by Paul Gallico
The head disappeared and they heard footsteps diminishing. They waited, listening. Nothing happened. Nobody came. 'Well, the dirty, lousy, bastard!' Rogo shouted.
'Didn't you see?' Scott said, 'He was frightened to death. Probably all those up there are in the same state and useless. We'll have to depend on ourselves.'
'Oh, sure!' Rogo said sarcastically. 'Go up the wall like monkeys.'
'Or like people.' Scott went over to examine it, and as he did so they saw what their preoccupation with the stairs had prevented them from noticing before.
Bottom side up, the top of the seemingly unreachable bulkhead, which would be the floor to them could they gain it, was like the one upon which they had been walking -- lined with pipes -- except that some of these as they came down the side vertically, were not only heavier but were equipped with wheel valves of various sizes.
There was heavy asbestos packing around the joints and at intervals the pipes were fixed to the bulkhead with collars attached to flanges recessed into the wall, a matter of some three inches but sufficient to give a finger- and toe-hold. Two large and several smaller wheel valves thrusting outwards offered further purchase.
Hope swelled and the repetition by Scott of what seemed to be a pet phrase, 'piece of cake,' lifted up their spirits once more. Relief and admiration overcame Jane Shelby's doubts of Scott.
Linda Rogo said, 'Not for me.'
A sad expression came over her husband's face again as he shook his head, 'You're gonna be awfully lonely down here by yourself, baby.'
She told him what he could do with himself and then added, 'I'll have company. You think old fatty is going to get up there?'
Jane Shelby wondered whether this was to be the prelude to another outburst of violence but this time Rogo merely nodded morosely to Scott, 'She'll go.'
But Mrs Rosen, who in their euphoria they had forgotten, had been put back into their minds and they turned to her now.
'Look,' replied Belle Rosen, 'you shouldn't even ask me such a foolish thing. I couldn't do it. Manny should go but I wouldn't even try. It makes me ashamed even you should think about it.'
'The tablecloths . .' Muller suggested, but Scott vetoed them before he finished the sentence.
'Won't work here. No purchase. It will be simpler to climb.'
Manny said, 'I should go and leave you? Are you crazy, Mamma? Who says I could go up there? Everybody else should go and leave us. We don't want to make any trouble.'
In his refined and modulated voice with its pseudo English accent, Hubie Muller said, 'There's no question of leaving either of you behind, Mrs Rosen. We all started off on this thing together and we ought to keep to it.'
Linda Rogo snapped quickly, 'Why? It's their idea if they don't want to come, not ours. Let 'em stay. And the same to all of you,' she added, for she felt the shock wave of their dislike of her.
Scott said to Belle Rosen, 'Down in the dining-room would you have believed that you could have got this far?'
Belle said. 'No, I wouldn't. But pulling up is one thing, climbing is another.' And then she added, 'You're a terrible man. I suppose I should try.'
Scott grinned down upon her almost affectionately and said, 'You're my girl! As a matter of fact, we shall have you up top there before anyone else and then you can watch the rest of us struggling.' He turned again to look at the bulkhead and said, 'We'll want the axe here. Who's got it?'
A deep groan came from Manny Rosen. Belle asked, 'Manny, what's wrong with you? Are you sick?'
Rosen groaned again, 'Am I sick! I was the last man up. I forgot it.'
Linda cracked, 'That's the Yid for you.' It was as though she was determined to acerbate them all at every turn.
Rosen answered, 'So what's Yid got to do with forgetting something? I shouldn't of, but anyone can forget something when he's excited.'
Belle said, 'Sure, Manny. Why didn't somebody say to you to bring it up?' Then, with surprising mildness she added, 'Calling names don't do any good, Mrs Rogo. We are what we are, and you are what you are, and no one should blame anyone for that.'
Linda was too stupid to catch the full subtlety of Mrs Rosen's remark, but she was prepared to battle with her when Rogo quickly interposed. 'I'll go for it.' He felt he had lost face with his obstructionism to Scott's leadership and wanted to regain some.
'No you won't!' said Linda. 'He forgot it. Let him get it.'
'Now baby,' Rogo soothed, 'don't be like that. He'd never make it. Mr Rosen is a friend of mine.' And actually at that moment the detective was thinking of the number of pastrami and Rosen Special three-decker sandwiches he had consumed in the uptown delicatessen shop and always on the house with a bottle of beer thrown in. He turned to Scott, 'Gimme the rope.'
Scott handed over the coil. 'Can you manage?'
Rogo looked at him squarely and not pleasantly in the face and said with quiet and direct insolence, 'Just because cops are supposed to be dumb, don't get any ideas in your head about me.'
They watched the stocky, compact figure make his way down the corridor from whence they had come.
Scott suggested. 'We'll rest,' and disposed his length along the piping. 'Try to make yourselves as comfortable as you can.'
Nonnie whispered to Muller, 'I liked what you said about not leaving the Rosens. They're sweet. They think about each other.' As she knelt, her dressing-gown flew open and she quickly clutched it about her again saying, 'Oh dear, I'm so ashamed about not having anything on underneath.'
