The Snow Tiger / Night of Error

by Bagley, Desmond

  Clare liked the Tuamotus. ‘It’s just like a movie,’ she said happily as she viewed an atoll on the horizon. ‘Couldn’t we go in closer, and have a look?’

  I took her elbow. ‘Come here. I’d like to show you something.’ In the chart room I pointed out our position. ‘Here’s that atoll – you see the marks here, extending out about three miles from the island. Do you know what they are?’

  ‘Oh God, yes of course. Coral reefs round every one,’ she said.

  ‘Nasty and sharp,’ I agreed. ‘I’m as near to that atoll now as I’d like to be. We only touch on the ones with mapped entrances, otherwise it’s all local knowledge hereabouts.’ And I thought of Hadley, somewhere out there in Pearl. Was he following us?

  ‘I hope we’re not making a mistake,’ Clare said soberly, catching my mood. ‘We must find out something useful. Pop was mad enough over the fiasco at Minerva.’

  ‘We may not find out anything concerning manganese nodules, but I hope we’ll find out something about Mark. And one thing may lead to another.’ I changed the subject. ‘How are you getting on with Paula?’

  Clare was silent for a moment, then said, ‘I thought I wouldn’t like her – you know, two of Mark’s popsies should be wanting to scratch each other’s eyes out.’

  ‘Don’t throw that in my teeth again.’

  ‘I find I do like her, though. I’ve discovered that I never was in love with Mark, it was infatuation, and when I found out what a lousy creep he could be it all died. That isn’t love. Paula knew what he was and it made no difference to her – she still loved him in spite of it. That takes real love – I never had it. We’re not rivals any more.’

  That was a relief. Two women at dagger’s point can cause a hell of a lot of trouble, and especially in a small ship.

  As for Paula, she was relaxed and enjoying herself thoroughly. Easily at home among the men and for once away from both danger and professional competition, she had become yet another of Esmerelda’s growing assets as far as the crew went. Occasionally she sang for us in the evenings and took pleasure in her small touch of limelight. Campbell seemed to have adopted her as an unusual, but welcome, honorary niece.

  When we left the main clutter of islands Geordie was able to set a course for Tanakabu without worrying overmuch about grounding. Kane was aware of this manoeuvre and again spoke to me about it. ‘Where are we heading for, more research grounds?’ he asked me.

  I said, ‘Maybe the boss wants another look at Minerva.’

  He looked up at the sun. ‘Making a bit too much northing for that, ain’t we?’

  ‘Or maybe he wants to have a look at Tanakabu?’ I suggested, twisting the knife. It was dangerous but he’d find out soon enough.

  Kane’s eyes shifted. ‘Has this anything to do with your brother?’

  I raised my eyebrows. ‘Why should it?’

  ‘Well, old Schouten lives on Tanakabu.’

  ‘Does he?’

  ‘Yair, but I suppose the old bloke’s dead by now. He was hitting the bottle pretty hard when I saw him. A proper old rum-dum, he was.’

  I said, ‘He’s still alive, as far as I know.’ I was tempted to play him further but fought it down.

  Kane didn’t say anything more, but withdrew thoughtfully, and a few minutes later I saw him heading below apparently for some more private cogitation in his cabin, which he shared with two others who were both presently on deck.

  We made good time although now we were beating close-hauled against the trade wind and on the evening of the third day we were closing Tanakabu. The sun was dipping into the sea as Geordie scanned the reef with binoculars and then referred to the chart. ‘We’ll go in under power. The pass is a bit too narrow for comfort under sail. Stand by to hand the sails, Ian.’

  He was still looking hard at the sea-pounded reef when Shorty Powell, his radio man, came up. ‘I picked up a funny transmission, skipper,’ he said, then glanced at me. Geordie said, ‘It’s okay, carry on. What was funny about it?’

  ‘It mentioned us.’

  I pricked up my ears and Geordie swung round. ‘Mentioned us by name?’

  ‘The name of the ship,’ said Shorty. ‘Esmerelda.’

  I said, ‘What did they say about us?’

  Shorty grimaced painfully. ‘That’s it, I don’t know. I was spinning the dial and caught it in passing, and by the time I’d got back to where I thought it was the transmission had stopped. I just caught a few words – “ … on board Esmerelda. She’s …” I tell you one thing, though. I’d lay ten to one it was an Australian talking.’

