Chapter 11 – The Value of Silence

"Silence often has the strongest voice." - Edward Counsel, Maxims

True to his prediction, Wilson released Newkirk from bed rest late the next morning. He did, however, still require that the Englishman take it easy and refrain from speaking until he was satisfied that Newkirk's throat was fully healed. So Newkirk took the slate with him when he moved back to his bunk in the common room.

Having to still use the slate to communicate didn't bother him as much as he thought it would, for as strange as it seemed, he had become somewhat accustomed to not being able to speak.

Everyone enthusiastically welcomed Newkirk back to the common room, although the men good-naturedly ribbed him for being the cause of the still enforced ban on smoking inside the barracks. Fortunately, the weather had greatly improved so going outside to smoke wasn't quite the harsh ordeal they all claimed it to be. It was actually very nice outside, with a cool nip in the air complementing the crystal-clear blue sky.

The weather was so nice that when Wilson came by to check on him the next day, Newkirk took the opportunity to ask, Can I go outside?

Wilson frowned a bit at that request. "Give it another day, okay? The salt water should help your throat get back to normal by then. I know you're chomping at the bit but I'd rather be safe than sorry."

Newkirk sighed and nodded; it wasn't that he was ungrateful, far from it. He was genuinely relieved to be back in the common room and had slept like a baby his first night back in his own bunk. It was just that he hadn't been outside in nearly a week and the walls were beginning to close in upon him.

In the meantime, he'd have to be content to spend his waking time playing cards and reading, two activities he usually enjoyed more when they weren't his only options. He suspected the overwhelming boredom was just another one of the wonderful side effects resulting from not being able to smoke. He was trying to decide which to do first, play cards or read, when he noticed Wilson gesturing to him to come into the Colonel's quarters.

He got up and walked over to the doorway. Wilson ushered him inside and stood by the door for a moment before he closed it. He had decided to take advantage of Newkirk's enforced silence to broach a subject that had concerned him for quite some time.

Newkirk had taken a seat on the bottom bunk and waited somewhat impatiently, a puzzled expression on his face.

"Peter, I've been thinking about this for a long time, and I'm going to come straight to the point. Have you ever considered quitting smoking? This might be just the right time to do so, since you've already gone through part of the withdrawal."

Newkirk's eyes widened as Wilson's question took him completely by surprise; he hadn't even considered that an option. His mind whirled with all the replies he could make to that outrageous suggestion; that is, if he could talk right now.

Who is he kiddin'? I've been smokin' since I was 14! Why would I stop now? It really helps steady me nerves! And I need that with what we get up to around here!

He looked around for the slate and sighed in frustration when he realized he had accidentally left it on his bunk in the common room.

Wilson reached to put a reassuring hand on Newkirk's shoulder as he replied, "I know, Peter, I know. It's a bit much to consider. I just think that you might be in for some potential trouble in the future should you come down with a serious respiratory infection, or God forbid, pneumonia. I've listened to your lungs a lot lately and the smoking certainly isn't helping."

Newkirk stared at the medic in something akin to shock. He had been anticipating getting Wilson's approval to be able to speak again, not a lecture on what smoking was doing to his lungs.

Wilson nodded as he continued, "I'm not trying to frighten you, Peter." He paused and chuckled as he reconsidered his words. "Well, maybe I am trying to scare you just a little bit. That's how serious this is."

The Englishman shrugged his shoulders and shook his head slowly.

"At least give it some thought, okay? I don't want to be the one who has to tell the Colonel that we lost you because your lungs were too weak to recover from a bout of pneumonia."

Was it really that serious? thought Newkirk. Other than a few bouts of coughing every once in a while, he felt that he hadn't really experienced any debilitating effects from his smoking habit. He gazed up at the medic, a blank expression on his face.

Wilson realized that he was not making any headway with the stubborn Englishman and gave Newkirk a shrug of his own.

"All right, it's your choice. But will you at least try to slow down, for my sake? When I say you can go back to smoking, take it easy and don't chain smoke right off the bat. You'll put yourself right back where you started as far as your throat is concerned."