It was Muller's first encounter with the paradoxical modesty of some professional performers and in a curious way he found it moving. He was aware that her shyness in this instance was genuine. Whatever or whoever she was, she valued her person. He smiled at her and said, 'I've got an idea.' He unfastened his braces, handed them to her and said, 'Here, tie these around your middle.'
'Oh,' she cried, 'what about your trousies! Won't they fall down?'
Muller patted his stomach, 'Not over this gourmet's pot,' he declared. 'I wear suspenders merely as a symbol.'
Nonnie asked, 'What's a symbol?'
Muller replied, 'In this case, kidding myself that I need something to hold up my pants.'
She whispered, 'Oh, you are funny!' and hugged his arm, and the pressure sent a thrill of pleasure through him.
Lying uncomfortably on the pipes, out of earshot, Belle asked her husband, 'What's with that Linda woman, who does she think she is? Why does he put up with it? I thought cops were supposed to be tough.'
'She thinks she's better than he is,' Manny replied.
'Better from what?'
'She was going to be a big movie star. She gave up her career and let herself down when she married Rogo.'
'Who says so?'
'Rogo.'
'He believes this?'
Manny said, 'I remember once before he got married, he come into the store. He had a copy of Life Magazine and he showed me her picture. There was four or five girls and the heading was, "Starlets Today: Star Tomorrow", and they were from different companies. I think she was with Paramount. She was cute then. She didn't look spoiled. Anyway, Rogo says to me, "Manny, I'm walking on air. We're going to get married. A bum like me married to a moving picture star!" You see, for him she was a star already. He says, "I'm crazy about her. What right has a dumb cop got with a wonderful dame like that, who could have her name up in lights?" I said to him, "She must be pretty crazy about you, too," and he said, "I can't hardly believe it yet. And me, I wasn't brung up; I was yanked up on First Avenue."'
Belle snorted, 'Huh! They must have been going to chuck her from the films, or she got herself into trouble.'
Manny said, 'I think she was in some Broadway show, but it flopped. Though Rogo didn't say nothing about that.'
'And she should spit on us, or a nice kid like Nonnie?'
Manny nodded, 'Ain't that always the way?'
Belle said, 'What she needs is another good slap across the mouth.'
But after having said this
she became suddenly reflective, fingered her torn lace dress, felt her aching feet and even looked for a moment at the big diamond sparkling on her finger. She said, 'What a stupid thing to say at a time like this, Manny. Who cares? We're in bad trouble, ain't we?'
'I shouldn't tell you no lies, Belle.'
'We could go down?'
'We could.'
She was silent for an instant and then said, 'You gave me a good life, Manny.'
'I wouldn't have been anything without you, Mamma.'
She sighed, 'So what's the point of all this climbing up?'
'If there's a chance, we ought to take it, oughtn't we?' Manny replied.
She did not reply to this.
Miss Kinsale was not lying down but sitting across the pipes, her unfashionably too long, grey frock pulled well down over her knees. Her hands were folded in her lap and she was staring straight ahead at nothing.
Scott opened his eyes and sat up. He took in the figure opposite. 'Are you all right, Miss Kinsale?'
She came out of her reverie with a slight shiver and then favoured him with a small, bright smile and the softening of her expression had the effect of removing a decade from her plain, unadorned countenance. 'Oh, yes, quite,' she replied, 'thank you.'
Scott said, 'What a quiet person you are.'
It was an echo of what most everyone who had encountered her on the cruise felt about her. Miss Kinsale never said very much. One had gathered that she was a bookkeeper in a bank in a place called Camberley near London. She had saved up her money for a winter holiday cruise. In the morning the promenade deck resounded to the click of her sensible heels as she did her twenty laps around, which constituted a mile. She took tea in the afternoon with a group of ladies, but listened more than she talked. She attended the cinema and during the shore excursions, one was conscious of her from time to time as an eager, interested little figure carrying a notebook, pencil and camera. She also bought innumerable coloured postcards to pile up a record of all she had seen and done. But what she thought, felt, or was like, nobody knew.
Miss Kinsale had been considering the Minister's questioning. 'There isn't very much one can say, is there?' she replied finally, and then, lowering her eyes and dropping her voice, she added, 'We're in the hands of the Lord. I trust in Him. Thank you for letting me pray with you. You've given me strength.'
'Oh . . . yes,' Scott said, in the manner of one who has been reminded of something he has quite forgotten. Then he asked her, 'And do you trust in yourself?'
Miss Kinsale's grey eyes suddenly became luminous, 'Oh, yes,' she replied, 'when I'm with you, I have no fear. I feel you are very close to God.'
There was a noise from overhead again. This time two heads peered down upon them and they all looked up hopefully as for a moment they thought that the first man they had seen had sent aid. But there was something even more strange about these faces than the first, a curious distortion of the mouths with spittle drooling from the sides and glazed, staring eyes that were not focusing. They vanished.
Hubie Muller tried to hold them with a shout, 'Hey! You speak English? Français? Deutsch? Parla Italiano?'
They did not reappear. 'If you ask me,' said Martin, startling the group, 'they're plastered.'
