I should have left him here and gone myself. He licked his parched lips, their arid taste reminding him momentarily of his thirst and his nearness to collapse.
His eyes narrowed, and without thought he cradled his cheek against the hot stock of his rifle as a movement by the seething surf caught his attention. He cursed, regretting the wasted effort and the subsequent loss of strength to his limbs. An assorted group of seabirds moved painstakingly along the edge of the water, their eyes and bills busy with the invisible creatures left stranded by the breakers. Blair watched them without hope. It had been too long now. Nothing was left to hope for. He felt the constriction grow in his throat as he remembered Gillian as she had been on the schooner. All the small moments returned to his mind with sudden clarity, like pictures in a forgotten album. Her smile, and the casual touch of her leg against his when they had sat in the dinghy. The crackle of the comb through her hair when he had caught her unexpectedly alone on the poop, watching the first stars. in the sky. She had met his stare, her candid eyes questioning, perhaps inviting. He gripped the rifle in despair. How different it should all have been. If I had not been such a stupid, self-opinionated fool.
He was suddenly alerted by the seabirds which had stopped hunting and were shuffling uneasily in the sand, their bills prodding at the air with alarm. Then he saw Tarrou, running breathlessly along the stony edge of the beach, being careful even in his haste to follow Blair’s instructions about leaving no tell-tale prints.
Blair forced himself to lie still until the panting, sweatstained half-caste flung himself down at his side, his mouth gulping in the torpid air, his eyes closed with exertion.
He waited, too, for the bad news, the announcement from Tarrou which would tell him that this was just another failure.
`I find place.’ Tarrou forgot his careful grammar, forgot
everything but the small, terrifying triumph of carrying out a mission alone, and one that he had imagined would only hasten his end.
Blair’s hand closed like a clamp on his arm. `Where?’ There was open disbelief in the cold eyes. `Even with this damned haze I can see the end of the cove. There doesn’t seem to be anything else here?’
jutteIn slow, halting sentences, his breath still unsteady, but driven on by the anguish in Blair’s face, Tarrou explained how he had scrambled around the whole of the cove twice before he had noticed a deep cleft in the rocks at the middle of the highest part of the wall, a place still sheltered from the sun, and which showed traces of damp, as if the sea had surged through the gap and had penetrated the island’s defences. Very slowly he had moved his body through the crevice, his legs sinking into the bog-like sand, and rubbing against the green strands of weed which clung to both sides of the natural gully. As he passed through the towering boulders the noise of the sea had faded, and even the impatient thunder of surf against the distant reef had been stilled. He had found himself looking down on a great round, saucer-shaped depression, about a hundred yards across, and filled with wet sand, except in the deepest point about the centre, where a small pool of trapped sea-water still glistened, cool and inviting, its surface unbroken but for a small black rock which d a few feet above the surface, its worn crevices already dry and dull. The depression was hemmed in on all sides by jungle, until the point where it met the great mounds of rocks which formed the sea wall.
Blair listened intently. `You mean that the pool fills up with sea-water at high tide? Is that it?’
Tarrou nodded. ‘There was a building on the other side of the pool. I saw some men guarding it.’ He watched Blair’s eyes harden. `It was the place we were looking for,’ he finished
quickly.
`Anything else?’ Blair was already looking along the beach again, as if he expected to see the gap for himself.
`I think not, Major.’ He closed his bloodshot eyes and remembered again the awful quiet of the place, and the damp, listless air which hung over the stagnant pool. The sea would surge through the gap at high water, and the pool would become a lake, and so cover the small rock. One day perhaps, he thought, the sea would explore further, and eventually cut the island in two. It would be a good thing. He jumped as Blair jabbed his arm.
He was pointing up at the long line of weather-smoothed rocks. `Can we get up there, d’you reckon? And if so, could we see down into the place where the pool is?’ He noticed that his arm had cast a shadow along the stones by his side and, as he watched, the shadow faded and vanished.
He glanced up at the thick clouds, their heavy shapes darkened with strange brown hues, and their bellies hanging low over the glittering water. They looked as if they would burst at any moment and drop liquid fire into the booming surf below. The noise across the reef became more insistent, and turning his head, he saw a thin black line appear momentarily across the empty sea, as in the falling tide the hidden barrier of coral rose to challenge the sky, and the surf which battered at its defences. Then it was gone again, until the next heavy Pacific roller charged fruitlessly to the attack.
`We could, Major.’ Tarrou sounded doubtful. `But can you climb?’
Blair dragged himself to his feet, his teeth clenched against the pain. `Just give me a hand, blast you! I’ve got to get up there!’
Once, as they moved like beetles up the smooth, heated boulders, Blair slipped, and fell several feet into a crevice, his head jerking back in agony as the hard rock broke his fall. Not daring to look at Tarrou’s anxious face, he tugged himself free, and began again. When they reached the top of the wall, and fell exhausted amongst the thin layer of scrub and the stinking carpet of bird-droppings, Blair only rested for a few moments before he again pulled himself to his feet and staggered, slipping and falling over the stone teeth which topped the wall, towards the tallest point of all, where Tarrou had said the two overhanging ledges met across the rock funnel, and where the sea was admitted to the pool. Even then, but for Tarrou’s restraining hand, he would have fallen over the other side, or shown his scarecrow figure to the two natives who stood like statues on the rim of the pool. Their painted faces were clearly visible against the green jungle, as was the thin, pointed hut which met its own reflection across the quiet, unruffled water.
