The German Numbers Woman

by Alan Sillitoe

  THIRTY-ONE

  Waistcoat shouted for him to come in. Sunshine made a rising and falling line across the state room, as Waistcoat farted what sounded like the first bar and a half of ‘The Sorcerer’s Apprentice’. Richard couldn’t think such peace would last. ‘Have a drink,’ he was told.

  A good start, though a bad one was usually a better omen. When Waistcoat was pushed into liberality it was time to watch out. ‘A short one. I like to keep my wits while running the ship.’

  ‘Don’t we all.’ He lounged on the sofa. ‘Best to start that way from the beginning.’

  ‘I can’t fault that. Cheers!’

  ‘Too fucking right you can’t. But you boobed over bringing that blind man on board. I’ve known for a few days now that he’s sold us up the river. Or he’s tried to.’

  Richard thought he deserved to sit for the work he had put in, but wouldn’t in such company, deciding to save it for when he could get his head down at home, his usual need after a trip. Waistcoat was talking from more than intuition, however. ‘What makes you think that?’

  ‘No think about it. You remember that pigeon he was so sweet on? The ship’s pet. What a soft heart he’s got, everybody said. Superstitious lot, sailors. Not superstitious enough, if you ask me. I was standing on the top deck for a bit of air, and the fucking bird flopped at my feet. Lost its way, I suppose, and came back, after blind man sent it off. It was half dead, so I wrung its neck. Then I noticed the capsule on its leg. Opened it, didn’t I? Read the message. Some scribble I couldn’t make out, or thought I couldn’t. A blind man can’t do copperplate, can he? I was about to throw it overboard after the pigeon, but I put it in my pocket. Yesterday I took it out and looked at it through a magnifying glass. There’s one over on that table. Give it a butcher’s, and tell me what you think. It’s no get-well message, I can tell you.’

  Hard to shake anything from the maze of hieroglyphic scratches. For a while he thought the only sense must have come out of Waistcoat’s disordered brain. The small oblong of cigarette paper had been scored on by a sharpened dark leaded pencil, and the clear result, enlarging as his arm went up and down and held the glass steady on its highest magnification, jumped into focus with a position in latitude and longitude.

  ‘It’s taking you long enough.’

  ‘I’m getting there.’ And so he was, until everything was framed in the glass circle, and he could pick out the time and date of the position, isolate the name of the boat, and fix the ETA of their reaching the Lizard. If Howard hadn’t looked at Cleaver’s navigation summary for the trip, which was impossible, he had done some pretty nifty mental arithmetic. Maybe he had heard Cleaver talking to Waistcoat. ‘Could be he has a woman pigeon fancier, and wants to let her know when he’d be getting back.’

  ‘Don’t fuck with me. If he’s tried to do this he’s done something else as a back-up. Or before we left. And if it hadn’t been for that pigeon going round in circles we’d never have known.’

  ‘At least whoever it was meant for didn’t get it, if it was meant for anybody. I don’t suppose he thought for a second it would land anywhere.’

  ‘The way you’re talking I could almost think you were in on it with him. I don’t, though. I just think you’ve been duped. We all have. He wouldn’t have tried sending a message if the ground hadn’t been prepared in some way. The only thing is they don’t know our ETA now, which could be anytime, though they might keep up a twenty-four-hour watch for a week. And those planes we saw on the way out must have got a lovely clear shot of the boat.’

  ‘You’re jumping to conclusions.’

  ‘That’s what I’m here for. It’s my job. I could cry my eyes out. Do we have to get just outside the twelve-mile limit and scuttle the most valuable boat that ever was? Or wait for the choppers and a couple of customs launches to box us in? If anything like that happens, old blind fuckpig goes overboard with a bullet in each dead eye.’

  ‘You’re painting a worst-case scenario.’ He might not be, but it didn’t hurt to tell him so. Howard had scorched the sensitive skin off his fingers, no mistake, and deserved whatever Waistcoat thought fit to put him through. He had played for something and lost, maybe scuppered all of them, no use thinking otherwise, unless Cleaver could stage a tricky feat of navigation, and get them clear of bother. He had the coolest brain of the lot, but when Richard mentioned such a possibility, he got no response.

