“You ain’t heard the last of this, Ho-mang,” he said.
15
Breakfast was an angry hush. No one but Burgoyne would talk to Holman. Holman knew he had to square things.
“I’m ready to go back on deck watches,” he told Farren.
“All right. You’ll have the mid,” Farren said curtly.
Holman went to quarters and calisthenics and afterward drew Burgoyne aside. “What’s so Goddamn wrong, Frenchy?” he asked.
“Po-han hit Stawski. He raised his hand to a white man,” Burgoyne said. “They’re blaming you. Maybe they’re right.”
“I hit Stawski.”
“Perna says Po-han did. And Po-han was drinking coffee and handling the throttle.”
“Perna’s a liar!” Holman didn’t know what to say. “What’s wrong with you, Frenchy? You and me both been drinking coffee with Po-han.”
“Well, things was all tore apart and upside down then.” Burgoyne’s lean face looked distressed. “God damn it, I’m pulled both ways, Jake,” he said. “I like Po-han. I know Perna’s a sneak. But guys have got feelings, too.” He dug out his round tin of Copenhagen. “You and Po-han just ride out the storm, Jake. Maybe something’ll happen to take their minds off it.”
Something did happen. Lynch came aboard, red-eyed and weary. He had lost weight and the skin sagged along his jaw. He went up to the CPO quarters and scuttlebutt had the story within the hour. He had been drunk the whole time in Hankow. He had married the Russian woman and cashed in his liberty bonds and they had bought the teashop. He was not happy about it.
“I went to sleep on the train coming down here and I dreamed it wasn’t so,” Lynch said. “Then I woke up and it was so.” He looked at Franks and Welbeck, across the table from him. “What am I gonna do?”
“Why the hell did you ever do it?” Franks asked.
“Oh God, I don’t know! It was like I lost all my backbone.” Lynch cradled his head in his hands. “She kept feeding me vodka and orange juice. That stuff dissolves your brains, boys. Don’t ever touch it!”
“She’s a White Russian, so she doesn’t have a passport. That makes her Chinese, to American law,” Welbeck said. “And it’s against the law to marry a slopehead. I don’t understand how the consulate would give you a license.”
“I don’t remember getting one.”
“Then you ain’t married, Lynch, old boy, old boy!” Franks said.
“She says I am. And I remember being in a church.” Lynch rubbed his forehead. “There was singing and silver and gold. And a priest in robes and a big beard. He kissed me and I slugged him.”
“Without a license, you ain’t married,” Welbeck said firmly. “The church boloney don’t count. Only the law counts.”
“You’re still a free man, Lynch,” Franks said. “Brace up, kid! You’re free!”
“But she’s got my money! She’s sitting and grinning right now up there on top of that teashop!”
Lynch would not be comforted. The Sand Pebbles laughed about his trouble at dinner and it eased the tension. They agreed that Lynch was not really married, he had just been taken for his money. He had lost liberty bonds but not liberty.
“I had her out once. Her name’s Looby,” Wilsey said. “She’s one of the coal heavers.”
It was a legend that White Russian women worked their way down from Vladivostok to Shanghai on the coastal steamers. The tall, muscular ones with their hair in thick blond braids were said to have stoked boiler furnaces. They were all supposed to have been princesses in the old days.
“She’s big enough to handle poor old Lynch,” Farren said.
Holman stood his quarterdeck watch very correctly. When Lt. Collins went down to his gig to go ashore, Holman saluted smartly, and he put his lungs into passing the word: “San Pablo … leaving! San Pablo … leaving!” Then for good measure he ran up to the boat deck and shouted, “Bridge, there! Bear a hand hoisting that absentee pennant!” Holman was being very military. Lynch was senior OOD. He came on the quarterdeck only once. He looked sourly at Holman.
“What did you do to the engine?”
“Lined up the foundations. It’s all back now. Tests out perfect.”
Lynch glowered a long moment, grunted and went away. Holman shrugged. Just before he was relieved, Lop Eye Shing went ashore. Because of his paralysis, he was the only Chinese permitted to come and go across the quarterdeck except on duty. Shing greeted Holman courteously and they talked for a few minutes. Watching him being sculled away in his hired sampan, Holman thought that Shing was taking his loss of face like a man. When Holman went below to write up the engineering log, Po-han told him that he would not be aboard the next day. Shing had fired him. Po-han’s face was very blank.
