The German Numbers Woman

by Alan Sillitoe

  Everything was unclear at first, mush swamping the earphones. He thought he heard her voice but couldn’t be sure, an oscillation halfway between morse and speech, increasing to Donald Duck chatter as he turned the wheel at such slow speed the gradations would hardly be measured. Russian talk was mixed into their interchange, and by the time he found them they must have been on the air for some time.

  Judy:(haughtily, about the Russian speaker, as if Carla could) ‘Tell him to go away.’

  Carla:‘He not hear me. He go soon. Your transmitter too weak.’

  Judy:‘Flippin’ hell, it’s on full. Do you hear me properly now?’

  Carla:‘I hear you.’

  Judy:‘Last night we went ashore, and had a meal of couscous.’

  Carla:‘Don’t you eat that fackin’ thing.’

  Judy:‘That’s not nice language. You shouldn’t swear.’

  Carla:‘You swear, some time.’

  Judy:‘I know. But I try not to. The couscous was delicious. Then we had sherbet ices.’

  Carla:‘In my flat, when my boyfriend not there, you make me fish cakes, remember?’

  Judy:‘Oh yes, I remember.’

  Carla:‘They good.’

  Judy:‘Wish you were with me now. I have lots of ideas.’

  Carla:‘Flippin’ ’ell! I want to sleep with you all night.’

  Judy:‘I want minimum one week, OK? I’ll hijack the yacht and come and see you – all on my own. I don’t think I could manage it, though. I’d probably end up on the rocks somewhere. You’d have to come and rescue me.’

  Carla:‘I come and meet you.’

  Judy:(laughing) ‘If I took the boat they’d kill me. It’s full of valuable stuff. Know what I mean?’

  Carla:‘Judy, I worry about you. What if you get in a lot of trouble?’

  Judy:‘No trouble. Just come and get me.’

  Carla:‘Turkish prison no good.’

  Judy:‘Don’t talk about such things. People on pleasure cruises don’t get into trouble.’

  Carla:‘It makes me glad to hear it.’

  Judy:‘Just give up everything and come to me. Leave your man.’

  Carla:‘I can’t.’

  Judy:‘If you loved me you would.’

  Carla:‘I do love you, more than anybody.’

  Judy:‘So you say. You’re all I have.’

  Carla:‘Judy, I love you. You got to believe me.’

  Judy:‘I do. But I feel like crying. We’ve had such a busy day here, I can’t tell you. I can only talk to you like this because the others have gone ashore. I expect they’ll be back soon, probably drunk.’

  Carla:(sounding worried, almost angry) ‘And what happen to you?’

  Judy:‘Nothing.’

  Carla:‘I think of you all the time.’

  Judy:‘I want you, as well. Why can’t we be together always instead of just a couple of days every few months? I sometimes think I want to die.’

  Carla:‘Me too. I love you. Don’t like to think of you on that boat, only one woman.’

  Judy:(laughs) ‘You needn’t worry. I don’t fancy any of them. Anyway, what about you and your crew?’

  Carla:‘Nobody want me. I’m forty, but you young.’

  Judy:‘Don’t worry. They’re all too busy here. Anyway, they go after the local variety, or look for tourists. They know I’ve got you, so they leave me alone.’

  Carla:‘I kill them.’

  Judy:(another laugh) ‘I like it when you’re jealous.’

  Carla:‘No good. Love not jealous. It’s just I worry about you.’

  An excitable Russian, as if he was in difficulty trying to steer a container ship through the Corinth Canal, drowned Carla’s voice for a few moments.

  Judy:‘There’s that man again. I can’t hear you.’

  Carla:‘Me change channel?’

  Judy:‘I always hate doing it in case we don’t make contact again. Up to the next OK?’

  Howard trailed after them, step by step until he overshot or passed, nothing to fix on because they had as yet made no contact. He saw them both, on the bridge of their yachts, or maybe down in a cabin, in the dim light anyway, hearing nothing but lost in the thrall of calling, drowned by annihilating atmospherics, and the ever expanding crush of iron filings, an aural snowstorm from earth into space. Morse got through, but voices had a hard time of it, till he heard Judy clearly enough: ‘Pontifex, Pontifex, this is Daedalus, can you hear me, over?’

