Maddox watched Gunnar walk back along the pier, his shirt torn, his face scratched and bruised. A slim, lonely figure who would have to answer for this and much more before they left Payenhau.
He heard the stamp of feet as Regan’s party came marching down the slope from the headland, not a man out of step, no running and no panic. How typical of the man, Maddox thought savagely. He knew that Regan was right, but could only find hatred because of this knowledge.
Regan surveyed the dead man across his beaky nose and said shortly: ‘Pity I missed it. I heard the shooting and thought the Reds were invading!’ He eyed Maddox searchingly. ‘Made a cock of it, did he?’
Maddox swung away. ‘For Christ’s sake shut it!’ He heard Regan’s short barking laugh behind him, and once when he looked back he saw with sick disgust that he was standing with one foot on the corpse while one of his men pretended to take a photograph to the apparent amusement of the rest.
Connell hurried along the pier and stood looking up at him. ‘Will you give me a hand, Bob? I’m going to take this kid back to her home. She’s going to live, but I’ll have to keep an eye on her for a bit.’
Maddox took a grip of himself. In this whirl of madness only the doctor seemed the same any more. ‘Where does she live?’
‘The fishing village. I suspect she had nothing to do with the crowd.’ He waited and watched Maddox’s baffled uncertainty. Gently he added, ‘You were ordered to go there anyway to fix up about using the commandant’s boat, right?’ Maddox nodded. ‘Well then, we’ll find it.’ The doctor forced a smile. ‘I need you to carry the kid!’
Maddox lifted his head to watch the soldiers on the road. They were back at their old posts, smoking and leaning on their rifles. A jeep rattled up the road to the citadel and a few townspeople wandered aimlessly in the dusty street. Was it possible? Was it only another nightmare? Maddox felt the lump on his face and saw the bloodstains on the wooden bollard where the captain had been swaying like some desperate gladiator. He made up his mind. ‘I’ll come,’ he said thickly. ‘I’ll just tell the captain.’
Connell watched him go and then walked slowly back towards the shore.
Regan saw the doctor’s face and kicked the corpse at his feet. ‘Squeamish, Doc?’ The men laughed, their voices unreal with relaxed tension.
Connell’s eyes were cold. ‘I was just thinking that is what they’ll do to you when the time comes!’ He walked towards the bandaged child, the anger boiling him alive.
Regan called, ‘Not this chicken!’ But his voice was tight and the men did not laugh in return.
* * *
The fishing village was within walking distance from the rest of the town yet the fragile-looking wooden buildings were so huddled together towards the water’s edge that the community gave no doubt as to its complete separate aloofness from the other islanders. A tall-sided hill blocked the way to further expansion, so that the more recent dwellings clung to, and even overlapped, the sea itself, supported by tall stilts below which were moored numerous flat-bottomed boats bobbing amidst a jungle of drying nets, floats and handmade fish baskets. So closely huddled were the buildings that the winding streets were more like haphazard tunnels where window peered on to window, and chattering womenfolk had to step back into dark doorways to allow people to pass. There was a sickly yet inviting aroma of boiled fish and fried rice, of spice and tarred timber, and above all there was a sense of watchful activity which seemed denied to the rest of the town.
Maddox was sweating freely by the time he and the doctor had reached the fringe of the village, his arms numbed by the weight of the child who stared up at him with black, unwinking eyes. A bullet had passed cleanly through one of her thin arms, mercifully without breaking a bone, and the gleaming bandages and neat service splints clashed with her patched and bloodstained clothing.
Connell carried his first-aid satchel and was puffing thoughtfully at a thin black cheroot which left a fine trail of smoke to mark his passage like the stack of some busy freighter.
Maddox gasped: ‘How much further, Doc? My arms are tearing out of their sockets!’
Connell squinted into the gaping mouth of the main street. Like branches of a tree other tiny avenues split away from the street and vanished into a tangle of leaning walls, rush mats and surprisingly delicate lanterns which hung from most of the cramped dwellings.
‘Just follow the water, I guess. That must be the boat you’re looking for,’ he gestured towards a single thick masthead which swayed gently above the pointed rooftops, ‘so we’ll head for that first.’
