On The Beach

2

Infants take no account of Sundays or of midnight parties; by six o’clock next morning the Holmes were up and doing and Peter was on the road pedaling his bicycle with the trailer attached to fetch the milk and cream. He stayed with the farmer for a while discussing the axle for the new trailer, and the towbar, and making a few sketches for the mechanic to work from. "I’ve got to report for duty tomorrow," he said. "This is the last time that I’ll be coming over for the milk."

"That’ll be right," said Mr. Paul. "Leave it to me. Tuesdays and Saturdays. I’ll see Mrs. Holmes gets the milk and cream."

He got back to his house at about eight o’clock; he shaved and had a shower, dressed, and began to help Mary with the breakfast. Commander Towers put in an appearance at about a quarter to nine with a fresh, scrubbed look about him. "That was a nice party that you had last night," he said. "I don’t know when I enjoyed one so much."

His host said, "There are some very pleasant people living just round here." He glanced at his captain and grinned. "Sorry about Moira. She doesn’t usually pass out like that."

"It was the whisky. She isn’t up yet?"

"I wouldn’t expect to see her just yet. I heard someone being sick at about two in the morning. I take it that it wasn’t you?"

The American laughed. "No sir."

The breakfast came upon the table, and the three of them sat down. "Like another swim this morning?" Peter asked his guest. "It looks like being another hot day."

The American hesitated. "I rather like to go to church on Sunday morning. It’s what we do at home. Would there be a Church of England church around here anyplace?"

Mary said, "It’s just down the hill. Only about three-quarters of a mile away. The service is at eleven o’clock."

"I might take a walk down there. Would that fit in with what you’re doing, though?"

Peter said, "Of course, sir. I don’t think I’ll come with you. I’ve got a good bit to sort out here before I join in Scorpion."

The captain nodded. "Sure. I’ll be back here in time for lunch, and then I’ll have to get back to the ship. I’d like to take a train around three o’clock."

He walked down to the church in the warm sunlight. He. left plenty of time so that he was a quarter of an hour early for the service, but he went in. The sidesman gave him a prayer book and a hymn book, and he chose a seat towards the back, because the order of the service was still strange to him and from there he could see when other people knelt, and when they stood. He said the conventional prayer that he had been taught in childhood and then he sat back, looking around. The little church was very like the church in his own town, in Mystic, Connecticut. It even smelled the same.

That girl Moira Davidson certainly was all mixed up. She drank too much, but some people never could accept things as they were. She was a nice kid, though. He thought Sharon would like her.

In the tranquillity of the church he set himself to think about his family, and to visualize them. He was, essentially, a very simple man. He would be going back to them in September, home from his travels. He would see them all again in less than nine months’ time. They must not feel when he rejoined them, that he was out of touch, or that he had forgotten things that were important in their lives. Junior must have grown quite a bit; kids did at that age. He had probably outgrown the coonskin cap and outfit, mentally and physically. It was time he had a fishing rod, a little Fiberglas spinning rod, and learned to use it. It would be fun teaching Junior to fish. His birthday was July the 10th. Dwight couldn’t send the rod for his birthday, and probably he couldn’t take it with him, though that would be worth trying. Perhaps he could get one over there.

Helen’s birthday was April the 17th; she would be six then. Again, he’d miss her birthday unless something happened to Scorpion. He must remember to tell her he was sorry, and he must think of something to take her between now and September. Sharon would explain to her on the day, would tell her that Daddy was away at sea, but he’d be coming home before the winter and he’d bring his present then. Sharon would make it all right with Helen.

He sat there thinking of his family throughout the service, kneeling when other people knelt and standing when they stood. From time to time he roused himself to take part in the simple and uncomplicated words of a hymn, but for the rest of the time he was lost in a daydream of his family and of his home. He walked out of the church at the end of the service mentally refreshed. Outside the church he knew nobody and nobody knew him; the vicar smiled at him uncertainly in the porch and he smiled back, and then he was strolling back uphill in the warm sunlight, his head now full of Scorpion, the supplies, and the many chores he had to do, the many checks he had to make, before he took her to sea.

At the house he found Mary and Moira Davidson sitting in deck chairs on the verandah, the baby in its pram beside them. Mary got up from her chair as he walked up to them. "You look hot," she said. "Take off your coat and come and sit down in the shade. You found the church all right?"

"Why, yes," he said. He took his coat off and sat down on the edge of the verandah. "You’ve got a mighty fine congregation," he observed. "There wasn’t a seat vacant."

"It wasn’t always like that," she said drily. "Let me get you a drink."

"I’d like something soft," he said. He eyed their glasses. "What’s that you’re drinking?"

Miss Davidson replied, "Lime juice and water. All right, don’t say it."

He laughed. "I’d like one of those, too." Mary went off to get it for him, and he turned to the girl. "Did you get any breakfast this morning?"

"Half a banana and a small brandy," she said equably. "I wasn’t very well."

"It was the whisky," he said. "That was the mistake you made."

"One of them," she replied. "I don’t remember anything after talking to you on the lawn, after the party. Did you put me to bed?"

He shook his head. "I thought that was Mrs. Holmes’ job."

She smiled faintly. "You missed an opportunity. I must remember to thank Mary."

"I should do that. She’s a mighty nice person, Mrs. Holmes."

"She says you’re going back to Williamstown this afternoon. Can’t you stay and have another bathe?"

He shook his head. "I’ve got a lot to do on board before tomorrow. We go to sea this week. There’s probably a flock of messages on my desk."

"I suppose you’re the sort of person who works very hard, all the time, whether you’ve got to or not."

