by James Barlow
People were beginning to avoid Pybus despite whatever gratitude they felt because he had protested on their behalf. Right now he was startling, for he was in khaki shorts and open-neck shirt and had sandals on his feet.
He had become a bore on the subject of the Areopagus’ timetable, and asked Tornetta: ‘Are you a betting man?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ll give you a hundred dollars to five that we’re late at very damn port along the route.’
‘You’d win so I can’t take your bet.’
‘Bloody Greeks,’ Pybus muttered.
As they approached the captain and staff captain, the chief steward noticed Pybus in his shorts. He pulled him to one side of the queue. ‘I wonder if you’d mind, sir, waiting awhile?’
Pybus was argumentative. The tarted-up passengers were embarrassed and affected not to notice his presence at all. He pleaded with them, like one who says, I did something for you; now you speak up on my behalf. But they didn’t and as Tornetta moved on he heard Pybus’ angry shout: ‘I hate bloody Greeks. I hate them.’
Tornetta shook hands with Captain Vafiadis. The ship’s photographer, a youth of nineteen, took a flash photograph. It was to be pinned on a noticeboard the next afternoon with scores of others, to Tornetta’s alarm. And then Tornetta was half hustled into the Aegean Lounge and an attractive girl shook his hand.
She said in an English voice, but not the sort of snobbish English Tornetta had at times encountered, ‘I’m Barbara. I’m in the cabaret here. Welcome. Would you like a drink?’
He stared at her, and she recognized the lust in his eyes, but excused it with a shrug of indifference. He saw that at once, as quickly as he noticed her attractive vulgarity and dancer’s physique – although she was not so tall as many Australian girls aboard.
He said, ‘How are you doing?’ in the Australian manner, and she grimaced slightly: ‘My feet!’ And then two old people joined them simply because they were standing in the way.
The two people were Mr. and Mrs. Bewglass. Tornetta enjoyed the irony of being polite to them, subservient to their suburban snobbery. For they had been on many cruises and were dull with authenticity: ‘Where was that, George? Pago Pago?’ – ‘No, it was Suva’ – ‘It couldn’t have been because –’ and, slightly more interesting: ‘We had six deaths on the Omnifarious. One man was a too tall to put in the freezer, so they put him in a bath and showered him with ice cubes every few hours.’
The girl, Barbara, grabbed a steward with a tray and asked with outright unrefined desire, ‘What about us? I want a gin and lime.’
‘Don’t have lime, dearie,’ sad Mrs. Bewglass. ‘It’ll depress you.’
Nothing, evidently, had the capacity of depressing her, for she and her husband took a drink off every tray carried past them. They gulped down whiskies, sherries, gins and cocktails. ‘Get it down’ she urged her husband. ‘It’s on the house.’
Tornetta asked the girl with unconcealed interest, ‘Are you from England?’
‘Not really. Wales. Aberystwyth. You’re Italian? I’ve been to Naples and Genoa. They’re beautiful . . . I’ve been everywhere dancing my feet off! Kuwait, Aden, Germany, Iraq and Cairo.’
‘How long have you been with the Greco-Australian?’
‘Our first trip,’ the girl from Aberystwyth said sourly. ‘And we’re lumbered with a six-months’ contract.’
‘Don’t you like it?’
‘You’re joking. Oh, it’s all right now we’ve dumped all those migrants, but when we boarded – Southampton – it was too crowded. We were given berths right down on B Deck and the air-conditioning was lousy. It got so hot we used to sleep raw and leave the doors open and to hell with it –’
Mrs. Bewglass began to offer her views on the air-conditioning in Cabin A93.
The girl said, and said it to Tornetta, who was warmed by possibilities, ‘Listen, I’m supposed to circulate. The staff captain’s looking. I’ll see you.’ And her hot frank stare into Tornetta’s face promised that, crowded though the ship was with men who watched her dancing legs and considered that this gave her the status of call girl, part of the ticket for which they’d paid, despite many minor attentions, he, Tornetta, would be remembered and considered.
