only a couple. Under those conditions, how long will the aspirin last?”
“Seven . . . eight months. Depending on falling heads.”
I glanced again at the list of medical supplies. “I want a daily report on my desk at zero eight hundred of all medicine used the day before. Including aspirin. That plus the binnacle list.”
I waited a moment, made it casual, offhand. “The women. Anything special?”
Nothing of surprise reached his expression. Nothing would. Only that bland look of his, a hardly perceptible shrug of nonchalance, of what-do-you-know.
“Only this. Their health in every category—physical, mental, emotional—continues clearly better than the men’s.”
“How the hell do you account for that?”
He paused. “I don’t understand it myself. Of course these are exceptional women. The Navy saw to that. Especially those sent to sea. But that couldn’t explain it all. It has to be something else.”
He gave that soft grin. I had had a problem separating when the doc was being serious and when he was not until I came to learn that, in one shading or another, he was always being the former.
“Maybe it’s that women can get along without men a damn sight better than men can get along without women. And the fact that they know it. That alone gives them a big edge. In endurance, in whatever you want to call it. They know they’ll win out in the end.”
“Nobody is going to win out on this ship.” I could hear the rather brusque edge in my voice.
“I was not predicting that, sir; only speaking of women in general terms. Home truths.”
I looked into those eyes that, also, told nothing. Yet suddenly I knew full well that he knew it as I did—knew to the last intimacy what I was thinking, and would speak it aloud no more than would I. Neither dared, both feared to do so. We could only dance around it. It may have been right there and then that I first made a distinction. I did it without really thinking of what it meant, its significance, save perhaps the instinctive thought of numbers, the visceral protection in any ship’s captain of what is in short supply.
“About the aspirin,” I said. “Belay the rule for women. Give them what you think best.”
Both of us waited a long moment more, our eyes locked, expectant. I felt I was looking into ancient pools of blue full of knowledge, and of a sudden apprehension that must be given language. But there came only a quiet, almost humorous, “Aye, aye, Skipper.”
II: Afternoon
Finally, I needed Selmon’s reading, my RO. I always did.
I had had chow, then stepped topside. The sun had crossed over and blazed down violently on a silent sea, pale blue merging with a synonymous sky to form a seamless horizon, a single vast and monochromatic universe, unoccupied by so much as a cloud, a bird. I scanned both ways. No sign of Silva to seaward. He must have gone far out in his search but I was not uneasy. He knew the sea, reserved for it the ultimate in respect, and was not the man to test it unduly; knew small boats, and the water lay in glassy unmenacing repose, free of the slightest swell. Neither did the other direction give any sign of Delaney and Thurlow, who remained swallowed up in the island, which sat in sultry virescent silence beyond the glimmering lagoon, seeming a thing of eyes looking at us quite as much as we continued to look at it. I could see off-watch men standing about the decks, turned toward it in gazes of uncertain wariness. It was as though some sort of reluctant spell, attempting to overcome suspicions on both sides and to reach some sort of accommodation, were developing between the ship and the island. I alerted a lookout to tell me of the approach of either of our emissaries to land or sea, then went to my cabin. Melville and Selmon were standing just outside. We went in and I shut the door.
* * *
“Could it reach here?”
We sat in calm reflection. I spoke to the slightly built, wan-appearing young officer
“Seven . . . eight months. Depending on falling heads.”
I glanced again at the list of medical supplies. “I want a daily report on my desk at zero eight hundred of all medicine used the day before. Including aspirin. That plus the binnacle list.”
I waited a moment, made it casual, offhand. “The women. Anything special?”
Nothing of surprise reached his expression. Nothing would. Only that bland look of his, a hardly perceptible shrug of nonchalance, of what-do-you-know.
“Only this. Their health in every category—physical, mental, emotional—continues clearly better than the men’s.”
“How the hell do you account for that?”
He paused. “I don’t understand it myself. Of course these are exceptional women. The Navy saw to that. Especially those sent to sea. But that couldn’t explain it all. It has to be something else.”
He gave that soft grin. I had had a problem separating when the doc was being serious and when he was not until I came to learn that, in one shading or another, he was always being the former.
“Maybe it’s that women can get along without men a damn sight better than men can get along without women. And the fact that they know it. That alone gives them a big edge. In endurance, in whatever you want to call it. They know they’ll win out in the end.”
“Nobody is going to win out on this ship.” I could hear the rather brusque edge in my voice.
“I was not predicting that, sir; only speaking of women in general terms. Home truths.”
I looked into those eyes that, also, told nothing. Yet suddenly I knew full well that he knew it as I did—knew to the last intimacy what I was thinking, and would speak it aloud no more than would I. Neither dared, both feared to do so. We could only dance around it. It may have been right there and then that I first made a distinction. I did it without really thinking of what it meant, its significance, save perhaps the instinctive thought of numbers, the visceral protection in any ship’s captain of what is in short supply.
“About the aspirin,” I said. “Belay the rule for women. Give them what you think best.”
Both of us waited a long moment more, our eyes locked, expectant. I felt I was looking into ancient pools of blue full of knowledge, and of a sudden apprehension that must be given language. But there came only a quiet, almost humorous, “Aye, aye, Skipper.”
II: Afternoon
Finally, I needed Selmon’s reading, my RO. I always did.
I had had chow, then stepped topside. The sun had crossed over and blazed down violently on a silent sea, pale blue merging with a synonymous sky to form a seamless horizon, a single vast and monochromatic universe, unoccupied by so much as a cloud, a bird. I scanned both ways. No sign of Silva to seaward. He must have gone far out in his search but I was not uneasy. He knew the sea, reserved for it the ultimate in respect, and was not the man to test it unduly; knew small boats, and the water lay in glassy unmenacing repose, free of the slightest swell. Neither did the other direction give any sign of Delaney and Thurlow, who remained swallowed up in the island, which sat in sultry virescent silence beyond the glimmering lagoon, seeming a thing of eyes looking at us quite as much as we continued to look at it. I could see off-watch men standing about the decks, turned toward it in gazes of uncertain wariness. It was as though some sort of reluctant spell, attempting to overcome suspicions on both sides and to reach some sort of accommodation, were developing between the ship and the island. I alerted a lookout to tell me of the approach of either of our emissaries to land or sea, then went to my cabin. Melville and Selmon were standing just outside. We went in and I shut the door.
* * *
“Could it reach here?”
We sat in calm reflection. I spoke to the slightly built, wan-appearing young officer
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