He laughed. "I suppose I must be." He glanced at her. "Do you do any work?"

"Of course. I’m a very busy woman." "What do you work at?"

She lifted her glass. "This. What I’ve been doing ever since I met you yesterday."

He grinned. "You find that the routine gets tedious, sometimes?"

"Life gets tedious," she quoted. "Not sometimes. All the time."

He nodded. "I’m lucky, having plenty to do." She glanced at him. "Can I come and see your submarine next week?"

He laughed, thinking of the mass of work there was to do on board. "No, you can’t. We go to sea next week." And then, because that seemed ungracious, he said, "You interested in submarines?"

"Not really," she said a little listlessly. "I kind of thought I’d like to see it, but not if it’s a bother."

"I’d be glad to show it to you," he told her. "But not next week. I’d like it if you’d come down and have lunch with me one day when things are quiet and we’re not dashing around like scalded cats. A quiet day, when I could show you everything. And then maybe we could go up to the city and have dinner someplace."

"That sounds good," she said. "When will that be, so that I can look forward to it?"

He thought for a moment. "I couldn’t say right now. I’ll be reporting a state of operational readiness around the end of this coming week, and I’d think they’d send us off on the first cruise within a day or so. After that we ought to have a spell in the dockyard before going off again."

"This first cruise—that’s the one up to Port Moresby?"

"That’s right. I’ll try to fit it in before we go away on that, but I couldn’t guarantee it. If you’ll give me your telephone I’ll call you around Friday and let you know."

"Berwick 8641," she said. He wrote it down. "Before ten o’clock is the best time to ring. I’m almost always out in the evening."

He nodded. "That’ll be fine. It’s possible we’ll still be at sea on Friday. It might be Saturday before I call. But I will call, Miss Davidson."

She smiled. "Moira’s the name, Dwight." He laughed. "Okay."

She drove him to the station in the buggy after lunch, being herself on her way home to Berwick. As he got down in the station yard she said, "Good-bye, Dwight. Don’t work too hard." And then she said, "Sorry I made such a fool of myself last night."

He grinned. "Mixing drinks, that’s what does it. Let that be a lesson to you."

She laughed harshly. "Nothing’s a lesson to me, ever. I’ll probably do that again tomorrow night, and the night after."

"It’s your body," he said equably.

"That’s the trouble," she replied. "Mine, and nobody anybody else’s. If anybody became involved it might be difficult, but there’s no time for that. Too bad."

He nodded. "I’ll be seeing you."

"You really will?"

"Why, sure," he said. "I’ll call you like I said."

He travelled back to Williamstown in the electric train, while she drove twenty miles to her country home. She got there at about six o’clock, unharnessed the mare and put her in the stable. Her father came to help her, and together they pushed the buggy into the garage shed beside the unused Customline, gave the mare a bucket of water and a feed of oats, and went into the house. Her mother was sitting in the screened verandah, sewing.

"Hullo, dear," she said. "Did you have a nice time?"

"All right," the girl replied. "Peter and Mary threw a party last night. Quite good fun. Knocked me back a bit, though."

Her mother sighed a little, but she had learned that it was no use to protest. "You must go to bed early tonight," she said. "You’ve had so many late nights recently."

"I think I will."

"What was the American like?"

"He’s nice. Very quiet and navy."

"Was he married?"

"I didn’t ask him. I should think he must have been."

"What did you do?"

The girl repressed her irritation at the catechism; Ma was like that, and there was now too little time to spend it in quarrelling. "We went sailing in the afternoon." She settled down to tell her mother most of what had happened during the week-end, repressing the bit about her bra and much of what had happened at the party.

At Williamstown Commander Towers walked into the dockyard and made his way to Sydney. He occupied two adjoining cabins with a communicating door in the bulkhead, one of which was used for office purposes. He sent a messenger for the officer of the deck in Scorpion and Lieutenant Hirsch appeared with a sheaf of signals in his hand. He took these from the young man and read them through. Mostly they dealt with routine matters of the fuelling and victualling, but one from the Third Naval Member’s office was unexpected. It told him that a civilian scientific officer of the Commonwealth Scientific Industrial Research Organisation had been ordered to report in Scorpion for scientific duties. This officer would be under the command of the Australian liaison officer in Scorpion. His name was Mr. J. S. Osborne.

Commander Towers held this signal in his hand, and glanced at the lieutenant. "Say, do you know anything about this guy?"

"He’s here right now, sir. He arrived this morning. I put him in the wardroom and got the duty officer to allocate a cabin for him for tonight."

The captain raised his eyebrows. "Well, what do you know? What does he look like?"

"Very tall and thin. Mousey sort of hair. Wears spectacles."

"How old?"

"A little older than me, I’d say. Under thirty, though."

The captain thought for a minute. "Going to make things kind of crowded in the wardroom. I think we’ll berth him with Commander Holmes. You got three men aboard?"

"That’s right. Isaacs, Holman, and de Vries. Chief of the Boat Mortimer is on board, too."

"Tell the chief I want another cot rigged on the forward side of Bulkhead F, transverse to the ship, head to starboard. He can take one out of the forward torpedo flat."

"Okay, sir."

Commander Towers ran through the routine matters in the other signals with his officer, and then sent the lieutenant to ask Mr. Osborne to come to the office. When the civilian appeared he motioned him to a chair, gave him a cigarette, and dismissed his officer. "Well, Mr. Osborne," he said, "this is quite a surprise. I just read the order posting you to join us. I’m glad to know you."

"I’m afraid it was rather a quick decision," the scientist said. "I only heard about it the day before yesterday."

