A Proper Marriage (41 page)

‘For crying out loud,’ began Perry suddenly.

Douglas hastily opened his eyes, swung his legs down, said, ‘I’ll see if they can get us a bite.’ He called the native orderly. ‘Hey, Jim, where’s the doctor?’

The orderly pointed at the other building cheerfully.

‘Can you get us something to eat?’

‘Yes, baas. Right away, baas.’

He went through into the inner room, through that into the back. Silence again. The pigeon cooed on and on.

He came back with a tin tray. Fried eggs, bacon, fried bread. Perry raised himself, looked at it, looked at him.

‘We have ulcers,’ he said. ‘Ulcers - diet - no fat.’ He flipped his hand up against the tray. It jerked, the plates slid, the orderly caught at it, steadied the plates into their pattern, turned his back and was staring out through the green gauze at the sky.

‘Can you boil us some eggs?’ asked Douglas quickly.

‘Boiled eggs? Yes, baas, right away, baas.’ The orderly went out with the tray at a half-run.

Perry did not move. He was looking at an officer walking across the dust towards them, who came up the steps, pushed the door open impatiently, then carefully closed it behind him. Perry turned himself over in one movement, and lay looking at him. Douglas, who had been going to salute, stood up, then sat down again.

‘You’re the ulcers, are you?’

‘That’s me,’ said Perry. ‘Just one big ulcer.’

‘Sorry I didn’t get over before - was fixing those other chaps.’ He sat down on the edge of Douglas’s bed, and looked at them. He was rather slight, with rough fair hair, grey straight eyes. He was reddened and sweating.

‘You’re English,’ remarked Perry.

‘Yes, I am actually.’

Perry turned on his back and lay looking at the iron roof. The doctor smiled rather tiredly and said, ‘Well, how are things where you’ve come from?’ ‘Read the newspapers?’ asked Perry. ‘Pretty bad,’ said Douglas.

The doctor glanced at Perry quickly, then more slowly at Douglas.

‘When am I going to be examined?’ asked Perry dangerously.

‘There’s been a bit of a balls-up,’ said Douglas apologetically. ‘We shouldn’t be here.’ ‘What happened?’ ‘Well, it’s like this-’

But Perry swung over again, and poked his head forward at the doctor: ‘He’s got it in for me. I’ll get him when the war’s over,
I
’m warning you. Officer — well, he won’t be an officer when the war’s over, he’ll be my junior clerk.’ He dropped his head back again, and let his two fists dangle on each side of the narrow bed. They swayed back and forth over the floor.

‘How about sleeping for a bit?’ said the doctor. ‘Then we’ll talk about it.’

‘I’m not going to sleep. I’m going to be examined - now.’

Douglas again smiled his small apology. Perry’s sideways flickering eyes caught the smile. ‘And I’ll get you too, Douggie old pal. Arse-licker, that’s all you are. Always were.’

Douglas yellowed, but kept his steady, rather nervous smile.

The doctor sat in thought, He sighed unconsciously. Of the four men in the other building, three had threatened him and the commanding officers, then broken down and wept. Secret cabals of influence worked against them; life itself had it in for them. But he, Doc, was a good type who understood them. He had given them sedatives, and tomorrow they would go home with battle fatigue. The crazy youth had been quite amenable, then suddenly began climbing out of the window, shouting that he would kill himself. He was now under guard. He was all in line with what the
doctor knew and could handle. But he could not understand these colonials, so tough, masculine, violent - and then the sudden collapse into self-pity. It seemed a well of self-pity lay in all of them, ready to overflow at any moment. Caught by accident in South Africa at the beginning of the war, he had been with South Africans all the time. They every one of them got drunk or broke down at some stage or another and confessed to a vast grievance against life. Extraordinary, he thought, remarkable. He looked at Douglas, and considered. Douglas filled him with confidence, He looked a round, humorous, cheerful soldier of a man; the round good-natured face was frankly boyish. The doctor felt he could rely on him. He turned to him and asked, ‘Tell me what happened?’

