The Waves Behind the Boat

by Francis King

  I smiled at him in reassurance.

  ‘At one time, I thought I’d be a writer,’ he went on. ‘But the trouble is—I have no l-language of my own. And that—’ he smiled—’is even worse than having no ideas of one’s own. I write in Russian and French and German and English, and I speak all those l-languages and Japanese too. But none of them is mine, none. I suppose Russian is my native l-language. But where would I ever get published a novel written in Russian? Certainly not in Russia.’

  The maid glided in with his second glass of orange juice, and that too he gulped down. He drew a silk handkerchief out of the pocket of his shirt and mopped at his forehead. ‘That’s better,’ he said. ‘Where are Tom and Yuki?’

  I pointed down the beach. ‘You can’t see them now.’

  ‘I wonder when they’ll l-leave. If they stay much l-longer, can see that Bibi’s going to ask them to go.… She’s odd about Tom. When he’s here she wants him away. But when he’s not here.…’ He picked up one of the newspapers from the pile on the floor beside him and began to read. I watched him for a while with an intensity that throbbed inside me like a physical ache; then I, too, began to read.

  After many minutes he lowered his paper, carefully folded it on his knees and then leant back in the chair, his eyes shut.

  ‘You know, you’ve—you’ve never asked me—about how it happened.’

  ‘How what happened?’ But I knew what he meant.

  ‘Thelma.’

  ‘No.… No, we haven’t.’

  ‘You missed your chance once, but I thought you would have taken it again by now. Those bloody English manners! Don’t tell me you haven’t wanted to ask.’

  ‘I have, yes. I don’t think Bill has.’

  ‘And why hasn’t Bill wanted to ask?’

  ‘Perhaps out of kindness—you know, he’s far kinder than me. Or perhaps out of—well—embarrassment. He hates to be embarrassed almost more than anything else.’

  ‘You guessed that I’d behaved badly?’

  I nodded, wishing that he would stop.

  ‘Well, I did, we all did. But I expect Bibi has managed to put all the blame on to me alone. That’s a little habit of hers —from childhood.’ He stared at me. ‘She did, didn’t she?’

  ‘She told us her version of what took place. We didn’t imagine it was the final version. We’d hoped to hear yours.’

  ‘It’s not too late.’

  ‘No. It’s not too late.’

  He threw the paper from him across the verandah floor. ‘There’s so l-little to tell. So l-little I remember—or that any of us can remember, I imagine. Tom—Yuki—those two Lesbian schoolteachers—they were all, all of them, more or l-less out. And poor Thelma must have been pretty far gone.’ He got up to retrieve the paper and, glancing down at it, then muttered: ‘I—I ran to tell them to come and help. Shouted at them. But …’ He broke off with a shrug.

  ‘How do you mean they were more or less out? Had everyone been drinking?’

  ‘Not only drinking. Other things as well.’

  ‘Other things?’

  ‘No, d-don’t look so shocked. It amuses us to experiment like that from time to time. But we’re not hooked—none of us.’

  ‘What sort of drugs?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. Barbiturates. Pep-pills. Cocaine once or twice—that was dangerous.’ He pointed out of the window. ‘ Bibi grows pot out there. Not even the gardeners suspect what it is! We’d been smoking that afternoon.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Yes. And then … then I went into the sea—I was the first to go in. And floated there—floated for what seemed a l-lifetime.’ He was now staring straight in front of him. ‘God knows how long it really was. God knows. I’ve no idea. I remember Thelma splashing past me, and l-later Bibi said something. Then Thelma moved off and it was Bibi, floating beside me, her hand resting l-lightiy in mine.’ His eyes were now curiously unfocused, like Bill’s when he has been working late into the night.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Then—then this huge wave hits us. I—I seemed to go d-down and d-down. I thought—without any real panic—that I’d never surface again. But I came up. And then I clutched at Bibi’s hand—yes, then there was panic—but a second of it, only a second.… I think,’ he qualified, frowning and biting his lower lip.

  ‘You think?’

  ‘I can’t be sure. I was feeling so odd. As though nothing really mattered.’