Blair blinked away the sweat and settled himself against a tiny parched shrub. All around him the rock floor shimmered and swam, and what little air there was seemed lost to the scudding clouds. What now? He tried to think. How could Spencer have been so sure what was going to happen? It was this impossible waiting and blind searching which was beating him now, he thought bitterly. Tarrou’s dust-streaked face was devoid of understanding. Perhaps, like Spencer, he was waiting for a miracle.
Tarrou watched Blair’s inert body and forced himself to speak, as if to break the spell of loneliness which the burning rock seemed to inspire. He had been holding on to his nerve with every ounce of his strength, but the sight of the two silent warriors and the deceptive calm of the pool was more than he could stand.
`What you going to do, Major?’ There was a quiver in his voice.
`Wait. Just wait.’ His tone was flat, as if he was only half-conscious.
Tarrou wanted to keep quiet, but he could not control his voice. `What can we do, Major?’ He stared fixedly at Blair’s sweat-stained back, his eyes misting with the sense of fear and unfairness which this man had caused. Even now, in defeat, he was still assured, even secretive, and Tarrou wanted to seize him and force him to understand. `We will die up here!’
Blair moved his legs, and Tarrou saw the raw, inflamed flesh of the crippled foot through the bandage. `Well, go and hide if you like.’ He moved the backsight of the rifle and measured the width of the pool with his eye. `You kept your word by bringing me here. Now hop it, if you want to!’
Tarrou hobbled on his knees like a deformed beggar. `Why you talk like this?’ The words bubbled out of him. He could not stop now. `All the time you treat me like dirt, eh? I help
you, and still you try to make me feel bad! You a big man outside.’
He waved his clenched fist vaguely towards the sea. `Here you nothing but trouble! You can’t do nothing here.
The Mota are bad. There is nothing you can do!’
Blair twisted his head towards him and smiled without warmth. `Feel better? Now shut up, or clear off!’
Tarrou still sat uncomfortably on his knees, the humilia tion welling into tears. `It’s not fair! You have everything you want all your life. I got nothing but my job. Now I got nothing at all.’ He waited, but Blair did not move. `See? You don’t rare about me!’ His voice rose to a scream.
Blair hissed at him with sudden anger. `Keep your voice down!’ Then, more quietly: `If I had my cheque-book I’d write you out a cheque for any amount you wanted. Would, that help?’ There was no answer. `Now, listen to me, and I’ll tell you something. I need you here with me, get that? I need you!’ He watched the pain in the black eyes. `If you want to go, that’s your affair, but if you decide to stay you’ll have to go through with it.’ He eyed him searchingly. `And I mean just that. I’m going to save that girl if it kills me and you too!’ He looked up, his face haggard. `Well, what d’you say?’
Tarrou gazed down at him with amazement. He was no longer surprised to hear himself agree to stay, he was past all surprises now. Before he had turned his fanatical stare back to the pool, Blair had tried to smile. Instead, Tarrou had seen the tears of desperation in the man’s eyes.
He sat quietly behind Blair, and began to mop his face with a scrap of his shirt. It was all quite fantastic. Blair had known that he could not do anything without him, and yet he had gambled on the uncertain knowledge of Tarrou’s own pride. He no longer hated Blair, or envied him either. He had only sorrow for this strange, lonely man who waited for the impossible to happen, and yet in his own simple fashion, Tarrou was glad he had decided to remain with him to the end.
Free of the shore, the schooner plunged eagerly on the port tack, her slim hull slicing through the unbroken surface of white lace and shuddering to each rise and fall of the tremendous swell which gave the sea the appearance of a great moving desert. Some of the troughs were so deep that the ship seemed to be anchored in a valley, the height of the surrounding water robbing the huge sails of wind and causing the vessel to reel as if out of control, until the bowsprit lifted and pointed the way clear, the canvas booming with triumph once more.
Fraser slithered down the last few steps of the companionway and groped his way blindly along the narrow passage. Around and above him every spar and timber groaned and squeaked in protest, and as the stern hung momentarily over a deep trough he had to grip the handrail to prevent his body from reeling full length on the deck. Then the stern dropped, and he held his breath until he could hear the great sluicing roar of cascading water as it poured along the low gunwale and hissed over the deck above.
Wabu had at last relieved him on the wheel, and had stood stolidly, his hands resting firmly on the spokes, while Fraser gave him the course.
`Keep her west by south!’ he had shouted above the moan of wind in the rigging. `Watch her head. Don’t let her pay off too much!’ He had waited, hoping for the flash of impish humour in the native’s eyes, but there had been nothing.
He reeled into his cabin and stared worriedly at the disordered clothes and cases which lurched unheeded across the floor. The oil-lamp swung in fantastic circles above his head, and he started as a metallic crash sounded from the other cabin.