Holman raged. “He can’t do it!” he swore. “That lopeyed son of a bitch! I won’t let him get away with it!” He insisted that Po-han must stay aboard. “I fix! I speakee you proper, Po-han, I fix!” he kept saying. Po-han agreed to stay, but his face was still blank.
Holman went to the CPO quarters. Lemon was setting the table for Lynch’s supper. Lynch was lying in his bunk with his eyes closed.
“Lynch!” Holman said. Lynch opened his eyes. “Lop Eye Shing wants to fire Po-han,” Holman said. “And Po-han is just now all set to take over down there, like Chien used to have it. Will you tell that droop-faced bastard where to get off, or shall I go tell him?”
“I told Shing to fire him. The whole crew wants to get rid of that coolie.” Lynch rose up on his elbow. “If I could, I’d fire you too. God damn you, you disobeyed my orders! Something could’ve happened!”
“It was my neck out. You was clear,” Holman said. “Anyway, nothing happened.”
“The blazing hell nothing happened!” Lynch swung his legs over the bunk side and sat with fists on thighs. “I got married and lost my money! You call that nothing?” He glared accusingly. “Don’t try to look innocent! You drew down bad luck, just like I said you would, and I’m the one got hit!”
Holman didn’t know whether to laugh or curse. “Well, you don’t have to take it out on Po-han,” he said. “He only done what I told him.”
“I guess you told him to hit Stawski.”
“That’s Perna’s lie! I hit Stawski!”
“Well, I fired Po-han for it!” Lynch said. “And now get the hell out of here!”
“One man for request mast, sir. Holman,” Bordelles said. “It’s about that coolie who hit Stawski.”
“Bring him to my cabin,” Lt. Collins said.
He sat sideways at his desk to face the two men. Holman was in undress blues, very neat, as if for inspection. He looked tense.
“Well, what is it, Holman?”
“Lop Eye Shing is trying to fire Po-han, sir, you know, the one I trained to replace Chien,” Holman said. “Shing ain’t aboard this morning. But I want to ask you to overrule Shing, so I can tell Po-han.”
“Do you know Shing’s reasons?”
“I think so, sir. His real reason.” Shing had a vested interest in keeping the engine misaligned, Holman said, to make more repair work. He had ordered the coolies to boycott the job. Po-han had disobeyed Shing, for the good of the engine and on Holman’s promise that Lt. Collins would protect him. Holman expanded on Po-han’s skill and intelligence and devotion. He was very tense and earnest about it and he made it a plausible story. “We just got to keep Po-han aboard, sir, for the good of the ship!” he finished.
“The ship is more than just the engine.” Might as well let the man down easy, Lt. Collins thought. “Your trouble is in letting something specific and concrete blind you to the larger view of things,” he said. “This coolie you speak of is a kind of unofficial contract laborer. Shing is the unofficial contractor. He has all the authority in the case. Do you see?”
“I see it ain’t fair to Po-han, sir,” Holman said stubbornly. “Do you mean you don’t have any authority over Lop Eye Shing?”
Bordelles frowned at Holman, in warning.
“Of course I have! Shing’s authority is delegated!” Lt. Collins paused to control his anger. Somehow, he was peculiarly vulnerable to this man Holman. “I am just as pleased as you are to have the engine reliable,” he said. “I am not pleased with the way it was done. You withheld information from me, just as you think you are doing at this moment.” He let anger edge his voice. “You disobeyed Lynch. Your coolie disobeyed Shing. You encouraged your coolie to violate the customary pattern of behavior in the engine room and in the end he struck a crew member. In short, you gravely misaligned the structure of authority in this ship. Shing’s action is the cheapest and easiest way to set it right again, and it has my full approval.”
He turned back to his desk. The interview was over.
“That don’t make it fair,” Holman said. “Po-han didn’t hit Stawski. I hit Stawski.”
