Richard Gordon - DOCTOR AT SEA

We arrived at Santos in the early afternoon. As we slowed down to approach the river mouth between the deep green hills the shore heat hit us like the blast from the engine-room hatchway.

'It'll be nice and cosy alongside,' Easter said gloomily.

We sailed up the greasy river between the rows of ships tied thickly along each bank, the ensign of the United States of Brazil flying in courtesy from our foremast. Hornbeam went to his station forrard, and Archer took the Lamptrimmer and his gang of deckhands aft. The tugs came up, the mooring ropes flew out, and we were pushed into place as neatly as a well-parked car. The gangway rattled down and a section of the rail was pulled away: we had arrived.

But we were still flying the yellow Q flag, indicating we were in quarantine. A troop of stout Brazilian customs and health officials immediately tramped aboard, headed by an important-looking man in a white suit whom I took to be the Doctor.

I saluted.

'Boa dia, senhor,' I said in carefully incubated Portuguese.

He held out his hand.

'Afternoon, old boy,' he replied. 'How's tricks?'

'Very well, thank you.'

'Nothing infectious?'

'No.'

'Haul down the yellow peril, then. Can you let me have a few hundred English cigarettes?'

Once the quarantine flag was down people came aboard like Navy Week visitors on a bank holiday. There were policemen, stevedores, money-changers, ship chandlers, water purveyors, fruit sellers, harbourmasters, launderers-and the agents. The agents were the men in charge of the Fathom Line's business in Santos, and could get any commodity at short notice from five thousand tons of oil to a new bell for the ship's cat. They were a pair of tall genial Englishmen with minds like efficiently arranged shopping lists.

'Hello, Doc,' one said. 'Want any medical stores?'

'Chief Steward's got the list.'

'Good. You've taken over from Flowerday, have you? He was a rum bird. Coming to have a peg?'

'Not just now.'

'Fair enough. By the way, there's some mail for you somewhere.'

I had forgotten that the agents look after the ship's mail. I went out on deck and found most of it had been distributed. All over the ship men were leaning on uncomfortable steel corners reading their letters. I passed the Carpenter, who had several closely-written sheets in his hand and kept saying 'No! It can't be! It can't be!' to himself. I hoped it was nothing serious.

'Coo!' one man shouted. 'I've 'ad a baby!'

'I've 'ad six,' his companion said morosely, not looking up. This nonplussed the new father.

Wot, all at once?' he asked.

I ran into Whimble.

'Letter for you, Doc,' he said. 'I gave it to Easter.'

I suddenly felt excited. I had forgotten England and home in the past three weeks as efficiently as a patient with amnesia. My past seemed a disconnected existence. All at once I felt a letter would be like a familiar face in a big crowd.

I saw Easter leaning on the rail and hurried towards him. I wondered who it was from. Wendy, perhaps? Telling me she was crying over my picture and reading Conrad? From my principal, genially wishing me a good voyage? Or my parents, asking where I'd put the keys of the garage? From old classmates envious of my double release? I didn't care. It was a letter, a letter. Whoever sent it proved the most important thing in the world-I was not forgotten.

I took the envelope from Easter. I couldn't recognize the handwriting. I tried to open it with dignity, but excitedly tore the flap. It said: _'The-Laundry. Dear Sir, If you do not collect your washing within seven days of this date it will be sold to defray charges.'_ I tossed it into the dock. I leant on the rail and looked at the unfamiliar colours, the dirty yellow sheds, the strange un-English mountains in the background with the white road wriggling up them to Sгo Paulo, the dusky lounging men and slim graceful women on the wharfside, the signs in Portuguese, the odd open tramcar behind, the surprising uniforms of the police, the glare of the unaccustomed sun…I realized tardily I was on another side of the world.

After conditioning myself to the exclusive company of my shipmates for three weeks I found the rush of locals on board unsettling. The silence of the sea passage was broken by the noise of the winches, and the bare decks became littered with hatch covers, wires, tarpaulins, pieces of dropped cargo, and resting Brazilians. The Brazilians have a great capacity for rest. When they have nothing to do for a few minutes they see no point in continuing to support the burden of keeping awake and fling themselves into the nearest piece of shade. Whether they are lying on a stone wharf, the top of a couple of packing-cases, or some pieces of scrap metal does not appear to detract from the enjoyment.

The cargo came out by the exact reverse of the technique that put it in at Liverpool. As I had nothing else to do I joined Easter, who was watching crates of machinery being drawn out of number five hatch with the pleasantly indolent air of a Londoner observing road excavations.

'Hope you've locked your cabin, Doctor,' he said. 'And screwed up the port. These boys would pinch the soles off your shoes if you wasn't careful.'

I pointed towards the policemen on the gangway.

'But don't they keep an eye on it?'

'What, them vigilantes? Them's the worst of the lot.'

As the winches paused I heard feminine giggles and zestful screams coming from the crew's quarters in the poop. A plump dark girl with a basket of washing under her arm appeared on the deck, struggling formally with a large sailor.

'That's Maria,' Easter explained. 'She does your laundry for you. Three blokes got something off her last trip.'

'What!'

'Wouldn't mind having a go at her myself,' he continued solemnly. 'They don't seem to think much of things like that out here. All the girls is tenderhearted. I reckon it's the climate.'

'It all seems very unhygienic to me, to say the least.'

'Mind you, some of 'em's real smashers. Ho, I've had some fun here, I have. You going ashore to-night, Doctor?'

'I might stretch my legs. Though I fear I shall do nothing more exciting than go to the pictures.'

'Ah, you can get some queer pictures out here too,' Easter went on. 'Pal of mine went ashore one night to have his pleasure, as you might say, and the next day he went off with a crowd of the lads to one of them odd picture houses. Blimey, he was the big feature. Didn't 'arf get his leg pulled about it.'

'I think I will go and see Mr. Hornbeam,' I said. Santos sounded a place that would have provided Easter with extensive reminiscences.

Hornbeam's cabin was as full as a compartment in a suburban train in the rush-hour. There were the agents, the chief stevedores, the customs, the immigration officers, and a few unidentifiable officials. Hornbeam was sitting with his white shirt undone to the waist, looking pleased with himself. His table was filled with bottles of gin, whisky, and beer, and half a dozen open tins of Players. Everyone was helping themselves.

'Come in, Doc!' he 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 to-night?'

'To-morrow morning, Mister Mate. Tonight, no good.'

'We'll have to put up with it, I suppose.'

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 to-night, Doc?' he added to me.

'I thought of it. Are you?'