‘What a vulgar girl,’ claimed Mrs. Bewglass and Tornetta felt it would be a pleasure to rob such a malicious suburban snob . . .
Everybody was watchful of this first cocktail party of the trip, even anxious, as they rehearsed phrases for the captain, should he approach their group. The entertainers stood around and attempted with difficulty to liven the conversations. A few officers appeared. Demetropoulos stood talking to two young women, quite happy, unaffected by the arguments of some days earlier, but still staring at something a few feet above the passengers, and with the same detached smile.
Squibb, inevitably, materialized and resumed his role of joker.
He said loudly, ‘When the captain shook hands with me, or I did with him, he started on a lot of Greek. He was still at it when I was a hundred feet away. I don’t know if he was saying a quick Hail Mary or a bit of Greek Orthodox . . . Are you coming to the cabaret tonight?’
Tornetta surprised with an outright ‘Yes.’ He wanted to stare at the girl from Aberystwyth, to sweat a little in anticipation.
Captain Vafiadis now appeared and moved from group to group, smiling woodenly and offering stilted tidbits of dialogue.
He then made a speech of welcome to the passengers, equally full of trite phrases, but delivered with apparent sincerity, and a New Zealand passenger suddenly stood forward and began to sing ‘For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow,’ which the other passengers joined in vigorously. It was almost possible to read the perplexity in the captain’s mind. One minute these people are holding mass protest meetings and the next expressing their pleasure at being here. How can one take such persons seriously?
A special dinner followed the Carnival Party, with shrimp, turkey and champagne. The stewards were dressed up in red livery and the sweat boiled out of their foreheads and hair and at times dripped onto the plates.
Squibb said it was necessary to stay in the Aegean Lounge forty minutes before the cabaret began if they were to sit in the front row. He arrived fully armed with camera and flash, much to Tornetta’s embarrassment. Not, Tornetta saw, that this was unusual. Several people were similarly equipped.
The cabaret was much better than Tornetta had expected; in fact, although too noisy, it was good. It was run by a very tough middle-aged queer called Edgar. He was something of a masochist about his own middle age, offering stories involving his mother and loaded with questions like ‘Did you see Hell’s Angels? Remember that girl, what was her name? You know . . . ’ and this, as inexplicably as the goodwill offered to the captain in song, raised howls of coarse laughter. Equally, Edgar was grossly suggestive about his own sexual position.
But if anyone in the audience was cocky Edgar was very tough indeed. He was a cheeky Cockney at heart, with quick razor-sharp dialogue. People who tiptoed in late were asked, ‘Had a good dinner, dears?’ or ‘Is the baby asleep now?’ or ‘Shall we begin again for you?’ or even ‘Give ‘em a big hand for bothering to come at all.’ And the persons concerned withered before him and said nothing.
His humour was too fast for some of the old passengers and too English for an Australian and New Zealand audience. But he was adaptable and made up jokes about the day. ‘Have you brushed all those black spots off your dresses? Isn’t it awful? They tell me the chief engineer’s got measles . . . ’ He obtained the most response when he was frankly suggestive: ‘If you want anything in the night, ring for the steward. He’ll give it to you.’
Tornetta would not have been interested in any of this if the girl from Aberystwyth hadn’t been there. She was one of six dancers, who were all very professional as well as shapely.
They came on in the first number, very leggy, heads held high, and danced with tremendous energy and precision on a night when it was very hot and many in the audience were sorry for themselves, with tired feet, discomfort from sweating and general weariness. The girls all stared straight out at the audience with smiles on their faces; that of Barbara held a little vanity.
They were disconcerted very slightly when Squibb crouched practically below their stomachs and blinded them with flash.
Edgar, standing behind them, shouted caustically, ‘Want to take dirty pictures, do you? Wait until we get to Singapore, sonny.’