“Perna and Stawski say differently,” Bordelles said sharply. “That’s two men’s words against yours, Holman.”
“That don’t make it true. Ski was drunk and Perna’s a liar.”
“So you say. Come on, get out of here.”
“It’s true, Mr. Bordelles! Po-han didn’t hit Stawski!”
Lt. Collins turned back to face them. “Of conflicting stories people tend to believe the one that pleases them most,” he said. “The crew believes Perna. Whether it is justified or not, their belief is itself a fact in the situation. I consider Shing to be acting on that fact, with my approval.”
“Well, does that answer you, Holman?”
Bordelles was motioning Holman toward the door. The man’s face was red and desperate and he was crunching his white hat.
“Listen. When I told Po-han you’d protect him, he didn’t believe you could,” Holman said. “None of the Chinese believe you can overrule Shing. But if I get the crew to agree to keep Po-han, will you do it?”
“Come on! Get out of here!” Bordelles shoved Holman.
Holman resisted. “If you never have overruled him, how do you know the coolies ain’t right?” he challenged. “He lives down there in the Spanish cabin, bigger quarters than you got! He draws more money than you! How does anybody know the coolies ain’t right?”
“Silence!” Bordelles shouted.
His face was white. He was trying to shove Holman out the door.
“No, wait!” Lt. Collins stood up. “Holman, if you can persuade the crew to want to keep Po-han, I will overrule Shing,” he said.
“Aye aye, sir!” Holman said.
The door closed behind Holman. Bordelles was still angry.
“The insolent bastard!” he said.
“Sit down, Tom.” Lt. Collins motioned to a chair and sat down himself, with his elbows on the table. “That Holman. He should never have been enlisted,” he said musingly. “He’s a dark, angry question unable to receive the answer. He’s a Caliban. I don’t know what he is.”
“He’s a troublemaker!” Bordelles hesitated. “Do you really think it was advisable …”
“To promise to overrule Shing?” Lt. Collins smiled. “It was impulsive, I admit. I don’t know. It might be good policy to overrule Shing openly, just once. I have never thought out clearly the nature of his authority in the ship.” He drummed with his fingers. “Personal authority is always delegated. The person to whom it is delegated is always accountable to higher authority for the way he uses it. The supreme, undelegated authority in San Pablo rests in the American people collectively. Through a chain of command it is delegated to me; I exercise it in their name; and back through the chain of command I am responsible to them for what I do. That is why I must never let my authority even seem to be impugned from beneath. That is why mutiny is punishable by death.” He broke off, to smile at Bordelles. “Excuse me, Tom. I’m thinking out loud.”
“Go on, sir,” Bordelles said.
“I also delegate authority within my ship. It is possible to see San Pablo as a working structure of authorities, down to the level of seamen and coolies who control only their own behavior. It is necessary to allow each man a graded leeway in his use of authority, because it is a dynamic structure, not a static form. I am guided in that by navy regulations. Unfortunately, we have no written regulations governing the Chinese boatmen. All we have is a body of custom and usage. I have no official authority over Shing.” He frowned.
“You can throw him off your ship. You can break his rice bowl.”
“Yes. And his face is involved here. He may feel he has to break his own rice bowl, if I overrule him.”
“They say Big Chew wouldn’t mind replacing Shing.”
“Lynch’s face is involved, too.”
“Poor Lynch.” Bordelles chuckled. “Do you consider he’s really married, sir?”
“Of course not.” Lt. Collins smiled.
“Well, Holman is not going to swing the crew over,” Bordelles said. “They feel very strongly about it. Many of them have never really accepted Holman.”
“I simply have to get rid of him. There may be a place for him in a big ship. But not in San Pablo.”
“Bronson has hinted to me of something unhealthy in Holman’s relationship with that coolie.”
Lt. Collins shook his head, frowning. Homosexuality was a nasty, ever-threatening danger aboard ship. That was why the men had to be given periodic access to women, whether the missionaries approved or not. Under the right circumstances a commanding officer could simply write out an Undesirable Discharge for a man, from which there was no appeal, and set him ashore. But it was not a power to be used lightly.
“I’ll arrange a transfer when we’re in Hankow again,” he said.
