by A. J. Cronin
His jaw dropped at her diabolic intuition; had he not been so disconcerted he might have blushed.
‘What are ye talkin’ about, wid yer athrocious nonsense? Haven’t I got a job waitin’ for me the moment I stip off the boat? Isn’t it all arranged? Isn’t me friend Professor Sinnott waitin’ to receive me wid open arms – and take me into partnership?’
She stared at him for a full minute in acute surprise. Then she began to laugh. She laughed at first silently, containing the full savour of the joke. Then she let herself go, screaming with mirth, holding on to the rail with both hands to sustain herself.
‘Sinnott,’ she shrieked, ‘ old Bob Sinnott what keeps the little amusement plyce by the bull-ring. Oh, my Gawd! a little ’arf-baked shootin’-gallery for the bloods and a one-’orse roundabout for the bambinos. Oh, ’elp me criminy, it’s rich. I knows old Sinnott. ’E’s no professor. ’E’s a ruin. A bleedin’ ruin is Bob, I tell you. ’E’s on ’is last legs. ’Is plyce is fallin’ in pieces and, ’streuth, ’e’s fallin’ after it. And ’e’s goin’ – ’e’s goin’, to take you into partnership –’ She exploded into another paroxysm.
He stared at her in incredulous dismay.
‘A pack of nonsense,’ he stammered, ‘a pack of athrocious nonsense. Bob and me was pals in Colorado, sure, he wrote and asked me out.’
She wiped her eyes, took a voluptuous pull at her cigar.
‘You wyte and see,’ she declared richly. ‘ You just wyte and see. Old Bob Sinnott owes money all over the plyce. ’E’d clutch at any straw would Sinnott. ’Asn’t got a bloomin’ brass to call his own. ’E’s blotto.’
Dead silence.
‘Ah,’ he muttered weakly, ‘yer all wrong.’
She nodded her head vivaciously.
‘I’m tellin’ you, cocky. You’re on the wrong ’orse. You’ll be comin’ in to see me soon. Spare a crust, ma’am – so ’elp me . Gawd – and break the news to mother. But don’t fret! I shan’t let you starve. ’Emmingway’s ’eart’s in the right plyce. An ugly old bit but an ’eart of gold.’ She darted a sly glance at him. ‘’Undred and Sixteen Calle de la Tuna – that’s the spot. Everybody knows my plyce. Fair word and no fyvour. Say “ Mother ’Emmingway’s plyce,” and look simple. You can ask a peliceman if you please.’ She inhaled another luscious puff from her cigar. ‘Don’t tyke it so serious, cocky. Cheer up. You ought to be like Mrs B’ynam. Nothin’ don’t knock ’er about.’ She seemed actually to try to rally him. ‘’Aven’t you see her? She’s walking about like a cat that’s had cream. And wouldn’t you like to know the reason w’y?’ She raised her eyebrows knowingly, then tittered with delicious relish. ‘’Aven’t you noticed? Tranty don’t seem to ’ ave appeared this mornin’. ’Avin’ a prayer-meetin’ after hours was Tranty. Sleep lyte, sweet chariot. Lie low, sweet ’ armonium player, if you don’t want to fyce the music.’
Corcoran stared at her with corrugated, distrustful brows.
‘Can’t you let be?’ he said at last – still disconsolate. ‘ You’re always thinkin’ the worst of somebody.’
‘The worst,’ she burst out indignantly. ‘Didn’t I see ’im standin’ like a lost sheep at ’er cabin door, bleatin’ ’ is ’oly ’ead off to be took in? Didn’t I watch ’im –’ She stopped short, her eyes drawn suddenly to the figure of Susan Tranter approaching from beyond the chart-room.
‘Have you seen Dr Leith?’ asked Susan.
‘No,’ replied Mother Hemmingway with unctuous effusion. ‘We ’aven’t see ’im, dearie. We just been standin’ ’ere discussin’ the weather and the flowers and wot not. The be-utiful roses wot bloom in the spring, tra la la. That’s gospel, ask Rockefeller ’ere if it ain’t. But we ’aven’t seen nothin’ of the medico. ’E’s in ’is cabin like as not. Wot did you want ’ im for, dearie?’
‘It’s not important,’ answered Susan quite cheerfully. ‘Not so very important.’