This did not daunt Squibb, who was immune to snubs, and he stumbled into explanation: ‘If the ship’s photographer can use flash –’ but Edgar had the advantage of the microphone and a hundred times the volume Squibb could achieve. ‘Where do you come from, sonny? Sydney? My mum sent a Meccano set there so they could build a bridge!’ he told the audience, and there were boos and cheers and cries of ‘Melbourne’s better.’
The show finished with all the performers dancing in a crescendo of noise, and then the lights were dimmed and they ran among the audience shaking hands before going off stage. Barbara squeezed Tornetta’s hand, whispered, ‘Hi!’ and even touched Squibb’s sweating fingers and gave him a smile.
On the way out Tornetta saw that a few people were already waiting to obtain seats for the second cabaret, and they included the Bewglass couple.
Pybus was lying in a chair, snoring, very drunk, and Tornetta decided he would be an easy victim some time . . .
His heart was thumping, but he knew now was the time to rob Cabin A93. He went into the darkness of the Parade Deck to be ride of Squibb and came down at the forward end of the Areopagus. It was very silent and empty, the noise of music and conversation in the distance confirming that most people were at the cabaret, the cinema or in the bars.
He came into the corridor on the port side of A Deck and a long way off saw Squibb, camera in hand, turn into their own cabin. There was a steward about the same distance away, who was turning as Tornetta branched off into the opening with doors to four cabins. There was silence from all these cabins.
Tornetta knocked on the door of A93 very lightly, then inserted the key carefully so that it made no scratching noise. He went inside quickly and closed the door silently.
The cabin was in darkness. There was a displeasing smell compounded of scent and old breath, oil, soap and undershirts. Tornetta rubbed his hand along the steel by the door until he found the light switch.
He looked on the dresser pocketed some silver and a woman’s gold watch. He pulled out the bottom of the three drawers of the dresser. Clothes. The middle contained maps, tickets, pullovers and a few books. In the top drawer were more clothes. He was sweating in panic now, breathing quietly but heavily through his mouth.
There were three suitcases under the bunks. Tornetta was pulling the first one out when someone knocked on the door. It petrified him. Again the knock and a voice said, ‘Change water.’
Tornetta rushed into the bathroom and pulled the chain’ the noise terrified him. But he knew what the steward wanted: the metal jug clamped just above the washbasin.
The steward was now in the cabin. Tornetta opened the bathroom door a little and put out one arm with the jug in that hand. The steward took it. A whole two minutes passed and then again the alarming knock. The steward called out, ‘It is here, sir.’ Tornetta did not answer, and after a few seconds’ hesitation the steward left.
Tornetta was limp with fright. His inclination was to fleet, but he might well rush straight into the steward. In fact he heard him now knocking at the three other nearby cabins, obtaining no answers, and his key scraping. Doors slammed for whole minutes while the steward changed the water jug for the night.
In panic Tornetta re-examined the first suitcase. It was not locked, but held no money.
A second suitcase was not locked, but also had nothing inside except clothes. The third was heavier and was locked. Tornetta worked at it with a knife. He did not bother with the locks but dug at the back of the case where the hinges were held by a mere three studs on each side.
Time passed with terrifying speed, but now he had the thing open.
Inside were a camera, more clothes, two passports, a traveller’s chequebook and a wad of Australian currency. Tornetta pocketed this and pushed the case back under the bunk.
He waited, his chest heaving and his heart beating so excitedly that it worried him: just how fast could the thing go without damage?
It was completely silent now, but he had to struggle to find the courage to open the door. Again he closed it silently.
There was no way of knowing if anyone was in the main corridor. He had no option but to step into it.
He did this half hunched in terror, and turned the way he had come, the shorter distance to elsewhere, other decks, crowds. Before he finally left the corridor he couldn’t resist turning to see if anyone had been behind him. But there was no one. Tornetta hurried up steps into the darkness of the Parade Deck. There were a few lovers pressed against each other in the darkest corners, and eyes gleamed as they viewed him with resentment.
