Blood Ties

by A. J. Quinnell

  Like a matador Cady swayed to his left, twisted and brought the side of his hand slamming down on to the back of Carlo’s neck.

  “Get up!”

  Carlo lay half under one of the tables. His mouth in the dirt, his shoulders heaving. Again he rolled on to his side and looked up. There was fear in his eyes now —and puzzlement. He scrabbled out from under the table and pushed his way up with its aid, and stood against it sucking in gulps of air. Blood dribbled down the black stubble of his chin.

  He lurched against the table, rattling glasses. His legs seemed to buckle but then in an instant he had a bottle in his hand, and Lani screamed as it smashed against the side of the table and its jagged edges were stabbing at Cady’s face.

  Carlo was as fast as a striking snake but Cady was the mongoose. Riding back, weaving his face away from the lunge, then moving forward as Carlo overbalanced, catching his wrist, swinging under it and again bringing up a knee.

  Carlo’s arm cracked and he screamed as the bottle left his fingers.

  “Get up!”

  Carlo lay moaning, clutching his arm.

  “Get up,” Cady intoned.

  “My arm’s broke!”

  “Tough shit! Get up or I swear I’ll kick your balls right out through your ass!”

  Behind him Cady heard one of the Englishmen mutter, “God, this is horrible.”

  Another voice, also English, said, “He asked for it.”

  Carlo was rolling his eyes in supplication at Daubin and the other men. They stared back stonily.

  “Get up!” Cady took a pace forward and Carlo rolled away, moaning in pain. He got to his knees and then his feet, his face working in fear. He tried to run but Cady, astonishingly fast for his size, easily caught him. He slammed him against one of the roof supports and with precision hooked a final left to his jaw. Then he stood back and watched as Carlo sank to his knees and slumped over, his face resting in the dirt.

  Cady drew a deep, deep breath and then exhaled, letting the hate and tension flow out of him.

  They were looking at him: Daubin and the islanders with respect. The Englishmen with shocked awe. Lani was not looking at him. Her eyes were on Carlo. She walked across and stood over him and said something that sounded like, “Lap Sap!”

  The moon was well up, and on Manasa Kirsty and Ramesh could dimly see the group come down to the beach. They were carrying something heavy. They saw it loaded into a dinghy and several men get in and row out towards Jaloud. Another dinghy headed towards Manasa.

  It arrived first and Cady and Lani climbed aboard.

  “What happened?” Ramesh asked.

  “Wait,” Cady replied.

  They stood and watched as the other dinghy pulled alongside Jaloud. Someone called out “Lascelles” and after a couple of minutes he appeared on deck. He looked down into the dinghy and they heard his mutter, “Carlo! What the fuck?”

  With some difficulty the slack and moaning Carlo was hoisted aboard and the men in the dinghy returned to the beach calling out a cheerful “good night” to Manasa.

  Kirsty made more coffee and Cady went below to wash the blood off his hands while Lani explained what had happened.

  Kirsty and Ramesh felt immense satisfaction. They saw it as a balancing out. Cady had vindicated himself. Kirsty reminded them of Jack Nelson’s story about Carlo being the only man Lascelles had never beaten in a fight.

  “Easy!” Lani said. “Even with a broken bottle. That ‘lap sap’ was useless-Cady beat him easily!”

  “What’s ‘lap sap’?” Ramesh asked and Lani grinned.

  “Rubbish — garbage — that ‘lap sap’ called me a whore and Cady punished him.”

  Her eyes were shining with excitement and she recounted again how Carlo had stabbed at Cady with the broken bottle and Cady had casually broken his arm.

  But Cady, when he came back on deck, was in a sober mood. He decided that a mistake had been made. By now Lascelles would have realised that in the earlier fight his first sneaky punch had decided it in his favour. Being a coward he would not try again. In effect he was backed into a corner and was now more likely than ever to resort to guns. The fight had been counter-productive.

  Kirsty and Ramesh were not so sure. If Lascelles was going to crack, the sight of his beaten and broken accomplice might hasten the process. Kirsty was anxious though that Lascelles might now head back to Mahé. What about Carlo’s broken arm? Or would he send him back on the schooner?