"That’s very often the way it is in service matters," said the captain. "Well, first things first. What’s your full name?"

"John Seymour Osborne."

"Married?"

"No."

"Okay. Aboard Scorpion, or aboard any naval vessel, address me as Captain Towers, and every now and then you call me ‘sir.’ On shore, off duty, my name is Dwight to you—not to the junior officers."

The scientist smiled. "Very good, sir."

"Ever been to sea in a submarine before?"

"No."

"You’ll find things just a little cramped till you get used to it. I’m fixing you a berth in Officer’s Country, and you’ll mess with the officers in the wardroom." He glanced at the neat grey suit upon the scientist. "You’ll probably need clothing. See Lieutenant Commander Holmes about that when he comes aboard tomorrow morning, and get him to draw clothing for you from the store. You’ll get that suit messed up if you go down in Scorpion in that."

"Thank you, sir."

The captain leaned back in his chair and glanced at the scientist, noting the lean, intelligent face, the loose, ungainly figure. "Tell me, what are you supposed to be doing in this outfit?"

"I’m to make observations and keep records of the radioactive levels, atmospheric and marine, with special reference to the subsurface levels and radioactive intensity within the hull. I understand you’re making a cruise northwards."

"That’s what everybody understands but me. It must be right, and I’ll be told one day." He frowned slightly. "Are you anticipating a rise in the radioactive level inside the hull?"

"I don’t think so. I very much hope not. I doubt if it could happen when you are submerged, except under very extreme conditions. But it’s just as well to keep an eye on it. I take it that you’d want to know at once of any significant rise."

"Sure I would."

They proceeded to discuss the various techniques involved. Most of the gear that Osborne had brought with him was portable and involved no installation in the ship.

In the evening light he put on an overall suit lent him by the captain and went down with Dwight into Scorpion to inspect the radiation detector mounted on the aft periscope and formulate a programme for its calibration against a standard instrument as they went down the bay. A similar check was to be made upon the detector installed in the engine room, and a small amount of engineering was required at one of the two remaining torpedo tubes for the sampling of sea water. It was practically dark when they climbed back into Sydney, to take supper in the great, echoing, empty wardroom.

Next day was a turmoil of activity. When Peter came aboard in the forenoon his first job was to telephone a friend in the Operations Division and point out that it would be courteous, to say the least, to tell the captain what was common knowledge to the Australian officers under his command, and to make a signal requesting his comments on a draft operation order. By evening this signal had come in and had been dealt with, John Osborne was suitably clothed for life in a submarine, the work on the aft door of the torpedo tube was finished, and the two Australians were packing their gear into the little space that had been allocated to them for personal effects. They slept that night in Sydney, and moved into Scorpion on Tuesday morning. A few more chores were finished in a couple of hours, and Dwight reported readiness to proceed upon sea trials. They were cleared for sea, had lunch at noon beside the Sydney, and cast off. Dwight turned his ship and set a course at slow speed down the bay towards the Heads.

All afternoon they carried out their radioactive trials, cruising around a barge with a mildly radioactive element on board anchored in the middle of the bay, while John Osborne ran around noting the readings on his various instruments, barking his long shins upon steel manholes as he clambered up and down the conning tower to the bridge, cracking his tall head painfully on bulkheads and control wheels as he moved quickly in the control room. By five o’clock the trials were over; they left the barge to be disposed of by the shore party of scientists who had put it there, and set course for the open sea.

They stayed on the surface all night, settling into the sea routine as they proceeded westward. At dawn they were off Cape Banks in South Australia, in a fresh southwesterly breeze and a moderate sea. Here they submerged and went down to about fifty feet, returning to periscope depth for a look round once an hour. In the late afternoon they were off Cape Borda on Kangaroo Island, and set course up the strait at periscope depth towards Port Adelaide. By about ten o’clock on Wednesday night they were looking at the town through the periscope; after ten minutes the captain turned around without surfacing and made for the open sea again. At sunset on Thursday they were off the north of King Island and setting course for home. They surfaced as they neared the Heads and passed into Port Phillip Bay at the first light of dawn, and berthed alongside the aircraft carrier at Williamstown in time for breakfast on Friday, with nothing but minor defects to be rectified.

That morning the First Naval Member, Vice Admiral Sir David Hartman, came down to inspect the only ship in his command that was worth bothering about. That took about an hour, and he spent a quarter of an hour with Dwight and Peter Holmes in the office cabin discussing with them the modifications that they had proposed to the draft operation order. He left then for a conference with the Prime Minister, at that time in Melbourne; with no aircraft flying on the airlines, federal government from Canberra was growing difficult, and parliamentary sessions there were growing shorter and less frequent.

That evening Dwight rang Moira Davidson, as he had promised. "Well," he said, "we got back in one piece. There’s just a little being done on board the ship, but nothing very much."

She asked, "Does that mean I can see her?"

"I’d be glad to show her to you. We shan’t be going off again before Monday."

"I’d like to see her, Dwight. Would tomorrow or Sunday be the best?"

He thought for a moment. If they were to sail on Monday, Sunday might be busy. "I’d say tomorrow would be best."

In turn, she thought rapidly. She would have to run out on Anne Sutherland’s party, but it looked like a dreary sort of party anyway.

"I’d love to come tomorrow," she said. "Do I come to Williamstown station?"

"That’s the best way. I’ll meet you there. What train will you be coming on?"

"I don’t know the times. Let’s say the first one after eleven-thirty."

"Okay. If I should be all tied up, I’ll get Peter Holmes or else John Osborne to go down and meet you."

"Did you say John Osborne?"