  ‘But something must have mattered. Otherwise you wouldn’t have—’

  ‘Oh, some physical reflexes were working, yes. Self-preservation.’ He gave a sudden convulsive shudder, clasping his hands between his knees and narrowing his shoulders. ‘Bibi pulled herself free at last, and she was l-laughing—yes, I remember that—actually l-laughing.’

  ‘Laughing!’

  ‘I suppose she thought I was fooling. She can’t have realised that Thelma was in trouble. Not then—at that moment. I was the first to notice—I pointed and said Thelma’s name. She was far out, the water must have pulled her away from the shore. Throwing up her arms. I could hear these.…’ He swallowed hard.

  ‘And then?’

  ‘Bibi l-looked where I was pointing. Still l-laughing. She must have still thought it was a game. Then she began to swim out. And I—I made for the shore. Thinking that I ought to get some help—find a boat—you know.’ Again the same convulsive shiver passed through his hunched body. ‘I arrived at the beach-house. Eventually. But I wonder—I often wonder —if I really hurried. I can’t be sure. There’s this sensation of timelessness. Very odd—I can’t explain.… They were lying out there, the three of them, and I shouted at them but couldn’t get them to d-do anything.’

  ‘But surely they must have—’

  ‘Oh, Tom kept telling me not to be such a bore. A bore! As he l-lay with his face pillowed on Yuki’s stomach.… Well, the upshot was that we were too slow. I was too slow, they were too slow, probably Bibi was too slow. She—Bibi—was extraordinarily calm as she appeared just when I was trying to tug one of the rowing-boats down the beach with the four of them—the four of them on the verandah—doing nothing; absolutely nothing.’

  ‘But how disgraceful!’

  ‘Just l-lying there and telling me not to be such a bore. Can you imagine?’ He drew a handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it to his lips. ‘Well, there she was—there Bibi was—suddenly at my shoulder. Saying ‘‘It’s too l-late, she’s gone.’’ Then she added, in the same detached voice ‘‘But we’d better go on l-looking for her’’.… Well, at that they all at last scrambled off the verandah—they’d listen to her, of course, people always do. Tom slipped and toppled down—down off the verandah—and grazed his elbow. Then Bibi must have realised the condition they were in and she ordered them back to the house. ‘‘You can imagine the kind of impression they’d create, we’ve got a bad enough name here already’’. Those were her words—as the two of us strode out to the nearest fisherman’s hut Then she turned to me. ‘‘You shouldn’t have clung to me l-like that’’ she said. ‘I might have saved her’’.’

  ‘She was angry with you?’

  ‘No. Not angry. Calm. Her voice oddly matter-of-fact. Not accusing me—not even d-disapproving. ‘‘No, you shouldn’t have clung to me’’. But I’d clung to her for such a short time —I’m sure it was only a short time, just a second of unreasoning panic, I’m sure of it. And there were so many other things that might have been the reason for … the cause of … I mean, if she herself had gone to the rescue more quickly—instead of l-laughing I-like that. Or the others. Or.…’ Again he pressed the handkerchief, still unfolded, to his dry lips. ‘ Well, it’s no use thinking about it.’

  ‘What I don’t understand …’ I broke off.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Well—why did you make off like that? That made it all seem so suspicious.’

  ‘It was suspicious. Wasn’t it?’ He put his hands deep into the pockets of his grey silk shirt and drew it around him, sinki
ng deep into the chair. One might have thought that he was cold on that sweltering summer’s day. ‘Yes, I oughtn’t to have gone. That was my real moment of cowardice. Not that second or two of panic when I clung round Bibi’s neck.’ He gave a small smile. ‘If I’d known it would be you and Bill and not that d-dreary Consul, then perhaps I’d have stayed. But the idea of his probing and probing.… And I’m naturally truthful—I can’t help telling the truth. If I tell anything at all. So I’d probably have let out that we’d all been in that state.…’

  ‘That would have shocked poor Neil!’