  Geordie said, ‘I think we’d better get Mr Campbell in on this.’

  So we called him up and poor Shorty got the grilling of his life. At last Campbell said, ‘Well, how far away do you think it was?’

  Shorty shrugged. ‘You can’t tell that, not unless you’ve got two directional fixes on the station. But when you spend half your life listening out you get a kind of instinct. I’d say it was one of two things – a hell of a high-powered station a long way off – or a low-powered station damn close.’

  ‘Well, man, which was it?’ demanded Campbell impatiently.

  ‘I’d say it was a low-power station close by – but don’t ask me to prove it.’

  ‘All right, thanks, Shorty. Stay around that frequency. Maybe you can pick up something else,’ said Geordie.

  As Shorty left and Geordie turned to his navigation again Campbell said to me, ‘What do you make of that?’

  ‘I don’t make anything of it. There’s not enough to go on – just that some Australian mentioned the Esmerelda.’

  ‘It must have been Hadley,’ said Campbell positively. ‘I’d give my back teeth to know who he was talking to – someone on land there.’

  We abandoned speculation as by then we were going in through the pass. It was getting dark and Geordie was on edge. The pass was narrow and there was a dog-leg bend in it and the darkness coupled with the four-knot current made the passage very tricky. But we got through into the lagoon and dropped anchor offshore opposite the lights of a large village. A small fleet of canoes came out to meet us and soon a number of Polynesians were climbing on deck.

  I had decided not to wait until morning, but to act right away. It was only early evening, perhaps the best time to see a busy doctor, and there was the fear of being followed to spur me to action. I raised my voice. ‘Where can I find the doctor – Dr Schouten?’ I asked.

  There was an increased babble and a stocky thickset man with an engaging grin pushed his way to the front. ‘These boys don’ spik English,’ he said. ‘They spik Française. I spik English. I bin to Hawaii.’

  I said, ‘My name is Mike – what’s yours?’

  ‘I are Piro.’

  ‘All right, Piro. Where do I find the doctor?’

  ‘Oh, Schouten?’ Piro waved his hand. ‘He round the other side water. He in – hôpital. Y’un’erstan’ hôpital?’

  ‘He’s at the hospital, over there?’

  ‘That right.’

  ‘How can I get there?’

  ‘You come wit’ me – I take you in jeep.’

  I looked into the darkness. ‘How far is it?’

  Piro shrugged. ‘Not far. Twenny minute maybe.’

  ‘Will you take me now?’

  ‘Sure. You come now.’ He was suddenly cautious. ‘You pay me?’

  ‘Yes, I’ll pay you.’ I turned to Campbell among the jostling crowd on deck and said, ‘I may as well see Schouten tonight. Tell Geordie to keep a close eye on Kane – don’t let him get away. He might try.’

  He said, ‘I’ll come with you.’

  ‘No, I think not. But I will take an escort – Jim Taylor, I think.’ I said this because he was the handiest, and grabbing him by an arm I pulled him towards me and briefly told him our errand. He smiled and nodded, and went off to find Geordie and tell him.

  Campbell looked closely at me, then gripped my arm. ‘Take it easy, son. Don’t go off at half-cock.’
/>   ‘I won’t,’ I promised. ‘But by God I’ll get to the truth.’

  We went over the side and dropped into Piro’s canoe, a leaky and unstable craft. Once ashore, Piro introduced us to his proudest possession – his jeep. It was a relic of the wave of war which had washed over the Pacific – and it looked it. Most of the bodywork was stripped and the engine was naked and unashamed, very like the naked toddlers who squalled and chattered, their eyes big at the sight of the strangers revealed in the flare of torches. We climbed in and I sat on a hard wooden box, innocent of upholstery, as Piro started the engine. It banged and spluttered, but caught, and Piro threw in the gears with a jerk and we were off, bouncing along the beach and swerving round a clump of palms dimly illuminated by the feeble headlight. It was very noisy. The sudden change from being at sea in Esmerelda was unnerving.

  Piro was very proud of his jeep. ‘Best car on Tanakabu,’ he announced cheerfully as we winced at the racket.