"That’s right. Do you know him?"

"An Australian—with C.S.I.R.O.?"

"That’s the one. A tall guy with spectacles."

"He’s a sort of relation—his aunt married one of my uncles. Is he in your party?"

"Definitely. Ho joined us as scientific officer."

"He’s dippy," she informed him. "Absolutely mad. Hell wreck your ship for you."

He laughed. "Okay. Come down and see it before he pulls the bung out."

"I’d love to do that, Dwight. See you on Saturday morning."

He met her at the station the next morning, having nothing particular to do in the ship. She came in a white outfit, white pleated skirt, white blouse with coloured thread embroidery, vaguely Norwegian in style, white shoes. She was pleasant to look at, but there was concern in him as he greeted her; how in hell he was going to get her through the cramped maze of greasy machinery that was Scorpion with her clothes unsullied was a problem, and he was to take her out in the evening.

"Morning, Dwight," she said. "Have you been waiting long?"

"Just a few minutes," he replied. "Did you have to start very early?"

"Not as early as last time," she informed him. "Daddy drove me to the station, and I got a train soon after nine. Early enough, though. You’ll give me a drink before lunch, won’t you?"

He hesitated. "Uncle Sam doesn’t like it aboard ship," he said. "It’ll have to be Coke or orangeade."

"Even in Sydney?"

"Even in Sydney," he said firmly. "You wouldn’t want to drink hard liquor with my officers when they were drinking Cokes."

She said restlessly, "I want to drink hard liquor, as you call it, before lunch. I’ve got a mouth like the bottom of the parrot’s cage. You wouldn’t want me to throw a screaming fit in front of all your officers." She glanced around. "There must be a hotel here somewhere. Buy me a drink before we go on board, and then I’ll just breathe brandy at them while I’m drinking Coke."

"Okay," he said equably. "There’s a hotel on the corner. We’ll go in there."

They walked together to the hotel; he entered and looked around, unsure of his surroundings. He led her into the Ladies’ Lounge. "I think this must be it."

"Don’t you know? Haven’t you ever been in here before?"

He shook his head. "Brandy?"

"Double," she said. "With ice, and just a little water. Don’t you come in here?"

"I’ve never been in here," he told her.

"Don’t you ever want to go out on a bender?" she inquired. "In the evenings, when you’ve got nothing to do?"

"I used to just at first," he admitted. "But then I went up to the city for it. Don’t mess on your own doorstep. I gave it up after a week or two. It wasn’t very satisfactory."

"What do you do in the evenings, when the ship’s not at sea?" she asked.

"Read a magazine, or else maybe a book. Sometimes we go out and take in a movie." The barman came, and he ordered her brandy, with a small whisky for himself.

"It all sounds very unhealthy," she observed. "I’m going to the Ladies’. Look after my bag."

He managed to detach her from the hotel after her second double brandy and took her into the dockyard and to Sydney, hoping that she would behave herself in front of his officers. But he need have had no fears; she was demure and courteous to all the Americans. Only to Osborne did she reveal her real self.

"Hub, John," she said. "What on earth are you doing here?"

"I’m part of the ship’s company," he told her. "Scientific observation. Making a nuisance of myself generally."

"That’s what Commander Towers told me," she observed. "You’re really going to live with them in the submarine? For days on end?"

"So it seems."

"Do they know your habits?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"All right, I won’t tell them. It’s nothing to do with me." She turned away to talk to Commander Lundgren.

When he offered her a drink she chose an orangeade; she made an attractive picture in the wardroom of Sydney that morning, drinking with the Americans, standing beneath the portrait of the Queen. While she was occupied, the captain drew his liaison officer to one side. "Say," he observed in a low tone, "she can’t go down in Scorpion in those clothes. Can you rustle up an overall for her?"

Peter nodded. "I’ll draw a boiler suit. About size one, I should think. Where’s she going to change?"

The captain rubbed his chin. "Do you know any place?"

"Nothing better than your sleeping cabin, sir. She wouldn’t be disturbed there."

"I’ll never hear the last of it—from her."

"I’m sure you won’t," said Peter.

She lunched with the Americans at the end of one of the long tables, and took coffee with them in the anteroom.

Then the junior officers dispersed to go about their business, and she was left with Dwight and Peter. Peter laid a clean, laundered boiler suit upon the table. "There’s the overall," he said.

Dwight cleared his throat. "It’s liable to be greasy in a submarine, Miss Davidson," he said.

"Moira," she interrupted.

"Okay, Moira. I was thinking maybe you should go down in an overall. I’m afraid you might get that dress pretty dirty down in Scorpion."

She took the boiler suit and unfolded it. "It’s a comprehensive change," she observed. "Where can I put it on?"

"I was thinking you might use my sleeping cabin," he suggested. "You wouldn’t be disturbed there."

"I hope not, but I wouldn’t be too sure," she said. "Not after what happened in the boat." He laughed. "All right, Dwight, lead me to it. I’ll try everything once."

He took her to the cabin and went back to the anteroom himself to wait for her. In the little sleeping cabin she looked about her curiously. There were photographs there, four of them. All showed a dark-haired young woman with two children, a boy eight or nine years old and a girl a couple of years younger. One was a studio portrait of a mother with two children. The others were enlargements of snapshots, one at a bathing place with the family seated on a springboard, perhaps at a hike shore. Another was apparently taken on a lawn, perhaps the lawn before his home, for a long car showed in the background and a portion of a white wooden house. She stood examining them with interest; they looked nice people. It was hard, but so was everything these days. No good agonizing about it.