‘Your brother’s not been took bad I ’ope?’ asked Mother Hemmingway tenderly. ‘Nothing’s upset ’im I do ’ope and pray.’
‘He does seem rather off colour,’ said Susan. ‘But it’s nothing really.’
‘Ah,’ breathed the Hemmingway softly. ‘P’raps a touch of hindigestion, dearie. P’raps ’e’s ’ad a troubled night.’
A silence fell; then, as though to ease that stillness, a faint creaking of oars rose into the captive air, and out of the mist a longboat dimly took form. Manned by eight men who pulled abreast in pairs, standing barefooted in the stern, it drew slowly towards the Aureola.
‘Here’s the boat,’ said Jimmy suddenly. ‘They’ll be goin’ ashore now, the three that’s for Orotava.’
‘And jolly good luck to the goin’,’ cried Mother Hemmingway, sending the end of her cigar hissing to the water. ‘I didn’t feel like weepin’ w’en they said good-bye to us at breakfast. The little lydy is the proper article, that I will admit. Stryte. “Mary, Mary, quite contrary, ’ow does your garden grow?” You couldn’t ’elp but tyke to ’er. But them two others! – well! ’uman nature’s ’uman nature, but swipe me if you don’t ’ave to draw the line somewheres.’
Again a silence fell whilst, with varying emotions, the three stared at the oncoming boat. And upon the deck below, through his open cabin door, Harvey Leith stared at that boat too. His eyes, dark and fixed, seemed bound not to the little, dancing boat but to some distant inexorable thought. His face, beneath its recent stain of sun-burn, had a curious pallor. All his faculties felt numb: his mind, with a sort of dumb wonder, seemed to contemplate detachedly this figure of himself, so alien – unrecognisable.
The boat drew closer, impelled by rhythmic movements of the heavy sweeps: nearer – and nearer still; then finally it slipped from sight beneath the counter of the Aureola’s stern. Now it would be alongside.
His heart turned heavily within him; the mist was void now, encircling him transparently with a fume of desolation; little beads of moisture dropped from the lintel of the door like tears.
Dully he heard the scrape of baggage being heaved, the stamp of feet, the sound of voices; but it all came to him vaguely, without substance or shape. Suddenly he raised his head. She was there, Mary, standing in the alley-way, dressed for departure, her dark eyes upon him seriously, her face curiously intent and small.
‘I’m going then,’ she said in a voice which barely seemed to reach him.
He stared at her in a dream. She was going.
‘I said good-bye – to you all – at breakfast.’
‘There wasn’t any need, I know that. But I came. The boat’s alongside.’
He rose.
‘Yes, I saw it come.’ He broke off, looked stiffly, unreasonably at his watch. His hands were trembling.
‘It’s so fantastic going off in this drizzle,’ she said in that same small voice. ‘Everything seems queer. But tomorrow – I suppose the sun will come again. It makes a difference, doesn’t it?’
‘Yes, it makes a difference.’
They looked at each other. Her eyes were shining now with a startled, mournful lustre, her cheeks seemed pinched; her figure held a white fragility.
And across his vision flashed the memory of that swallow which had fluttered in weariness about the deck. She seemed suddenly to him like that tired little bird.
‘Once you are on shore you will feel more settled,’ he said resolutely. ‘I know you are sad at leaving the ship.’
‘Of course.’ She tried to smile but instead she sighed, as from a catching at her heart. A large tear welled up beneath her lashes and rolled slowly down her cheek. ‘Don’t mind that,’ she said indistinctly. ‘It’s nothing, really. Quite often I can’t help making a fool of myself.’
‘Are you all right?’
‘Oh, yes,’ she gasped. ‘I really am. Don’t bother about that.’
With head lowered and averted, as a startled bird might nestle for sanctuary upon its own breast, she stood motionless. Suddenly she held out her hand.
‘Well –’
He took her hand; it was warm and small; his heart constricted with unbelievable pain. He said thickly:
‘I’m not coming to the boat.’
‘No – don’t come down.’
The anguish in his heart drove him unnecessarily to explain:
‘The others – they will be there.’
‘Yes.’
‘So this – this really is good-bye.’
She echoed the last word as though it terrified her; stood again for a second motionless and forlorn; then all the desolation of that hollow air rose up and ravaged him. No longer was her hand in his; no longer did her glistening eyes swim hauntingly before him. She was gone.