  ‘In this game you never give up. I’d like to blind the bastard for what he might have done, but I can’t. He’s got us there. We’ll find out why he wrote that message, though. Go and get him.’

  Richard sat, come what may. ‘I will by and by. But we ought to talk first.’ Talk eye-wash, because Waistcoat, due to the uncertain situation (it always was, at this stage) and the whisky he had put back, was in a classical fit of paranoia, the sort Richard had often witnessed. Not only that: it was powerful enough for him to catch the sickness as well, so he had to work it out of himself as much as Waistcoat: ‘You know that whenever I say there’s going to be some sense in my head, it turns out that way.’ Talk and more talk had to shift a cloud that could gas everybody on the boat. Happily he also knew that Waistcoat, not a man to whom words came readily – except curses – was always amenable to the gift of the gab, and though Richard had never been aware of possessing such a trait, knew he must find it now.

  ‘There’d better be some sense in it.’

  ‘I’ll have another shot. It’s good whisky.’

  ‘I’m drinking it, aren’t I?’ He splashed some in. ‘Now earn it.’

  ‘It seems fishy to me as well, you finding this message, and the impulse is, as you say, to push him overboard. That’s my reaction, but I think it’s the wrong one. It would be totally counter-productive. First of all, my opinion is that he was playing a Boy’s Own game with that pigeon – a stupid one but a game nevertheless. Even in his right mind he couldn’t have thought such a scrag end of a bird would get anywhere. It’s his first trip to sea, so he had a go at a message to kill the monotony, instead of knitting socks or making a ship in a bottle. As batty as they come, you might say, but he’s one of us, and looking forward to a successful end to the trip, even hoping for a bonus so that he can update his wireless equipment at home. You might think about it. But I know you won’t forget him at the handout. You’re good at that.’

  He liked to hear it, but said: ‘Cut the shit, and get on with it,’ wanting a bit of entertainment at this uncertain stage, something to divert him, and pass the time.

  ‘The help he’s given us on the radio since we set off must be taken into account. None of it’s been false. And if he’d been intending to give us away he could have done it when we were taking the stuff on board, but he didn’t. He’s as keen as the rest of us. You say push him into the drink, but if we do, a bullet in him or no, we’re going to be in the drek – and no mistake. His wife at home would leave no stone unturned to find out what happened.’

  Waistcoat broke in: ‘She’d start with you, wouldn’t she? and you’d never talk, would you?’

  ‘No, you know me.’

  ‘Nobody knows anybody.’

  ‘That’s another matter. Let me go on.’

  ‘Hang your fucking self, then.’

  ‘I’ve no intention of doing that.’ He surely hadn’t, because he knew something Waistcoat couldn’t, who neither saw nor suspected the compact and loaded Luger deep in the pocket of Richard’s thick coat. ‘I stay alive and kicking to the end.’

  ‘And so say all of us, but it wouldn’t be such a bad way out if things went wrong.’

  ‘They haven’t, and won’t. If he disappeared that would be the start of our troubles. It’s unnecessary, to top him. He’s with us. He might have been playing a foolish game but he’s a hundred per cent loyal. Loyalty’s all he’s ever known in life. He’s that sort of person. You know as well as I do, better, I suppose, that you’ve got to be cunning in this game. I’ve nothing against violence. When it’s the only solution I�
�m all for it, but my idea is to leave him be, to watch him, keep him in view. I’ll find out what he knows, what his game is, or was – if there was or is any game.

  ‘In my view,’ he went on, ‘we could just as easily mistrust any other member of the crew, though I don’t at the moment see why. Anybody else could have written on that bit of paper, and done it so that it would look as if a blind man had scribbled it. Or some of them are so subliterate it’s the best they could manage. Or they could have done it as a joke, or out of boredom, or to put a bit of excitement into the trip, but for themselves alone. I’m not convinced Howard did it. I only know for sure I didn’t, and you didn’t. It could have been anybody. But if you think there might be something in what I say about the others for God’s sake don’t question them, or mayhem will break loose, and we can’t afford that. We’re a crew, and a good one, not a group of bloody ballet dancers. Just let’s carry on as if we’re united, and hope that there isn’t an idiot in our midst.’

