Another wave broke over his head, and then another, making him choke and retch. The salt water burned his throat and nostrils and made his eyes smart, and his teeth were chattering violently. The rain was driving down so hard now that he could hardly see. How much longer would he last before he drowned? There was no hope of rescue. Mother and Guy were in London and even when they got home, it could be ages before they found that he’d taken the dinghy. And when they did, they wouldn’t realize, at first, that he was in any serious trouble – not until he didn’t come back. And then they wouldn’t know in which direction he’d gone. He could have gone aground on any of the mud-banks and in any of the creeks. Out to sea was the last place they’d think of. A bigger wave lifted him up high and, through the rain, he caught a glimpse of the shore in the distance, further away than ever – no more than a thin dark line. Useless to try to swim for it; his crabwise stroke hadn’t the power to fight against the tide and the currents. Guy might have done it. Guy had won cups for swimming at school and broken the crawl record. But he wasn’t Guy. And he was going to drown. Choke to death as the water filled his lungs. His body would be washed ashore or maybe never found at all. The sea that he had always secretly feared would get him and keep him. Matt began to sob with terror.
* * *
‘They’ll find him, Mother. He can’t have gone far.’ She was sitting on the sofa, staring down at her hands in her lap. She hadn’t cried or had hysterics, but she kept on kneading her hands together, as though she was washing them, over and over again. It was driving him mad. ‘He’s not as good a sailor as you, Guy. Not nearly. He’d never manage on his own in this weather.’
‘He’s OK. He knows enough not to get into any serious trouble. He’ll be all right.’
She stopped the hand-kneading and lifted her head; he was shocked at her expression – at the way she was looking at him accusingly, as though it was all his fault.
‘You know why he did this, don’t you, Guy? Why he went off alone?’
‘I’ve no idea. He’s been on his own plenty of times before, anyway.’
‘Never out to sea. Not alone. He wanted to prove he could do it. Are you too self-centred to see that? Haven’t you ever realized how Matt must feel?’
‘If you mean about his arm, then you’re wrong, Mother. He’s never let it stop him trying anything. Nobody ever notices it or talks about it. He’s got nothing to feel upset about.’
She went on staring at him. ‘You’ve got a lot of very good points, Guy. You’re handsome, clever and charming, strong and brave … but you’re insensitive to others. You don’t really think or care about anybody but yourself. Maybe you’ll learn better one day – when you’re older. I hope so.’
The words wounded him deeply. So did the sudden suspicion – something that had never occurred to him before in his life – that his mother loved Matt better than himself. She’d sooner it was me out there, he thought, stunned. If she could have chosen between us, she’d sooner lose me.
‘That’s not fair, Mother. It wouldn’t do Matt any favours to mollycoddle him – it’s the last thing he’d want. He wants to be treated just like everybody else, that’s the whole point. And I’m just as worried about him as you, as it happens.’
Her face changed suddenly. ‘Yes … I know you are, Guy. And I’m sorry I spoke so harshly, darling. I’m afraid I’m in a bit of a state … overwrought. Forget what I said. I didn’t mean any of it.’
He said stiffly, ‘That’s all right.’ But she had meant it. And he doubted that he’d ever forget. The telephone shrilled suddenly from the hall and his mother jumped to her feet and rushed to answer it. He stayed where he was, holding his breath. From the sound of her voice and the words he could catch, he knew that the news was good. When she’d replaced the receiver she came to the drawing-room doorway.
‘They’ve found him?’
She nodded, her eyes brilliant. ‘The lifeboat picked him up five miles off Foulness Point. Apparently the dinghy had capsized … he’s been in the water for hours. They’ve taken him to hospital suffering from hypothermia, but otherwise he’s fine. Oh, Guy, thank God. Thank God!’ She moved blindly towards him and he put his arms around her. She wept on his shoulder.
‘What a complete ass you were, Matt. An absolute cretin.’
‘I know.’ He was grateful to Guy for acting normally, after all the drama of being carried off the lifeboat on a stretcher, Mother in tears, the nurses fussing round, the newspaper reporter wanting a story. ‘How do you feel after being snatched from the jaws of death, young sir?’ Actually, he felt a complete fool and mortifyingly embarrassed at the trouble he’d caused everyone. It was a relief to be able to talk to Guy alone while Mother was with the ward sister. ‘How did you know where I’d gone?’
‘We didn’t.’ Guy sat down on the chair beside the bed. ‘Not at first, anyway. I looked all over the place for you when we got back from London and then I suddenly guessed what you might have done. I went down to the jetty and found Bean Goose had gone. I thought at first you’d be bound to have taken her upstream and Mother and I took the car out to see if we could see you. When we couldn’t, we phoned the coastguard and the police. You were bloody lucky, you chump.’
‘I know,’ he said again. ‘I thought I’d had it.’ He heard himself sounding terribly casual and knew he’d never be able to tell a soul what a snivelling coward he’d been. ‘Sorry about all the fuss and bother.’
‘Well, you can imagine how Mother flapped … What on earth happened?’