She changed, leaving her outer clothes and her bag on the bunk, scowled at her appearance in the little mirror, and went out and down the corridor to find her host. He came forward to meet her. "Well, here I am," she said. "Looking like hell. Your submarine will have to be good, Dwight, to make up for this."

He laughed, and took her arm to guide her. "Sure it’s good," he said. "Best in the U.S. Navy. This way." She repressed the comment that it was probably the only one m the U.S. Navy; no sense in hurting him.

He took her down the gangplank to the narrow deck and up on to the bridge, and began explaining his ship to her.

She knew little of ships and nothing about submarines, but she was attentive and once or twice surprised him with the quick intelligence of her questions. "When you go down, why doesn’t the water go down the voice pipe?" she asked.

"You turn off this cock."

"What happens if you forget?"

He grinned. "There’s another one down below."

He took her down through the narrow hatchways into the control room. She spent some time at the periscope looking around the harbour and got the hang of that, but the ballasting and trim controls were beyond her and she was not much interested. She stared uncomprehending at the engines, but the sleeping and messing quarters intrigued her, so did the galley. "What happens about smells?" she asked. "What happens when you’re cooking cabbage underwater?"

"You try not to have to do it," he told her. "Not fresh cabbage. The smell hangs around for quite a while. Finally the deodorizer deals with it, as the air gets changed and reoxygenated. There wouldn’t be much left after an hour or two."

He gave her a cup of tea in the tiny cubicle that was his cabin. Sipping it, she asked him, "Have you got your orders yet, Dwight?"

He nodded. "Cairns, Port Moresby, and Darwin. Then we come back here."

"There isn’t anybody left alive in any of those places, is there?"

"I wouldn’t know. That’s what we’ve got to find out."

"Will you go ashore?"

He shook his head. "I don’t think so. It all depends upon the radiation levels, but I wouldn’t think we’d land. Maybe we won’t even go outside the hull. We might stay at periscope depth if the conditions are really bad. But that’s why we’re taking John Osborne along with us, so we’ll have somebody who really understands what the risks are."

She wrinkled her brows. "But if you can’t go out on deck, how can you know if there’s anyone still living in those places?"

"We can call through the loud hailer," he said. "Get as close inshore as we can manage, and call through the loud hailer."

"Could you hear them if they answer?"

"Not so well as we can talk. We’ve got a microphone hooked up beside the hailer, but you’d have to be very close to hear a person calling in reply. Still, it’s something."

She glanced at him. "Has anybody been into the radioactive area before, Dwight?"

"Why, yes," he said. "It’s okay if you’re sensible, and don’t take risks. We were in it quite a while while the war was on, from Iwo Jima to the Philippines and then down south to Yap. You stay submerged, and carry on as usual. Of course, you don’t want to go out on deck."

"I mean—recently. Has anyone been up into the radioactive area since the war stopped?"

He nodded. "The Swordfish— that’s our sister ship—she made a cruise up in the North Atlantic. She got back to Rio de Janeiro about a month ago. I’ve been waiting for a copy of Johnny Dismore’s report—he’s her captain but I haven’t seen it yet. There hasn’t been a ship across to South America for quite a while. I asked for a copy to be sent by teleprinter, but it’s low priority on the radio."

"How far did she get?"

"She got all over, I believe," he said. "She did the eastern states from Florida to Maine and went right into New York Harbor, right on up the Hudson till she tangled with the wreck of the George Washington Bridge. She went to New London and to Halifax and to St. John’s, and then she crossed the Atlantic and went up the English Channel and into the London River, but she couldn’t get far up that. Then she took a look at Brest and at Lisbon, and by that time she was running out of stores and her crew were in pretty bad shape, so she went back to Rio." He paused. "I haven’t heard yet how many days she was submerged—I’d like to know. She certainly set a new record, anyway."

"Did she find anyone alive, Dwight?"

"I don’t think so. We’d certainly have heard about it if she did."

She stared down the narrow alleyway outside the curtains and forming the cabin wall, the running maze of pipes electric cables. "Can you visualize it, Dwight?"

"Visualize what?"

"All those cities, all those fields and farms, with nobody, I and nothing left alive. Just nothing there. I simply can’t take it in."

"I can’t, either," he said. "I don’t know that I want to try. I’d rather think of them the way they were."

"I never saw them, of course," she observed. "I’ve never been outside Australia, and now I’ll never go. Not that I want to, now. I only know all those places from the movies and the books—that’s as they were. I don’t suppose there’ll ever be a movie made of them as they are now."

He shook his head. "It wouldn’t be possible. A cameraman couldn’t live, as far as I can see. I guess nobody will ever know what the Northern Hemisphere looks like now, excepting God." He paused. "I think that’s a good thing. You don’t want to remember how a person looked when he was dead—you want to remember how he was when he was alive. That’s the way I like to think about New York."

"It’s too big," she repeated. "I can’t take it in."

"It’s too big for me, too," he replied. "I can’t really believe in it, just can’t get used to the idea. I suppose it’s lack of imagination. I don’t want to have any more imagination. They’re all alive to me, those places in the States, just like they were. I’d like them to stay that way till next September."

She said softly, "Of course."

He stirred. "Have another cup of tea?"

"No, thanks."

He took her out on deck again; she paused on the bridge rubbing a bruised shin, breathing the sea air gratefully. "It must be the hell of a thing to be submerged in her for any length of time," she said. "How long will you be underwater for this cruise?"

"Not long," he said. "Six or seven days, maybe."

"It must be terribly unhealthy."

