by Nevil Shute
“You mean — the radioactivity?”
The naval officer nodded.
The scientist stood in thought. “Anybody’s guess is as good as mine,” he said at last. “It may come quicker or it may come slower. So far it’s been coming very steadily all round the world, and moving southwards at just about the rate that you’d expect. It’s south of Rockhampton now. If it goes on like this it should be south of Brisbane by the beginning of June — just south. Say about eight hundred miles north of us. But as I say, it may come quicker or it may come slower. That’s all I can tell you.”
Peter bit his lip. “It’s a bit worrying. One doesn’t want to start a flap at home. But all the same, I’d be happier if they knew what to do if I’m not there.”
“You may not be there anyway,” John Osborne said. “There seem to be quite a few natural hazards on this course — apart from radiation. Minefields, ice — all sorts of things. I don’t know what happens to us if we hit an iceberg at full cruising speed, submerged.”
“I do,” said Peter.
The scientist laughed. “Well, let’s keep our fingers crossed and hope we don’t. I want to get back here and race that thing.” He nodded at the car behind the door.
“It’s all a bit worrying,” Peter repeated. They turned towards the street. “I think I’ll have to do something about it before we go.”
They walked in silence into the main thoroughfare. John Osborne turned towards his office. “You going my way?”
Peter shook his head. “I’ve got to see if I can buy a playpen for the baby. Mary says we’ve got to have it or she’ll kill herself.”
They turned in different directions and the scientist walked on, thankful that he wasn’t married.
Peter went shopping for a playpen, and succeeded in buying one at the second shop he tried. A folded playpen is an awkward thing to carry through a crowd; he battled with it to the tram and got it to Flinders Street station. He got to Falmouth with it at about four o’clock in the afternoon. He put it in the cloakroom till he could come and fetch it with his bicycle trailer, took his bicycle, and rode slowly into the shopping street. He went to the chemist that they dealt with, whose proprietor he knew, and who knew him. At the counter he asked the girl if he could see Mr. Goldie.
The chemist came to him in a white coat. He asked, “Could I have a word with you in private?”
“Why, yes, Commander.” He led the way into the dispensary.
Peter said, “I wanted to have a talk with you about this radiation disease.” The chemist’s face was quite expressionless. “I’ve got to go away. I’m sailing in the Scorpion, the American submarine. We’re going a long way. We shan’t be back till the beginning of June, at the earliest.” The chemist nodded slowly. “It’s not a very easy trip,” the naval officer said. “There’s just the possibility that we might not come back at all.”
They stood in silence for a moment. “Are you thinking about Mrs. Holmes and Jennifer?” the chemist asked.
Peter nodded. “I’ll have to make sure Mrs. Holmes understands about things before I go.” He paused. “Tell me, just what does happen to you?”
“Nausea,” the chemist said. “That’s the first symptom. Then vomiting, and diarrhoea. Bloody stools. All the symptoms increase in intensity. There may be slight recovery, but if so it would be very temporary. Finally death occurs from sheer exhaustion.” He paused. “In the very end, infection or leukaemia may be the actual cause of death. The blood-forming tissues are destroyed, you see, by the loss of body salts in the fluids. It might go one way or the other.”
“Somebody was saying it’s like cholera.”
“That’s right,” the chemist said. “It is rather like cholera.”
“You’ve got some stuff for it, haven’t you?”
“Not to cure it, I’m afraid.”
“I don’t mean that. To end it.”
“We can’t release that yet, Commander. About a week before it reaches any district details will be given on the wireless. After that we may distribute it to those who ask for it.” He paused. “There must be terrible complications over the religious side,” he said. “I suppose then it’s a matter for the individual.”
“I’ve got to see that my wife understands about it,” Peter said. “She’ll have to see to the baby. . . . And I may not be here. I’ve got to see this all squared up before I go.”
“I could explain it all to Mrs. Holmes, when the time comes.”
“I’d rather do it myself. She’ll be a bit upset.”
“Of course. . . .” He stood for a moment, and then said, “Come into the stock room.”
He went through into a back room through a locked door. There was a packing case in one corner, the lid part lifted. He wrenched it back. The case was full of little red boxes, of two sizes.
The chemist took out one of each and went back into the dispensary. He undid the smaller of the two; it contained a little plastic vial with two white tablets in it. He opened it, took out the tablets, put them carefully away, and substituted two tablets of aspirin. He put the vial back in the red box and closed it. He handed it to Peter. “That is for anybody who will take a pill,” he said. “You can take that and show it to Mrs. Holmes. One causes death, almost immediately. The other is a spare. When the time comes, we shall be distributing these at the counter.”
“Thanks a lot,” he said. “What does one do about the baby?”
The chemist took the other box. “The baby, or a pet animal — a dog or a cat,” he said. “It’s just a little more complicated.” He opened the second box and took out a small syringe. “I’ve got a used one I can put in for you, here. You follow these instructions on the box. Just give the hypodermic injection under the skin. She’ll fall asleep quite soon.”
He packed the dummy back into the box, and gave it to Peter with the other.
The naval officer took them gratefully. “That’s very kind of you,” he said. “She’ll be able to get these at the counter when the time comes?”