  Cady reassured her. The break was clean. Daubin, with much experience, had set it and put on a plaster cast. Carlo would stay on the Jaloud. The next morning they would take the Englishmen to Desnouf.

  The ‘haunting’ would continue.

  Chapter 21

  It continued an hour after dawn. The ‘bird men’, as Lani called them, came down to the beach with their bags and Daubin rowed them out to the Jaloud. As they drew alongside Lascelles came on deck. He looked across at Manasa where the four of them were having breakfast. He gazed first at Cady, then Kirsty.

  “He’s changed. There’s a difference,” Ramesh murmured. “He’s not as tall. His chin is not jutting so much as yesterday.”

  The bird men were all aboard and Lascelles turned away. He moved to the wheel and a moment later a cloud of blue smoke coughed out from Jaloud’s exhaust. One of the bird men went forward to the anchor chain.

  “Come on. Cady,” Ramesh said, through a mouthful of toast.

  Then minutes later Jaloud headed into the fairway at six knots with Manasa following thirty yards behind. Ramesh was puzzled for Lascelles was not steering safely down the middle of the channel but keeping over to the extreme right. But the man had been through here a lot of times and must know the best route. Then Ramesh looked down at Dave’s chart and saw the two tiny inked crosses close together and the notation: ‘Coral heads. Unmarked. 4’.

  So that was it. Lascelles knew exactly where they were and he was going to take Jaloud between them – a gap of about only eight feet. He would assume that Ramesh would be unaware of their existence and with luck would hit one and tear the bottom out of Manasa.

  Ramesh smiled grimly. He followed exactly until they were about fifty yards from the coral heads, then swung the wheel, heading back into the centre of the fairway.

  Lascelles did not see the manoeuvre. He was rigid with concentration. Suddenly he twisted the wheel one way and then the other. Jaloud snaked and one of the bird men, standing by the dog house, cried out and pointed into the water directly over the side.

  But Jaloud was through and Lascelles was twisting to see if Manasa had followed. He saw them off his port quarter, safely in the centre of the fairway, and from Manasa’s deck they could see the scowl darken his face.

  Ramesh raised two fingers in the traditional gesture of contempt.

  An hour later they were in an exuberant mood. The stiff wind was off the starboard quarter and Jaloud was a hundred yards off the port beam. For the past half hour both yachts had been under sail only and Ramesh had been delighted to discover that Manasa easily kept pace with the bigger Jaloud. Lascelles had changed course several times, but whether on a reach or a run or sailing close to the wind Manasa was able to stay in close touch. Finally Lascelles had turned back south-south-east on course for Desnouf and switched on his engine, and Ramesh followed suit.

  “Now he’ll pull away,” Cady had muttered. But the gap between the yachts remained the same.

  “How about that!” Cady had exclaimed. “For her size that black bastard is a fat old cow!” He patted the coach roof affectionately and grinned at Ramesh. “But old Manasa slides along like a greased ski! That ain’t gonna do much for Lascelles’ mood!”

  He was right. Ramesh kept Manasa close abeam and every time Lascelles looked across he saw Kirsty watching him. Eventually he switched off the engine and went below, leaving one of the bird men at the wheel, who waved cheerily. Ramesh also cut his engine and the two boats slowed and sailed in silence.

  Cady and Lani paid
feathered lines out astern to catch lunch and made a bet as to who would get a fish first. In the event they hit a shoal of dorado and both cried out at the same time. Cady boated his first but Lani insisted that she had the first strike. Anyway, hers was marginally longer so the bet had to be null and void.

  They reached Desnouf in the mid afternoon and, as was the case approaching Bird island, they could see the swarming mass of sooty terns from many miles out.

  They followed Jaloud into the anchorage and, as before, dropped anchor forty yards off his beam. Lascelles went about the business of securing his boat without once glancing at Manasa. Twice Kirsty called out to him: “Lascelles. Where’s my son?”

  Both times he ignored her. She sat on the stern calmly watching him.