Newkirk nodded slowly as he arose and followed Wilson out of the Colonel's quarters. He clambered back up onto his bunk, Wilson's words still ringing in his mind. Give it some thought, okay? It certainly wasn't like he didn't have the opportunity to think; it was quite the opposite, actually. In his current situation, he had too much time to think.

He had lately found his thoughts regularly drifting back to his lost crewmates and he was thankful that he could do so without reliving the gut-clenching horror of their deaths. Even though their loss still hurt, he found that he could fondly think of them without pain marring his memories; they had been his best, good mates and he would never forget them.

At other times, he spent a large portion of his time staring at the dog-eared novel he had begun reading right before he lost his voice. Since he found it extremely difficult to concentrate (due no doubt to the lack of nicotine in his system), he finally gave it up as a bad job. Other than playing cards, there was nothing left to do but lounge atop his bunk and listen to the ebb and flow of the conversations taking place around him.

The day after his conversation with Wilson, he found himself doing exactly that. He must've appeared to be dozing to the rest of the men in the barracks, as most of them kept their conversations down to a low murmur. That group, however, did not include Andrew Carter, who was hounding LeBeau about the stove as the Frenchman was trying to prepare lunch. For some reason, Carter was completely wound up over something and he wasn't bothering to keep his voice down.

"C'mon, Louis! We need to help Peter to stop smoking!"

LeBeau immediately shot a wordless plea for help to Kinch and Baker, who were standing nearby. Kinch's reply was an amused grin while Baker shook his head ruefully. Realizing that he was on his own, the Frenchman turned back to Carter and shook his head emphatically, "No, André! It's none of our business. Pierre has to make that decision for himself."

Newkirk willed himself to keep still as he shook his head mentally. He seriously doubted that Wilson had enlisted Carter's help and wondered why on earth the young American would take the initiative to try to encourage him to quit his smoking habit. He decided to roll onto his left side and face the wall in an attempt to at least disguise his shameless eavesdropping upon Carter's conversation with LeBeau.

"I know that it's his decision but we really need to encourage him to think about it. You haven't heard him coughing at night the way I have. I can tell he tries to hide it but since I'm in the bunk beneath his, I can still hear it. And we both know that he's been getting sick more often than not lately. Losing his voice was just the icing on the cake! You have to agree that smoking can't be good for him after that."

LeBeau set the plates he had been carrying onto the table and turned to Carter with his hands on his hips. "Oui, you make a good point but you smoke, André! Kinch smokes! I even smoke occasionally! Everyone in the barracks smokes! How is he supposed to stop smoking with temptation all around him like that?"

"He doesn't have to do it alone! I'm going to quit too! How can I ask my best friend to do something I wouldn't do myself?"

That comment stopped LeBeau in his tracks for just a moment. He chuckled and said, "I should have expected you to say something like that." He set the table and returned to stand at Carter's side. "I still say that it is Pierre's decision. Now forget about it and help me serve lunch!"

Carter sighed and gave in, but only for the moment. He'd wait until Wilson gave the okay for Newkirk to begin speaking again and then look out, boy!

That day arrived sooner than later when the very next day, after yet another lengthy examination, Wilson declared that Newkirk could end his enforced silence. That is, as long as he took it easy and didn't overexert his voice.

It took less than a minute afterwards for Carter to launch into his pitch for Newkirk to stop smoking. He outlined all the reasons he had given LeBeau in their earlier conversation and ended with his solemn promise to quit smoking as well.

Newkirk had to admit that Carter was right about his coughing spells but felt that he exaggerated their severity, as they really weren't that serious in his opinion. He decided to let Carter have his say and remained silent for as long as he could. He tried to be patient; he really did try, for the sake of Jack's memory if for nothing else. But it came to the point where he just couldn't stand it any longer. He waited until Carter finally seemed to pause for breath and jumped in.

Thus the first sentence he spoke to break his long silence came out as a hoarse, "Andrew, 'ow is it you've never lost your voice?"

That stopped Carter in his tracks. "Wha-, huh?"

