A World to Win

by Sinclair, Upton;

  XI

  Reverdy showed Lanny their route on the globe. It would have been pleasanter to travel by way of Hawaii and westward along the line of the temperate zone, but the distances between ports were too great for a yacht’s fuel capacity. Farther to the south, just north of the equator, was a belt some three thousand miles long which had been mandated to the Japanese; they were under pledge not to fortify it, but everybody knew they had done so, and they made matters extremely unpleasant for visitors. Thus the only practicable route lay south of the equator, dotted with groups of islands under British, French, or American control. The weather would be hot, but Reverdy had come for that; those who didn’t enjoy it could stay in the air-conditioned interior until the sun had gone down.

  They passed the Galapagos Islands, but not near enough to see them. Reverdy had been there, and reported that they were disappointing; their surface consisted for the most part of volcanic lava, with edges so sharp that they cut your shoes. The giant tortoises were almost extinct, and it was against the laws of Ecuador to take them. There was some fertile land in small valleys, and settlers had tried to live there; cattle and donkeys, pigs and dogs had escaped, and now formed a wild fauna, extremely unpleasant and sometimes dangerous. Reverdy had accumulated a set of scrapbooks about all the places he had visited, and he read aloud to the company a magazine article about a couple of back-to-nature enthusiasts who had tried to establish themselves in a fertile glen, and of their futile struggle to fence out the fierce invaders. The man in this episode was a German scientist, embittered against humanity; one of his measures in preparation for the simple life was to have all his teeth out and a stainless steel set made. Lanny thought that an odd way of getting back to nature.

  Steadily the trim white Oriole plowed her way through these vast and lonely waters. Her course lay straight into the sunset, and every evening when the great golden ball dropped into the sea it was something like a half hour later—which meant that the yacht had covered between four and five hundred miles. This seeming-easy progress would continue for a matter of three weeks, not counting the time off for stops. Lanny’s birthday came, his forty-first, and they celebrated it with an elaborate cake and a special bottle of champagne. He proposed a toast—to victory and peace before the Oriole’s return.

  Each day the invalid practiced walking, at first unsteadily, then with returning strength. By advice of the doctors, including the young lady on board, he took many short walks, and little by little made them longer. And with this physical recuperation came activity of mind; Lanny Budd was able to stop brooding over atomic formulas and the months he had wasted in learning them. He wasn’t at all sure that Alston had been telling him the truth about the information from Germany; but Lanny knew that he had done his best, and that sooner or later he would find some new way to help in the war against Nazi-Fascism. Meantime, whenever he turned on the radio, he wondered if he was going to hear that New York had been destroyed by an atomic bomb. Or would it be Berlin? He could not speak one word on the subject.

  The yacht would never be out of reach of short-wave radio during the cruise; the passengers learned that the Russians were holding out, and apparently were going on fighting through the winter. That meant more time for America to produce supplies and find ways to get them to both Russia and Britain. Lanny would pick up scraps of news here and there and put them together and form conclusions which he was careful not to express. Reyerdy told his guests what to think about the wickedness of Bolshevism, and he would have been greatly upset if he had had the idea that he had a “radical” or anything of that sort on board. He wanted Britain to win without having the Soviet Union win, and how to arrange this was a problem that Lanny passed on to him.

  XII

  The affair between the invalid and the owner’s daughter continued to develop, and those on board watched it with increasing interest. A “romance” was their name for it, and they proved the saying that all the world loves a lover. All the world of the Oriole stood aside for a pair of lovers, and made things easy for them. It was taken for granted that when Lanny walked, Lizbeth should walk with him; that when he read, he should read aloud to her; that when he played bridge, she should be his partner. It was exactly like being married, except that now when he went to his cabin he could be alone, whereas when the knot was tied he would be expected to go to her cabin and stay there.

  At first, when he was weak and sick, this idea of “steady company” was pleasant enough; but the painful fact was that every day as his strength returned it became less so. Lizbeth could meet his bodily needs, but she could not meet those of his mind; and the more his mind became active, the less tolerable he found it not to be alone. What on earth was he to talk to her about? Hear her recite lessons, and supplement the efforts of her tutor? When he had met her in Baltimore there had been many people, and she had chatted happily about what they had said and done. But on the yacht nothing happened, and one day was the same as the next. Pretty soon she had told him everything she knew about everybody on board, and after that the only alternatives were to play shuffleboard or bridge, or try to get some jazz music on the radio and dance in solemn languor.

  He knew only too well what she wanted, which was for him to make love to her. There was a splendid tropic moon and a soft warm breeze and the sound of the yacht’s prow splashing the water. Late at night, instead of going off to his cabin, he ought to sit and hold her hand, and then put his arm about her. Little by little she would yield in perfect bliss; they would murmur sweet nothings, and her heart would begin to pound and the blushes mount to her cheeks. Presently she would tell her father, and he would tell the others, that at last they were engaged. At the next port, they would go ashore and find some missionary, or the “resident,” or whatever the governor of a Polynesian island was called, to make them man and wife; and after that Lanny would live the rest of his days as he was living now, doing what was expected of him, and bored beyond endurance.

