Evelyn's Tale

-Seven-

September 7th, 1943

Evelyn grimaced and rubbed Popeye's back soothingly as he leaned over the side of the railings and hurled. They had set sail from New York harbour on the Samaria the previous day, and many of the men were seasick. As a result, she, Roe and Spina had been kept rather busy handing out seasickness pills and keeping a watchful eye out for those who were feeling the ill effects of being on board a moving vessel at sea.

"Sorry about your shirt, Ev," Popeye apologised, wiping his mouth shakily. Evelyn had brought him up to the deck of the ship in the hopes that the fresh air might have helped him a little, but the second they got up here, he had vomited all over her and hadn't stopped since.

"Don't worry about it, Pop," she smiled, handing him a canteen of water. "You can make it up to me when we get wherever we're going."

"Sure thing," he murmured, closing his eyes and resting his forehead on the cool metal bars of the railings.

Quiet footfalls approached and Evelyn glanced over her shoulder to see Eugene headed in their direction with a plate in his hands.

"You missed lunch," he said. "Thought you might be hungry."

"Don't talk about food, Doc," Popeye complained leaning over the railing to vomit again. Evelyn smirked at Eugene then picked up the sandwich from the plate he was holding and took a huge bite, while still rubbing Popeye's back. Eugene just shook his head at her. Over the last few months, there was one thing that they had all come to learn about Evelyn Guarnere. Nothing got in her way or put her off when it came to eating food.

"How's everyone else doing?" she asked, gulping down her mouthful.

"Much better now that the pills have finally seemed to kick in," Eugene answered. "Hopefully it'll stay that way."

Evelyn nodded and took another bite of her sandwich. It was stale and tasted like chewing on cardboard, but she wasn't going to complain. Food was food, after all. And for a girl who was always hungry, she couldn't exactly afford to be picky. She glanced out at the dark blue water as she chewed, completely in awe of just how vast it was. Beside her Popeye stood up and took a drink from his canteen. He was still white as a sheet and he looked exhausted.

"How about we get you back downstairs?" she suggested, taking him by the arm. "You might feel a little better if you can get some sleep. And I know I could use some."

"You always want to sleep," Eugene commented as they began to head back below decks. "When you're not eating that is. Or talking."

"Do you hear this, Popeye?" Evelyn opened her mouth in feigned outrage. "Do you hear the kind of insults I have to put up with from this guy?"

"And there was me thinking that Doc was mild mannered and meek," Popeye joked quietly. "Guess I was wrong."

... ... ...

They had been on board the ship for four days and Evelyn was in a foul mood. Being crammed into a cabin with five thousand or so men who made enough noise to wake the dead all day and night was becoming more than a little bit annoying. Her irritation wasn't helped by the fact that her monthly visitor had decided to make an appearance the night before.

"What about her? She's pretty, right?"

With a sigh, Evelyn looked up from the book she had been trying to read for the last half an hour. Try being the operative word. It wasn't exactly easy to concentrate when her uterus felt like it was being stabbed with a hot poker, nor when Malarkey kept nudging her every two minutes to ask her opinion of the pin up girls in his magazine.