“That’s right.”
“Will there be anything to pay?”
“No charge,” the chemist said. “They’re on the free list.”
5
OF THE THREE presents which Peter Holmes took back to his wife that night, the playpen was the most appreciated.
It was a brand-new playpen, painted in a pastel green, with brightly coloured beads upon the abacus. He set it up upon the lawn before he went into the house, and then called Mary out to see it. She came and examined it critically, testing it for stability to make sure the baby couldn’t pull it over on top of her. “I do hope the paint won’t come off,” she said. “She sucks everything, you know. Green paint’s awfully dangerous. It’s got verdigris in it.”
“I asked about that in the shop,” he said. “It’s not oil paint — it’s Duco. She’d have to have acetone in her saliva to get that off.”
“She can get the paint off most things. . . .” She stood back and looked at it. “It’s an awfully pretty colour,” she said. “It’ll go beautifully with the curtains in the nursery.”
“I thought it might,” he said. “They had a blue one, but I thought you’d like this better.”
“Oh, I do!” She put her arms round him and kissed him. “It’s a lovely present. You must have had a fearful job with it on the tram. Thank you so much.”
“That’s all right,” he said. He kissed her back. “I’m so glad you like it.”
She went and fetched the baby from the house and put her in the pen. Then they got short drinks for themselves and sat on the lawn, the bars between them and the baby, smoking cigarettes and watching her reaction to the new environment. They watching her as she grasped one of the bars in a tiny fist.
“You don’t think she’ll get up on her feet too soon, with that to hold on to?” her mother asked, worried. “I mean, she wouldn’t learn to walk without it for a long time. If they walk too soon they grow up bandy legged.”
“I shouldn’t t
hink so,” Peter said. “I mean, everyone has playpens. I had one when I was a kid, and I didn’t grow up bandy legged.”
“I suppose if she didn’t pull herself up on this she’d be pulling herself up on something else. A chair, or something.”
When Mary took the baby away to give her her bath and make her ready for bed, Peter took the playpen indoors and set it up in the nursery. Then he laid the table for the evening meal. Then he went and stood on the verandah fingering the red boxes in his pocket, wondering how on earth he was to give his other presents to his wife.
Presently he went and got himself a whisky.
He did it that evening, shortly before she went to take the baby up before they went to bed. He said awkwardly, “There’s one thing I want to have a talk about before I go off on this cruise.”
She looked up. “What’s that?”
“About this radiation sickness people get. There’s one or two things that you ought to know.”
She said impatiently, “Oh, that. It’s not until September. I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I’m afraid we’ll have to talk about it,” he said.
“I don’t see why. You can tell me all about it nearer the time. When we know it’s coming. Mrs. Hildred says her husband heard from somebody that it isn’t coming here after all. It’s slowing down or something. It’s not going to get here.”
“I don’t know who Mrs. Hildred’s husband has been talking to. But I can tell you that there’s not a word of truth in it. It’s coming here, all right. It may come in September, or it may come sooner.”
She stared at him. “You mean that we’re all going to get it?”
“Yes,” he said. “We’re all going to get it. We’re all going to die of it. That’s why I want to tell you just a bit about it.”
“Can’t you tell me about it nearer the time? When we know it’s really going to happen?”
He shook his head. “I’d rather tell you now. You see, I might not be here when it happens. It might come quicker than we think, while I’m away. Or I might get run over by a bus — anything.”
“There aren’t any buses,” she said quietly. “What you mean is the submarine.”
“Have it your own way,” he said. “I’d be much happier while I’m away in the submarine if I knew you knew about things more than you do now.”
“All right,” she said reluctantly. She lit a cigarette. “Go on and tell me.”
He thought for a minute. “We’ve all got to die one day,” he said at last. “I don’t know that dying this way is much worse than any other. What happens is that you get ill. You start feeling sick, and then you are sick. Apparently you go on being sick — you can’t keep anything down. And then, you’ve got to go. Diarrhoea. And that gets worse and worse, too. You may recover for a little while, but it comes back again. And finally you get so weak that you just — die.”
She blew a long cloud of smoke. “How long does all this take?”
“I didn’t ask about that. I think it varies with the individual. It may take two or three days. I suppose if you recover it might take two or three weeks.”
There was a short silence. “It’s messy,” she said at last. “I suppose if everybody gets it all at once, there’s nobody to help you. No doctors, and no hospitals?”
“I shouldn’t think so. I think this is a thing you’ve got to battle through with on your own.”
“But you’ll be here, Peter?”
“I’ll be here,” he comforted her. “I’m just telling you to cover the thousand to one chance.”
“But if I’m all alone, who’s going to look after Jennifer?”
“Leave Jennifer out of it for the moment,” he said. “We’ll come to her later.” He leaned towards her. “The thing is this, dear. There’s no recovery. But you don’t have to die in a mess. You can die decently, when things begin to get too bad.” He drew the smaller of the two red boxes from his pocket.
She stared at it, fascinated. “What’s that?” she whispered.