  ‘I think Bibi was really relieved to see me go. She knew she could manage you much better without me—and without those awful guests. I said I wanted to be called early and she saw that I was called early—half-an-hour earlier than I said! She didn’t want you to arrive and find me still there.… God, but I felt awful—physically awful. Perhaps it was just the after-effects of the pot. Perhaps the reaction to Thelma’s d-death. After all, I’d invited her there—if you could call it an invitation.… Not that she learned from us anything that she didn’t know already. But still.’ Again the hands, palms together, were squeezed between the knees. ‘I stopped twice to vomit.’ He smiled. ‘ Once down into that glorious view, from the bend outside the village—remember? There’s a sheer drop!’

  ‘Yes. I remember.’

  ‘Poor Thelma.… You know, it’s odd, but I always seem to bring d-disaster to people who associate too closely with me. My mother—who was a spiritualist of some kind—would have said it was something to do with my aura. I don’t intend to harm people, I’m full of the best intentions. But somehow.…’ He smiled, suddenly cheerful. ‘Aren’t you afraid that I might harm you?’

  ‘Not really.’

  He gazed at me, still hunched in the chair. Then he said slowly: ‘Yes. I imagine it would take a lot to frighten you. You’re like Bibi in that.’

  ‘I wish you wouldn’t keep telling me I’m like Bibi.’

  ‘Well, you are. In so many different ways.’

  ‘I—Bill and I—never understood her telling us all that about you and Thelma. It seemed so—unnecessary. And disloyal.’

  ‘She wouldn’t have looked at it like that, you see. She has this passion for the truth.’ I must have looked sceptical, for he at once demanded with a touch of anger: ‘ Do you think she had some other motive?’

  ‘Well—yes. Since you ask.… I have a feeling—that Bibi likes you to be the weak and dependent one. It gives her a feeling of power.’

  ‘That’s not fair!’

  ‘Anyway—I’m glad you told me the story yourself. I like it better your way. That’s all.’

  Suddenly Bibi appeared from behind us, making Sasha swing round in his chair as though terrified to discover how much she had heard of our conversation. ‘And what are you two discussing so earnestly?’ she asked in a loud, ringing voice.

  Sasha gave a taut smile: ‘Oh, just last night’s hands at bridge,’ he answered.

  ‘We were holding a post-mortem,’ I said.

  Chapter Four

  I

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘For a walk.’

  ‘Well, then l-let me accompany you. But isn’t it far too hot?’

  ‘Oh, not now. Anyway I must have some exercise. I think that’s why I slept so badly last night. I’ve done nothing but eat, drink and sleep since I got here.’

  ‘And d-dance,’ Sasha added with a smile.

  ‘You can hardly call that exercise.’

  He had met me outside the house, as he returned from the beach. Soon after lunch Bibi had disappeared and I had not seen her since. Tom and Yuki had announced that they were going to have a siesta and although it was now past six they too had not put in a reappearance.

  ‘I know!’ Sasha said. ‘I’ll show you the stone garden. It’s a cool walk—trees to shade one. Yes, that’s a good idea.’

  ‘Is this the garden of some temple?’

  ‘No. This is a modern stone garden—you’ll never have seen anything l-like it. It was made by an eccentric old fisherman, who retired to a l-little house there up among the hills when he was in his l-late seventies. He had l-lived a l-life of wonderful adventure—if one could believe him. South America as a boy. Africa. Then many years in the States where he was interned d-during the war. He came back here as an old man and settled d-down alone. There were rumours that he had had a wife and a family in Brazil but d-during those l-last years he was always alone. He refused to see anyone. Bibi and I once walked up there to see him, but he refused to talk to us. He came out of bis l-little house and bowed to us and then he went in again. Sometimes he would wander d-down into the town to ddo his shopping, but he grew vegetables for himself and kept goat and four or five chickens. The people here all believe that he was trying to expiate some wickedness. He got the reputation for being extremely religious. And each d-day he constructed this extraordinary stone garden of his. You’ll see.’

  ‘It sounds interesting.’