  Many times he had thought that he might “educate her” to his way of thinking; but now that he faced the prospect of beginning, he saw that he didn’t know how. His first words would have to be: “You must promise me nor to say a word to your father about what I am going to tell you.” And what would that mean to Lizbeth’s mind? She adored her father, and had probably never once thought of the possibility that he might be wrong. Lanny was proposing to reveal to her a set of political and social ideas which would be utterly beyond her understanding, and which she had been taught by both her mother and father were wicked, not to say sacrilegious. It could only throw her mind into a turmoil, and make her think that her adored Lanny Budd was some new sort of wolf in sheep’s clothing—a Pink wolf, or even a Red one, something more terrible than had ever been known in the folklore of any people.

  Well, that might be one way to break off with her; a painful way, but Lanny couldn’t think of any way that was going to be pleasant. Lizbeth was leaning more and more toward him even day, and she was bound to be wondering why his arms were not held out to her. The tension was increasing; and how many more times would he bid her good night before she would catch at his hand, or have tears running down her cheeks—or worse yet, before she would start weeping In her father’s presence, and force Reverdy to come to the reluctant lover and ask him what was the matter? Lanny thought: I am in a mess, and I ought to remind Reverdy of our bargain, and get off at the first place where I can get a plane back to the States.”

  XIII

  But that wasn’t altogether satisfactory either, for he became aware that what he really wanted was to talk to Laurel Creston. Day by day as his bodily needs decreased and his mental needs increased, Laurel took the place of Lizbeth in his thoughts. He wasn’t in the slightest doubt as to what he wanted to talk to Laurel about, and there was little possibility that they would run out of subjects. He could say to her what he really thought, and without any preliminary education to make certain that it didn’t shock her. What a preposterous situation that they had to p
retend to be strangers, and could not take any steps to become friends! And this was supposed to continue for six months, without any chance of alteration.

  Again and again he went over the problem in his mind. Had she come because of a sudden impulse? Or had it really been true that she wanted to concentrate upon a novel? Was it that she didn’t care anything about Lanny Budd, except as a source of information about Germany? If this last was her motive, she was certainly being thwarted; and how long would she submit to that? Another possibility—could it be that she thought Lanny was really in love with Lizbeth, and that she was loyally keeping out of the way? Or was she waiting to let him make up his mind and give some sign as to his choice? If that was the case, what would she be thinking about him? Nothing very good, Lanny could guess. Probably that he was marrying a yacht and an estate in Green Spring Valley!

  He had never given Laurel the least hint that he was interested in her cousin, or she in him, So it was possible that Laurel had come on board in ignorance of the situation existing. But, on the other hand, she might have got the facts from some member of the family, or some friend; she might have come for the studied purpose of confronting Lanny with the intellectual life, of letting him see the superiority of mind over matter, of brains over beauty. It all depended upon whether she really wanted him for herself. She had never let him know; and all he could say was that if she did want him, she was taking a large chance by her present aloofness!

  All this turmoil was to be charged up against the tiresome and persistent subject of sex, which wouldn’t let either men or women rest, and kept upsetting all their plans and pleasures. All that Lanny wanted, he told himself, was to enjoy intellectual conversation with a woman writer; he wanted to know what was emerging from the rattle of typewriter keys in her cabin every morning. He wanted to give her such help as his well-stored mind could supply. But he couldn’t do it, because—to put it in plain language—a young female at the age for motherhood wanted him to be the father of her children.

  That was a proper purpose, of course; it was the way Nature’s program was carried on. And maybe Nature was wiser than any of her creatures. Lanny could wonder whether, in that spirit world about which he had done so much imagining, there might be unborn souls floating about restlessly, seeking opportunity to enter into life. A strange field for speculation, indeed! Did those souls—or minds, or egos, or personalities, or whatever name you chose to give them—exist now? Or did they only begin to exist after a missionary or resident or governor had pronounced a formula and made an entry into a register, thus officially authorizing a male sperm to make contact with a female ovum? If it was true, as many philosophers insisted and as the physicists were now agreeing, that time was a form of human thought, then the souls that were going to exist must exist now. Were they conscious of their destiny; did they know where they were coming?

  And one more curious idea: when a man was trying to make up his mind whether to marry or not, did the souls know about the problem? If so, Lanny Budd must be causing considerable confusion in that shadowy vestibule. It might even be that there were two sets of souls—the Lanny-Lizbeth set and the Lanny-Laurel set, hovering at the gates at being. And would they fight one another for precedence? And could that have anything to do with the emotions that were now agitating the bosoms of two ladies on earth, or that would be agitating them before this duel of the three L’s had been fought to a finish?

  Another aspect of this “life in threes” was frequently in Lanny’s thoughts; he was interested in psychic research, a subject that had nothing to do with sex. Laurel was a medium, and just now Lanny had a problem he was longing to investigate. This business of his going to Hongkong and what was going to happen there! Even apart from any question of his personal concern, he would have liked to try a few séances. What would Otto Kahn have to say about the matter? And would Great-Uncle Eli come, or Zaharoff or Marcel Detaze or anybody else with warnings? All that Lanny wanted was to be able to sit quietly with pencil and notebook and watch while Laurel went into one of her trances. But there was no place where it could be done on this yacht except in her cabin or Lanny’s; and imagine what excitement would have been among souls both born and unborn if he had ventured upon such an enterprise!