He undid the little carton and took out the vial. “This is a dummy,” he said. “These aren’t real. Goldie gave it me to show you what to do. You just take one of them with a drink — any kind of drink. Whatever you like best. And then you just lie back, and that’s the end.”
“You mean, you die?” The cigarette was dead between her fingers.
He nodded. “When it gets too bad — it’s the way out.”
“What’s the other pill for?” she whispered.
“That’s a spare,” he said. “I suppose they give it you in case you lose one of them, or funk it.”
She sat in silence, her eyes fixed on the red box.
“When the time comes,” he said, “they’ll tell you all about this on the wireless. Then you just go to Goldie’s and ask the girl for it, over the counter, so that you can have it in the house. She’ll give it to you. Everybody will be given it who wants it.”
She reached out, dropping the dead cigarette, and took the box from him. She read the instructions printed on it in black. At last she said, “But, Peter, however ill I was, I couldn’t do that. Who would look after Jennifer?”
“We’re all going to get it,” he said. “Every living thing. Dogs and cats and babies — everyone. I’m going to get it. You’re going to get it. Jennifer’s going to get it, too.”
She stared at him. “Jennifer’s going to get this sort of — cholera?”
“I’m afraid so, dear,” he said. “We’re all going to get it.”
She dropped her eyes. “That’s beastly,” she said vehemently. “I don’t mind for myself so much. But that’s . . . it’s simply vile.”
He tried to comfort her. “It’s the end of everything for all of us,” he said. “We’re going to lose most of the years of life that we’ve looked forward to, and Jennifer’s going to lose all of them. But it doesn’t have to be too painful for her. When things are hopeless, you can make it easy for her. It’s going to take a bit of courage on your part, but you’ve got that. This is what you’ll have to do if I’m not here.”
He drew the other red box from his pocket and began to explain the process to her. She watched him with growing hostility. “Let me get this straight,” she said, and now there was an edge in her voice. “Are you trying to tell me what I’ve got to do to kill Jennifer?”
He knew that there was trouble coming, but he had to face it. “That’s right,” he said. “If it becomes necessary you’ll have to do it.”
She flared suddenly into anger. “I think you’re crazy,” she exclaimed. “I’d never do a thing like that, however ill she was. I’d nurse her to the end. You must be absolutely mad. The trouble is that you don’t love her. You never have loved her. She’s always been a nuisance to you. Well, she’s not a nuisance to me. It’s you that’s the nuisance. And now it’s reached the stage that you’re trying to tell me how to murder her.” She got to her feet, white with rage. “If you say one more word I’ll murder you!”
He had never seen her so angry before. He got to his feet. “Have it your own way,” he said wearily. “You don’t have to use these things if you don’t want to.”
She said furiously, “There’s a trick here, somewhere. You’re trying to get me to murder Jennifer and kill myself. Then you’d be free to go off with some other woman.”
He had not thought that it would be so bad as this. “Don’t be a bloody fool,” he said sharply. “If I’m here I’ll have it myself. If I’m not here, if you’ve got to face things on your own, it’ll be because I’m dead already. Just think of that, and try and get that into your fat head. I’ll be dead.”
She stared at him in angry silence.
“There’s another thing you’d better think about,” he said. “Jennifer may live longer than you will.” He held up the first red box. “You can chuck these in the dust bin,” he said. “You can battle on as long as you can stand, until you die. But Jennifer may not be dead. She may live on for days, crying and vomiting all over h
erself in her cot and lying in her muck, with you dead on the floor beside her and nobody to help her. Finally, of course, she’ll die. Do you want her to die like that? If you do, I don’t.” He turned away. “Just think about it, and don’t be such a bloody fool.”
She stood in silence. For a moment he thought that she was going to fall, but he was too angry now himself to help her.
“This is a time when you’ve just got to show some guts and face up to things,” he said.
She turned and ran out of the room, and presently he heard her sobbing in the bedroom. He did not go to her. Instead he poured himself a whisky and soda and went out on to the verandah and sat down in a deck chair, looking out over the sea. These bloody women, sheltered from realities, living in a sentimental dream world of their own! If they’d face up to things they could help a man, help him enormously. While they clung to the dream world they were just a bloody millstone round his neck.
About midnight, after his third whisky, he went into the house and to their bedroom. She was in bed and the light was out; he undressed in the dark, fearing to wake her. She lay with her back to him; he turned from her and fell asleep, helped by the whisky. At about two in the morning he awoke, and heard her sobbing in the bed beside him. He stretched out a hand to comfort her.
She turned to him, still sobbing. “Oh, Peter, I’m sorry I’ve been such a fool.”
They said no more about the red boxes, but next morning he put them in the medicine cupboard in the bathroom, at the back, where they would not be obtrusive but where she could hardly fail to see them. In each box he left a little note explaining that it was a dummy, explaining what she had to do to get the real ones. He added to each note a few words of love, thinking that she might well read it after he was dead.
The pleasant summer weather lasted well on into March. In Scorpion there were no more cases of measles, and the work upon the submarine progressed quickly in the hands of dockyard fitters who had little else to do. Peter Holmes took down the second tree, cut it up and stacked the logs to dry out so that they could be burned the following year, and started to dig out the stumps to make the kitchen garden.
