Chapter 4 – From Simmer to Boil
In silence you can't hide anything as you can in words. - August Strindberg, The Ghost Sonata
By the time Newkirk finished his breakfast, rain mixed with bits of sleet drummed rhythmically against the barracks' roof, punctuated by roiling waves of thunder. He couldn't help but startle a bit at each wall-rattling blast, as the remnants of his nightmare were still freshly imprinted on his mind.
Thankfully, LeBeau soon returned with a fresh cup of hot coffee; he raised his eyebrows in surprise at the sight of Newkirk's virtually licked-clean bowl.
"I see you were not very hungry, were you mon ami?" he asked playfully.
Newkirk nodded and held the empty bowl out to his French friend, indicating that he wanted more.
"More? You are asking me for more? I thought you did not like my cooking?"
Newkirk huffed and put the bowl down so he could write, Not too difficult to muck up porridge, mate.
LeBeau shook his head and began to leave the room as he spoke as if to himself. "Hmmm, perhaps I will take this coffee to the Colonel instead."
A sudden flurry of erasing and writing on the slate produced, I'm starving Louis. I don't know why. Just please leave the coffee?
LeBeau gave in and set the mug of coffee on the tray in Newkirk's lap before he took the empty bowl. He gestured with it in his friend's direction as he said, "I will take pity on you this time only because you are ill Pierre."
Newkirk grunted non-committedly as he sipped from the mug. He leaned back and closed his eyes for a moment as he savored the unusually intense kick of the freshly-made coffee. When he opened his eyes a few moments later LeBeau was gone, apparently having left the room to retrieve more porridge. He took his time finishing the coffee and set the empty mug on the floor.
LeBeau returned momentarily to set a full bowl of porridge onto Newkirk's tray. He plopped down onto the stool beside the bunk and watched contentedly as his friend devoured his food. It didn't take long for LeBeau's trained eye to notice how Newkirk flinched imperceptibly upon each clap of thunder. He remained silent as he pondered and then suddenly realized the true reason behind his English friend's unease.
He judiciously waited until Newkirk finished his porridge before he broached the subject. As he leaned down to remove the tray from Newkirk's lap, he murmured, "You are having the dreams again, are you not mon ami?"
Newkirk suddenly stiffened and his head snapped round to stare at LeBeau in ill-disguised shock. He then recovered himself somewhat and shook his head vehemently.
The Frenchman nodded (a bit patronizingly in Newkirk's opinion) as he straightened and placed the tray on the Colonel's desk. Yes, mused LeBeau, he had definitely struck a nerve; unfortunately, it was an extremely raw nerve that had not been exposed for quite a while. He settled himself back upon the stool and laid a solicitous hand upon Newkirk's shoulder.
"You do not need to hide it from me Pierre. We both know what you went through."
Newkirk's breathing quickened as he furiously scribbled, I'M NOT HAVING THE DREAMS AGAIN LOUIS!
"Do not shout at me mon ami! I am right here!"
BLOODY STORM WOKE ME UP, THAT'S ALL!
LeBeau felt his anger rising and he managed to get out a barely civil, "If you say so, Pierre."
I DO SAY SO!
LeBeau sat for a moment and then reached down to retrieve the empty coffee mug. He tossed it onto the tray as he said, "I only wish to help you Pierre." As there was no answer forthcoming from the agitated Englishman, LeBeau continued, "Very well. You have had your breakfast so I am no longer needed here. Perhaps I should leave you alone, oui?"
Newkirk rolled his eyes at the ceiling in a silent plea for divine intervention. He really did not want to remember, much less discuss any of this and LeBeau's insistence that he do so grated on his rapidly fraying disposition. He winced as he felt his headache returning. Oh bloody hell! he thought. That's all I need now! He chalked an ultimatum, hoping LeBeau would get the message and just get out.
THEN DO THAT! LEAVE ME ALONE!
Truly angry now, LeBeau arose to pick up the tray and make a beeline for the door. Just before he reached for the doorknob, he turned to shout, "Tu es têtu comme une bourrique!"
SAME TO YOU MATE!
The unexpectedly loud bang of the door slamming startled the men in the common room and every eye turned to barely catch a glimpse of the red blur storming out of the Colonel's quarters.
"Whoa! Slow down there Louis! What's wrong?" Kinch had just come topsides to fetch some fresh coffee for himself and the Colonel. He quickly put the coffee pot back onto the stove and reached his hands out to steady the enraged Frenchman.