"Not physically," he said. "You do suffer from a lack of sunlight. We’ve got a couple of sunray lamps, but they’re not the same as being out on deck. It’s the psychological effect that’s worst. Some men—good men in every other way—they just can’t take it. Everybody gets kind of on edge after a while. You need a steady kind of temperament. Kind of placid, I’d say."

She nodded, thinking that it fitted in with his own character. "Are all of you like that?"

"I’d say we might be. Most of us."

"Keep an eye on John Osborne," she remarked. "I don’t believe he is."

He glanced at her in surprise. He had not thought of that, and the scientist had survived the trial trip quite well. But now that she had mentioned it, he wondered. "Why—I’ll do that," he said. "Thanks for the suggestion."

They went up the gangway into Sydney. In the hangar of the aircraft carrier there were still aircraft parked with folded wings; the ship seemed dead and silent. She paused for a moment. "None of these will ever fly again, will they?"

"I wouldn’t think so."

"Do any aeroplanes fly now, at all?"

"I haven’t heard one in the air for quite a while," he said. "I know they’re short of aviation gas."

She walked quietly with him to the cabin, unusually subdued. As she got out of the boiler suit and into her own clothes her spirits revived. These morbid bloody ships, these morbid bloody realities! She was urgent to get away from them, to drink, hear music, and to dance. Before the mirror, before the pictures of his wife and children, she made her lips redder, her cheeks brighter, her eyes sparkling. Snap out of it! Get right outside these riveted steel walls, and get out quick. This was no place for her. Into the world of romance, of make-believe and double brandies! Snap out of it, and get back to the world where she belonged!

From the photograph frames Sharon looked at her with understanding and approval.

In the wardroom he came forward to meet her. "Say," he exclaimed in admiration, "you look swell!"

She smiled quickly. "I’m feeling lousy," she said. "Let’s get out of it and into the fresh air. Let’s go to that hotel and have a drink, and then go up and find somewhere to dance."

"Anything you say."

He left her with John Osborne while he went to change into civilian clothes. "Take me up on to the flight deck, John," she said. "I’ll throw a screaming fit if I stay in these ships one minute longer."

"I’m not sure that I know the way up to the roof," he remarked. "I’m a new boy here." They found a steep ladder that led up to a gun turret, came down again, wandered along a steel corridor, asked a rating, and finally got up into the island and out on to the deck. On the wide, unencumbered flight deck the sun was warm, the sea blue, and the wind fresh. "Thank God I’m out of that," she said.

"I take it that you aren’t enamoured of the navy," he observed.

"Well, are you having fun?"

He considered the matter. "Yes, I think I am. It’s going to be rather interesting."

"Looking at dead people through a periscope. I can think of funnier sorts of fun."

They walked a step or two in silence. "It’s all knowledge," he said at last. "One has to try and find out what has happened. It could be that it’s all quite different to what we think. The radioactive elements may be getting absorbed by something. Something may have happened to the half-life that we don’t know about. Even if we don’t discover anything that’s good, it’s still discovering things. I don’t think we shall discover anything that’s good, or very hopeful. But even so, it’s fun just finding out."

"You call finding out the bad things fun?"

"Yes, I do," he said firmly. "Some games are fun even when you lose. Even when you know you’re going to lose before you start. It’s fun just playing them."

"You’ve got a pretty queer idea of fun and games."

"Your trouble is you won’t face up to things," he told her. "All this has happened, and is happening, but you won’t accept it. You’ve got to face the facts of life someday."

"All right," she said angrily, "I’ve got to face them. Next September, if what all you people say is right. That’s time enough for me."

"Have it your own way." He glanced at her, grinning. "I wouldn’t bank too much upon September," he remarked. "It’s September plus or minus about three months. We may be going to cop it in June for all that anybody knows. Or, then again, I might be buying you a Christmas present."

She said furiously, "Don’t you know?"

"No, I don’t," he replied. "Nothing like this has ever happened in the history of the world before." He paused, and then he added whimsically, "If it had, we wouldn’t be here talking about it."

"If you say one word more I’m going to push you over the edge of that deck."

Commander Towers came out of the island and walked across to them, neat in a double-breasted blue suit. "I wondered where you’d got to," he remarked.

The girl said, "Sorry, Dwight. We should have left a message. I wanted some fresh air."

John Osborne said, "You’d better watch out, sir. She’s in a pretty bad temper. I’d stand away from her head, if I were you, in case she bites."

"He’s been teasing me," she said. "Like Albert and the lion. Let’s go, Dwight."

"See you tomorrow, sir," the scientist said. "I’ll be staying on board over the weekend."

The captain turned away with the girl, and they went down the stairs within the island. As they passed down the steel corridor towards the gangway he asked her, "What was he teasing you about, honey?"

"Everything," she said vaguely. "Took his stick and poked it in my ear. Let’s have a drink before we start looking for a train, Dwight. I’ll feel better then."

He took her to the same hotel in the main street.

Over the drinks he asked her, "How long have we got, this evening?"

"The last train leaves Flinders Street at eleven-fifteen. I’d better get on that, Dwight. Mummy would never forgive me if I spent the night with you."

"I’ll say she wouldn’t. What happens when you get to Berwick? Is anybody meeting you?"

She shook her head. "We left a bicycle at the station this morning. If you do the right thing by me I won’t be able to ride it, but it’s there, anyway." She finished her first double brandy. "Buy me another, Dwight."

"I’ll buy you one more," he said. "After that we’re getting on the train. You promised me that we’d go dancing."

"So we are," she said. "I booked a table at Mario’s. But I shuffle beautifully when I’m tight."

"I don’t want to shuffle," he said. "I want to dance."