  Again and again, voice close to frantic, often with a note of pleading, as if the Almighty might hear and, out of sentimental feeling, turn down the static: ‘Pontifex, Pontifex, where are you? Carla, can you hear me?’

  Howard picked up both when they were deaf to each other, a common failure between two people trying to make contact. Their transmitters were no doubt accurate in definition, pre-set and spot on for the required number and decimal point of kilocycles, but the voices working through them failed to meet. Vanya didn’t always hear aircraft wanting to know where they were, and ships working on different wavelengths failed to get in touch. In spite of technical perfection and acute professional ears contact was often difficult, Howard amused and gratified with evidence that scientific man was not always master in his own house, and that a greater Power could foil what was supposed to be certain – no bad thing for the sobering of whoever assumed they had chained the forces of nature.

  But now he felt woeful that Judy couldn’t hear Carla nor Carla Judy, call as they might. Judy’s tone was fretful, though her voice was loud: ‘Pontifex, this is Daedalus, can you hear me?’

  Carla was exasperated: ‘Daedalus, no can hear you. Where are you? Can you hear me?’

  They regretted not having struggled along on the previous wavelength, in spite of shrill interference from the Russian captain, who persisted in manoeuvring his vast ship through the Corinth Canal for a bet. They had searched for improvement, if not perfection, as if the power of such love would bring them physically together – and who could blame them? He wanted to hear Judy as if she were in the same room, and with whatever senses he could muster try to imagine what she looked like. Knowing such a meeting to be impossible – at which he might be able to ask her, or get someone else to describe her – he felt a pain at the heart, an ache which could only be alleviated by another tot of life giving whisky. He would crawl to bed if he had to, meanwhile resuming his brush-like sweeping of the aether, and wondering whether he would give an account of his tribulations in the next morse letter to Richard. Then they were reunited.

  Carla:‘Now I hear you. Top strength. Wonderful.’

  Judy:‘I hear you too. Where have you flippin’ been?’

  Carla:‘Nowhere, here.’

  Judy:‘I’ve been on this frequency all the time. You must have been somewhere.’

  Carla:(sound of annoyance) ‘I can’t tell. Where have you been?’

  Judy:‘I’m not telling you. It was very nice. But I needed a shower afterwards.’

  Carla:‘I kill you.’

  Judy:‘I was with my lover, Carla, the best woman on earth.’

  Carla:‘What we do?’

  Judy:‘I’ll tell you when I see you.’

  Carla:‘You drive me mad. I love you today.’

  Judy:‘Love you, too. Tomorrow we’ll be going to Salonika. Can you come?’

  Carla:‘No, we go to Sicily. Trapani. Much work.’

  Judy:‘I’ll call you at midnight.’

  Carla:‘Don’t know if possible. Not if captain on bridge. We try, though. Also lots of people on board. We take horse to Naples.’

  Judy:‘Horse! What do you do with a flippin’ horse?’

  Carla:‘Boss likes.’

  Judy:‘Funny boss. Do you know Salonika?’

  Carla:‘Empty place. But we did much work.’

  Judy:‘Don’t tell me. Just say you love me.’

  Carla:‘I love you. I remember when in bed.’

  Judy:‘Do you want me to come now? No, I’ll meet you on the quay in the morning.
In Italy. Italy! We’ll find a café and eat breakfast in the sun.’

  Carla:‘’Olding’ands!’

  Judy:‘How can we eat when we’re holding hands? We’ll just look at each other, and smile. And when we’re finished we’ll go upstairs, and stay in bed all day. It’ll be a café with rooms.’

  Carla:‘At night we eat again, and have bottle of wine.’

  Judy:‘We’re tormenting ourselves.’

  Carla:‘I can’t hear you.’

  Nor could Howard. She had faded, overwhelmed by atmospherics and interference. They called each other in the wilderness but heard nothing. Using their lovers’ intuition they would both, without telling the other to do so, change to the next wavelength down, which Howard had already reached and knew to be clear. If he were Carla he would know what to do, but neither were wireless operators, and nor were they blind. Then he heard Judy, who came in as loud as if she had made a thousand-mile leap closer to Howard: ‘Hello, Pontifex, can you hear me? This is Daedalus calling Pontifex.’