"Il déménage complètement!"
He is totally crazy! Kinch chuckled as he ran Louis' exclamation through his mind. He had been waiting for this to happen and he reached to put a supportive arm about LeBeau's shoulders. "C'mon Louis, sit here for a moment and try to calm down."
"Aaaah dégueu! What is the use?" LeBeau threw his hands up as he let Kinch guide him to a seat at the common table. "Such a difficult, ungrateful Englishman! He does not even realize…." LeBeau suddenly trailed off.
"He doesn't realize what Louis?" asked Kinch.
"It is nothing, Kinch. Nothing important."
Kinch had his doubts about that but decided not to press the issue. LeBeau would tell him if it was any of his business. He glanced back at the closed door of Colonel Hogan's quarters. Even though the Colonel was awaiting his return down in the tunnel, he felt this situation needed to be addressed first.
"I'll go talk to him Louis. You wait here."
"Bonne chance Kinch!" muttered LeBeau as Kinch made his way to the Colonel's quarters.
Kinch stood before the door for a moment and then raised his fist to knock once before he announced, "Peter, this is Kinch. I'm coming in." He opened the door to find the Englishman writing on the slate.
Louis is angry with me.
Kinch looked back at the door, amazed it still hung on its hinges. "I don't doubt it. Apparently you're being a royal pain in the neck."
Pain? Not me mate.
"Well somebody in this room is and it's certainly not me!"
The Englishman huffed and angrily chalked two stark words. Not sorry.
"You will be when you get hungry later."
Hungry now.
"Again? Didn't you just eat?"
Newkirk nodded as he wrote I can't help it, I'm hungry.
As Newkirk had been without his smokes for nearly 30 hours, Kinch suspected that that was a large part of the reason behind the incessant hunger, as well as his increasingly bad temper. The tapping of the chalk on the slate turned his attention back to Newkirk.
Did you hear what Louis said before he ran out of the room?
Kinch laughed, "Oh yes, I heard him all right; he said 'You're as stubborn as a donkey!'"
Tell him it takes one to know one!
"I'll let you tell him. I think you two owe each other an apology."
Newkirk sighed heavily. Not right now Kinch, my head hurts.
"Okay buddy, I know you're not feeling well. Maybe not today but soon all right?"
Newkirk nodded and Kinch tapped him gently on the shoulder. "I've got to get back in the tunnel. We have a mission pending and the Colonel needs me down there. C'mon buddy, just try to get along with Louis, please?"
Newkirk nodded again and Kinch headed out the door in search of Carter, who was sitting at the common table keeping LeBeau company.
"Andrew, would you come here please?"
"Yeah Kinch?" Carter got up and walked over to where Kinch stood.
Kinch put a hand on each of Carter's shoulders and stared directly into his face. "Andrew, I need you to take one for the team. While the Colonel and I get the details sorted out for this pending mission, would you please keep Peter company? Try to keep his mind off of his situation if you can. I also want you to try to run interference between him and LeBeau for right now. I know it's a tall order, but if anyone can do it, you can."
Carter swallowed hard and nodded. He wasn't sure about this but he was willing to give it the old college try.
Kinch glanced back over his shoulder and said, "He needs to rest right now. Give him a few hours, okay?"
Carter nodded, still unsure. "Okay Kinch. I hope he doesn't bite my head off!"
Kinch chuckled. "He just might Andrew, but don't let it throw you off. Newkirk's beginning to seriously feel the effects of not being able to smoke, on top of his injured throat. Cut him a little slack."
"All right Kinch."
"That's my boy! I'll see you guys later." Kinch headed for the bunk entrance to the tunnel and disappeared below ground.
Later that day, Carter thought a card game would've been the perfect thing to distract his English friend's mind off his increasing troubles. Boy was he ever wrong!
"Uh, it's your play Peter," he reminded Newkirk for the fourth time in as many hands.
Newkirk shook himself out of his daze to give Carter a sour glance before he slapped a card down hard onto the seat of the stool they were using as a makeshift table.
"Are you sure you want to play that card?" asked Carter as he thought to himself, He sure is off his game!
Newkirk rolled his eyes and sighed heavily. Carter took it as an ominous sign as he gingerly laid his cards down.
"Okay buddy, calm down. I'm just making sure. Uh, gin!"