  ‘You make my blood run cold on all counts.’

  ‘So would mine if I thought the matter was serious. Let me pump Howard, and find out whether he did tamper with that bird. I can’t think he did, and if he didn’t I might find a way of getting a word from the others, though I don’t guarantee it. I wouldn’t like to upset ’em.’

  They stood at the same time, and Waistcoat looked unblinking into his eyes. ‘You’ve earned your whisky. But he’d better find something on the radio with his magic ears that will get us home and save the ship. Any dust in our eyes, and he’s dead flesh, whatever the consequences. And so is anybody else. I’m telling you, the first sign of us getting into trouble, and he’ll go, whether he’s dropped a bollock or not. I’m leaving it to you, but I shan’t rest easy till I’m back in London.’

  Richard was sweating when he got outside, shoulderblades as wet as the Straits of Gibraltar. Settled as Waistcoat might seem after such a talking to, he was in a dangerous and friable state, though not likely to do anything to put the priceless contents of the boat at risk. He wasn’t born yesterday, but needed watching nonetheless.

  Howard at the stern was indulging in deep talk with Judy. It made a pretty picture, though Richard couldn’t imagine what she saw in him. He couldn’t see much good in her, though the scene gave hope, because Howard must realise that if he sold them up the creek she would be in trouble as an accessory, be seen as guilty as the rest – a very unsmart plot on his part. ‘Sorry to have to break up your lovers’ chat, but I’d like a word with Howard.’

  She turned. ‘Can’t I be in on it?’ – eyes saying she had a right to be, didn’t care if she did die, as long as she went to hell and back in her own way, though preferably with Howard.

  Richard had always been mystified at how most women latched onto totally unsuitable men, as he had known from Amanda staying so long, and at Laura giving herself to him with such blind confidence. Laura had been perfect for him as he had thought she was for Howard, and he could understand how that was, but he had imagined Judy to be very much her own girl on hearing her put Waistcoat in his place. ‘We’ve a bit of private business to discuss.’

  ‘We can finish our talk later,’ Howard said to her.

  ‘Oh, right! I’ll see how Ted’s getting on.’

  Their conversation had seemed the sort that could never finish, and Richard felt a shade of envy. ‘You could bring us a mug of tea.’ He watched her balance against the ups and downs of the deck. ‘What were you talking about?’

  ‘This and that,’ Howard said.

  ‘Have you told her about the pigeon you looked after?’

  ‘Yesterday I did.’

  ‘And did you mention the message you put into the capsule?’

  ‘What capsule?’

  ‘Giving our position, and the wildly inaccurate ETA back in Blighty.’

  ‘I wouldn’t know how to do such a thing. Nor would I if I could. I’m not that stupid.’

  He told him something of what Waistcoat had said.

  ‘It could have been a different pigeon he found.’

  That was as maybe.

  Theirs wasn’t the only boat on the ocean, Howard added.

  ‘It didn’t seem like that to me. Only a blind man could have made such a dog’s dinner of the writing.’

  ‘Or someone who wanted to incriminate me.’

  ‘The chief’s convinced it was you.’

  Howard was no longer surprised at his ability to lie so calmly and, he hoped, believably, feeling nothing unpleasant about the subterfuge anymore, in view of the situation, all weapons valid in such a fight. Necessity brought the reward of self discovery, however seemingly unethical the means. ‘He would, wouldn’t he? I’m the most vulnerable man on the boat, that’s for sure. It wasn’t me, that’s all I know. I have no motive.’

  ‘Maybe not. But the chief isn’t the man to mess with. I’m being straight with you.’

  ‘Maybe he isn’t, but what can I do?’

  ‘The position on the message had the date and time as well, so it’s bound to be somebody who knew a bit about navigation.’

  ‘Everybody on the boat does.’

  ‘Well, I got you on board, and I hope you haven’t landed me in the shit. You know that if anything happens to us, Judy will be for the high jump as well, not only you and the rest of us? I can’t make your game out. Waistcoat was for tipping you in the drink, but I talked him out of it. If you did it, and I don’t see who else, you’d better glue yourself to the radio and see if you can get us out of the hole we might be in – whatever happened.’