Perry stiffened, rolled his eyes sideways, but did not move,

‘Well, I’ve had trouble with my stomach off and on for years,’ said Douglas, with a wary look at the braced Perry. ‘It flares up from time to time. I had a sudden bad go last week. Usually I just shut up about it and diet myself as well as you can on army food. But it was a really bad go - they got me into hospital. I’d only been there half an hour when orders came to evacuate. I was never examined. They flew a bunch of us down to the next town. We were evacuated from there again almost at once. The next thing was, we were all shoved on to a plane, and here we are. I’m sure I could carry on in the Army. I’m quite fit apart from the ulcer, and it’s not bad.’ He ended on a frank appeal.

‘You can’t feed an ulcer in the Army,’ said the doctor pleasantly. ‘And you’re better out.’

Douglas’s mouth was bitter. ‘No one examined me, I was just pushed off.’ Suddenly the lips quivered. He turned away, blinking. God help us! thought the doctor, astounded - here it is again.

Perry had slowly risen, was sitting on the edge of his bed, ‘Hey, what about me? What about me, Doc?’ He rose, fists clenched.

Deliberately ignoring him, the doctor said to Douglas, ‘Get
inside a minute, I’ll call you.’ He was embarrassed at what he was going to do.

Douglas hesitated, then rose, then stood still. He was staring like a child at the doctor. At last he turned and stumbled indoors.

Perry, crouching low, was on the point of springing at the doctor.

‘Damn it,’ said the doctor easily, ‘take it easy, now.’ His voice was deliberately kind, paternal.

Perry quivered all over, then sat. His lower lip, thrust out aggressively, worked. Tears sprang from his eyes. The doctor moved over and put a hand on his shoulder. Perry seemed to swell, then subsided. The doctor sat beside him, arm lightly across his shoulder, and began to talk, in a low, persuasive voice.

Douglas, standing behind the gauze door, looking suspiciously out, was amazed and upset at the scene. Then he turned away, and sat on the table inside. He could still hear the doctor’s almost maudlin voice soothing Perry like a child. He could hear Perry heaving up great sobs and complaining that the officer had it in for him, the sergeant had it in for him, he’d never had a chance.

The back door cautiously opened; the orderly’s head came around it. He came in with a tray of boiled eggs, and laid it before Douglas. Seeing a dangerous gleam in Douglas’s fixed blue stare, he hastily slipped out again.

The sentimental murmuring had ceased. Douglas looked out. Perry was lying face down on the red blankets. His fists, hanging down each side of the bed, were being banged slowly and with method on the floor - there was a streak of blood on the knuckles. The doctor was standing upright, filling a syringe against the light. Then he swiftly bent, jabbed the needle into Perry’s forearm, and moved quickly back: he expected Perry to attack him, But Perry was whimpering, face down, ‘You’re a good chap, Doc, thank you, Doc.’

Douglas saw the doctor shut his eyes, sigh, and open them again, as he stood motionless, syringe in hand. If he sticks that thing into me I’ll kill him, thought Douglas. But the
doctor dismantled the syringe and put it away. Then he stood up and braced himself: there was still Douglas. He came into the inner room. Douglas stood waiting for him belligerently.

‘He’ll sleep for a couple of hours and then he’ll be all right,’ said the doctor cheerfully.

‘You’re sending us home?’ began Douglas, standing square in front of him.

The doctor suddenly snapped, ‘Yes, I am. I’m sick to death of the lot of you. You’ve no right to be in the Army in the first place. How did you get in? Told a lot of lies, I suppose. Bloody clever.’ He paused, and added, ‘Hundreds of pounds spent on you, you crack at the first strain, and you have to be sent back home. What do you think this is, a picnic?’

Douglas looked at him incredulously. Seeing the familiar swelling and reddening, the working lower lip, the doctor snapped, ‘Oh, shut up, shut up, shut up - go to hell and shut up.’

‘Who’s in charge here?’ said Douglas after a pause, the official in him coming to the rescue.

The doctor stared, laughed angrily, and said, ‘You can go and see Major Banks if you like — he’s over there.’ He painted at the building opposite, picked up his case, and went out past Perry without looking at him. He strode across the dust and vanished into the building. Douglas looked at the eggs; he was unconsciously grinding his teeth. Then he followed the doctor out.

