by Paul Gallico
Scott went on, 'Yes, you'd better. We've got to get going while there's light.'
Muller took her hand in his and said, 'Nonnie, I'm afraid you're in for another shock.' Then he told her quietly and simply while the others watched her uneasily, wondering how she would take it. That class of people always went to pieces and kicked up a terrible fuss.
But Nonnie did not. If anything she went yet another shade whiter and her face seemed even smaller. She only murmured, 'May I sit down for a second?' and did. They waited for the tears, but she had none of those either. Her fight was to get a grip upon herself in front of them all. She put her hands before her face for only an instant and then climbed back to her feet.
Pamela Reid said, 'My mother is . . . was in a cabin on "B" deck.'
Nonnie went to her and put her arms about her, 'Oh lovey,' she said, 'you poor thing! If it was my Mum and Dad, I couldn't bear it.' Then she looked at Scott, indicating Hubie Muller and said, 'Can I go with him?'
'Yes, of course,' the Minister replied, 'he'll help you. We're all very, very sorry.'
Belle Rosen said with some satisfaction, 'So now we're fifteen.'
Her husband asked, 'What's that got to do with anything?'
'So we aren't thirteen.'
'You and your superstitions,' Rosen said. 'We were fourteen before.'
'So fifteen is still better.'
Linda Rogo remarked, quite audibly, 'That's all we needed; this little bum.'
Rogo pleaded, 'Don't be like that, honey. She's only a kid and scared stiff.'
Nona Parry's child's mouth went thin suddenly. 'Who's she calling a bum?' she snapped.
'Nobody,' said Muller. 'She's a bitch. Nobody pays any attention to her except that doormat she married.'
Mike Rogo, without turning his head, threatened loudly, 'I wouldn't like anyone around here to be passing remarks. Someone could get his jaw broken.'
They moved off. 'Mind,' said Muller, 'some of those pipes are slippery and you can give yourself a nasty wrench. Hold on tight.'
She did, clutching his arm and pressing her shoulder, which felt thin and bony through the dressing-gown, against his. Her contact moved him in an extraordinary way, bringing an unusual constriction to his throat. There had been something touching in her flight and panic and gallant in her recovery of herself and acceptance of the tragedy that had left her the sole survivor of her troupe. It was as though the pressure was a communication, a need and a defiance at one and the same time.
Mike Rogo was wrong about Hubert Muller, though probably justified in disliking him as a type. He was neither a queer nor a cream puff, but only a rich man's son who had turned into a gentleman of no profession with cosmopolitan tastes and an international reputation as the hostess's delight. He was that extra man with unimpeachable manners who never got drunk, played a first-class game of Bridge and refrained from impregnating their daughters.
Instead, with fastidious discrimination, he preferred his bedmates married and from his own set. Hubie's contribution was that he kissed often and well, but never told. A snob, it never occurred to him to tumble the maid who brought in his breakfast tray, or any of the nubile little tramps always around on the make for a wealthy man.
He had acquired his soft-spoken, languid manner and Bostonian, semi-English accent during an otherwise useless career at Harvard. On the other hand he had survived two years in the army, eight months in Korea, and was tougher than Rogo suspected. This experience had confirmed his determination never again to allow himself to be placed in any situation where either unpleasantness or discomfort prevailed, or for that matter, work. His bachelorhood stemmed purely from selfishness. He had not yet found a woman who could supplant Hubie Muller in his affections.
Thus, at forty he still parted his hair in the middle, wore his handkerchief up his sleeve and was engagingly charming. He carried his binoculars to Ascot, Auteuil and Saratoga and was seen with the set of Palm Beach, Biarritz, Deauville, St Moritz and Monte Carlo.
Bored with the prospect of Christmas in the houses of other people's families, he had booked for the cruise upon impulse coupled with a sentimental attachment to the old Atlantis, now the Poseidon. Several of his crossings on her had yielded some highly interesting, temporary involvements.
Sexually, however, the cruise had been arid. The married women were too old and the ship's beauty after whom all the men went baying was obviously nothing but a tease.
The one attractive, blonde widow, Mrs Wilma Lewis, had run up the 'No thank you' flag in reply to his discreetly coded signals.
He stole a glance at the tiny figure next to him and thought how ridiculous they must both look, arm-in-arm. He in his flowered braces and frilled shirt, with a slit, flapping trouser leg, and she in the shockingly vulgar, pink peignoir beneath which she said she had nothing on.
And yet in this strange and dangerous situation he felt oddly possessed of her. Somehow she had become his, or at least temporarily his responsibility. In that company thrown together by disaster, every Jack had his Jill, so to speak or at least were paired off, except for himself and that drab little haberdasher. Then this creature had come tumbling out of the darkness into his arms like a storm-battered bird out of the night.
He gripped her tightly to maintain this contact that was providing him with the most unusual emotion of pity. He said, 'Hang on, Nonnie. You're safe now,' and then had to smile to himself at the ridiculousness of his use of the word 'safe' under the circumstances.
She looked up at him and whispered confidentially, 'You're nice.'