  Judy steadied the large mugs of tea, Richard’s slopping over the brim. ‘Compliments of Mr Killisick. Can I have lover boy back now?’

  ‘As long as you don’t keep him too long from the radio. He has work to do. And so have I.’

  ‘What was all that for?’ she asked.

  ‘He was warning me about the chief.’

  ‘Yeh, he’s a nasty piece of work.’

  He told her about Jehu.

  ‘He’s off his crust.’ She looked close. ‘Did you do it, though?’

  He felt the warm breath. Rain had splashed her cheeks, in spite of the hood, beads on her smooth skin. The roughness of the skin on his hand was the same as that on his face, he assumed, an old man and a young woman. ‘Nothing came of it.’

  ‘Why do it? I don’t understand.’

  ‘I’m not sure. A bit of excitement. A blind man’s gamble.’

  ‘You denied it just now?’

  ‘Not much use. But I did.’

  She didn’t know what to think. The mind spun. She couldn’t adjust to what went on behind the sight he didn’t have. There was an all-or-nothing aspect about him, wild and unpredictable, amoral you might say – which she found appealing. ‘Luckily, the bloody bird snuffed it. Unluckily though, Waistcoat got in on the act. But as long as nothing happens and we get safely ashore everything will be all right.’

  He held her hand. ‘What if we did get pulled in?’

  ‘Oh, I’ll be OK. I hitched a lift. I just hope they’ll believe me. I don’t have a clue what they’ve got on board, do I? And you don’t know what they’ve been up to because you’re blind.’

  ‘We’ll try and swing it that way.’

  ‘I expect we’ll land the stuff with no problem. I’ve been on many boats that have been as lucky. The pigeon didn’t make it with the message, after all. I mean, how could it? You are funny! But if the worst happens and I get arrested, maybe the court will award me ten thousand hours community service, looking after a blind man!’

  French and English morse stations were bouncing messages up and down the Channel, the best music in the world. Homeward bound, he would like to know whereabouts the stuff on board was to be off loaded, though from now on it had to be none of his business. Any enquiry would lead to ructions that might be fatal. Not that he was afraid. Such threats made life worthwhile, you might say, though he didn’t want unnecessary danger, having no intention of vacating the world willingly
now that he had found Judy. He could, on the other hand, see the reverse side of the matter, that being with Judy he couldn’t care less what happened, having dispensed with the German Numbers Woman, said a last goodbye to Vanya in Moscow, and found out that you could be more than happy on the Flying Dutchman.

  THIRTY-TWO

  The feeling on the boat was of being almost home and, though far from true, at least they had done most of the journey back from the Azores. The Ouessant light flickered forty miles to starboard, Cleaver keeping well clear of the reporting point before heading into the Channel.

  ‘A sight for sore eyes.’ Killisick lounged at the galley door. ‘I’ve been longing for this like a woman waiting to get a kid out of her. From now on it’s full speed for the off-loading.’

  ‘But where will that be?’ Judy said.

  ‘You’ll have to ask the chief, only don’t. He’s no man for questions. He gets the screaming ab-dabs. Wait and see is the only rule. No use riling him when things are going good, except you don’t know whether things are going good till you’re sitting in a bed and breakfast making sure the Queen’s head on your money is the right side up.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter to me,’ she said. ‘I’m only here for the ride.’

  ‘It might be bumpier the next few days.’

  ‘All that time?’

  ‘If we drop it off on the east coast it will be.’

  ‘As long as I can get a train to London.’

  ‘Somebody might give you a lift. Or we’ll dump the stuff and then backtrack, all lily-white to Dover. Only a couple of hours then to London.’

  ‘It seems tailor made for me.’ They went inside. ‘I’ll take Howard his supper.’

  ‘And yours as well, while you’re about it.’ He ladled potatoes, stew, baked beans and bread onto two plates.

  She nudged Howard, and kissed the top of his head before he could turn. ‘I like my man to eat.’