A deep shady veranda surrounded the main building; off it rooms opened. Inside one of them sat Major Banks under a spinning electric fan, dealing with piles of papers. He looked up, irritated, as Douglas strode in, slamming the door. His eyes narrowed. Douglas stopped in the middle of the room, saluted hastily, came forward.

‘Well, Doug, how are you?’ said the Major, rising and holding his hand out over the table. Douglas shook it. They had known each other for years. ‘Sit down.’ Douglas sat. He was looking at the papers, the files, the ink banks, the paper clips: the fetters from which he had escaped.

‘The doctor’s been talking to me about you,’ said Major Banks.

Douglas allowed himself a bitter smile. But he accepted a cigarette with a ‘Thank you, sir.’

Major Banks was a lean, fibrous, olive-skinned man, with very keen, bright, light-blue eyes: they looked odd in that burnt face. ‘Active service’s out, Doug,’ he said finally. ‘But if you want me to fix you up on the administrative side, I’ll do it.’

‘Thanks,’ said Douglas with hostility.

‘You’re wise. I’ll be spending the rest of the war in happy spots like this one - nice prospect.’

‘If I’ve got to sit behind a desk I’d rather do it at home.’

‘They should never have let you go, anyway. I know your chief was sick when you left.’

‘They didn’t let me go. I worked a point,’ said Douglas, grinning proudly.

‘So I gathered,’ said the Major drily. He added, ‘How’s your wife - she’ll be glad to see you.’

‘Oh, she’s fine, fine,’ said Douglas proudly. ‘We’ve a kid, did you know?’

‘Lucky chap. Well - perhaps you’ll join me for a drink later.’

‘Alcohol’s out - I’ve got an ulcer.’

‘Bad luck.’ The Major picked up some papers.

Douglas rose. He saluted; the Major casually, half jocular, returned it. As Douglas reached the swing doors, someone started shouting from a room near by. He stopped. The sound was disturbing for a reason he could not define.

‘That’s your pal, Simmons,’ said the Major. ‘He’s gone clean off his rocker. Still, it’s just as well to get the crocks out of the way before the fighting starts.’

Douglas went red. He looked with helpless affront at the oblivious Major, now bent over his papers. The shouting stopped. Silence. He slammed the door again, walked out across the square and entered the little gauze-covered house. Perry was lying face downwards, exactly as he had been, the unclenched hands knuckled loose on the floor. He was deeply asleep. The native orderly was back on the steps with
his hand piano. The soft, brooding, tinkling melodies went on and on together with the pigeon’s cooing. Douglas sat on the edge of his bed and sank into thought. His mouth was dry with loss. It seemed to him that everything he had ever wanted was being snatched from him. All his adult life he had sat in an office; now after a year’s brief reprieve he was being sent back to it. He could see his future life stretching ahead, nothing unexpected, nothing new from one year’s end to the next. Holidays every five years or so, retirement, death. He felt like an old man.

The year of discomfort and boredom in the Army was already arranging itself in a series of bright scenes, magical with distance. He thought of the men whom he had known all his life, been to school with, worked with, played with, now up north in ‘the real thing’ at last. It seemed that his whole life had led without his knowing it to the climax of being with those men, his fellows, his friends, parts of himself, in real fighting, real living, real experience at last, And he was out of it. A few days before it started, he had been kicked out. A crock, he thought bitterly.

His eyes rested on Perry, sprawled out loose a couple of feet away. There was something childish about those big open fists resting on their knuckles on the floor, something appealing and childish about the closed lids fringed with sandy lashes. Tenderness, a warm protectiveness, filled him. He thought, He’ll have a stiff neck lying like that. He got up, and, using all his strength, turned the big man over on his back. He was winded when he’d achieved it. He stood up, panting. His eyes were wet; he’d be out of uniform in a couple of days. Never again would he know the comradeship of men. Never. Never. He shut his eyes to steady himself. He opened them at last and looked out. It was very still out there. Thick black shadows lay stretched over the sand now. A couple of scraggy hens scratched below the steps. The orderly had dropped off to sleep, sprawled over the steps, the hand piano hanging from his fingers.