Some twenty yards farther along, Scott said, 'Hold it!' and put up his hand. They came to a halt. 'Here's the staircase.'
It was Mike Rogo, however, who expressed their feelings. 'Great!' he said. 'What do we do now, coach?'
CHAPTER VII
The Adventure of the First Staircase
None of them had ever seen or stood at the bottom of a reversed flight of steps.
In the chaos of the dining-saloon they had not even been aware of the nature of what remained of the grand staircase, emerging at its widest point from the pool of oily water, its golden handrails and carpeted steps curving upwards to the ceiling, where it looked so utterly different that none of them any longer recognized it for what it was. It had become simply a part of that nightmare in which chairs and tables hung from the roof and lights were thrown up from the glass floor. Thus, they were wholly unprepared for what faced them now.
The steps now hung upside-down from the ceiling and the complete uselessness of their former functional capacity was almost as appalling a shock to their minds as the catastrophe itself. In one moment a concept utterly familiar to them, a part of their daily lives, had been destroyed.
The handrails of polished mahogany and the brass-bound vinyl-covered steps, instead of providing an easy rise to which they were accustomed, jutted out in an overhang above their heads. The ceiling of the companion-way which had paralleled the angle of descent now presented the only means of ascent, a slippery and precipitous slope of painted steel with lighting panels inset and flush, an unmanageable surface offering no grip or handhold of any kind. While the ends of the handrails at the bottom were within reach of a tall man, only a trained athlete could hope to make use of them.
Manny Rosen waddled over and looked up the tunnel of the stairway. 'How do you expect us to get up there? This is crazy!'
The Beamer laughed, 'I guess that puts paid to this idea.'
'I don't get it,' said Martin. 'Are they all like that?'
Shelby was whispering something to his wife and glancing at Belle Rosen. He turned to Scott and said, 'I don't see how we can work it, Frank.' And in a curious way which he would never have admitted to himself, he was almost pleased to have come upon an insurmountable obstacle so quickly. The younger man had gone sailing off with too much confidence. They ought to have thought the situation over more carefully.
Scott said, 'It oughtn't to be too difficult.'
Rosen snap
ped, 'Are you kidding? What kind of talk is this? Don't you know you've got women here?' He included them all but everyone knew that he was referring to the hopelessness of ever getting either himself or his wife up such an incline.
The Beamer said, 'Are you sure you know what you're doing? I think we ought to go back to Acre and Peters.'
'Yeah!' Martin agreed, 'at least they're from the ship.'
From the movement and rustle of the party and the looks between them, it was obvious that the idea of the return was popular. Because hope had been stirred in them coupled with the survival instinct, they had set out upon an improbable journey and because it was only the beginning they were ready to give up at the first obstacle.
Nonnie whispered to Muller, 'What is it? Where does he want to take us?'
Muller told her. Nonnie glanced up the staircase and whispering again said, 'Don't you think we ought to have a go?'
Muller looked at her in astonishment. A few moments before she had been in a state of panic. He remembered her flare up at Linda's insult and thought to himself: Why, she's a littie fighter!
From the vantage point of his height, taller than any of them, Scott looked his group over wordlessly.
Jane Shelby searched for so much as a shadow of contempt upon his face to set her off again in mindless fury against him. But saw none and instead thought that what she saw was a compassionate weighing of them, of their values, and in herself suddenly felt small, inadequate, found wanting and a quitter. She cried aloud, 'I think we ought to go on,' and saw that her husband looked shocked.
But Scott smiled at her gratefully as though it had been the break for which he had been waiting and said simply, 'It's a piece of cake.'
The silly, boyish remark intrigued them, revitalized them and brought back their courage. Muller who was given to introspection was well aware that he had been quite prepared to give up and turn back. Now he was not.
Martin covered his own feeling of shame with a misquotation, 'Okay, lead on Macduff!'
The Beamer asked Pam, 'Shall we have a bash, old girl?'
Robin Shelby cried, 'I'll bet I could get up there!'
Only Linda Rogo whined, 'I want to go back.'
Scott ignored her, He said, 'You know all that's left of the world to us has been turned upside-down. If we would just stop expecting everything to behave as though it were still rightside up, things wouldn't seem quite so difficult any more.'
Rosen said, 'All my life I've been walking on my feet, I should suddenly have to think of walking on my head?'
Scott said, 'You're not standing on your head, are you? But you are on the ceiling and the floor is above you. Once you begin to get used to something, it's not so bad any more.'
Robin Shelby put in, 'You mean like the astronauts having to get used to weightlessness?'
'Something like that, Robin,' the Minister agreed. 'Try to think what it would be like if your own house were suddenly to be turned upside-down while you were upstairs and you wanted to get something from the cellar. You'd have to find some way to climb up to get it and because you'd know your own house so well, you'd manage.'