'What?' queried The Beamer hopefully. 'Drunk?'
Mike Rogo came walking back, the axe over one shoulder, the rope coiled over the other. He was looking dishevelled and worried. His shoes and the bottoms of his trousers half-way up the calf were soaking wet.
The Beamer praised, 'Well done, old boy!'
Rogo said, 'Nuts!'
But Scott was held by the condition of Rogo's feet. He said, 'Hello! How did you get wet? Where was the axe?'
Rogo replied, 'Under a foot of water.' And then shifting his gaze to the bulkhead he said, 'We'd better get to hell on up there.'
Cold with apprehension Shelby said, 'My God, she's settling! What about all those down on "C" deck, then -- Acre and Peters? And the rest of those in the dining-room?'
Rogo regarded him without expression and merely replied, 'Yeah, what about them?'
Pamela Reid blurted out, 'They'll be under water, then like the rest, wouldn't they? Our cabin was on "B" deck.'
Nonnie's teeth began to chatter. She whimpered, 'Oh, my God! All my chums -- Nicky, Moira, Sybil, Heather, Jo and Timmy, are they all dead?'
'Shsh!' Muller said, 'Don't think about it.' He reached over and put his arm about her and she buried her face in his shoulder.
Scott asked, 'Was it still rising while you were there?'
'No,' Rogo replied, 'I waited a while and checked. I had the rope tied to the top of the stairs so I could get back.'
'The ship may just have been striking a buoyancy balance,' said Shelby, graveyard whistling.
Martin was more practical. He said, 'She could fill up and sink any minute.'
They looked at one another in alarm. Their momentary feeling of security evaporated. It was beginning to penetrate that any minute could be their last.
'Thanks, Rogo,' Scott said and then commanded, 'let's go!' and this time no one questioned or disputed his order. The urgency to hurry was upon them all. Scott took the axe from Rogo and wedged it firmly, pick end first, within an angle of the pipes. He tested the haft and said, 'That'll give us a nice handhold.' Turning to Pamela he said, 'Let's see you get up there.'
The British girl went to the bulkhead, the attitude of her body a study of determination and self-confidence.
She kicked off her shoes, handed them to The Beamer and began to climb. Strong toes and powerful fingers gripped every hold. When she reached the handle of the axe it gave a grip on which she could pull and thereafter she swung herself upwards steadily without a pause, until her body projected half over the top. She then wriggled the rest of the way, got to her knees, slewed around and looked down upon them. 'Not too bad,' was her verdict.
The Beamer said, 'Good God, I've been consorting with a human fly!'
There was some laughter and a notable appreciation of spirit. Muller thought that whatever else Scott might be, he was thoroughly grounded in the psychology of athleticism. He had sent up a girl. She had done it easy as wink, and thus softened it for the rest of them.
Scott called, 'Can you see anyone about, Pam?'
The girl stood up. 'There isn't too much light. Some people seem to be milling about at the far end but I can't tell how many or what they're doing. Do you want me to go and see?'
'No,' Scott replied, 'if Martin is right and they've got at some liquor and are plastered, it wouldn't do any good. We'll help Mrs Rosen next.'
The Beamer's head came up and he said, 'Did I hear the word "liquor"?' Then he sang, 'If I had the wings of an angel . . .'
Scott ignored him and continued, 'No, wait a minute! Dick, just nip to the top, so that you can give her a hand from there.'
Shelby moved aver to obey. He had no qualms this time. Scott had created almost an atmosphere of hypnosis, similar to the ones Shelby had encountered in his college years.
Scott said, 'Stay loose. Up you go!' and he gave Shelby a slap on the bottom in the manner of a quarter-back coming out of a huddle and sending his guards and tackles into the line for play.
Shelby felt excited, light and capable as he had in his football days, when, donning his helmet, he was sent out on to the field to substitute.
The euphoria lasted and under its spell he reached the top in a few seconds to join the girl.
Scott called up, 'Kneel by the edge, will you, it will give you more leverage. Okay, Mrs Rosen, right on up!'
Belle Rosen repeated bitterly, 'Right on up!' and turned to her husband, 'Must I, Manny?'
'Try, Mamma.'
She rose heavily and walked to the bulkhead, and with every step that she approached closer the difficulty became more and more obvious until she stood at the foot and turned to them with humiliation in her dark eyes. 'Look! My stummick! I can't even get close. Don't make me, please!'
Scott had sig
nalled to the men. Muller, The Beamer, Martin and Rogo joined him. 'See,' he said, 'we're all here. We won't let you fall. You're not really as stout as you think you are. Put your feet there and your hands here. Just catch hold of the edge. Now push and pull.'
Belle Rosen rose six inches above their heads, but gave a cry, 'Oh, oh, I can't! I'm falling!' and would have done so except that the four men held her body pinned against the side of the bulkhead.
'That's fine, Mrs Rosen,' Scott said and to the others he whispered, 'Okay, lads, lift!' The enormous figure rose another six inches and she began to scream, 'No! No! Let me down! Let me down! I don't wanna do it!' even while her fat fingers were scrabbling for a handhold.