Frowning, he stumbled across to the girl’s door, and stood undecided, his head cocked as if he expected her to call out. With an oath he thrust open the door and stepped quickly inside. His feet kicked against the small typewriter which had skidded from the table and burst out of its case. He picked it up, and stared morosely at the few feminine garments on the bunk, and at the well-worn travelling bags. Even her perfume seemed to triumph over the tang of salt and wet rope, and he licked his lips, suddenly unsure of himself.
‘What could I do?’ he asked the empty cabin, `I must be goin’ mad!’
He half-listened to the sounds of the labouring schooner, and was conscious of the quivering vibration of the hull as she Rung her one hundred and thirty tons over the water towards safety. That fool Myers, he reflected savagely. Bloody useless in any sort of a jam, but he’ll swear it was all my fault when we get back. He could imagine Grainger’s grave face, and the long-drawn-out questions. The schooner heeled over and hung uncomfortably for several seconds. Poor old girl, She’s near the end of her days. He banged his fist hard on the table. `Why don’t they understand?’ He shouted wildly at the bulkhead, and in the small cabin along the passageway Myers stiffened in alarm. `I’m savin’ their ruddy lives, an’ this is all I get!’ The words echoed hollowly, and seemed to stay with him.
Wabu leaned his slim weight against the wheel, and then turned briefly to nod as Yalla joined him in silence, his hands already helping to take the strain. They stood side by side, fighting each uneven gust of wind and watching the swinging compass card with expressionless eyes.
Old Kari sat hunched under the weather-rail watching them, his head nodding to the rhythm of the ship.
There was a crash as the companion hatch banged open and Fraser heaved his body over the coaming, his eyes squinting up at the whipping masts. Three pairs of eyes watched him with sudden interest, but Fraser ignored them as he tightened his belt and pulled an old yellow sou’wester over his tousled hair. His face was flushed, and he felt the madness rising in him like another storm.
Yalla’s eyes were dark as he watched Fraser take a long pull from the bottle before throwing it over the side. It was empty, and Fraser grinned at him, his teeth white against his stubbled chin.
`Well, you bloody heathen? Who the hell’re you starin’ at, fer Chrissake!’ He swayed, and shook his head with forced 196
solemnity. `Stand by to go about!’ He saw the expressions of disbelief in their smooth faces. `Thought about it. It’s all wrong, but,’ he shrugged, suddenly glad that he was committed, `there seems to be no other way.’
He took over the wheel and leaned loosely across it, savouring the life which flowed up from the rudder deep beneath him, and from the sails which reached out to embrace the angry sky. As if in a dream he saw the boys slithering to the braces, feet splayed on the wet planks, their eyes slitted against the needles of spray which coursed over their dark bodies. Kari and Dinkila joined them, and from somewhere Myers came hurrying, calling for the boys to show him what to do.
Fraser waited his time carefully, watching the sails and the sea with practised eye. Then as the Queensland Pearl answered his touch on the helm, and the canvas whipped and flapped protestingly, he felt her swing round, the twin booms tearing at the halyards, so that every block and wire screamed like a live thing.
He watched the ribbon of blue sky fade to one side, and as the ship completed her turn he found himself facing the great molten mass of storm-cloud which hung across the horizon like a forest fire. The eerie glow was reflected in his eyes as he drove his ship straight back along her old course.
He felt rather than saw the boys resetting the sails with renewed strength, but the sudden throb of canvas overhead made his eyes smart. He gripped the spokes tighter. `That’s it, my girl! We’ll show ‘em!’ His face split into a maniac grin, and he shouted at the darting figures ahead of him: `See how she goes, lads? Take a look ahead, will you! It may be the last time you bastards get a chance!’ He tilted his head and laughed up at the sails and the quivering masts.
Later, as he fought the sea with his hands, he wondered what had changed his mind. Perhaps it was the whisky. He chuckled mirthlessly. Maybe I’m just a damned stupid Aussie, but I just don’t like-bein’ pushed around!
He thought of Hogan’s body lashed down in the empty hold. He at least was unworried. He watched the great writhing swell of water and gritted his teeth. What would happen if they were beaten by the storm? When those rollers broke into waves, and the wind really got up, he would have little time to consider the sense of his decis
ion. All his life he had nursed the old schooner, and had tried to ease the passing of the years by careful handling. All that was past now. He felt like a man driving an old and trusted horse until it dropped.
`Dinkila! Get me another bottle from my cabin!’
He tried to shut out the sounds of the groaning timbers, and waved the seamen away when they came to relieve him at the wheel.
He took a hasty drink from the bottle and thrust it into his belt. He did not want to share this with anyone. Anyone else but her, that is. The others had wanted to go back for Blair. Duty, stupidity, curiosity, or just plain madness, what did the reason matter any more? Well, I’m goin’ to take them back ‘cause that’s what they expect of me. He knew that they needed him. He also knew that the misery of his own guilt lessened with each thrust of the sails, even though the ship seemed to be sailing straight to her destruction. There was no longer any choice.
The Hostile Shore Page 20