  The bird men loaded up the dinghy with tents and equipment, then rowed towards Manasa.

  “We’re spending the night ashore,” one of them said, with a knowing look. “We plan to head on to Farquhar tomorrow.”

  Ramesh turned to mutter something to Lani, who nodded. He called out to the dinghy. “Come on board for dinner Chinese food – around seven.”

  “OK!” they chorused with enthusiasm and rowed away to the beach.

  ‘Red’, ‘Brown’ and ‘White’, Lani had now nicknamed the bird men from the colour of their hair. With a twinkle she added that all westerners looked alike to her and thank God that hair colouring was at least one distinguishing feature.

  “He’s like a bear in a pit,” ‘Red’ said and deftly popped another piece of spiced crab into his mouth.

  ‘White’, whose hair was merely flecked with grey, nodded in agreement. “He’s not naturally of a placid disposition but these last two days he’s been like a kettle with two spouts and steam coming out of both.”

  He reached forward and tried to pick up a flaky piece of red snapper but it disintegrated between his chopsticks.

  Lani picked up the long serving chopsticks and delicately lifted a piece into his bowl. She then did the same from the half a dozen other dishes containing crab, grouper, dorado and vegetables.

  “Thank you Lani,” he said and looked at the spread before him. “Who would have thought we’d be eating a meal like this hundreds of miles from civilisation.”

  Now ‘Brown’ joined the conversation. “Delicious,” he muttered, laid down his chopsticks with which he had been very adept, wiped his mouth with a napkin, burped gently and said to Ramesh,

  “I think you should be careful. I’m no psychologist but in his present state Lascelles could be dangerous. I think he’s definitely unsound.” He paused. “He has diving equipment on board — and he’s a powerful swimmer.”

  Ramesh and Cady nodded in unison. That evening they had held a council of war and decided that during the night Lascelles might try to sabotage Manasa.

  They had carried out an elaborate charade. From below Ramesh had brought up a fearsome looking three-pronged harpoon.

  Lascelles and Carlo had sat on Jaloud’s deck; the latter’s right arm encased in white, his face a bruised and swollen lump.

  They had watched as Ramesh rested the harpoon against the rail and leaned over the side and looked into the clear water. Cady was further up near the bow doing the same. He said loudly,

  “You’re right, Ramesh. We hang a couple of lights over each side an’ we’ll be able to see clear to the bottom. Piece of piss to stick anythin’ within ten feet.” He grinned and looked up at Lascelles. “Might catch us a juicy fat fish.”

  Lascelles had scowled and turned his head away, muttering something to Carlo.

  “Cady and I are standing a night watch,” Ramesh said. “Anyway I am not liking this anchorage. We are very exposed if the wind shifts or even strengthens.”

  “Very sensible,” ‘Brown’ said. He turned to Kirsty. “I find your story fascinating – I can understand the depth of your worry and if you’d rather not talk about it I completely understand.” He smiled at her sympathetically. He was a short, plump man with thick spectacles and an earnest expression. “The fact is, I am very interested in extra sensory perception. I have studied it in depth and have a theory that birds – and mammals of the same species – may communicate with each other this way.

  “Oh Oh.” ‘White’ said with a wink. “Here we go back on the old hobby horse.”

  But Kirsty was interested. She leaned forward and said, “I have read something of it, but know little. Have you really studied it?”

  ‘Brown’ had, and for the next twenty minutes gave her a comprehensive background. He talked of the scientifically controlled experiments that had been carried out in Europe and America. How people had concentrated on a set of numbers or colours or random articles and other people, sometimes in the next room and other times at great distances, had written down those numbers or colours or articles and in certain cases had them correct to a factor of seventy per cent. Too high to be coincidence. Besides, there was logic to it. Human beings had invented and built radio and television, which could transmit messages and images around the world and millions of miles into space. Yet the human brain was infinitely more sophisticated than any machine and certainly emitted charged beams.

  “Have you experience of it?” he asked her. “Do you feel in communication with your son?”

