destroying oil wells; he could not see
anything now, but from time to time, over the thin air, came the sound of
heavy, distant explosions.

The nurses gave the men a wonderful welcome. They had tea for them, and
sherry, and little cakes; they laughed and perhaps also cried as they
scampered alongside the stretchers, just as if this were some kind of party
that had been interrupted and to which the guests were now being welcomed
back. Three Martini took special care of Renny, who had stood the journey
less well than the others; and Dr. Voorhuys, as soon as the men were settled
in their beds, came round and said a few words to all who were not already
falling asleep.

The doctor thanked Dr. Voorhuys in words that were few because they were
so deeply felt.

Dr. Voorhuys smiled and went so far as to pat the shoulder of his
colleague from Arkansas. He was an austere man, and he did not pat shoulders
easily. “Of course,” he said, “you and your men are doubly welcome because we
know how disappointed you must all be. But it could not he helped. And you
did right to bring them back here. There has been an air raid on Tjilatjap
during the night.”

“You know that?”

“It came through—by telephone—a few hours ago. But it was only
a very little air raid.” Dr. Voorhuys said that almost as if an air raid
could be something rather weak and pathetic.

“They tried for the docks, I suppose?”

“Yes, they sank one or two ships. And they will try again and sink
more…But of course that does not mean they will invade the country. It will
just be very uncomfortable—for places like Tjilatjap.”

“And even here?”

“I cannot see any reason why they should raid us. We are not a seaport or
an industrial target.”

“All the same, though, things are getting closer.”

“Undoubtedly. Oh, undoubtedly…And it occurs to me, remembering the
argument we had once before, that if there is anything your men would
like—whether it is against any of our strict rules or not…”

“You mean like the smoking?”

“Yes, like the smoking.”

The doctor had a sudden thought. “Perhaps there
is
something. The
men are so low today that I’d like to give ‘em a surprise when they wake up.”
He hesitated, realizing that what was on his mind required tact. “Your
hospital food is always wonderful, but the men are used to plainer
dishes…less fancy, if you get me…more like the kind of thing they had in
the Navy, or in their own homes…”

“Of course that would be a question of cooking,” mused Dr. Voorhuys.

“Yes, sure. And if you like, one of my men could help—he happens to
be a cook, and he’s spoiling for a job right now…”

“Ah, I know whom you must mean. The man with the burned ears.”

“Yes, that’s the one.”

“How comes it that he returned here with you—surely he was well
enough to have gone on with the others?”

The doctor did not feel he could go into the details. “It was just
chance,” he answered at length. “One of those things that happen. Just
chance.”

“Let us say then a happy chance,” replied Dr. Voorhuys, in a rather
stately way to indicate that the conversation might end there. “Perhaps
during the day you will introduce him to the kitchen staff…”

The doctor realized that there were many risks in introducing McGuffey to
the kitchen staff, but he was so rapidly developing a risk-taking mood that
he took the bold plunge, after a talk with McGuffey in which the latter had
very little chance to say anything but yes and no. A bit more of this sort of
thing, thought the doctor with wry amusement afterwards, and I shall be a
real martinet…

The fact that there had been an air raid, even a small one, on Tjilatjap
took some of the sting out of his own personal misgivings. He wouldn’t bother
to tell the men about it (because it might make them fear a raid on the
inland town), but for himself it seemed possible that he had got his men away
just in time. It could be an omen—or couldn’t it?—of some future
hairsbreadth saving of their lives. And suddenly, along with the omen, if it
were one, came awareness of the job that he had still to do and was still
only just beginning to realize. But next time there must be no hitch, no
confusion, no mishandling.