Surgeon at Arms

construction job.’
    ‘That’s an interesting way of putting it.’
    ‘I’m sorry. It must make me sound dreadfully heartless.’
    ‘But that’s the secret of your success, Wizz! You’ve got a ward full of monsters, and you look on us as so many construction jobs. Exactly the right attitude. Surely you know how sickening it is to be pitied?’
    Graham nodded. ‘Yes, of course I do. But I’m not putting on an act, you know. I’ve always looked on my patients as construction jobs. I could never have run the sort of practice I had before the war otherwise.’
    ‘You must find us lot rather a come-down after remodelling film stars.’
    ‘Quite the opposite,’ said Graham warmly. ‘When I came out here I knew I’d have to remodel my operative technique—after all, a land mine makes rather more mess that even the worst car smash. What I didn’t know was the extent to which I’d have to remodel myself. What did I do before the war? I lifted a face or reshaped a nose, took out the stitches, collected the fee, and that was that. But I live with you fellows, day and night. You’ve always got some interesting problem for me to solve, psychological if it isn’t surgical.’
    Peter laughed. ‘You make us sound like a bunch of damn nuisances.’
    ‘On the contrary, you’ve presented me with an object in life. You didn’t seek out my service, like my patients in peacetime. You’d no choice, the war washed you up on my doorstep. I feel I owe you something.’ He laughed, too. ‘It’s terribly stimulating. And terribly gratifying. This “Wizz” stuff, it’s stupid really, I’m only doing my job. But it means more to me than the most gushing praise I ever got for hanging a new pair of tits on an actress. You boys are highly selective in your appreciation of anything.’
    ‘We’re exposed to an awful lot of well-meaning hypocrites. We soon learn to pick out the genuine ones.’
    ‘Or perhaps it’s just a form of selfishness on my part?’ Graham philosophized. ‘I like to think of you as worthwhile memorials to my surgery. I’ve reached a depressing age. I’m beginning to realize I’m at the whim of any passing disease. “Death hath ten thousand several doors for men to take their exits”—a sobering reminder from Webster. But what am I complaining for?” he apologized. ‘You’ve been near enough to getting yourself killed.’
    ‘Yes, and I was terrified. I’ve vomited in the cockpit. Once, though I kept pretty quiet about it, I accomplished what you would refer to as “defaecation”.’
    ‘You’d no hopes of the life hereafter?’
    ‘I preferred to wait and see.’
    ‘I expect you’re right. I had a brother once, a medical missionary. He at least departed this life in a spirit of glowing optimism. Do you want some cigarettes?’ Graham felt suddenly the conversation was becoming too self-revealing. But now he never had a chance to revèal anything of himself to anybody. ‘They’re called Sweet Caporals—Canadian, it seems.’ He had given up smoking, mainly through the tediousness of queueing, but scrounged what he could for his patients. ‘Do you want another book?’ He tossed a paperback on his desk, alongside the unfamiliar white packet. In peacetime, he hardly got through a book a year. Now he spent most evenings in his room at The Oak reading. There was nothing like a world war to simplify your life. ‘It’s Decline and Fall, by Evelyn Waugh. Very funny. How’s Bluey getting on?’ he added.
    ‘Somewhat restless.’
    Graham ht the cigarette in Peter’s holder. That was bad news. Bluey had to stand at least another dozen operations, and needed all the patience he could muster.
    ‘Though his morale has improved considerably,’ Peter added, ‘since getting his hands on a supply of rum. God knows where from. He keeps it in his locker, which I presume is strictly against regulations.’
    ‘The annex houses enough trouble without regulations,’ Graham said briefly. He looked at his watch. ‘Very well, Peter, off you go on leave. Now there should be a female waiting for me. I don’t know what she’s like—young, old, fat, thin, as ugly as sin or a goddess. She wants to take over as ward sister, God help her.’ Peter looked surprised. ‘The Dragon’s going?’
    ‘Yes, Sister James has decided to join the Q.A.s and nurse the Army. You can hardly blame her. After the annex she’ll find even a pitched battle a rest cure. As the Blackfrairs matron has broken off