Susan gave a little startled cry, 'Oh! Now I remember what I thought in the dining-room, but it was so silly. Last summer I went with some friends to Bannerman's Amusement Park. There was a sort of a crazy house there. You went in and it turned upside-down, or at least it seemed to, and you suddenly found yourself walking on the ceiling. And when you looked up, all the chairs and tables and wardrobes and pictures and things were up there. I suppose they had them attached, but it gave you the weirdest feeling.'
Belle Rosen said, 'Talk, talk, talk! Everybody can talk as long as you don't expect me to go up.'
Little Rosen suddenly looked alarmed and said, 'Mamma, if we got to, well . . .'
Richard Shelby felt called upon, if nothing else to lend him some kind of moral aid. He said, 'Look here, everyone. We've come this far. We've left the others and in a way we've committed ourselves. I've committed my family and myself. By all accounts of what happens to ships when they capsize, she ought to have gone then and there. But she didn't.'
As he spoke he had a momentary memory flash of Scott on his knees and through his mind coursed advertisements for books he had seen, THE POWER OF PRAYER. Was Scott working on a direct telephone line to the Deity and getting immediate action on the petition of a Princeton All-America turned prelate? He continued, 'We're floating upside-down with the keel up and half of her sticking out of the water.'
Jane was aware of irritation again. Scott was paying not the slightest attention to what her husband was saying, but was busying himself with preparations. Removing his shoes and socks he stuffed them into the side pockets of his jacket and laid the axe on the floor. He took the coil of rope from his shoulder, tied one end to his belt and handed the other to Rogo saying, 'Here, hang on to this a minute, will you?'
The detective's violent temper threatened to flare again. He shouted at Scott, 'I think you're a nut!' and then at the others, 'What the hell's the matter with all of you? A minute ago you were ready to go back to the others that stayed in the dining-room with the officers. Now you want to follow this crackpot again. Count me out!' But he still held fast to the rope's end.
Shelby went on, 'My boy was right. In the morning anyone searching from the air would see us like a big fish floating belly up. We're a thousand feet long. Where would they have to break in, to see if anybody was left alive? Through the hull, wouldn't they? As long as her buoyancy lasts, we've got a chance.'
Jane's annoyance was transferred to her husband. He was only parroting Scott; why hadn't he thought of it first?
The Beamer turned his now sober gaze upon Rogo and said earnestly, 'Do you know, old boy, come to think of it if she does go, I'd much prefer to be caught trying to get out.'
'I would, too!' said Mary Kinsale. 'It's more dignified, isn't it?' They all stared at her in astonishment.
'Oh yes, you're right, Miss Kinsale, above all, human dignity,' said the Reverend Dr Scott and leapt for the handrail above his head.
Muller understood perhaps for the first time why he personally was prepared to go on. God and the Saints were waning myths but the Minister had unfurled a banner he could follow.
He watched in silent admiration as Scott caught the rail and with the same movement swung upwards so that his feet rested ahead of him upon the steep slope. Then hand-over-hand he pulled himself up the incline via the slanting railing and in a few seconds had reached the top. Standing on the flooring which had formerly been the ceiling, he fastened his end of the rope to a rail stanchion and called down, 'Okay, Rogo, you can let go now.'
The detective was shaken. A rah-rah boy had made it look so easy. Then he said sarcastically, 'I can't wait to see Belle try that.'
Scott said, 'Don't be a chowderhead, Rogo! Send Martin up next,' and to Martin, 'Use the rope instead of the handrail. Brace your feet against the slope and pull yourself up. Take it easy, don't try to do it all in one rush. Good man, that's the way.' A few moments later he was up and standing rather proudly next to him.
'Robin, you're next.'
The boy had succeeded in climbing only half-way up when his strength failed him. He cried, 'I can't any more!'
Scott called down, 'Okay, son, just hang on. Let your feet slide out from under you.' He gripped the rope and signalled Martin to do the same. They heaved back and the youngster was hauled up sliding on his stomach to wriggle to safety on the landing.
'Gee,' he said, 'I'm sorry! I thought I was stronger than I am.'
Scott said, 'Never mind, you did all right, Robin. You kept your head and what's more, you've been helping others to keep theirs.'
'Me?' the boy said in surprise, 'How?'
Scott grinned at him, 'By putting that picture into their minds of all those ships and aircraft, marine radio stations and computer centres on the lookout for us. Some people call it hope. I'd call it Pie-in-the-Sky. If it's there and you can see it, you keep on tryin
g to reach for it.'
Martin said, 'I can't afford to sink. I've got to get back to . . .' He had been about to say his shop, but under the circumstances to couple their survival with his spring line of with-it accessories again suddenly struck him as ridiculous, so he concluded, '. . . . to my wife.' And immediately the thought of Mrs Lewis came up to haunt him once more.
Scott said, 'You just keep thinking that.'
Martin wondered why he did not add, 'and pray', the way most preachers would have done. Some of these modern ones were funny fellows.
Scott said, 'Okay, Rogo, you're next.'
Linda screeched, 'No you don't! You're not leaving me alone down here, like you wanted to in the cabin. I'd be dead by now, like all the rest if I'd listened to you. We're not taking any orders from him. Let somebody else go.'