Tales of the South Pacific - James A. Michener [119]
Dr. Benoway was perspiring. Young Hewitt's letter continued with an intimate description of his wife, her attributes, her various reactions, the manner in which she participated in sexual intercourse, and his own emotions throughout the act. Dr. Benoway had never before read a letter quite like it. "The damned thing's absolutely clinical," he said to himself. He looked at the last page again. It ended in an orgy of pictures and words.
"No wonder the censors don't know what to do! I don't know what to do, myself." He carefully folded the many sheets of the letter and returned them to their envelope. He was tapping his left hand with the letter when Harbison reappeared.
"May I come in?" the lieutenant called cheerily from the darkness.
"Glad you're back," laughed the doctor, pouring them both a shot of whiskey.
"Judging from your tone, you've finished the letter," Harbison observed.
"And what a letter, too!" Benoway tossed it over to his guest.
"Don't give it to me, Paul," Harbison laughed. "You're the doctor!"
"I don't know what a letter like that means," Benoway countered, picking it up again. "I'm no psychologist."
"I realize that, Paul," Harbison replied persuasively. "But you see our problem. Is a sailor like that likely to get into trouble with other men? The old phrase, conduct prejudicial to the welfare of the Navy, or something like that? Is the boy likely to go off balance some night and wind up with a broken face and some pretty serious charges against him?"
"I can't answer that, Bill. You should know that. Any young man is likely to write a letter like that once in his life. Most girls are good enough to burn the things and never speak to the boy again. Such letters are Epi-"
"You don't understand, Paul," Harbison interrupted. "Hewitt writes two or three letters like that every week. Sometimes five in one week. Always the same!"
Dr. Benoway indulged in an unprofessional whistle. "How can he find the energy? God, what kind of man is he?"
"That's what has us worried. Every censor who has hit one of his letters immediately rushes it in to the chief censor. He says that he can tell when a new man hits one of Hewitt's letters."
"Who is this man Hewitt? Why didn't I hear of this before?"
"A new man. Came aboard while we were out sunbathing on the raft. The censors waited until I had recovered a bit before they presented me with the poser. I waited until you started seeing patients again. I don't think we'd better wait much longer on this baby. He needs some kind of treatment."
"I'd like to see the fellow, Bill," Dr. Benoway suggested.
"Right now?" Harbison asked.
"Yes! Right now! Will you break him out?" Dr. Benoway did not want to go to bed.
"Shall I bring him over here? Or to the office?"
"Make it here." In civilian life Paul Benoway treated many of his most complex cases in his own home. It gave the patient a feeling right from the start that "the doctor" was taking a personal interest in him. Nancy never objected. Sometimes in women's involved neurotic cases Paul would say, "Wouldn't it be a good idea if my wife joined us for a few minutes? You know Mrs. Benoway, don't you?" And nine times out of ten the patient would agree to this most unprofessional procedure, for everyone knew Mrs. Benoway.
And there stood Timothy Hewitt, motor mech third, and that was his personal record in the folder on the desk. "Shall I see you later?" Harbison's pleasant voice inquired, half suggesting that he would like to stay, half offering to go.
"Yes, Lieut. Harbison," Paul replied in his business voice. "I'll see you later."
"You may return to your quarters as soon as the doctor releases you, Hewitt," Harbison said to the perplexed sailor. "Goodnight!" His cheery smile put the young man at ease.
"Be seated, Hewitt,"