  Her lover was lost, or still at the previous place, and Howard was happy to know that though he couldn’t talk, he now had Judy to himself. He felt the pain of her forlorn pleas for her lover, anguish lodging in him for her. She went back to the old frequency and began calling there, telling Carla to change to lower down, as if trying to lead her by hand into clearer skies and greener fields. Howard heard Judy on one and then the other, sensing tears behind an ever despairing voice. When she was calling on one frequency Carla was calling on the other, and each would think to change at the same moment, Howard turning the wheel and hearing their voices going futilely into space. They no longer used the names of their boats, Carla calling for Judy and Judy for Carla: ‘Can you hear me? Carla, where are you? This is Daedalus calling Pontifex.’ Howard poured another whisky to celebrate.

  Judy:‘Hello, I can hear you. It’s so hard keeping in touch, and now it’s nearly one o’clock. I have to get some sleep. I dream about you, but I would dream more if I could stay in bed in the morning. I love the woman I can’t have, that’s all I know.’

  The separation had worn away her normal ebullience. Carla spoke into the silence.

  Carla:‘OK. We are in love, but what can I do? I think it all my fault.’

  Judy:‘I don’t know. What do I have to do? You don’t want me enough.’

  She was crying, tears to rend Howard’s heart, so what could it be doing to her lover’s? Perhaps not half as much.

  Judy:‘What do you want me to say?’

  Carla:‘You don’t want to talk anymore? I hear this noise. I don’t want you to be unhappy. It’s not my fault. What I have to do now? Nothing. Don’t be upset, is all I say.’

  Judy:‘What do you want me to do? Go out with somebody else? I can’t. There isn’t anybody else. You have the power, telling me to do this, do that. What’s it all for? We’ve got to do something.’

  Carla:‘You know my situation.’

  Judy:‘I know. You can’t do anything. You never can.’

  Carla:‘All right, don’t wait for me anymore. Find somebody else.’

  Judy:‘You don’t understand me. I don’t want somebody else.’

  Carla:‘Judy, how we get in this quarrel?’

  Judy:‘I don’t know. But what can we do?’

  Carla:‘Now I don’t know. When you finish on the yacht we find a job together.’

  Judy:‘I don’t know what I want. Oh, there’s that voice interfering again. Let’s change up, but don’t get lost this time.’

  They found each other immediately, and went straight on.

  Carla:‘I’d like to do something for you.’

  Judy:‘I know what that is. But you’re not the only one who’s upset. I’m more upset than you are. You can only say go and find someone else.’

  Carla:‘No, I understand now that you love me.’

  Judy:‘It upsets me when you think I’m not serious. I love you, and try to make you feel better. Sometimes I go out with the crew, and we go to a café. Maybe I have a dance with a man, but it doesn’t mean anything.’

  Carla:‘I come to your boat. Maybe they give me a job.’

  Judy:‘No, I want you to come to England. I’ll show you around Lincolnshire. Lots of nice places, Stamford, Boston. We can go to Cambridge and Ely. I’ll take you around, my old woman! I’d love that.’

  Carla:(shouting) ‘Flippin’ ’ell, I’m only forty.’

  Judy:‘Well, I’m twenty-eight, so you’re a lot older, but don’t worry, I’ll keep you young, though I know I don’t need to. You’re all right. I only see you two or three times a year, but I get so that I can’t wait anymore. I want to dance with you, even though you tread on my feet. I want to go to a restaurant with you. I want to walk along a beach. All those normal things. In England we’ll find a cottage by the sea for a month. I want to bring you your breakfast in bed.’

  Carla:‘Me too. I want all those things. I love you deeply.’

  Judy:(laughs) ‘Your voice has gone very gruff, so I believe you. It makes my spine tingle. Must go soon, though. I’ll try to call you tomorrow night.’

  Carla:‘Love you, darling.’

  Judy:‘I love you a lot. This minute, and all the minutes after. All today and all next week and next month, all this year and all the next year. To love you anymore than that would destroy myself. I only want to hold you, Carla.’

  Carla:‘I love you, Judy.’

  Judy:‘Love you truly. Not hearing you too well. There’s a horrible noise coming on. It’s that Russian again. Let’s change.’