People had appeared from several doorways, mostly women, as Maddox had expected. The fishing fleet, such as it was, spent most of its time away from Payenhau seeking whatever catch it could to help support the growing population as well as the unseen prisoners of the penal settlement. Nevertheless, there were many children, small and dark, who watched with open curiosity as the two navy officers entered the deep shadow and began to grope their way towards the centre of the village.
Maddox was tired and hungry, and the morning’s fear and despair had also left him with a fierce thirst which he could not explain. But anything was better than staying in the ship where even the good food and fresh fruit could no longer give him pleasure.
Gunnar was ashore with Major Jago and Regan was left in charge. The latter had become impossible since the shooting, and it seemed as if the incident had opened some inner door on to the man’s real nature. Regan was in fact in better spirits than Maddox could remember. Kroner and Malinski would have to bear the brunt of his cheerful brutality, Maddox thought. He felt a pang of guilt but instantly dismissed it as Connell said: ‘They’re all looking at us. I feel like someone from another planet!’
The village people were marked by poverty and the privations of their day-to-day existence, yet showed none of the servile ingratiation which Maddox had come to expect. Self-sufficient, he thought, and giving nothing away of their thoughts. Everyone on the island probably knew about the shooting and were quite likely aware of its real cause, even if he was not. Yet there was no open hostility, just this watchful curiosity reserved for interlopers.
The buildings fell back unexpectedly on to a small square, on the far side of which was a low-roofed, white painted dwelling with a deep veranda. It looked foreign and out of place, yet leaned across the lapping water on seasoned piles, conforming in this way only to its neighbours. Through its open doors and windows Maddox could see the sea beyond and the blunt black hull of a heavy work-boat. It was, he guessed, a motor fishing vessel of the type once used by the British as navy tenders, maids-of-all-work during the Second World War and now replaced by modern and more graceful powerboats. Its name, Osprey, was painted on the nearside of the tiny wheelhouse, and he could see two figures at work on the broad deck with buckets of water and long-handled brooms.
Connell said, ‘We’ll ask here if anyone knows where this kid belongs.’
Maddox nodded gratefully and leaned against the veranda. As if at a signal a raw-boned Chinese in an oversize drill jacket padded down the smooth wooden steps and bowed politely ‘I take child,’ his English was high and tinny, ‘she belong down-street!’ He bobbed his cropped head with serious importance and grinned. ‘You go inside, yes?’ His thin arms were all muscle and he gathered up the girl with complete ease before Maddox could protest. The child immediately smiled and wagged her bandaged arm with something like pride.
Connell stepped forward frowning. ‘I think we ought to make sure she gets home okay. I feel we owe an explanation to her folks.’
‘Oh leave her alone, Doc.’ Maddox fanned his streaming face with his cap. ‘We can’t do anything more, for Christ’s sake!’
‘I’m afraid I can’t take that view.’ Connell was unsmiling. ‘Let us try to make up in some way for what’s happened.’
The houseboy beamed from one to the other his teeth uneven and broken like an old dog’s. In his arms the child seemed to have fallen asleep, so that the do
ctor was moved to say: ‘Well, I guess she might be better with her own sort at that. All the same, I shall visit her and make sure—’
Maddox interrupted resignedly: ‘Anything you say, anything! But just let me sit down, I’m bushed!’
A shadow fell across the steps and a thick bass voice said, ‘So you finally decided to pay me a visit!’
Maddox stared up at the big man and again wondered what he had expected. Commander Jack Burgess was large and powerful in all directions at once. In his prime he must have been a giant amongst men, Maddox thought. Now most of his muscular body had given way to fat, and his heavy, grey-splashed beard added to his appearance of piratical improbability. He was wearing what appeared to be ex-navy shirt and shorts, which although spotlessly white were well darned and patched, and on his large feet he wore a pair of giant-sized leather sandals. Above the beard a pair of brown, sparkling eyes regarded the two Americans with cheerful welcome.
‘Come in, boys! Come and take the weight off your feet!’
Apart from a lean-to, the building seemed to be all one room which opened on to an additional section at either end. The furniture was plain and unmatched, but there were some fine wood carvings on shelves and on the low tables, whilst hanging from one wall was a large faded photograph of a British destroyer at high speed.
Burgess threw himself in a cane chair which squeaked an immediate protest, and bellowed, ‘Bring the drinks, you yellow ape!’
