Night Walker
Page 17
He came to consciousness again and saw the little redheaded girl standing by the pilot-house of the boat on the deck of which he was lying. She was wearing a sailor’s pea-jacket that covered her from the neck to six inches above the knees and gave the impression of being her only garment. She was barefooted and wet, and she looked tired and irritable. Nobody seemed to be paying her much attention, although there were a number of men milling around on deck.
A voice above Young said, “Search him.”
Fingers pulled at his wet clothes.
The same voice said, “As soon as possible, get the doctor to take that tape off him and make sure he hasn’t got anything hidden there. They could have microfilmed it. Has the girl been searched?”
Somebody said it had hardly been necessary.
“Well, have a matron look her over again before she goes ashore.” The speaker leaned over Young. He was a tall man in his thirties, in a light suit and city shoes that seemed out of place on this boat. “What did you say?” he asked.
“I said —” Young had thought he was speaking clearly, but his voice was barely audible. “I said, Henshaw had it on him. In his coat pocket.”
The man said, “What? What did he have?”
“I don’t know. He wouldn’t tell us. It was a big secret.”
The man seemed relieved. “You’d better not know, Lieutenant. If you have any ideas, just forget them.”
“I’m fresh out of ideas,” Young whispered. It seemed to him they were making a fuss over a lot of foolishness. There was nothing in the world small enough to be put into a man’s pocket that was big enough to change the fate of nations or the destiny of the human race. Wars were not started unless they were ready to start; once started they were not won by secrets, but only by people and guts....
He heard himself whisper, “Did you find — anybody else?” She had been scared, he thought; she had been terrified, yet in the end she had saved his life, taking the bullet that was meant for him.
“Just you and Miss Decker,” the tall man said.
Somebody said, “There’s nobody alive on her now. There go the tanks.”
Young saw a yellow light flare into the sky above him, and felt the breath of the concussion. He shivered a little. The tall man swore. “I don’t mind its burning up. If they burned a few more copies, I’d be even happier. But how the hell am I going to be sure... Get that boat raised in the morning. See what you can find,” he said to someone standing by. “Well, let’s go home and clear up the mess. The hell with these nautical operations, anyway. Let’s get back to dry land.”
He walked down from the big gray house to the dock. The bluff here was not as steep as it had been at the Wilson place, but it was steep enough to remind him that he was again barely out of bed. It seemed to him a long time since he had been strong enough to walk down a flight of steps without having to be careful not to stumble; and it was awkward trying to maintain his balance with his right arm in a sling. The girl had brought her boat up the river. It was made fast alongside the dock and she was working in the cockpit. Her red hair was bright in the sun. She was barefooted and wearing only a halter and a pair of faded, paint-splashed jeans that were rolled above her knees. There was an ugly bruise on her right shoulder, fading now into a curious mixture of purple and green; an old bruise that clearly no longer bothered her. Everything that had happened seemed very long ago.
“Hello,” he said.
She looked up, the varnish-brush poised in her hand. “Oh,” she said, “you’re up.”
“Up again, down again,” he said. “Up again.”
“Uniform and everything,” she said. “Gee, pipe the fruit salad.”
“You can get anything at a hock shop these days,” he said. He gestured toward the brush in her hand. “Carry on.”
“I’ll be through in a minute,” she said. “Take those shoes off if you’re coming aboard; don’t mark up my decks.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. He worked his feet out of his shoes and stepped down to the shining deck of the little sloop to watch her. After a while he said, “I’ve been trying to tell Mrs. Parr how much I appreciate her having me here, but she’s a hard person to talk to. Maybe you can put the idea across for me.”
The girl said, “Put your own ideas across, sailor. Anyway, Aunt Molly likes doing things for people she likes, and she likes you. You’re not supposed to thank her, stupid. Just send her a card some time when you happen to think of it. She gets kind of lonely, I think.” After a while, she said, “So you’re leaving?”
“That’s right.”
“Think you’ll get there all right this time?”
He said, “You’re kind of nosy, aren’t you, Red?” She looked up at him quickly and grinned, and he said, “I don’t think I’ll get lost again. I’d damn well better not; I’ve got a reprimand coming as it is.”
She said, “Well —” After a moment, she put the lid on the varnish can, straightened up, wiped her hand on her jeans, and held it out. He took it. She said, “Well, drop around some time when you’re on leave, sailor.”
He held her hand for a moment. Something in her attitude warned him that the invitation had not been a casual one. She had thought it over carefully before she gave it, deciding whether or not, in her opinion, he was worth seeing again.
He released her hand and said, as carefully as she had spoken, “Thanks. I might do that.”
She started to say something else and checked herself; and he knew precisely how she felt. They had nothing to talk about now. The things that had happened were still too close and painful; they could not be discussed, and yet they could not be ignored. It was a good time for ending, and a poor time for beginning; they could do better later with no ghosts between them. He turned away.
As he stepped back up to the dock and bent over to put on his shoes, the sloop’s auxiliary motor started up behind him. The sound startled him a little, but not very much; he finished tying the laces before straightening up to look around. The girl was watching him. He grinned and gave her a salute and walked away up the dock.
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