  ‘Has Dr Schouten got a car?’

  ‘Ho, no! Doctor got not’ing – jus’ stomick med’cine.’

  We drove past the dark bulk of a copra warehouse and then we were on a narrow track through a palm plantation and Piro waved at it. ‘These trees mine. All us got trees.’

  ‘Has the doctor got trees?’

  ‘Lil one lot, not’ing much. He too busy wit’ med’cine and knife.’

  We swerved inland and I lost sight of the sea, which seemed impossible on such a small island, but I could still hear the unceasing roar of the surf on the beaches, in between the car noises. After a few minutes we came back onto a beach and Piro pointed ahead. ‘There is hôpital.’

  In the distance was a large cluster of lights – much bigger than the village we had left. I said, ‘That’s a big hospital for a small island, Piro.’

  ‘Ho, plenny boys come from other islands – ver’ sick. Plenny wahines too. Many lepers there, an’ boys wit’ swells.’

  A leper colony! I felt a shiver of atavistic horror. I knew intellectually that leprosy isn’t particularly infectious, but of all diseases it is the most abhorred and I didn’t feel like driving into a colony.

  Piro didn’t seem worried though, and drove blithely off the beach right into the hospital grounds, pulling up in front of a long low-roofed shack. ‘Schouten is there,’ he said. ‘You wan’ I should wait?’

  ‘Yes, you can wait,’ I answered. ‘I won’t be long. Jim, don’t come in with me, if you don’t mind – but be ready if I call you.’

  ‘Sure thing, Mike.’ Jim leaned back and offered Piro a cigarette.

  I walked up the two steps on to a long verandah and knocked on the door. A voice said, ‘Ici! Ici!’ and I walked along the verandah to a room at the far end. It was an office, the door open, and a big man was seated at a desk, writing by the light of a Coleman lamp. There was a half-empty brandy bottle and a full glass at his elbow.

  I said, ‘Dr Schouten?’

  He looked up. ‘Oui?’

  ‘I’m sorry. I have very little French. Do you speak English?’

  He smiled and it transformed his ravaged face. ‘Ja, I speak English,’ he said and stood up. In his prime, he must have tipped the scales at two hundred and twenty pounds of bone and muscle, but now he was flabby and soft and his paunch had taken over. His face was seamed and lined and he had two deep clefts from the nose to the corners of his mouth, forming soft dewlaps which shook on his cheeks.

  He offered me his hand and said. ‘It’s not often we get strangers on Tanakabu – at least not at this end of the island.’ His accent was heavily Dutch but his English was as fluent as the Governor’s.

  I said, ‘We just came in.’

  ‘I know. I saw the lights of your ship as you came through the pass, and then I heard Piro’s jeep coming.’ He waved towards the window. ‘That is why you see no patients about – sometimes they shock casual visitors, so on those occasions I keep them out of sight.’

  He opened a cupboard. ‘Will you have a drink?’

  I said, ‘My name is Trevelyan.’

  Schouten dropped the glass he had taken from the cupboard and it smashed on the floor. He turned his head sharply and looked at me over his shoulder. I saw that his face had turned a sickly yellow under the tan and his eyes were furtive and haunted.

  ‘Trevelyan?’ he mumbled. He seemed to have difficulty speaking.

  ‘Yes.’

  He turned round. ‘Praise be to God,’ he said. ‘I thought you were dead.’

  I looked at him in surprise. ‘Dead! Why should I be dead?’

  He sat at the desk, his hands clutching the edge. ‘But they said you were dead,’ he said softly. His eyes were brooding and seemed to be looking at something else – something terrible.

  Then I caught on – he thought I was Mark! I said, ‘Who said I was dead?’

  ‘I wrote out the death certificate – here at this desk. Mark Trevelyan was the name. You died of peritonitis.’ He looked up at me and there was fear in his eyes.

  I said gently, ‘I’m Michael Trevelyan – Mark was my brother.’

  He gave a long shuddering sigh, then his gaze dropped to the glass on his desk and he picked it up and drained it in one swallow.

  I said, ‘Perhaps you’d better tell me about it.’ He gave no answer, merely hunching his shoulders and avoiding my eyes. ‘You’ve said too much – and too little,’ I pursued. ‘You must tell me what happened to Mark.’