He told Guy about Bean Goose capsizing. ‘I just sat there like a dummy instead of easing the mainsheet—’
‘You could have let it go completely, you know, and the tiller, too. She’d’ve looked after herself. Don’t you remember that time last year when we nearly went over? I just let go. The sail made a most frightful racket but she got herself right again.’
He remembered how scared he’d been. They’d been sailing round the mouth of the estuary in a roughish sea with Bean Goose thumping along, sending the spray flying, and a sudden squall had caught her. Guy had stayed cool as a cucumber, doing all the right things, while he’d clung on for dear life till the dinghy had got back on an even keel.
He started to shake again. He’d gone on shaking for ages after they’d picked him up out of the sea; couldn’t seem to stop himself. Guy was watching him.
‘You OK?’
He clenched his left hand under the bedcover, trying to stop the shakes. ‘Yes, fine, thanks. Bit cold still. I don’t suppose Bean Goose’s been found, has she?’
‘Not much chance of that, I’d say. She’ll probably drift around and then sink eventually.’
‘I’m terribly sorry, Guy.’
Guy smiled. ‘Actually, it’ll probably turn out to be a blessing in disguise. We could do with a bigger boat and if Father collects on the insurance maybe we’ll be able to have one. Something really decent to do some proper ocean sailing.’
Matt swallowed. ‘Yes, that’d be jolly good.’
They kept him in hospital for another day before he was allowed home. There were only two weeks left before the autumn term started and, much to his relief, no question of getting another boat before then. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to go in one again.
‘Shall I open the window a little more, Grandmama? It’s very hot in here.’
‘If you wish, Anna. But not too wide. It lets in all the dust and dirt from the street.’
Grandmama’s salon was so crammed with furniture and knick-knacks and old photographs of people dressed in funny, old-fashioned clothes that there was hardly space for one more thing. In winter, when the fire was lit in the grate and the curtains drawn, the room was very cosy but in summer it was too stuffy. Still, she always liked visiting Grandmama. She could talk to her about anything she wanted and Grandmama always listened. Sometimes Grandmama did the talking and told stories about her childhood in Russia where she had lived until she was eighteen. She still spoke German with a Rus
sian accent and would often use Russian words, mixed up with German ones. On some visits, for a change, they spoke only French because they both liked the language. Grandmama would read aloud from French books – poetry and stories and collections of letters – and Anna would sit and listen. Sometimes she read too and Grandmama would correct her pronunciation.
‘Respirer. Tu n’as pas bien prononcé r. Rrrrespirrrer. En français la r est très important.’
She loved hearing about Russia. Grandmama’s father had been a banker and they had lived in a large house in Grodno near the border of Poland. She and her three sisters had had a governess and her brother a tutor, and a music teacher had come to the house to teach them all the piano and the violin. ‘He was Polish and very poor,’ Grandmama told her. ‘I remember that there were holes in his shoes and patches in his sleeves. My eldest sister, Natalia, fell in love with him and he with her.’
‘How romantic!’
‘But then Mama discovered them together and there were no more music lessons with the Polish teacher. We had a very old and ugly man instead. Not even Natalia could fall in love with him.’
‘Tell me about your count, Grandmama.’
‘Again? I’ve told you about him so many times.’
‘But I like to hear it. How you met him in the park.’
‘You know already.’
‘Tell me again.’
Grandmama sighed. ‘We had a little dog – a spaniel called Pushkin – and I used to take him to the park near the house in the afternoon. Then one winter’s day—’
‘It was snowing, don’t you remember?’
‘Yes, it was snowing – quite hard. There was a lot of snow on the ground and the lake was frozen. The winters were always very cold in Russia – much worse than here. My hands were so numb that by mistake I let go of Pushkin’s lead and he ran away from me – he was a very disobedient dog sometimes, you see. Very naughty. I ran after him, of course, but I couldn’t catch him; as soon as I got near he ran away again. And then a young man in the uniform of a cavalry officer came along and when he saw what was happening he called to Pushkin in a very firm voice and Pushkin stopped running at once and let him take hold of the lead.’
‘And he brought him to you and bowed and said: “I believe this is your little dog. Permit me to restore him to you.”’
‘I really do not see why you want me to tell the story again, when you know it so well.’
‘I shan’t interrupt any more, I promise. What did you say then?’
‘I thanked him, of course.’
‘And then?’
‘He asked if he could walk a little way with me – just in case Pushkin ran off again. So we walked together, and talked together.’
‘What did he look like?’
‘He was tall and broad-shouldered with dark hair and deep blue eyes and he had a beautiful voice – so low and musical. I can hear it still. He was very handsome in his soldier’s uniform.’
‘And after that you met often in the park? Secretly.’
‘Almost every day. At first I did not know that he was a count. And it would not have mattered to me what he was. He was Alexis, that is all.’
‘How old was he?’
‘Twenty-two. And I was sixteen. Just two years older than you, Anna, and a lot more foolish. I fell so in love with him.’
‘And he with you.’
‘And he with me.’