“Do you have to wait, sir?”
“I feel I’d better. Otherwise government funds would be expended in transportation. It would all have to be down on paper.” He looked up and smiled. “And frankly, Tom, I wouldn’t know what to write. I’d rather handle it by word of mouth.”
“Yes, sir, I see that,” Bordelles said. “Well, Holman is not going to change the crew’s mind. Rest easy on that, sir.”
Holman went down to the main deck. He was trying to think hard and coldly. Burgoyne called him aside.
“I was talking to Scharf last night, in the Red Candle,” he said. “He’s ready to fix Po-han up with a job in the smelter.”
“No, by God!” Holman said. “Po-han earned his place on here. I ain’t going to let ’em take it away from him!”
He told Burgoyne what Lt. Collins had promised. Burgoyne was certain the Sand Pebbles would not be swung over. He urged Holman to drop the notion and let Po-han go to the smelter. Holman would not consider it.
“Okay, if I lose,” he said. “But I ain’t lost yet.”
He talked to Big Chew, alone with him in the galley. Without either man actually saying it, they agreed that they might cost Lop Eye Shing so much face that Big Chew could get his job. Holman said he would talk to the crew after dinner and it would help if it was a very good dinner. Big Chew’s eyes gleamed.
“Apple pie,” he said. “Lemon. Wine. I glate gingah.”
The dinner was exceptionally good. Holman did not try to join the talk. All morning they had been grinning and watching him covertly, waiting for him to show some sign of distress, some admission of defeat. The food took their minds off it. There was hot, clear chicken soup with Chinese cabbage and lean beef stewed tender with several vegetables and hot biscuits with pots of strawberry jam. Wong put two pies on each table, and they were masterpieces. Criss-crossed strips of cheese were half melted into the flaky brown crusts and inside grated ginger and lemon peel gave a hot, spicy tang to the mixed cheese and apple and other nameless, delicate flavors. The perfume filled the compartment and every man ate two pieces. Then they leaned back in their chairs with coffee and cigarettes and they were all in a very good mood.
Big Chew had done his part. Holman stood up. He stepped into the bull ring and stood facing them, arms out and braced against the white stanchions on either side. The Sand Pebbles hushed their talking and eased the
ir chairs around to face him back.
“Guys, I been all wrong and I’m sorry,” Holman said. “I’m back on deck watches now and I’ll stand by for any man that asks me until I make up every watch I missed. Things I said that I shouldn’t, I’m sorry about them, too.”
They did not have much expression. He told them about Po-han disobeying Shing for the good of the ship and how it was not fair that Shing should make him suffer for that. A few heads nodded.
“I say Lop Eye Shing don’t have any right to fire somebody, if the ship loses by it,” Holman said. “Everybody knows there’s bad blood between Lop Eye and Big Chew. If Shing gets away with this, he’s liable to fire Big Chew next.”
“He’ll play hell!” Duckbutt Randall exclaimed.
Heads nodded and a growl ran along the tables. They were coming around. Then Bronson raised his hand.
“Why tell us? Go talk to the skipper.”
“I did. Shing’s pretending it’s because the crew wants to get rid of Po-han,” Holman said. “If I can tell the skipper that ain’t so, he’ll overrule Shing. He told me he would.”
Bronson smiled nastily. “Well, you know, Ho-mang, it is so.”
“For the good of the ship, Bronson. Po-han’s trained up and ready to replace Chien, and he’s the only Chinese aboard that is. With him down there, I can stay topside just like Pitocki did. It can be like old times again.”
“Balls, Ho-mang!” Bronson was enjoying it. “Your pet coolie was using mess gear and he hit a white man. Next thing we know he’ll be up here after a bunk and a place at the mess table.”
A mutter ran along the tables. Yeah! That’s telling him, Bronson! Their faces were like curtains coming down on rows of windows. Holman clenched his teeth.
“I was cold sober that night and I know what happened,” he said. “I was the one hit Stawski. Po-han was drinking coffee, all right, but he had it in one of their tea bowls.”
“He was using a mess cup!” Perna jumped up. “That’s really true about the mess cup! I seen it!”
The Sand Pebbles Page 23