She took the drink he handed her. "You’re very exacting," she said. "Don’t go poking any more sticks in my ear—I just can’t bear it. Most men don’t know how to dance, anyway."

"You’ll find me one of them," he said. "We used to dance a lot back in the States. But I’ve not danced since the war began."

She said, "I think you live a very restricted life."

He managed to detach her from the hotel after her second drink, and they walked to the station in the evening light.

They arrived at the city half an hour later, and walked out into the street. "It’s a bit early," she said. "Let’s walk."

He took her arm to guide her through the Saturday evening crowds. Most of the shops had plenty of good stock still in the windows but few were open. The restaurants and cafés were all full, doing a roaring trade; the bars were shut, but the streets were full of drunks. The general effect was one of boisterous and uninhibited lightheartedness, more in the style of 1890 than of 1963. There was no traffic in the wide streets but for the trains, and people swarmed all over the road. At the corner of Swanston and Collins Streets an Italian was playing a very large and garish accordion, and playing it very well indeed. Around him, people were dancing to it. As they passed the Regal cinema a man, staggering along in front of them, fell down, paused for a moment upon hands and knees, and rolled dead drunk into the gutter. Nobody paid much attention to him. A policeman, strolling down the pavement, turned him over, examined him casually, and strolled on.

"They have quite a time here in the evenings," Dwight remarked.

"It’s nothing like so bad as it used to be," the girl replied. "It was much worse than this just after the war."

"I know it. I’d say they’re getting tired of it." He paused, and then he said, "Like I did."

She nodded. "This is Saturday, of course. It’s very quiet here on an ordinary night. Almost like it was before the war."

They walked on to the restaurant. The proprietor welcomed them because he knew her well; she was in his establishment at least once a week and frequently more often. Dwight Towers had been there half a dozen times, perhaps, preferring his club, but he was known to the headwaiter as the captain of the American submarine. They were well received and given a good table in a corner away from the band; they ordered drinks and dinner.

"They’re pretty nice people here," Dwight said appreciatively. "I don’t come in so often, and I don’t spend much when I do come."

"I come here pretty frequently," the girl said. She sat in reflection for a moment. "You know, you’re a very lucky man."

"Why do you say that?"

"You’ve got a full-time job to do."

It had not occurred to him before that he was fortunate. "That’s so," he said slowly. "I certainly don’t seem to get a lot of time to go kicking around on the loose."

"I do," she said. "It’s all I’ve got to do."

"Don’t you work at anything? No job at all?"

"Nothing at all," she said. "Sometimes I drive a bullock round the farm at home, harrowing the muck. That’s all I ever do."

"I’d have thought you’d have been working in the city someplace," he remarked.

"So would I," she said a little cynically. "But it’s not so easy as that. I took honours in history up at the Shop, just before the war."

"The Shop?"

"The university. I was going to do a course of shorthand and typing. But what’s the sense in working for a year at that? I wouldn’t have time to finish it. And if I did, there aren’t any jobs."

"You mean, business is slowing down?"

She nodded. "Lots of my friends are out of a job now. People aren’t working like they used to, and they don’t want secretaries. Half of Daddy’s friends—people who used to go to the office—they just don’t go now. They live at home, as if they were retired. An awful lot of offices have closed, you know."

"I suppose that makes sense," he remarked. "A man has a right to do the things he wants to do in the last months, if he can get by with the money."

"A girl has a right to, too," she said. "Even if the things she wants to do are something different to driving a bullock round the farm to spread the dung."

"There’s just no work at all?" he asked.

"Nothing that I could find," she said. "And I’ve tried hard enough. You see, I can’t even type."

"You could learn," he said. "You could go and take that course that you were going to take."

"What’s the sense of that, if there’s no time to finish it, or use it afterwards?"

"Something to work at," he remarked. "Just as an alternative to all the double brandies."

"Work just for the sake of working?" she inquired. "It sounds simply foul." Her fingers drummed restlessly upon the table.

"Better than drinking just for the sake of drinking," he observed. "Doesn’t give you a hangover."

She said irritably, "Order me a double brandy, Dwight, and then let’s see if you can dance."

He took her out upon the dance floor, feeling vaguely sorry for her. She was in a prickly kind of mood. Immersed in his own troubles and occupations, it had never occurred to him that young, unmarried people had their own frustrations in these times. He set himself to make the evening pleasant for her, talking about the films and musicals they both had seen, the mutual friends they had. Peter and Mary Holmes are funny," she told him once. "She’s absolutely nuts on gardening. They’ve got that flat upon a three years’ lease. She’s planning to plant things this autumn that’ll come up next year."

He smiled. "I’d say she’s got the right idea. You never know." He steered the conversation back to safer subjects. "Did you see the Danny Kaye movie at the Plaza?"

Yachting and sailing were safe topics, and they talked around those for some time. The floor show came on as they finished dinner, and amused them for a while, and then they danced again. Finally the girl said, "Cinderella. I’ll have to start and think about that train, Dwight."

He paid the bill while she was in the cloakroom, and met her by the door. In the streets of the city it was quiet now; the music was still, the restaurants and cafés were now closed. Only the drunks remained, reeling down the pavements aimlessly or lying down to sleep. The girl wrinkled her nose. "They ought to do something about all this," she said. "It never was like this before the war."

"It’s quite a problem," he said thoughtfully. "It comes up all the time in the ship. I reckon a man has a right to do the things he wants to when he goes ashore, so long as he doesn’t go bothering other people. Some folks just have to have the liquor, times like these." He eyed a policeman on the corner. "That’s what the cops here seem to think, in this city, at any rate. I’ve never seen a drunk arrested yet, not just for being drunk."