"Listen, mate," Newkirk began and then had to pause. After such a long period of disuse, his voice sounded scratchy and strange even to his own ears. He had to swallow hard several times to try to ease the sudden dryness constricting his throat. He took a few sips from the cup of cool water LeBeau had unobtrusively set before him, grateful for its soothing relief.

Carter waited quietly, it finally dawning upon him that perhaps he had said enough. Newkirk reached to put a hand onto his American friend's shoulder.

"I know what you're tryin' to do, Andrew and I appreciate it. Really, I do. I can't quit right now, all right? Maybe sometime later...I don't know. I just know I'll go crackers if I can't 'ave my ciggies."

"But, Peter..."

"But nothin' mate! You've said yer piece and I listened to you. This is my decision. Be it upon me own 'ead!" This conversation was becoming increasingly more annoying and he wanted to put an end to it.

Carter opened his mouth again and LeBeau nudged him hard in the ribs. He sighed and gave up the fight. He looked so pathetic that even Newkirk took pity upon him. He slapped Carter on the back and said, "Oh c'mon, Andrew, don't look at me like I'm daft! I know what I'm doin'! Anyways, Joe hasn't even given me permission to smoke yet!"

That day, however, was not long in coming. Three days later, a very reluctant Wilson declared that Newkirk was now free to again indulge in his smoking habit; that is, should he choose to do so. A jubilant Newkirk nearly kissed the medic in relief before he ran to pull a fresh package of ciggies from the corner of his bunk.

He leaned against the corner of the bunk as he cupped his hands around the match he used to light this first cigarette in what seemed to him as an eternity.

He took a long, deep drag, closing his eyes in anticipation of the intense satisfaction of the hit of nicotine after such a long period of deprivation. His eyes popped back open in shock when he burst out into a prolonged fit of coughing. It took quite a while before he could gather enough breath to exclaim, "Cor, 'aven't done that in dog's years!"

As his friends gazed at him in concern, he took another deliberately deep drag, looked daggers at each of them and growled, "Don't say anythin', you lot!" To his great relief, he barely managed to avoid another coughing jag. To his even greater relief, he felt the old familiar steadiness returning to his nerves with each puff.

No one said a thing as he finished off that first cigarette; the silence was deafening. The Colonel stood at the stove as he poured himself a cup of coffee and observed the proceedings with a bemused expression. Kinch gazed back at him with his eyebrow raised in a wordless chide. LeBeau shrugged and rolled his eyes heavenward. Both Carter and Wilson gave him equally damning looks from where they sat at each end of the common table.

Newkirk stubbed the ciggie out and flicked it into the battered KLIM can they used just for that purpose. "I promise that's all for today; that is, if it's all right with me nannies!" he announced. Just to prove his point, he stowed his cigarette pack back in the corner of his bunk and sat down to deal himself a hand of solitaire. Tellingly, he scooted the can with the cigarette butts in it to the far side of the table from where he sat.

He found he had trouble keeping his mind on the game as Carter's words stuck unwillingly in his mind. Maybe I'll quit and maybe I won't! he thought. But it sure ain't gonna be today! He figured that if his day of reckoning ever arrived, he'd cross that bridge when he came to it. All he wanted was for things to get back to normal as quickly as possible.

Deep down inside, he knew that his friends had his best interests at heart. But didn't they know that they were asking too much of him? How could he even begin to explain to them all the comfort he took in the old, familiar habit? He had begun smoking in earnest when he had been forced to live in the streets of the East End and he hadn't looked back since. Truth be told, he honestly didn't know how he could survive without his ciggies and he didn't want to find out.

He kept his promise to have only one smoke that day, although he refused to admit that it nearly killed him to do so. He didn't light up again until the next morning, immediately after roll call. Wilson gave him a dark look and Newkirk glowered back at him as he took his first drag of the day, daring him or anyone else to say anything about it. No one did, neither that day nor in those that followed.

And that, as they say, was apparently that. No one ever mentioned him quitting smoking again and that proved to be a silence the Englishman found he could truly live with.