Free Doctor at Sea by Richard Gordon Page B

their symptoms like bruised children running to their mother. The Second Mate was the severest sufferer from hypochondriasis. The locker in his cabin was a therapeutic bar: he had five different brands of antiseptic, all the popular stomach powders, lotions for rubbing under the arms and between the toes, drops for sticking in his eyes or up his nose, gargles and liniments, hair-food and skin-balm, and a frightening collection of purgatives.
    I found him gargling lustily in his cabin one afternoon.
    ‘Hello, Second,’ I said. ‘What’s up? Got a cold?’ He spat guiltily into the basin, as though I had caught him at some wickedness.
    ‘No,’ he explained.’ I always gargle three times a day. I was reading an article in Happy Health that said that every cubic inch of air is loaded with millions of microbes.’
    ‘Well, so’s every inch of your throat.’
    ‘Listen, Doc,’ he went on, sounding worried.’ There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you for a long time. Where could I get my blood cholesterol measured?‘
    ‘Your what!’
    ‘Yes, you see there was an article in - either the Reader's Digest or one of the Sunday papers at home -that said some doctors in California had discovered if your blood cholesterol was above 245 milligrams per cent you were bound to get arteriosclerosis. I’ve all the symptoms. I ...’
    ‘You’re far more likely to fall down a hatch and break your neck.’
    ‘Do you think so?’He asked eagerly.’ Still, it’s got me worried. I’m sure I’ve got an intervertebral disk as well. There’s a pain I get round here in my back every time I sit down.’
    ‘Rubbish! You’re healthier than I am.’
    He looked dolefully at his medicine chest for a few moments. ‘of course,’ he continued,’ what I really need is a woman.’
    ‘I’m inclined to agree with you,’ I said.
    I sat down reflectively on his bunk. I had become aware in the past few days of feeling - not blatantiy sex-starved but unquestionably peckish. I put it down to the sea air. My life ashore had passed undisturbed except for Wendy and occasional vague thoughts that it would be nice to take a girl to the pictures. But now I began to think even the girls in the Third Mate’s cabin were delightful. Wendy herself became frighteningly glamourized as my mind’s eye behaved like a magazine photographer’s lens, and substituted curves for angularity and an inviting expression for the usual one that indicated she thought her nose was running.
    ‘Now, if this was a real passenger ship,’ the Second continued,’ everything would be squared up by now. Have you been in one?’
    ‘This is my first ship.’
    ‘I forgot. I was Third in one for a bit. It was like a floating Ball of Kirriemuir. I don’t know what it is. As soon as these females get aboard a ship they’re all after you. Not a moment’s peace. Then there’s dances and race meetings and all the fun and games. Not to mention the moonlight and the phosphorescence on the water. I haven’t seen any phosphorescence yet. But they fall for it, every time. The places they get to! We found one couple on the steering engine. I used to go under the lifeboats.’
    ‘What about the Captain?’
    ‘He was at it like everyone else. He jacked himself up a nice bit of snicket first day out of Southampton. What a trip that was!’
    ‘I take it you’re not married,’ I said.
    ‘I’ve been married. Got hitched during the war when I was a Third. It didn’t work out. We’ve split it up now.’ He took a cigarette out of the tin thoughtfully.’ It’s no good being married at sea. Oh, yes, every leave’s a honeymoon, I know what they say. But long voyages and young wives don’t mix. You leave the allotment of your pay and if you don’t get a letter at every port you wonder what’s up. Anyhow, I reckon you can’t ask a girl to sit by the fireside for six months, or a year, or two years maybe. It isn’t fair. It isn’t human.’
    ‘What about you?’ I