CHAPTER 23: SNAKEBIT
Uncertainty hung in the air as a cold April morning rolled around. Newkirk, though still feeling shaky, stood for rollcall for the first time in two weeks. When he returned to the barracks after morning chores, the only thing he was absolutely sure of was that he was shedding. His fingers, his palms, his feet, his neck, and places he didn't want to think about were all peeling as the dry skin from his rash flaked off.
He took a seat at the table. He was noticeably thin and pale, and he looked grateful as LeBeau slipped a cup of ginger tea under his nose, flavored with honey that he had acquired from who knows where. Although he was feeling a bit better, Newkirk felt embarrassed to know that he was a splotchy mess. Standing by his side, LeBeau was scrubbing dead skin from his face and neck and rubbing it with lotion.
Carter was a week ahead of Newkirk in his recovery from strep, so he was looking perkier than his pal, but when wasn't that true? He watched in fascination as LeBeau assisted Newkirk in his peeling process.
"It's a really good thing I'm not as young as you are or I might have come down with scarlet fever too, huh, Newkirk? Wilson said usually only kids get it, which is why LeBeau and Kinch and Colonel Hogan were OK even though they were taking care of you," Carter blathered. "Does it feel weird to shed your skin like that?"
"Yes," Newkirk replied. "And itchy." But the weirdest feeling, he thought, was the unavoidable fact that Carter was actually, somehow, older than he was. He'd known that all along, of course, but somehow it never felt real. He was nothing like Carter. He wasn't naïve; he was street smart. He didn't natter; he took time and formed his thoughts. He'd served his country sooner and been a prisoner longer. He was stealthy, not clumsy. And he could solve all sorts of problems, including ones that required magic fingers.
"Did you ever collect snakeskins when you were a kid, Newkirk?" Carter asked. Then he laughed. "Of course, you still are a kid. Wow." Newkirk stared at him, thinking Carter had the most unusual conversational openers of anyone he'd ever met.
"Can't ssssay that I did, Andrew, given the appalling lack of rolling mmmmeadows and woodland in the East End of London," Newkirk replied, choosing to ignore Carter's observation and focus on his question. "B-but I expect you're about to tell me you have done."
"Oh heck yeah. Late autumn, once the snakes go into hibernation but before the snows come, that's the best time to hunt for them. Me and my cousins, we used to compete to see who could get the longest ones, or find skins with heads on 'em. Those were the best."
"And you're th-th-thinking of this because I'm sitting here mmmmolting, are you?"
"You do look a little like a snake with all those layers coming off," Carter said. "Does it hurt?"
"Carter, you j-j-just asked me that, and I said it's itchy," Newkirk answered, starting to sound irritated.
"No, I asked if it felt weird. Hurt is different than weird. Weird is just …weird," Carter said.
Newkirk stared. He knew he was not be the most fluent speaker, but at least he was articulate and had a vocabulary that included three-syllable words and many alternatives to "weird."Carter, on the other hands, was talking in circles.
"Righto," Newkirk said. "Nnno, it doesn't hurt much, except somewhat on my palms. They're a bit raw." He inspected his hands and flexed his fingers, making sure they'd be ready for any mischief he needed to commit.
LeBeau peered over his shoulder. "I have a lotion for that," he said, then clapped Newkirk on the shoulders. "Relax with your tea. We'll work on your back and chest later when it's a bit warmer in here. Garlotti just put some wood on the fire."
"Charming," Newkirk muttered irritably, but a soft smile gave him away. He appreciated everything LeBeau had done for him and was still doing. While he didn't like anyone thinking he needed looking after, deep inside he didn't mind needing LeBeau. They understood one another and for all his mother hen behaviors, LeBeau never forgot that Newkirk was tough. LeBeau, for his part, was happy to hear a little of Newkirk's spirit returning. He'd been knocked very low.
Carter, meanwhile, was keeping up his monologue.
"My favorite snake's the western milksnake. Boy, what a beauty that one is—bands of black, red, black, yellow, black, red, black, yellow, always in that order! A little pointed head and its scales are so shiny…"
"It is p-p-poisonous?" Newkirk ventured. All his images of where Carter lived had been formed by cowboy movies. He pictured North Dakota as a wild and dangerous place, populated by desperadoes who shaved their stubble with a blowtorch, and Carter's chosen topic of conversation wasn't doing anything to ease his mind.
"Oh, heck, no. The only poisonous one we've got is the prairie rattlesnake. You know they can climb trees and bushes? You have to be real careful. This one time, my cousin Billy was walking past Mrs. Wilbert's garden on his way home from school, and he looks up at her willow tree. Well, next thing you know, wham! He was down on the ground, snakebit. Right on the nose."
"I think I'd better lie down," Newkirk said woozily.
"You've been up long enough, standing outside in the cold, and you need to rest quietly," LeBeau agreed. "And Carter, stop it. All this talk of snakes is making both of us ill. We're city boys, right, Pierre?"
"Yes, we are. There are no snakes in the East End. Rats, yes, but d-d-definitely no snakes," Newkirk grumbled as LeBeau led him back to Colonel Hogan's quarters for a rest.
Hogan was in his room with Kinch, going over plans for that night's mission. They were arranging to connect with an Underground agent who was passing along blueprints for new power plant.
"Mon colonel, can Pierre rest in here?" LeBeau asked. Hogan simply nodded and waved, so LeBeau settled Newkirk onto the bunk. Everyone had felt the cold nipping at their bones this morning, and Hogan had already told LeBeau to make sure Newkirk took time to recover.
Finally, as Hogan wrapped up his discussion with Kinch, he turned around. "How's the shedding going?" he jibed.