  “Yes,” she murmured. “Sometimes stronger than others. Once, when I was in Dar es Salaam, I woke early. I suppose I was still half-asleep. I was thinking of Garret and then I had a strange feeling – as though he was very near – even in the same room . . . and then . . .” she glanced around at the others, looking for scepticism.

  “Go on,” ‘Brown’ urged.

  “Well . . . I sort of smelt something. As though I was in a hospital . . . you know hospital smells . . . like ether and stuff. I was frightened. Always frightened of hospitals and Garret . . .” her voice petered down. “He’s got a very rare blood group . . . I wondered if I’d been dreaming . . .”

  ‘Brown’ sat back in his chair nodding his head sagely.

  “Of course,” he mused, “it could have been past association. On the other hand . . . fascinating.”

  They had finished eating and every morsel of food had disappeared. Lani stood up and started clearing the dishes. Kirsty rose to help but Lani waved her away.

  “I’ll do it tonight-and make the coffee.”

  The conversation turned naturally enough to birds and other fauna of the islands. ‘Red’ explained that the islands visited so far were only of interest in a specialised way. Like the tern colonies of Bird Island and Desnouf. What they were really waiting for was Aldabra. They would spend several weeks there. His eyes gleamed as he talked of it. How it was like the Galapagos, one of the most remarkable islands in the world, and because of its inaccessibility and environment had been largely left in peace by man. Consequently its fauna and flora have flourished untouched. He told them of the vast lagoon which dries out at every low tide and fills again at the change – a sort of giant flushing system. Of the tens of thousands of tortoises and turtles which coexist with massive coconut eating crabs, and the small flightless rail, related to the ostrich and emu and the extinct dodo. Only on Aldabra had they escaped the ravages of man. There had been rumours that the British Defence Ministry were considering turning Aldabra into a massive east of Suez air base. Hence, the bird men had been sent out to investigate the potential ecological damage. They would spend at least a month on the island and they already knew that their report would recommend that nothing – not even a solitary hotel – be introduced. He spoke with enthusiasm and eloquence and for half an hour or so even Kirsty was caught by its magic and her mind diverted.

  It was only later when, after profuse thanks, they had rowed ashore, and Cady and Ramesh had prepared the lights and lowered them close to the water and the black hull of Jaloud was illuminated, that her mood changed once again.

  She had little sleep that night. As she lay on her side of the V bunk in the fo’c’sle with her feet almost touching Lani’s, she felt a mi
xture of emotions: Garret, Ramesh, the wonders of Aldabra, all swirled around in her head.

  Every two hours the boat vibrated gently as Ramesh or Cady switched on the engine and ran it for fifteen minutes to charge the batteries and keep the hanging lights bright.

  Chapter 22

  During the three hundred mile journey south to Farquhar Kirsty fell in love with the sea and sailing. She had slowly drawn into herself, unconsciously locking the other three from her mind. They seemed to understand her mood and were not offended.

  Lani and Cady were drawing closer to each other, and in the long night watches Lani was usually absent from the fo’c’sle when Cady was on deck.

  Ramesh too seemed wrapped in his own thoughts and during the day had taken to reading a lot. Not just his well-thumbed ‘bible’ but other books which he kept in the locker under his bunk. They covered history, the sea, travel and the works of modern philosophers. The atmosphere was relaxed and during the three day voyage Kirsty, in a way communing with the sea, came to understand herself.

  The Jaloud was always in sight, even during the nights, for the moon was full and the skies cloudless.

  During the first night she sat alone on the foredeck and watched the dark sails a few hundred yards off the port bow, Kirsty knew that this tandem journey would have a result. She felt that she was now sailing towards Garret, every swoop of Manasa over the waves bringing her closer. The sea was her friend, bearing her inexorably towards her son. For the first time since leaving New York her impatience was gone, soothed out of her by the sea, and the steady onward surge of Manasa. She decided that later, when it was all over, she wanted to stay with the sea. It had become part of her life, like the blood that pumped through her veins.

  On the third morning she woke before dawn. Lani was sleeping soundly.

  Kirsty went through into the saloon and peered up through the companionway.

  “Coffee Ramesh?”