He sat down stiffly upon the settee and let his head sink upon his hand as though he could not face the day. He did not see the longboat as it stole from the ship and slid back towards the misty shore. Never before had he felt so terribly alone. He had passed his life in complete oblivion of his peculiar solitary state; but now, as though unleashed, those years of isolation swept over him in one sustained intolerable pang. He became aware of himself as a harsh, outlandish figure; without the gift of friendship; without the power to make himself beloved. Wrenched from his work, outcast upon this ship by destiny, he had been borne towards strange shores where for an instant he had stood as upon a threshold, his soul aquiver with wonder and delight. But now the wonder was dead, the quick delight dispelled, and in this ship – the instrument and symbol of his destiny – he was returning, moving backwards drearily the way that he had come. A frightful surging bitterness tore at his throat. Overhead the stamp of feet bore down upon him through the deck, and rasping across his ears came the shout of orders, the heavy straining of the winch as it coiled the anchor cable relentlessly upon its drum. But he heard nothing as he sat there, his wounded eyes filled with a fatal sadness, staring straight in front of him.
The rain increased, pouring dankly through the grey and humid air, dripping mournfully from the sodden shrouds. And the wind swept up inscrutably from the ocean, prying inshore with sudden clamouring gusts, capping the swell with tiny, snapping crests.
The sea-birds screamed and cried: circling and dipping; circling and dipping; again, again, all lost and desolate. Desolation hung from the curtained sky; and something lonely and forsaken. Tomorrow the sun might blaze again, and airs dance lightly over the vivid earth; but now, as the Aureola pounded her bows into the heavy outer seas, there was only sadness – and a sense of sad frustration. Pounding her bows into those heavy seas – away, away.
Chapter Fourteen
Yet soon the rain was left behind.
The short passage to Santa Cruz was over, the Aureola made fast in sunshine against the curving mole.
One last glance at the town which lay like a brilliant flower upon the breast of the mountains and Susan ran into her brother’s cabin.
‘We’re there, Robbie! There at last!’ She felt uplifted; caught by the excitement of arrival; still filled by relief at Elissa’s departure. Then, turning from the door, suddenly she paused.
With his back towards her, he was bent over a trunk fumbling with the straps, his air so inconclusive he might that moment have risen hastily in pretext of occupation.
Her eyes widened in surprise; his packing was inevitably her affair.
‘Why,’ she exclaimed, ‘have I forgotten something after all?’
‘This buckle,’ he mumbled, without lifting his head. ‘ I was tightening it. Don’t seem to grip like it ought.’
She did not reply, but stood watching him with queer intentness as he tugged unconvincingly at the strap. At last he rose and, flushed from his exertion, he faced her.
‘Do you feel better now?’ she asked slowly.
‘Yes.’
‘I was kind of worried about you this morning,’ she persisted doubtfully. ‘I had a mind to ask Dr Leith to see you.’
The colour on his brow deepened.
‘No, no,’ he declared hurriedly. ‘I can’t – I don’t want to see him.’
‘What’s the matter then, Robbie?’ Questioningly she entreated him to meet her gaze.
But he would not; instead, he turned away and looked out of the port.
‘There’s nothing the matter. Nothing.’
There was silence.
‘Well,’ she said at length, with a sudden briskness, ‘I thought you might have been on deck with me to see us come in. It’s a big place. I guess you’ll like it. I had a glimpse of Laguna far up on the hill, like it was set half-way to the sky. And a terrible pretty place it is. Green valleys and woods, plantations too, and lots of palms. I never knew palms could grow so big. A real foreign place. I’ve got the feeling it’s going to mean something for us, Robbie. Just gripped me the minute I set eyes on it. Something – oh, something important. That’s how it felt to me. Some have gone ashore already,’ she ran on. ‘That Hemmingway woman, she was off like smoke. Two girls – believe me they had some queer style! – met her on the jetty, hung themselves around her neck. Gosh, it was a scene. Hardly the thing, I do declare.’ She paused. ‘And Mr Corcoran’s gone off too, all dressed up in a new bow tie. He looked swell, but hardly took good-bye. Kind of in a hurry.’ Again she paused. ‘And now I guess it’s time for us to get a hurry on as well.’
Unresponsive, he kept his gaze fixed through the port.
‘When does Mr Rodgers come?’
