Doctor at Sea

called.’ Have a peg. This is our Doctor, gentlemen.’
    ‘How do you do,’ I said, taking a glass.
    ‘It’s always open house in the Mate’s cabin in port,’ Hornbeam explained, pouring himself another gin.’ Everyone wants the poor bloody Mate. Now what about this trouble in number three?’ he said to the head stevedore.’ Can you get another gang on there tonight?’
    ‘Tomorrow morning, Mister Mate.Tonight, no good.’
    ‘We’ll have to put up with it, I suppose. 5
    He took a sheaf of papers from a ragged Brazilian who appeared in the doorway.
    ‘Cargo plans? All right. Have a peg, chum. Coming ashore tonight, Doc?’ he added to me.
    ‘I thought of it. Are you?’
    ‘Certainly I am. Never been ashore in Santos yet. Tonight I am. We’ll collect here about midnight ...’
    ‘Midnight?’
    ‘There’s no point in going anywhere before eleven in this part of the world. Nothing livens up before twelve.’
    ‘If that’s the case I think I’d better turn in for a bit.’
    ‘That’s the idea, Doc. You’re in the land of the siesta now, don’t forget. God, it’s hot, isn’t it?’

    *

    I screwed the closely-meshed wire-netting in the porthole to keep the flies out and went to sleep. The Second woke me up about nine.
    ‘Coming ashore?’ he asked.’ We’re going up to the Mate’s cabin. They sting you for drinks in Brazil so we reckoned we’d get a glow on us before we went off.’
    I sat up and rubbed the sweat off me with a sheet.
    ‘I’ll be up when I’ve had a shower. The Mate’s coming with us, isn’t he?’
    Archer laughed.
    ‘I wouldn’t know about that. I’ve never seen him get ashore anywhere yet.’
    When I reached the Mate’s cabin I saw at once that he had not been taking a siesta himself. His visitors had gone and the bottles were empty. He sat behind a jumble of dirty glasses and cigarette-ends, humming absently to himself.
    ‘‘Lo, Doc,’ he said languidly.’ Fetch a bottle out of the locker there. I’m coming ashore with you young lads tonight. Keep you out of trouble, eh? Muy bien. Cheerio.’
    Archer and Trail were in the cabin, dressed in their shore-going rig. The scattered places in which they bought their clothes and their over-compensation for wearing uniform most of their lives gave them a startling appearance. Trail was particularly arresting. He wore a pair of green cotton trousers he had bought in Rio, a yellow shirt from Calcutta, the sort of sports coat that is, fortunately, popular only on the Australian beaches, suede shoes from Ceylon, and a tie with a luminous girl on it from New York.
    We all sat down and drank determinedly.
    ‘Have to drink beer ashore,’ Trail said. ‘A gin costs about twelve bob. I got some cruzeiros for you, Doc.’ he handed me a bundle of dirty notes.’ That’s the sub you put in for. How about you, Mr Hornbeam?’
    ‘Got some in the kitty,’ he said thickly.
    He pulled a tin out of his locker and spilt the contents on the table. There was currency from all over the world - Australian florins, South African sixpences, nickels and quarters, escudos and francs, Canadian dollars, Japanese yen, New Zealand pounds, rupees, pesos, pesetas and guilders, a few marks, and a couple of Pitcairn Island postage stamps.
    ‘Always like to have a bit of ready cash,’ he explained, rummaging through the pile.’ No cruzeiros, though. What’s this?’ he held up a coin and squinted at it. ’Springbok ha’penny. No good. I’ll take the dollars ashore and flog ‘em. Don’t you blokes go without me,’ he added threateningly.’ I’ll get a cob on if you don’t wait. Where are we bound for, anyway? Have another Peg-’
    The Third drew a small book from his pocket and turned over to the letter S.
    ‘Santos...’ he said. ‘Oh, that’s fixed. We’ll take the Doc to the Whores’ Ball.’
    ‘The what did you say?’ I asked.
    ‘The Whores’ Ball.Funniest thing this side of the Line. It doesn’t start till midnight. We’ll look into the Ritz Bar first.’
    ‘I want to see the Bidu Bar,’ Archer added.’ I met a hot bit of blonde in there last time.’
    ‘You game, Doc?’
    By this time my critical faculties were mildly blunted with gin.
    ‘Game? Of course I’m game. I’m a sailor, aren’t I?’
    ‘That’s the spirit!’ Trail said. ‘Down the hatch, lads, and let’s get moving. It’s after eleven.’
    ‘What about the Mate?’ I asked. I turned to look at him. He was lying with his head in a pool of