  ‘He d-died while he was working at it—that’s what they assumed. He had had a heart-attack and he was found l-lying out in it, in the rainy season, all covered with mud. He had been there for several d-days. Chieko found him—that idiot girl. She used to go up there often. She still d-does. She was one of the few people to whom he used to talk. Not that she could answer him. Or understand him, I imagine. She still goes up there. You see her sitting among the stones.’

  We had now left the road which led from the town to the house, running along above the sea, and had branched off on a narrow path up the hillside. The bushes were extraordinarily dense on either side, forming a dark green tunnel, damp and suffocating, which seemed to pulse in and out with each gust of wind that rustled down it. From time to time we stopped to get our breath, looking back the way we had come at the sea glittering far below us, as though through a porthole.

  ‘You were right about its being too hot,’ I said. ‘Still—that garden sounds worth it.’

  ‘Well, wait and see.’

  Something brushed through the undergrowth on our right; a twig exploded. Then a few stones trickled down on to the path.

  ‘What was that?’ I asked, startled.

  Sasha shrugged. His silk shirt was sticking to his back, there were dark patches under the arms. ‘A fox perhaps,’ he said. ‘ Or a wild cat. Or a d-dog.’

  ‘There seem to be so few wild animals in Japan.’

  ‘There are a l-lot here.’

  Again a twig cracked, this time just behind us. Sasha swung round. Then he plunged off the path into the undergrowth. I heard him speaking angrily in Japanese. There was a sound of feet scampering away over stones, which now cascaded down through the bushes.

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘A wild animal. Of a kind. Chieko.’

  ‘Was she following us?’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘Well, it doesn’t matter,’ I said, regretting the harshness with which he had shouted at her.

  ‘Chieko, my sister,’ he said, beginning to trudge on up the path, his head lowered.

  ‘Your …?’

  He turned smiling, as he waited for me to catch him up. ‘One of the many skeletons in our family cupboard. D-Don’t tell Bibi that I told you. In fact, d-don’t tell anyone. Though Tom knows. Yes, Chieko is our half-sister. My father’s child. There’s always been gossip about it in the village, but her mother has never admitted it to anyone. She’s rather a remarkable person. I can understand why my father became her l-lover. She’s a fairly educated woman, you know. After the war she and her family were d-driven out of China and she came to work in a hotel in the town. The one you stayed at, I imagine. They’d l-lost all their money. My father met her there and she became his mistress—one of the many. He had a kind of crude animal vigour which his children l-lack. He was rather a remarkable man.’

  ‘What a fantastic story!’

  ‘Most of the things about him were fantastic.’ Suddenly he put his arm aroun
d my shoulder, drawing me close to him. ‘It was d-difficult to live up to a reputation l-like that. Which is why, I suppose, that Bibi and I gave up trying. Bibi actually comes nearer to him than I do. You can see that, can’t you? She was his favourite. He never had much use for me. I was the weak one—the one who was always frightened. He and Bibi were d-devoted to each other, they were always together. I used to feel jealous in those days. Then, when he died—in a teahouse in Kyoto, after a night of drinking—Bibi had this l-long breakdown of hers.’ He put his lips to my damp cheek. ‘Do we seem a very strange family to you?’

  ‘Strange, but interesting. My own family is so very ordinary and Bill’s is even more so.’

  ‘It’s your utter normality that I find so wonderful. Your utter sanity and—and d-dependability.’

  ‘I don’t know that I really want to be utterly normal—and all those other things.’

  ‘You know, Mary, I feel that I might just possibly he happy with you. I’ve never felt that with anyone before.’

  The path had merged on to a plateau not unlike the one up to which we had climbed, so long ago it now seemed, to the crematorium. There was a square of mud, baked hard by the sun, and around it some straggly bushes beneath which were scattered fragments of newspaper and the fragile wooden boxes in which Japanese carry their food on a picnic or a journey.

  ‘People sometimes come up here to l-look at the view.’

  ‘But there is no view!’ I exclaimed.

  ‘Not now. It’s far too hazy. But on a clear d-day you can see Matsue and the Shinji Lagoon. L-Lafacadio Hearn once came here. He wrote an essay about it.’