Free In the Wet by Nevil Shute Page A

drew the chair up to the bed.
    Sister Finlay said, “Liang’s got a pipe for you, if you want it, Stevie. You can have one now.”
    He did not speak, but lying on his back he made an effortto roll over on to his right side, towards the room. He seemed to be incapable of moving the lower part of his body; Liang moved forward and with Sister Finlay helping him arranged the old man’s limbs in a comfortable and reclining position on his side. Then Liang lit the spirit stove upon the chair, and took a sort of skewer and dipped it in the brown substance, and picked up a morsel about the size of a pea, and began to toast it in the blue flame while it burned and sizzled. Then he transferred it carefully to the tiny bowl of the metal pipe, put the bowl to the flame, and drew in slowly to get the morsel glowing; he exhaled at once. Then he gave the pipe to Stevie.
    The old man took it, and put it to his mouth; he inhaled deeply, held it for a few moments, and exhaled it from his nose; the smoke was acrid and unpleasant. He did this four or five times, and it appeared to give him almost instantaneous relief, because within a minute or two he was lying more relaxed, and the strained lines of pain were smoothing on his face. The pipe was apparently finished with those few inhalations, because he handed it back to Liang.
    “Another?” asked the Chinaman.
    The old man nodded, and Liang set about preparing another pipe. I moved forward and sat down on the edge of the bed.
    “Stevie,” I said. “I’m Roger Hargreaves. You know me; I’m the parson from Landsborough. Remember?”
    “Too right,” he said weakly. “You got on Black Joke.”
    “That’s right,” I said. “You and I are cobbers. You’re a sick man now, Stevie. You’ll go off to sleep after you’ve had these pipes, and while you’re asleep we’re going to take you into hospital for an operation. I think it’s going to be successful, and you’ll be strong and well again, but there’s a risk in every operation. I’ve got to die some time, and sohas Liang here, and Sister Finlay; we’ve all got to face it when the time comes. You’ve got to face it too, Stevie. You may die tonight. Would you like me to say a prayer or two before you go to sleep?”
    “Harps and angels’ wings,” he muttered. “I don’t hold with that.”
    “I know you don’t,” I said. “What creed were you baptised in to, Stevie? What church did you go to when you were a boy?”
    “I never went to no church,” he said. “I was raised out on the station.”
    “When you were in the army, what did you have on your identity disc?” I asked him. “C. of E., or R.C., or what?”
    “Church of England,” he said sleepily. “That’s what they said I was.”
    “Then you’re one of my parishioners,” I said. “Look, Stevie, I’m going to say two little prayers, and then I want you to answer one or two questions. They’re very simple. Now listen carefully.”
    So I did what I had to do, and he was quite good about it, and I gave him the Absolution. Then Liang was ready with the second pipe, and he took that and smoked it, and now he was much easier, and apparently in little pain.
    He handed the pipe back to Liang.
    “Another?” asked the Chinaman, and Stevie nodded. I glanced at Sister Finlay; she shrugged her shoulders slightly, and then nodded.
    Stevie said, “I’m dying, aren’t I?”
    “I hope not,” I replied. “If you are, there’s nothing to be afraid of.”
    “I’m crook all right,” he muttered. “She wouldn’t let me have three pipes, ’less I was bloody crook. I ain’t afraid of dying. I’ll go carrying the Queen.”
    The hallucinations were returning; no doubt that wasthe opium. Perhaps the fading mind was poisoned through and through with that outlandish drug. “You’ll be all right,” I said quietly. “God is very merciful, and he won’t judge you too hard.”
    “You don’t know nothing,” the old man muttered weakly. “I could tell you