Leaving New York

Chapter 7

Early the next day, I asked the captain if I could go back to work for a few hours. Henry'd woken up okay; then he started moaning and talking to himself, but not loud. I wondered if he was schizoaffective or full-blown schizophrenic. I knew I couldn't sit for hours listening to him. The Cap said okay, but he made Lars sit outside the cabin in a chair as a precaution.

Back at my job, folding butter into doughy mounds to make Laugenbrotchen, German pretzel rolls felt like therapy. The captain popped by the galley and told me no one had bipolar or depression drugs to help Henry. I offered some of my limited amount of depression medicine, which was like outing my illness.

"I had no idea, Jack. Are you okay?"

"Yes, sir—just as long as I stay on my meds."

"You keep your supply, Jack. I'll ask Mrs. Rogers to ask around too. An hour later, Mrs. Rogers stood at the hatch between the galley and dining room. Wolf noticed her. "Hello there, Mrs. Rogers."

"Hi. Can I speak to Jack for a moment?" I wiped the flour off my hands then she discreetly pulled a plastic bottle out of a big pocket in her dress. "I found this in the ship's medicine cabinet."

"Valium?"

"Yes. It should calm Henry down until he gets something else."

"Is it any good?"

"Date says so, and there's plenty there."

I asked Wolf if I could have a quick break—he waved me away while Mrs. Rogers and I went to the cabin I shared with Henry. He was reading a magazine when Lars let us in. She examined Henry, pulling his eyelids down and checking his heartbeat. "Honey, you may not believe it, but your body is in good shape. What we need to do is give you some meds that will keep you more stabilized. This medicine, called Valium, should give you a little peace."

"I've heard of it. Will it give me a tummy ache?"

"It shouldn't. We'll start with one. If that's okay, we'll go to two a day then up to four in a twenty-four-hour period. If you react, which I don't think you will, we'll stop it." She dumped out a tablet into Henry's enormous palm. He looked at me.

"It's okay, buddy."

I got him a glass of water, and he downed it. "Should I lie down now?"

"Well, dear, a little exercise will get it into your system faster."

Lars stood at the open door, acting as sentry. Henry said, "Can I walk around, Jack?

"Hang on a minute." Mrs. Rogers, Lars, and I chatted in the companionway. "He was screaming last night, but he calmed down."

The nurse said, "I think it's too soon to let him go gallivanting around the ship, unfortunately. Maybe you could lead him in some exercises—you look pretty fit. Jumping jacks, running in place, stretches—stuff like that."

"Sounds good—I need a workout myself."

"Good going. Here's the bottle. Give Henry another pill in about five hours. It's risky to medicate him, but I'd rather do that than have him jump off the ship."

"You heard about that?"

"Everyone has." About that time, the captain showed up again. Mrs. Rogers said, showing her grit, "I think everyone is very concerned about our young sailor. Everyone wants to help—read to him, play cards, whatever—they should be allowed to do that."

The captain stood up straight, looking down at the kind, feisty woman, "Quite right, Mrs. Rogers, he needs human connection—we'll let him have more visitors."

After leading Henry in light calisthenics, I went back to the galley, working until after dinner. After my shift was over, I went back to the cabin. Henry's hair was wet, which meant he'd taken a shower. I knew hygiene was sometimes challenging with depression—he'd made an effort, which was good. His dinner tray was empty, another good sign. But he was lying on his bunk, moaning, curled around a pillow. I sat on his bed, putting a hand on his back. Then I realized I was late for his next pill. I jumped up, found where I'd hidden them, got some water, and the big man gulped it down without any guff.

"I have depression too, Henry; I know how terrible it is."

He stared at me before I turned my light out.

The next day, I pulled on my clothes to start an entire shift. I renewed my vow to squelch the crush I had on my red-headed roommate. The guy was sick; all he needed was kindness. He rolled over when I dropped my phone on the floor.

"Morning."

"Hey, Henry—how'd you sleep?"

"Better."

"Maybe the Valium helped."

"Yeah." After giving the big guy his morning pill, I still had to get Lars to unlock the door. I texted him; he showed up in five minutes, letting me out whispering, "How's he doing? Did the pills work? Cap said I didn't have to play sentry outside the door anymore—he must be better."

"He seems less agitated."

"That's good. I'll bring Henry some breakfast."

While I kneaded popover dough, I thought about Henry and how bored he must be. I took a break to talk to Carlos, and the captain, then went to find Pruitt in the engine room.

"Hey, Pru."

"Jack, how's our resident fireman?"

"Good. Hey, I was wondering—I got the Cap's okay to let Henry come down and work for you again."

"I haven't heard anything."

"Well, I just talked to him—does there have to be a special order or something?"

"It's just the thing with Danny—I got to protect folks."

"I know. He did good work before, right?"

"Yeah. We got a lame rocker arm—I guess Henry can work on that."

"He's so bored in the cabin."

"Is it safe for him to come out? I'm not going to have any yelling matches down here again."

"I think it's safe—he took some medicine last night, and he seems calmer. We're going to keep giving it to him."

"Sounds good. I'll keep an eye on him along with Danny and Jay—they're oiling everything today."

"Great. I'll be up in the galley. I'll get Lars to bring him down here." Pruitt whispered to me, "Is he schizophrenic?"

"I don't think so."

"My middle boy has that. He also does best when he's busy."

"Right."

I learned later from Carlos that John Pruitt, Master Mechanic for the Merchant Marines, was a patient, giving father, sending a paycheck home every two weeks gobbled up by groceries, a house payment, and specialists for his severely ill son, who lived at home. He also was Known as a kind teacher to the crew under his command.

Twenty minutes later, Pru texted me that Henry was tightening bolts with a massive wrench in the engine room. I was making Gemüseküchlein, German vegetable cakes in the galley. I said a little prayer hoping Henry could be a mechanic somewhere again.