Tornetta went into a lavatory and counted the money. It amounted to two hundred and seventy dollars. He considered what to do. It would be best to change all the money he could acquire into American dollars. He would be able to do this legitimately in a crowd as the Areopagus neared each port of call. For instance, it was, he knew already, possible to change Australian currency into either Singaporean or American before going ashore at Singapore. At Hong Kong anything was possible with currency, and Guam was American anyway.
The theft would of course be discovered within days, perhaps within hours. But there were no police officers on board, nor any facilities for taking fingerprints. And he was not the only one aboard with light fingers. Squibb had told him about the theft of a transistor radio.
In the morning Tornetta was tired and late getting up. He missed breakfast and went up on the Parade Deck to laze in the sun at about ten thirty. The Areopagus was by no means crowded, but he was irritated to see that, on the sunny side, the deck chairs were nearly all occupied. Only a chair by Pybus was vacant, and Tornetta was disinclined to occupy it. Mr. Pybus was snoring. If he woke he would expect Tornetta to be talkative and sympathetic. Tornetta wasn’t and did not wish to be involved with anyone who was conspicuous, apart from the girl in the chorus.
He went to the shaded side of the Parade Deck. It was still pleasantly warm, for most passengers it was in fact soporific. But Tornetta was hard, different from the middle-aged people who had come to relax. He was alert, waiting, and couldn’t go into a sleepy trance as they did. He was in fact more conspicuous than he knew, for he was an Italian among Australians and New Zealanders; he was alone where most of them were accompanied; he wore a lounge suit when other men wore slacks and a cardigan, and slacks when they were in shorts or swimming trunks; he did not seem relaxed. Thus he did not merge into the crowd as easily as he supposed.
He decided to go into the Midships Bar and relax there with a cool drink. This meant passing through the Aegean Lounge, going through the library and through an area full of fruit machines.
Already a few obsessives spent hours a day feeding five-cent pieces into these one-armed bandits, but at the moment there was only a small boy at one end of the row of eight machines and a man in a lightweight gray suit at the other. Both had their backs to Tornetta.
The little boy ran out of five-cent pieces and admitted frankly, ‘I wish I had another one.’
The man in the gray suit said in a gentle admonition, ‘You will always lose in the end. But here, try this machine.’
He gave the boy a coin, and the lad, scarcely tall enough to reach the handle, nevertheless tugged it.
A few coins rattled and the boy
cried, ‘I’ve won! I’ve won’ Here you are, mister, it’s yours.’
‘No, you keep it!’
‘Gee! Thanks.’
The man turned, smiling, aware of a witness, and something altered in his eyes. The smile died, or was replaced, as he saw Tornetta.
He said in Italian, ‘That was nice, eh? A good mannered boy? I came aboard at Fremantle,’ he observed in a friendly manner which was nevertheless devastating. ‘But I have been ill. Very sick. Now the weather and the sea are good and I walk about.’
Tornetta’s hands sweated. He tried not to show the massive fear that at once occupied him, filled his bowels and fluttered his heart and caused confusion in his brain.
The man did not have the appearance of recent illness or exhaustion. He was heavy and very much at ease.
They had found Tornetta and this was their emissary who would kill him.
Chapter Twelve
The Areopagus’ propellers and propulsion shafts and the great weight of the massive double-reduction gears lost momentum and finally stopped. The forward anchor chain clattered and suddenly there was absolute silence.
Tomazos fixed the position of the ship by use of the station pointer, a kind of protractor whereby, if two horizontal angles between three fixed marks were known, the ship’s exact position could be ascertained.
It was just after dawn and the Areopagus was anchored in an estuary of the Indonesian island of Bali. The water glittered like polished metal and the sky was pale blue – it seemed lazy and warm, with tissues of milky cloud. Green volcanic cones sloped down to the misty water and already people were at work in terraced green and yellow rice fields. Fragile fishing boats lay on the shore by the villages which were within thick green bush. Half a dozen of these small craft were lying in the water at intervals of half a mile.