  He was an old man, rotten with loneliness and drink and the sight of people’s bodies falling apart and he couldn’t withstand a mental hammering. There was a stubbornness in him but also a softness at the core, and I was brutal in my approach.

  ‘My brother didn’t have appendicitis – that was an impossibility. But you forged a death certificate. Why?’

  He hunched over the desk, his arms before him with the fists clenched and remained silent.

  ‘My God, what kind of a doctor are you?’ I said. ‘Your medical association isn’t going to like this – you’re going to be struck off, Schouten. Or maybe you’ll be hanged – or guillotined. A man is dead, Schouten, and you’re an accessory. The best thing that is going to happen to you is a gaol sentence.’

  He shook his head slowly, then closed his eyes as though in pain.

  ‘You’re an old man before your time even now, and ten years in gaol won’t improve you. They’ll take away your brandy and you’ll scream for it. Now, what happened to Mark?’

  He opened his eyes and looked at me bleakly. ‘I can’t tell you.’

  ‘Can’t – or won’t?’

  The muscles of his mouth tightened and he remained stubbornly silent.

  ‘All right,’ I said. ‘You’re coming with us – we’re going back to Papeete and you’ll tell your story to the Governor. I’m putting you under civilian arrest, Schouten. I don’t know if that has any validity under French law but I’ll chance it. I’ll give you ten minutes to collect whatever you want to take with you.’

  Something happened inside Schouten and I knew I was getting to him. He jerked up his head and stared at me. ‘But I can’t leave the hospital,’ he said. ‘What will happen to the people here?’

  I pushed hard. ‘What will happen to this hospital when you’re in gaol? Or even dead? Come on – get your things together.’

  He pushed back his chair abruptly and stood up. ‘You don’t understand. I can’t leave these people – some of them would die. I’m the only doctor here.’

  I looked at him without pity. I had a cruel advantage and I had to use it – there was nothing else I could do. ‘You should have thought of that before you killed my brother,’ I said.

  His muscles tensed and for a moment I thought he was going to jump me. I said sharply, ‘You may be big, Schouten, but you’re old and soft! I’m tougher than you and you know it, so stay clear of me or I’ll whale the daylights out of you. I’m sorely tempted.’

  His mouth twitched and he almost smiled. ‘I wasn’t going to attack you, Mr Trevelyan. I’m a peaceful
man. I don’t believe in violence – and I didn’t kill your brother.’

  ‘Then for Christ’s sake, what’s the matter with you? Why won’t you tell me what happened?’

  He sat down again and buried his face in his hands. When he raised his head I saw that his cheeks were streaked with tears. He said with difficulty, ‘I cannot leave the hospital, but you must guarantee its safety, Mr Trevelyan. You see, they said – they said they’d burn the hospital.’

  ‘Burn the hospital! Who said that?’

  ‘What could I do? I couldn’t let them burn it, could I?’ What I saw in his eyes made me begin to pity him.

  I said gently, ‘No, you couldn’t do that.’

  ‘What would happen to my people then? I had fifty patients – what would have happened to them?’

  I took the bottle and poured some brandy into a glass. ‘Here,’ I said, ‘drink this.’

  He took the glass and looked at it, then set it down on the desk. ‘No. It’s past time for that.’ His voice was stronger. ‘I couldn’t help it. They made me do it – I had no choice. It was covering up a crime or losing the hospital.’ He threw his arms out. ‘I thought the people out there were more important than bringing a murderer to justice. Was I right?’

  ‘What happened to Mark?’ I said in an even voice.

  His eyes went cold. ‘You must promise protection for the hospital,’ he insisted.

  ‘Nothing will happen to the hospital. What happened to my brother?’

  ‘He was murdered,’ said Schouten. ‘On a schooner out in the lagoon.’

  I let out my breath in a long sigh. Now it was in the open. All the shadowy suspicions had crystallized into this one moment, and all I felt was a great pity for this wreck of a man sitting at the desk.

  I said slowly, ‘Tell me what happened.’

  So Schouten told me. He had more colour in his face now, and his voice was stronger. His account was factual and he made no excuses for himself; he admitted he had done wrong, but all his thoughts were for his patients. It was a sad and cruel story.