‘The minute the boat docked he’d arranged to meet us. So they said at Arucas. Don’t you remember, Rob? We ought to go and take good-bye of Captain Renton right now. He’s been downright kind.’ She paused. ‘ I guess he had his doubts about us at the start. I heard him say missionaries weren’t in his line. Kind of mistrusted us for sure. But I reckon we’ve showed him a bit different.’
He made a restive movement with his hands and involuntarily swung round, his lips working, his nostrils dilated like the nostrils of a nervous horse.
‘Susan,’ he exclaimed; and broke off.
‘Well?’
‘Can’t you see,’ he cried almost hysterically. ‘ Can’t you see how I – how I – oh, can’t you see how I am?’
Her steady eyes would not leave his face; she took his hand and pressed it between her palms.
‘I do understand, Robbie. And oh, my dear, I do respect you for it.’
Dumbfounded, he echoed:
‘Respect me?’
‘And why not?’ she answered vehemently. ‘You couldn’t deceive me. I do see that you’re unhappy. God knows I’ve seen the whole thing from the beginning. You’ve had to fight, Robbie, and if the fight has been clearly won, then the merit of the victory is greater.’
‘But, Susan –’ he whimpered.
‘I know how you feel,’ she broke in quickly, ‘your sensitiveness. Yes, yes. It was something you’ve never had to face before. I know she was beautiful. But she was bad, Robbie – oh, downright bad. If you’d been weak she would have spoiled everything – oh, your whole life. Couldn’t you feel how uneasy I was? I prayed and prayed that you’d be all right. Well! She’s gone now – and don’t I just thank God we’ve seen the last of her.’
He stared at her, stupefied, his mouth open, his large eyes glistening and full.
‘Remember,’ she said in a low, reassuring voice, ‘He Himself was tempted, Robert. That thought should take the bitterness from your heart.’
A sort of wail broke from between his lips; incoherent words trembled upon his tongue. Hysterically, as with an exaltation of remorse, he gathered himself to speak when suddenly there came a knock upon the door. The sound, peremptory and sharp, split like a pistol-shot across the air. Both turned as the door swung open and a man stepped in.
He was tall, fair-haired, and spectacled, with a bony, dried-up frame which made his shoulders seem too high and his white drill suit too large. His air was casual – the composure of complete pre-knowledge – but a bleakness about his mouth and a sombre glint within his eye betrayed some secret force which dwelt within him like smouldering fire. For a momen
t the weight of his scrutiny rested upon them; then he advanced a hand which was dry and hard, with a furze of red hairs upon its back.
‘You’re on time,’ he declared calmly, in a harsh, twanging voice, as though they had arrived for lunch in some cross-river ferry-boat. ‘And I’ll say you’re welcome. Got your traps fixed? My buggy’s standin’ waitin’ ready on the pier.’
‘Well,’ said Susan with a little gasp. ‘It must be – it’s Mr Rodgers, isn’t it?’
He nodded his head in acrid acquiescence.
‘Aaron Rodgers is my name. Planter from James River way. Threw it down when the blight come on. Three years now I’ve been on this godless island. Raisin’ bananas, lucerne, and citron. Glad to give you hospitality till you get your home set.’ His eye, rising swiftly, lit sombrely upon Tranter.
‘Pleases me well – your comin’ here, brother. This place is a sink. Choked and festerin’ with black godless ignorance.’
Under that darting glance Tranter flinched and wilted; the ready colour flooded his cheeks once more.
‘Not more pleased than we are, sir,’ he mumbled, as though shielding himself. ‘Powerful glad to meet you.’
‘The time is ripe,’ returned the other inscrutably. ‘If you can’t lead souls to salvation now, then you can leave them to rot in hell.’ He paused, and with a grim, dramatic relish bit out the words: ‘You’ve walked in on the worst sickness that’s struck this place for years. Yellow fever. Bad. Rank, tearin’ bad. From Africa they say it come over, carried on a Liberian tramp-steamer. But to my mind it is a visitation. No more, no less.’
‘We did hear a word of it,’ said Susan, ‘but we understood it was very slight.’
‘Slight,’ he echoed, with scathing contempt. ‘It’s bad – poisonous bad. They’re tryin’ to hush it up. But, as God’s my Maker and my Judge, they’ve gotten a mighty big song to hush.’