Newkirk flung the cards he held onto the floor more in frustration than in disappointment at losing once again. His brain just wouldn't cooperate; it seemed he couldn't get a thought complete through to action to save his life. The mounting anxiety wasn't helping, neither was the still simmering anger at his failure to keep LeBeau from finding out about the recurrence of his nightmare.
"Okay, we won't count those points," Carter nervously murmured as he reached to gather up the cards from the floor. This day wasn't exactly going the way he had hoped. He tried to think of something else to keep his English friend's mind occupied.
Newkirk shoved his slate into Carter's line of sight. Is there anything to eat?
"Uh, I don't know Peter, we just ate lunch a couple of hours ago." Carter had been impressed into service as a waiter by LeBeau, who refused to come into the room even though he still prepared Newkirk's meals.
I know that you twit! I wouldn't have asked if I wasn't hungry would I?
Carter jumped up, stung by the insult. "All right! I'll go check with Louis! Geez!" He left the room and returned a bit too quickly for Newkirk's taste.
"Louis said he won't have anything ready for you until dinner."
Newkirk slammed the slate down onto the floor with such force it shattered into what appeared to be a thousand shards.
Colonel Hogan and Kinch ran into the room. "What the hell is going on in here?" demanded the Colonel.
Carter's mouth worked soundlessly for nearly a full minute before he finally got out, "Peter's mad because LeBeau doesn't have anything for him to eat right now."
"Right now?" asked the Colonel. "Didn't he just eat a couple of hours ago?"
"Yes sir, he did, but he says he's hungry," replied Carter nervously.
Kinch grasped the Colonel's arm and gently drew him over towards the door. "Peter's beginning to feel the effects of not being able to smoke," he whispered. "Let me handle it Colonel, if you don't mind."
Colonel Hogan nodded in sudden comprehension and went over to the lower bunk. He leaned in and spoke to his RAF Corporal. "Peter, I know you're not feeling well and we're all trying to help as best we can. Please try to help us as well, okay? I'd rather not see a repeat of what just happened here."
Newkirk looked down and heaved a sigh. He made as if to speak but the Colonel cut him off with a sharp gesture. "Don't try to speak Peter. I'll accept your apology, if that is what you were going to say. It was, wasn't it?"
The Colonel gazed expectantly at his Englishman, who slowly nodded his agreement. The Colonel smiled and jerked his head in Carter's direction. "I believe you owe Andrew an apology as well?"
Newkirk looked at Carter, eyebrows raised in a silent request. Carter smiled as he replied, "It's all right Peter."
"Now how about Louis?" asked the Colonel. "He's the first one you owe an apology to."
Newkirk's face immediately froze into an expressionless mask and he turned to stare at the wall.
Kinch approached the Colonel and said, "I think that one's going to take a bit more time Colonel."
"Well, I suppose two out of three isn't bad," said the Colonel. "I'm going back downstairs. Keep me posted Kinch."
"I will sir. Tell Baker I'll be down in a few minutes."
After the Colonel left the room, Kinch turned to Carter. He shrugged as he surveyed the damage and said, "Well, that's why we made more than one! C'mon Andrew, help me pick up the pieces here."
It didn't take the two of them very long to clear the floor of most of the shattered slate. Carter crouched down onto all fours to ferret out the smaller pieces whilst Kinch went to fetch another whole slate. Despite his acceptance of Newkirk's apology, Carter still couldn't comprehend why his English friend was so agitated. "Gosh Peter! Why'd you have to go and do that?" he muttered as he reached far beneath the bottom bunk to retrieve a large shard of slate they had missed.
He was answered by a sharply frustrated exhalation. "This...ain't…workin'…," Newkirk grunted.
"Well it's going to have to work! Why can't I get it through that thick skull of yours that you need to keep quiet?" A different, yet just as annoyed voice sounded from the door as Wilson strode into the room. "You don't realize how serious this is Peter. It may seem minor but laryngitis can complicate into pneumonia if you're not careful. So do you see the importance of not speaking? Further stress upon the vocal chords could lead to something much more serious and life-threatening."
"Really?" asked Carter. "Gosh I didn't know it was that bad."
Wilson nodded. "It can be if he keeps talking and doesn't rest his voice."
"So he'll definitely need this," came Kinch's voice from the doorway. Wilson walked over and took the slate Kinch held out to him. He then walked back to hand it to Newkirk. "Here Peter. On direct orders from Colonel Hogan, as well as medical orders from me, use this or else!"