  XIV

  Disturbances in the hearts of passengers had no effect upon Diesel engines, and the Oriole drove rapidly westward. The Pacific Ocean justified its name, and day after day there were low swells upon the water and steady blazing heat in the air. They came to the Marquesas, the first large group and Lanny’s first glimpse of a region about which he had read much colorful writing. The islands loomed up gray on the horizon, and gradually became purple, and when you were near they were a tender green, like velvet upholstery which you might like to stroke. Volcanic cliffs rose out of the water a thousand feet, and behind them were steep mountains; streams made lacy waterfalls, and white birds flew in swarms about the peaks. Here and there were indentations, with native villages amid palm trees. With glasses you could watch the natives running to their canoes, preparing to come out to the yacht if it stopped.

  Reverdy had visited here on every trip, and he stood by the rail with Lanny and watched the outrigger canoes of the pearl divers. Here were some of the finest pearl-fishing grounds in the world; from them came black pearls with a marvelous greenish luster, also black mother-of-pearl. The native divers plunged into the water without diving suits or helmets, and sometimes they worked as deep as seventy feet. They piled the shells into baskets which were hauled up by rope. Sometimes they were mutilated by octopi or sharks, but they carried sharp knives and were expert in using them.

  The owner of the Oriole was fascinated by the subject of jewels, and Lanny wondered whether that was a cause or a consequence of his reading so many mystery stories. Reverdy said that on the way back they would stop and make purchases—it was an amusing form of speculation. Lanny didn’t know anything about the qualities of pearls, but he said politely that he would be happy to learn. Mostly the gems were bought by Chinese traders, who were experts in values; but if you dealt with the natives you might pick up extraordinary bargains. With Reverdy the practice had begun as a diversion, but then the idea had occurred to him that by registering the yacht as a trading vessel he might charge off the costs of the cruise as a business loss in his income-tax reports. One of his complaints against the war was that this device had been rendered dangerous, and the Oriole had become once more a pleasure vessel.

  At the large island of Nukuhiva, the scene of Melville’s Typee, Reverdy knew the French resident and the storekeepers by name. He had notified them in advance of his coming, in order that they might have a supply of fuel on hand for him. They would charge him double prices in wartime, and he would grumble to his secretary and his male guest, but never in the presence of the ladies, bless their delicate souls!

  The yacht was laid alongside a pier made of cocoanut palms, and a wheezy pump went to work; meantime the guests would step ashore, and Lanny would have his first good look at the Polynesian people. He; didn’t see so much as some earlier travelers, because the missionaries had put all the women into long mother hubbards, which may have improved their morals but surely not their looks. Both men and women had straight black hair and put red hibiscus flowers behind their ears. They knew a few French words, enough to sell fruits and trinkets; both men and women helped in carrying stores onto the yacht and they sang as they worked and showed gleaming white teeth when they smiled.

  The tourists bought souvenirs, as all tourists do, and Lanny had his first experience of eating a mango. The one he tried was the size of an orange with a satiny reddish skin, and so full of juice that it was hard to break the skin without being deluged. Lanny said that when he ate his second he would be in a bathing suit. The steward of the yacht bought quantities of bananas and other fruits, fresh fish and shell fish, and also some breadfruit, because visitors were always curious about it. After they had tried it boiled they agreed that they preferred hot biscuits, �
�flannel cakes,” and other Maryland delicacies prepared by their colored cook from home.

  XV

  The yacht resumed her course. Their next stop would be Samoa, a couple of thousand miles west-southwest. When you looked on the chart you saw it liberally peppered with islands, but when you looked on the sea you might see no island for days; so you realized the vast distances of the Pacific, and the quantity of water that was available for the extraction of magnesium and other minerals. It was the rainy season, and showers appeared from nowhere and vanished to nowhere. The vessel sped through sheets of rain, and they cooled the air; but it soon grew hot again, and the ladies, remembering their complexions, stayed in the shade of the awnings and in midday retired to the interior. Storms came, and they stayed in their cabins and sometimes lost their appetites. Lanny cheered them with the assurance that it was a good way to reduce, and already Lizbeth had reached the point where she thought about this. She had the same weakness for the cream pitcher that Lanny had observed in his darling mother since childhood.

  They were two weeks out from Miami, and Lanny was walking now; also, he was impatient, because he had talked about everything he could think of with Lizbeth, and he wanted to enjoy his own thoughts. He took to reading in his cabin, and came up to stroll late at night after the other guests had retired. It was cool then, and beautiful; the yacht was kept brightly lighted on account of the possibility of a German raider. The stars were clear bright lamps hung in the sky, just as the ancient Egyptians had believed them to be. Everything that moved on the sea made phosphorescence, and the pathway of the Oriole was black and gold, like the colors of the Baltimore bird.