Maddox flexed his aching arms and stared at the Englishman with both admiration and uncertainty. In Burgess he saw a quick picture of himself in perhaps twenty years’ time. If I ever get away from here I will start dieting, he thought vaguely. He noticed too how the early brightness in the giant’s eyes was marred by a film of moisture, the sign of a heavy drinker, either now or in the past.
Another houseboy padded quickly into the room carrying a brass tray loaded with glasses and a bottle of whisky. Maddox licked his lips. He had stupidly visualised cans of iced beer running with condensation, or at worst some sort of local cocktail. Whisky, in the heat of the early afternoon, and on an empty stomach, was not quite what he had in mind at all.
Connell darted him a quick glance and Maddox forced a grin. It was probably the only bottle the bearded Englishman possessed, he thought, and the man’s genial excitement seemed to fade behind something smaller and sadder. What in God’s name had brought a man like Burgess here? he wondered as the whisky was splashed with the same abandon into three glasses. Loneliness, poverty, it was all apparent. The end of the line for a man who might have been something better.
Burgess lifted his glass. ‘It’s good to see you lads! I get so used to yapping at these twittering savages!’ He glared at the hovering houseboy. ‘Isn’t that right, you bloody maniac?’ The man grinned at his master and Burgess said cheerfully: ‘Haven’t taught him to speak the lingo yet. Plenty of time though. Not much else to do.’
Maddox hurried to break a threatened silence. ‘About your boat.’
Burgess sat upright, his thick hairy legs straddled like capstan bars. ‘Ah, the boat! A real beauty she is.’ He patted his stomach his eyes suddenly distant. ‘Bought her some years ago from a pal of mine in the R.N. dockyard at Hong Kong. He was in charge of Admiralty disposals and let me get her for a song.’ He shook with silent laughter. ‘Just as well, really, I didn’t have much ready cash.’
Connell sipped his whisky. ‘When did you leave the British Navy, Commander?’
Maddox saw the big man change yet again. Whether it was because of some sudden memory or because of Connell’s addressing him by his old rank, he could not be sure. But the change was there, and it was immediate.
Burgess sat up in the battered chair his beard jutting and formidable. ‘’Bout ten years ago, Doctor.’ His voice too was clipped and even formal.
He is reliving his past like an actor remembering some forgotten lines, Maddox thought uneasily.
Connell had noticed too, his face set and grave. ‘What happened exactly?’
Burgess shrugged vaguely so that a droplet of whisky splashed on to his shirt. ‘Bit of trouble, I’m afraid. One of our late colonies got its new independence a bit too early for me.’ He laughed, but just as quickly frowned at his glass. ‘I was in charge of some anti-terrorist patrols in inshore waters. I shot up a whole lot of the bastards only to find that independence had already been granted to ’em in that sector! Instead of terrorists they were patriots! Funny when you think of it. A stroke of a pen and everything’s changed!’
Maddox heard himself ask, ‘Couldn’t you explain?’
Burgess faced him with a mirthless grin. ‘Explain? Me?’ He threw back his head and bellowed with laughter. ‘Old Jack Burgess explain to a pack of bloody wogs! That’ll be the day! I told ’em what they could do with the bloody navy! They didn’t like that, I can tell you!’
Maddox swallowed hard and tasted the whisky clawing at his throat like fire. The houseboy was standing at his side, the bottle half empty in his brown hands. Jesus, I’ll be passing out in a moment, Maddox thought.
As if jerking himself back to the present for Maddox’s sake, Burgess said suddenly: ‘What about a spot of grub, eh? You’ll have to take pot luck, but it’ll be a change, for you at least!’ He counted on his thick fingers. ‘Rice, and fresh prawns, and a few other bits and pieces my cook can dream up. Come on, what d’you say?’ His guard had dropped and Maddox could see the eagerness in his eyes.
‘I’d like that.’
Connell added, ‘What about that kid?’
Burgess was on his feet, the floorboards bending under his weight. ‘She’ll be fine, Doc. They’re used to hardship around here. They get enough of it!’
‘I suppose you heard about the shooting?’ Connell was holding his glass like a crucible.