"Apparently I remind Carter of a snake," Newkirk replied. Kinch shuddered, but Hogan was undeterred.
"Red and yellow, kill a fellow. Red and black, friend of Jack," Hogan said mysteriously.
"What?" Newkirk and Kinch said simultaneously, as LeBeau chimed in with "Quoi?"
"That's how you know the difference between a poisonous coral snake and the ones that look similar," Hogan said. "I made Eagle Scout," he added with a shrug.
"Yeah, like the western milksnake!" Carter said, having arrived on the scene. "Like I was saying, black, red, black, yellow, black, red. See, they're harmless, but if the red touched the yellow it would be a real different story."
"Carrrrrter," Newkirk pleaded. "D-d-do you have to go on and on about the snakes?"
Carter looked startled for a moment, but then his face softened. "Hey buddy. I hope I didn't scare you. I kind of forget that you're even younger than my kid brother and boy I used to scare the pants off him with the stories I'd tell! My mom used to have to send me out to milk Molly and Betsy—they're our dairy cows—just to give him time to calm down!"
"I'm nnnnnot scared, you twit!" Newkirk snapped. "I j-j-just don't want to hear you nattering about st-stupid snakes! And st-st-st-stop saying that I'm younger than you are. I'm not, at least not in any way that really c-c-c-counts." He was on his feet now, and he was clenching his fists.
Carter nodded and smiled a little. "Sorry, I get it. My little brother used to get really cranky right before his naps." At that, Newkirk pounced at Carter; LeBeau held him back.
"Carter? Out," Hogan said simply. Carter looked stunned and hurt. As he turned and left, Hogan added, "Kinch, LeBeau—go with him. Explain it to him, please?"
Hogan turned and settled Newkirk back on the bed, but now he wouldn't lie down.
"I don't need a bleeding nap," Newkirk muttered.
"Of course you don't," Hogan said in a soothing tone. "Peter, you know Carter doesn't mean anything by it. He's just trying to make sense of this situation. It's taken everyone by surprise."
Newkirk just shrugged. Hogan decided to wait and let silence have its say. Finally, Newkirk spoke up.
"He never treated me like a k-k-kid before this happened," Newkirk said. "Why did this have to happen? If Martin had never showed up here…" He bit his lip, trying to find the words for how frustrated and angry he felt. "It's not fffair," he finally blurted out.
Hogan sat beside him on the bunk and put an arm around his shoulder. "No, it's not fair," he agreed. "Nothing about this is fair."
"I don't want to go, Sir," Newkirk said fiercely. "I'm as good as anyone on the team. I shouldn't have to go."
"I'm working on it, Peter," Hogan said. He took Newkirk by the chin and looked him right in the eye. "I mean it. Do you trust me?"
Newkirk nodded rapidly. "Yes, Gov. I trust you."
Hogan released his face, and pulled him closer. "Alright, then, just relax. Close your eyes. I've got this. You leave it to me." He wrapped both arms around Newkirk, the way he had a week earlier when he was in the throes of a fever. Newkirk settled into the embrace, letting his eyes close for a moment, feeling his muscles relax. He was tired enough to fall asleep, but he wouldn't let himself do that. Be a man, he thought. And as he thought like a man, he suddenly pulled himself upright.
"Sir, when will you know what they've decided in London?"
"Soon," Hogan said. As Newkirk rolled his eyes, Hogan bit back a laugh at how young that made him look. "I know it's not a satisfactory answer, but soon."
"Alright, Gov. I'll have to wwwwait. I don't think I have mmmmuch choice, do I?" Newkirk said. "I still want to do as much as I can for our mission, Sir. Don't cut me out."
"I have no plans to cut you out, Peter. Now try to rest a little, OK? You're still not 100%." He got up and let Newkirk get himself settled on the bunk just as LeBeau slipped back in the room.
"Did you talk to my very wise big brother?" Newkirk snapped.
"Yes, Pierre, Kinch and I talked to him."
"And?"
"He agreed that his little brother had not been through basic training, had not fought at Dunkirk, and had never been interrogated by the Gestapo," LeBeau said. "He saw that there is a difference between you and his little brother. One is a boy; one is a man."
"Good," Newkirk said as he rolled onto his side to face the wall and pulled a blanket around himself. "That's exactly right." Then he yawned and added softly, "Thanks, Louis."
"It's nothing, mon pote," LeBeau replied.
LeBeau and Hogan sat quietly at Hogan's table as Newkirk drifted to sleep. Once they heard him snoring lightly, LeBeau had more to say.
"I also told him that his brother had never slept on the streets. Or learned to pick pockets at the age of five. Or bought medicine on the black market to keep a sick sister alive. Or hauled a drunken father home from the pub. Or learned a trade at a school for wayward boys."
"Everything is different with Peter," Hogan agreed.
"He's lived harder and faster than most men twice his age," LeBeau said. He stopped and looked at Colonel Hogan thoughtfully. "You're twice his age," he pointed out.
"Yes, I am. And I agree with everything you just said. I got to be a kid when I was young. He didn't."
LeBeau crossed the room to sit beside Newkirk on the bed. He touched his back as he breathed and tucked the blanket around him.
"I take care of him because he deserves to simply be a boy now and then," LeBeau said quietly.
Hogan nodded. He hadn't thought of it that way, but that was exactly how he felt, too.
Snakebit is American slang for "unlucky." The line about "desperadoes shaving their stubble with a blowtorch" is based on Desperate Dan, a Wild West character from the British comic book The Dandy, which Newkirk mentioned in Chapter 15.