The Sharer
The shadowy, dark head, like mine, seemed to nod imperceptibly above the ghostly gray of my sleeping suit. It was, in the night, as though I had been faced by my own reflection in the depths of a somber and immense mirror.
Joseph Conrad, The Secret Sharer
A wall of medals, like multicolored chain mail, clothed Master Gunnery Sergeant's bulging pectorals. He was polish and shine from his balding pate to his oil-slick black uniform shoes. The creases in his pants and shirt were as sharp as a knife's edge and as freshly pressed as a groom's going-away suit. His few short hairs stood at perpetual attention. He was calm and polite.
I was a lieutenant, and my military experience was limited to a military residency. Master Gunnery Sergeant possessed the most senior enlisted position on our large Marine Corps base. His medals commemorated duty on every continent. “Yes, Lieutenant,” he would answer. He was respectful, but I felt ludicrous. He was Experience; I was Ingenue.
Master Gunnery Sergeant was diabetic. I interviewed him and reviewed his records. His diabetes was uncontrolled, and results of urinalysis suggested early kidney disease. He had hypertension, and he was a smoker. After I examined him, we had a frank discussion. We formed a tentative partnership.
Master Gunnery Sergeant's next visit followed my promotion. “Congratulations, Commander!”
“Thank you, Master Gunnery Sergeant. It took long enough!”
My promotion had been delayed for a geologic epoch of military time. I was thankful for Master Gunnery Sergeant's enthusiastic acknowledgment, although my lieutenant commander bars were dubious authority next to his rainbow of ribbons.
Master Gunnery Sergeant started visiting me more frequently. He was preparing for complex oral surgery and dental implants. He announced the plans for surgery with a smile; several gaps were visible in the floor …
This 100-word excerpt has been provided in the absence of an abstract.
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