of rank to take the slot, so I gave ’em the old forearm shiver and bullied my way back on board. After this one, I guess they’ll put me out to pasture.”
“I’m not an oncologist,” Henry said, “but we can talk about treatment options. Meantime, I want you to wear these.” He handed the commander a mask and plastic gloves.
Dixon looked at them suspiciously. “Have you got this stuff for the rest of the crew?”
“Ten masks and a box of gloves. But they can be useful. Maybe they won’t stop an epidemic, but they might give you some layer of protection.”
Dixon handed them back to Henry. “Every person on board this boat is at risk for infection, not just me. Any one of them could die. I’ll take my chances, same as the rest.”
“I admire your spirit, but not your logic. You’re at greater risk than any person aboard. And you’re more important.”
“A ship is like an orchestra,” the commander said. “Every instrument is needed. I’m just the conductor—arguably the least important figure, as long as everyone plays the score. You just figure out how to help my crew and then you can worry all you want about me.”
37
Dolly Parton and John Wayne
Henry was becoming adjusted to the strange rhythms of a submarine. Lighting imposed an artificial sense of daytime. The public areas were dim during the “night” and bright during the “day.” Some submarines operated on Greenwich Mean Time—“Zulu Time” in military parlance—but Captain Dixon preferred to observe the local time as the boat crossed the Atlantic, meaning the clocks would be set back nine times by the time they reached the eastern shore of the U.S. Henry’s diurnal rhythms were always a bit off kilter. There was so much idle time on the boat, interspersed with periods of intense and inscrutable activity. The dead doctor had left an e-reader, and Henry was grateful to discover a long list of classics to indulge in. He picked up War and Peace where his predecessor left off, with Pierre on the battlefield in his swallowtail coat.
One day, Murphy presented him with a pair of blue Navy overalls that she had tailored to fit. “It just needed a few adjustments in the hem and such,” she said, downplaying the thoughtfulness of her gift. Henry was immensely touched. When he put on the overalls it finally occurred to him, now that he was visibly folded into the crew, that he really needed a haircut. The barber was an assistant chef who cut hair on extra duty. His name was Thistlethwaite, but everyone called him Cookie. “What do you want, doc? Just a trim?” he asked.
“Give me the full Marine cut,” Henry told him.
“Lose the beard?”
“No, I want the beard,” Henry said. “But you could trim it a bit.”
Afterward, in his berth, Henry studied himself in the mirror. He looked like a different man. His scalp was prickly and nearly bare, and his face appeared enlarged, as if he were being seen through a magnifying glass. His beard was short and nicely shaped. He thought, I will look this way for the rest of my life.
When Henry returned to the pharmacy, he found Murphy waiting with a submariner wincing in pain. He must have been about nineteen years old, with a rash of red pimples.
“Fever?” Henry asked Murphy.
“Wisdom teeth.”
Henry pulled Murphy aside in the hallway. “I’m not a dentist,” he told her.
“No, sir, I know that.”
“Does he know that?”
“We’ve never had a dentist on board, so yes, sir, he understands.”
Henry went back into the pharmacy. The young man was looking at Henry with dread in his eyes. His nametag said MCALLISTER.
“What’s your given name, son?”
“Jesse.”
“How much pain are you in, Jesse?”
“A lot, sir, or I sure wouldn’t be here.”
“Open up and let’s take a look.”
Henry took a tongue depressor and stared into McAllister’s mouth. He could see the swollen, infected gums behind the lower molars, which were being shoved forward by the buried wisdom teeth coming in aslant. It was clear that the teeth needed to come out. Probably the upper ones, too, but they weren’t infected, so Henry could leave them alone. Henry touched the swollen gums with a probe, and McAllister jumped.
“Murphy, have we got Xylocaine in supply?”
“Yes, sir. And, sir, if you’re going to operate, we should move to the wardroom. There’s better light.”
Henry looked through the surgical tools. There was an elemental selection suitable for minor operations: two scalpels of different sizes, a cannula, curettes, a pincette for grasping and