At the station she paused to thank him and to wish him good night. "It’s been a beaut evening," she said. "The day, too. Thanks for everything, Dwight."

"I’ve enjoyed it, Moira," he said. "It’s years since I danced."

"You’re not too bad," she told him. And then she asked, "Do you know when you go off up north?"

He shook his head. "Not yet. A message came in just before we left telling me to report Monday morning in the First Naval Member’s offices, with Lieutenant Commander Holmes. I imagine we’ll get out final briefing then, and maybe get away on Monday afternoon."

She said, "Good luck. Will you give me a ring when you come back to Williamstown?"

"Why, sure," he said. "I’d like to do that. Maybe we could go sailing again someplace, or else do this again."

She said, "That’d be fun. I’ll have to go now, or I’ll miss this train. Good night again, and thanks for everything."

"It’s been a lot of fun," he said. "Good night." He stood and watched her go till she was lost in the crowd. From the back view, in that light summer dress, she was not unlike Sharon—or could it be that he was forgetting, muddling them up? No, she really was a bit like Sharon in the way she walked. Not in any other way. Perhaps that was why he liked her, that she was just a little like his wife.

He turned away, and went to catch his train to Williamstown.

He went to church next morning in Williamstown, as was his habit on a Sunday when circumstances made it possible. At ten o’clock on Monday morning he was with Peter Holmes in the Navy Department, waiting in the outer office to see the First Naval Member, Sir David Hartman. The secretary said, "He won’t be a minute, sir. I understand he’s taking you both over to the Commonwealth Government Offices."

"He is?"

The lieutenant nodded. "He ordered a car." A buzzer sounded and the young man went into the inner office. He reappeared in a moment. "Will you both go in now."

They went into the inner office. The vice admiral got up to meet them. "Morning, Commander Towers. Morning, Holmes. The Prime Minister wants to have a word with you before you go, so we’ll go over to his office in a minute. Before we do that, I want to give you this." He turned, and lifted a fairly bulky typescript from his desk. "This is the report of the commanding officer of USS. Swordfish on his cruise from Rio de Janeiro up into the North Atlantic." He handed it to Dwight. "I’m sorry that it’s been so long in coming, but the pressure on the radio to South America is very great, and there’s a good deal of it. You can take it with you and look it over at your leisure."

The American took it, and turned it over with interest. "It’s going to be very valuable to us, sir. Is there anything in it to affect this operation?"

"I don’t think there is. He found a high level of radioactivity—atmospheric radioactivity—over the whole area, greater in the north than in the south, as you’d expect. He submerged—let’s see—" lie took the typescript back and turned the pages quickly "—he submerged in latitude two south, off Parnaiba, and stayed submerged for the whole cruise, surfacing again in latitude five south off Cape Sao Roque."

"How long was he submerged, sir?"

"Thirty-two days."

"That might be a record."

The admiral nodded. "I think it is. I think he says so, somewhere." He handed back the typescript. "Well, take it with you and study it. It gives an indication of conditions in the north. By the way, if you should want to get in touch with him, he’s moved his ship down into Uruguay. He’s at Montevideo now."

Peter asked, "Are things getting hot in Rio, sir?"

"It’s getting a bit close."

They left the office in the Navy Department, went down into the yard, and got into an electric truck. It took them silently through the empty streets of the city, up tree-lined Collins Street to the Commonwealth Offices. In a few minutes they found themselves seated with Mr. Donald Ritchie, the Prime Minister, around a table.

He said, "I wanted to see you before you sailed, Captain, to tell you a little bit about the purpose of this cruise, and to wish you luck. I’ve read your operation order, and I have very little to add to that. You are to proceed to Cairns, to Port Moresby, and to Darwin for the purpose of reporting on conditions in those places. Any signs of life would be particularly interesting, of course, whether human or animal. Vegetation, too. And sea birds, if you can gather any information about those."

"I think that’s going to be difficult, sir," Dwight said. "Yes, I suppose so. Anyway, I understand you’re taking a member of the C.S.I.R.O. with you."

"Yes, sir. Mr. Osborne."

The Prime Minister passed his hand across his face, an habitual gesture. "Well. I don’t expect you to take risks. In fact, I forbid it. We want you back here with your ship intact and your crew in good health. You will use your own discretion whether you expose yourself on deck, whether you expose your ship upon the surface, guided by your scientific officer. Within the limits of that instruction, we want all the information we can get. If the radiation level makes it possible, you should land and inspect the towns. But I don’t think it will."

The First Naval Member shook his head. "I very much doubt it. I think you may find it necessary to submerge by the time you get to twenty-two south."

The American thought rapidly. "That’s south of Townsville."

The Prime Minister said heavily, "Yes. There are still people alive in Townsville. You are expressly forbidden to go there, unless your operation order should be modified by a signal from the Navy Department." He raised his head, and looked at the American. "That may seem hard to you, Commander. But you can’t help them, and it’s better not to raise false hopes by showing them your ship. And after all, we know what the conditions are in Townsville. We still have telegraphic contact with them there."

"I understand that, sir."

"That leads me to the last point that I have to make," the Prime Minister said. "You are expressly forbidden to take anybody on board your ship during this cruise, except with the prior permission of the Navy Department obtained by radio. I know that you will understand the obvious necessity that neither you or any member of your crew should be exposed to contact with a radioactive person. Is that quite clear?"

"Quite clear, sir."

The Prime Minister rose to his feet. "Well, good luck to all of you. I shall look forward to talking to you again, Commander Towers, in a fortnight’s time."