Grand Canary (16 page)

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.

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 moment 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.'

Susan compressed her lips.

‘Is it in Laguna, the outbreak?' she asked seriously.

‘It's all over the upper side,' he answered acidly. ‘They got their hands full to keep it out of Santa Cruz. So full they ain't got a proper thought for us. And more – the pest is travellin' west. They got it on the other islands too. Started way down in Las Palmas last week, they tell me. But Laguna is the centre. There's an estate on the town outskirts stuck right by my place. Casa de los Cisnes. Belongs by an old half-wit Spanish dame.' A cold note of bitterness crept into his voice. ‘She's what they call a marquesa. Can you beat it! But blue blood don't keep her place together. It's all to bits. Fanegads of prime land scorched up and showing nothing but weed. Short of water she is. And she won't get none while I'm about. Well, that's where the hotbed is. She's lost half her peons – the few poor trash she did have. The graveyard's full.'

A short silence followed these chilling words; then Robert drew a deep breath, charging himself, it seemed, with lush enthusiasm.

‘Well,' he declared, ‘there's plenty work for us to do. Let's go to it.' His voice was deep, but there was pathos in its depth, and in its breaking resonance an emotion which rang strangely false.

‘C'mon then,' said Rodgers shortly. ‘Get your traps ashore.' And with an air of stern gravity he led the way out of the cabin into the sunshine, whose hard brilliance now held something lifeless yet formidable. But now Robert was by no means lifeless. His indecision of a moment ago was gone; his manner, under Rodgers's flinty eye, infused with nervous zeal. He who usually surveyed her activities with an indulgent aloofness immediately thrust Susan aside and began to fuss about the baggage.

She stood watching, pulling on her gloves – despite the heat she would have felt undressed to set foot on land without those gloves – then, at a thought, she turned away slowly and mounted to the upper deck.

Outside the chart-room she encountered Renton. It was on her tongue to say: ‘I've come to say good-bye,' when he exclaimed curtly:

‘I've been looking for you.' His face had a heated, worried look; in his hand he rustled a sheaf of papers. He paused, then, thrusting out his chin, went on: ‘It's about this fever business. I'm afraid there's more in it than we knew of. I hear they've got it pretty bad up Laguna way. Now you don't want to get mixed up in that show. Stay down in Santa Cruz till the mischief's over. Stay on the ship another day if you wish – till you get fixed somewhere. We don't sail till tomorrow.'

A faint smile hovered upon her lips.

‘I'm not scared, captain. And haven't they got it in Santa Cruz as well? In Las Palmas, too, for that matter. Mr Rodgers just told us. Didn't we ought to have stopped on the ship there if it's as bad as all that?'

He said something under his breath and his face turned a dull red. The tincture of the martinet which infused his nature made him detest to shift his ground.