  They switched, but only to say goodnight.

  Carla:‘Time to sleep. Boss coming on bridge.’

  Judy:‘Good night, Carla.’ (sound of kisses) ‘Buenos noches!’

  Carla:‘I light last cigarette. Love you, darling.’

  Howard couldn’t move, unable to say for certain where he was. In spite of the whisky his feet were sleeping, as if his body was solidifying and would be launched like a stone out of the world’s orbit. He tuned in to the call sign from China (XSG) and let the rhythm go through his mind, as if the repetition would bring his senses back.

  If he didn’t make a move he would fall asleep and be found in the morning, a piece of old rock. The cat would jump on the frozen lump and run howling to Laura. He exercised his faculties on picturing Judy: fairly tall for a woman, maybe five feet six or seven, a good full figure, grey eyes and rich brown hair of medium length. She wore slacks and a white shirt, the two top buttons undone, sat on the deck of the Daedalus in the sunlight smoking a cigarette, engrossed by a Turkish fort on the hill behind the small harbour town, thinking not so much about her lover as of life in general, and what would happen in the future.

  He sighed, though she was worth more than that, would hear her if they met, a warm accent with a level of north country still discernible, suggesting Derbyshire, remembered from a fortnight in Matlock ten years ago. Perhaps she had been born there, and her family had moved to Lincolnshire when she was a child. Everything was possible, and whatever you imagined could be true.

  The door opened, and he knew the main light went on. She would be wearing her heavy dressing gown, and furry carpet slippers. ‘Howard, come to bed.’

  ‘You’ll have to sleep with an iceberg. I forgot about the time.’

  ‘I’ll warm you up. What have you been listening to all these hours?’

  ‘One thing and another. I think I’m going to hear a message that will change my life, but I never do. Nor ever shall.’ He hadn’t lied before, surprised at how easy, no guilt to ruffle him. ‘It’s just one of those mad dreams.’

  She trembled with anguish at the idea that he would want to alter his settled existence. ‘Why should you want to?’

  He caught the tremor in her question, as she had known he must. ‘I don’t.’ A few words heedlessly brought out. ‘There’s no better life than this. But you’re right. I’d better switch off.’ Once he was in bed, thoughts of Judy would bring back warmth. ‘It’s just
that I get carried away with some of the irrelevant things I hear, and can’t leave off.’ Judy would be sleeping, wrapped in her pyjamas, or maybe even naked, enclosed in a narrow bunk and dreaming of the unworthy Carla.

  They walked through the hall. ‘I worry about you,’ she said. ‘You might catch cold.’

  ‘I had a few drams of whisky.’

  ‘I know. I can smell it.’

  He laughed as they climbed up the stairs. Nothing could destroy his awakening spirit. ‘It’s not often I have more than one or two.’

  ‘Yes, it was good of Richard to bring it. I’ll help you to get undressed.’

  ‘No, you go and warm the bed. I must call at the bathroom first. Shan’t be long.’

  FIFTEEN

  He filtered right from a line of traffic, in front of a man and his girlfriend entering left from the opposite road. The vile morning of frost and mist called for navigational lights, and though as yet on the outskirts of Glasgow, he was in a hurry to get south in the hope of more human weather. The breakfast of scrambled eggs, kippers and two large washbowls of coffee would take him beyond Leeds and well down the M1 without stopping.

  But the man he had placed himself in front of, driving a low grey TR7, presumably disliked Richard’s alacrity and, when the traffic thinned further along the road, shot by on a straight bit, and drove in front of him at thirty miles per hour. Funny devil, Richard thought, being forced to overtake before getting on his way. The TR7 came screaming by again, to resume his previous crawl in front, even slower this time.

  The swine’s trying to teach me a lesson, where none is neither welcome or warranted. Hasn’t had his morning crap yet. With a sigh, Richard passed him again, and speeded up a little so as to get out of his way, but the man, either a fool or a fanatic, managed the same manoeuvre. Richard caught a millisecond’s glimpse, no more, but he had the picture clear: a man in his thirties with short ginger hair, pencil moustache of the same colour, and a reddish well-fed face. He wearily got by him once more, and went somewhat faster to avoid his dangerous game.