‘No wonder. I can see from the photographs how beautiful you were.’
‘Natalia was much the best-looking of us.’
‘Did the count ever kiss you?’
‘Only with his eyes. Anything more would have been most improper. He wrote me letters and gave them to me when we met. I hid them away and read them in secret when I was alone. He wanted us to be married and live together for always … Of course it was impossible. Quite impossible. We were from two different worlds: he an aristocrat and me a Jewish girl. Our families would never have permitted such a marriage. Neither his nor mine.’
‘You could have run away with him.’
‘I might have done, if I had found the courage. But then our secret was discovered. A friend of my mother’s saw us together in the park and the letters were found and destroyed. Of course I was not allowed to go out alone any more, and not so long after that we left Grodno to come and live in Vienna. I never saw him again.’
‘Were you very sad?’
‘At first I thought my heart would break, but, with time, it mended, and I understood how wrong it would have been. And then, of course, three years later I met your grandfather.’
Anna could remember very little about Grandpapa but she had a feeling that he had never quite measured up to the count.
‘Grandmama, why must Jewish people always marry each other?’
‘We must keep faith with ourselves. It is very important to our people. And the home is sacred to us. It is where we first encounter the laws that govern our lives, and it is from our parents that we learn the language of Jewish spirituality. It is where most of our great religious rituals take place. To have a Jewish home, both mother and father must share the faith. Natalia, you know, married a Gentile. It was a great mistake.’
‘The Polish piano teacher?’
‘Oh, no, not him.’
‘Who was it, then?’
‘But I’ve told you about her before.’
‘Tell me all over again.’
‘Well, she fell in love many times after that. She was always in love with somebody. Finally, she met a Roman Catholic artist just as poor as the piano teacher and ran away with him. Our parents were so distraught that they sat shiva – mourned her as though she were dead. I remember my mother weeping for days and days. They would have nothing to do with her again.’
‘How cruel of them!’
‘They weren’t really cruel. They truly believed that she was lost to them. Poor Natalia! She went to live in Paris with her artist and died in childbirth a year later. We did not know what had happened to her for a long time.’
‘That’s so sad.’
‘Yes. I was very unhappy for her. She was my favourite sister.’
‘I’ve forgotten what happened to the others – my other great-aunts?’
‘Tania emigrated to America with her husband and I never saw her again. She died a few years ago. Sophia never married and she died of tuberculosis when she was only thirty. My brother, Peter, drank himself to death before he was fifty.’
‘Did he marry?’
‘Yes. A Jewish girl, of course, but without a brain in her head. I imagine she drove him to the drink. They went to live in France too and never came to Vienna. Of the five of us I am the only one left now.’
‘Do you mind that?’
‘Sometimes very much. There is no-one to share all the childhood memories … But I have you and your dear mother and your good father. And your uncles on your father’s side and their children, your cousins. We are a good Jewish family.’
‘Why does everybody hate us, Grandmama?’
‘You have asked that question before, Anna. I do not know the answer but, in any case, not everybody does.’
‘Well, it feels like it.’
‘There are some Christians, especially Roman Catholics, who blame us for the killing of Jesus Christ. Others who do not like the fact that in our bible we are called the chosen people. But we were not chosen because we were superior, but to carry a specially heavy burden of faithfulness to God. And so it has proved. And perhaps our own strict rules and rituals set us apart. People do not always understand us and they often fear what they do not understand, and what they fear they can also hate – if they are ignorant and bigoted. My family left Russia because Jews were being murdered and nobody tried to stop it. My mother and father were so sure it would be better in Vienna – that we would be able to live here undisturbed and in peace. Now, that may no longer be so. There are signs that it is becoming dangerous, just as it was in Russia. Which is why you must go and live in
England, Anna – for a while.’
‘I won’t go, Grandmama. I will not go and live far away in that uncivilized country.’
‘It is not uncivilized, Anna.’
‘They are barbarians. Mademoiselle Deuchars says so.’
‘And who is she, pray?’
‘Our French teacher. She says England is a horrible country and so are the English. She says they are dirty, dull and stupid.’
‘What nonsense! How can she say this?’
‘She lived there for a year. The English people that Papa and Mama want to send me to are not at all elegant. I saw that when they came to dinner.’
‘One does not have to be elegant to be civilized, Anna. It is extremely kind of these English to offer to take you into their home, and extremely ungrateful of you to reject them.’
‘I won’t leave Mama and Papa. Nor you. If it is so dangerous, then why are you staying? You don’t have any work here – not like Papa.’
‘I have a great deal of work here, Anna. There are many families in need of help. The Talmud instructs us that in a city where there are both Jews and non-Jews we should feed the poor of both, visit the sick of both, bury their dead and comfort the mourners. For the sake of peace. We must always remember our duty and perform it without complaint. In any case, I am too old to uproot myself all over again. But you are not. You are young with your whole life ahead of you and you must go. Go for one year. If you hate it so much after that time, then I promise that I will persuade your mama and papa to bring you home. They will listen to me.’
The Little Ship Page 5