‘I heard all right. The poor bastards didn’t know what they were doing! They thought you were landing nuclear warheads!’ He frowned again. ‘They’re simple folk here. Good-hearted, but simple. Consequently they’re easily led, or should I say driven!’
‘Driven? By whom?’ Maddox was leaning forward. He remembered Gunnar’s face after the shooting and his own sense of failure and despair.
Burgess shrugged. ‘Don’t pay any attention to me. I’m just yammering as usual.’ His tone was almost desperate, pleading. ‘Let’s forget it, shall we?’
Connell nodded. ‘Sure. Let’s enjoy a bit of real English hospitality.’ But when he caught Maddox’s eye the doctor’s face was full of warning.
Maddox split his mouth into a grin. ‘Yeah, we can leave the Chinese alone for a bit. As they say in Washington, we can keep pounding away at the Reds, and in another forty years we shall have whittled ’em down to a mere sixty million! You just bring on the food, Commander, and I’ll willingly forget everything!’
Burgess swayed slightly and peered at the bottle. ‘Seems we’re running a bit short.’ He smiled awkwardly. ‘But if you gentlemen don’t mind a drop of local stuff?’
The doctor fished in his medical bag and produced a flat flask. ‘Vodka, officers for the use of,’ he announced gravely, ‘and strictly not for medicinal purposes!’
Maddox drained his glass and lay back, the strain and apprehension draining from him like sweat. He stared at the unlined roof and allowed his mind to wander as Burgess, chuckling and panting, moved rapidly from one end of the room to the other, his hands busy with plates and chairs. From the kitchen Maddox could hear his cook’s voice raised in a vague song, while from the street outside came the gentle murmur of passing people. Just let go, he told himself. You’ve earned a break, so don’t probe any further. The ship, Payenhau, even Mary seemed far away in the friendly, embracing whisky.
Only Connell seemed intent on his own thoughts. As if he was fitting together the pieces of some complex puzzle.
* * *
Major Lloyd Jago lowered the beer can and bared his teeth with cheerful satisfaction. Even without uniform he looked alert and somehow military, and his shapele
ss towel bathrobe had a lopsided slant so that Gunnar guessed that he carried a pistol in one of the deep pockets. Jago had listened attentively to his tight-lipped account of the shooting without comment, his cropped head glistening from a recent shower, his hands freshly scrubbed to remove any traces of the manœuvres which had evidently given him much satisfaction.
Then Jago had led the way through a small door, up a crudely fashioned spiral staircase and into a cool circular room which was apparently the highest point above the fort. Although about level with the hilltop at the rear of the concrete emplacements, the short, tower-like structure afforded an excellent view across the anchorage as well as giving a clear and unrestricted view towards the northern end of the island. Outside the sun blazed down on town and water alike, but inside the shaded eyrie it was cool, even chilled, and the air felt correspondingly fresher.
Jago squatted on an empty case and regarded the navy officer quizzically from beneath his greying brows. ‘You worry too much, Captain.’ He gestured towards another box where a small pile of beer tins stood in a plastic bowl of fractured ice. ‘Dig in and help yourself.’ He watched Gunnar’s quick, angry movements and added: ‘If you watch your step you can learn to cope with almost anything. I look on life as a series of achievements. I am not insensitive to failure, however. One muck up and a lifetime’s achievements can go down the pan!’
Gunnar sat on a ledge feeling the concrete’s damp coldness through his crumpled shirt. He felt strained and untidy, yet unable to take time to rest, to restore his outer calm. Jago seemed eager to talk, as if unlike Gunnar he had energy to spare.
Jago continued: ‘I take pride in what I have done with my life. I had little education and had to get here the hard way.’ He touched the old bathrobe as if feeling for his rank badges. ‘I joined up as a rookie marine, slogged my way through Korea, and found my way up through dead men’s shoes. In Korea our officers, youngsters like Inglis, were keen enough but as green as grass. There was no time, no quick way to find experience.’ He shrugged. ‘So they died just as eagerly. I grabbed my chance with both hands. I’ve never looked back.’ His thin mouth twisted into a bitter sneer. ‘I know I’ll never rate a job in Washington, or a white-gloved detail with the top brass and their ladies, but I’ll always be wanted where the fighting is, where the next trouble spot is getting started. And that suits me fine!’
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