Journey Into Fear (10 page)

“Yes. Fortunately it’s just as easy to eat ravioli with the left hand.”

“There is that to be said for it, I suppose. Will you have some of this wine?”

“I don’t think so, thank you.”

“Yes, you’re wise. The best Italian wines never leave Italy.” He dropped his voice. “Ah! Here are the other two passengers.”

They looked like mother and son. The woman was about fifty and unmistakably Italian. Her face was very hollow and pale and she carried herself as if she had been seriously ill. Her son, a handsome lad of eighteen or so,
was very attentive to her and glared defensively at Graham, who had risen to draw back her chair for her. They both wore black.

Haller greeted them in Italian to which the boy replied briefly. The woman inclined her head to them but did not speak. It was obvious that they wished to be left to themselves. They conferred in whispers over the menu. Graham could hear José talking at the next table.

“War!” he was saying in thick, glutinous French; “it makes it very difficult for all to earn money. Let Germany have all the territory she desires. Let her choke herself with territory. Then let us go to Berlin and enjoy ourselves. It is ridiculous to fight. It is not businesslike.”

“Ha!” said the Frenchman. “You, a Spaniard, say that! Ha! That is very good. Magnificent!”

“In the civil war,” said José, “I took no sides. I had my work to do, my living to earn. It was madness. I did not go to Spain.”

“War is terrible,” said Mr. Kuvetli.

“But if the Reds had won …” began the Frenchman.

“Ah yes!” exclaimed his wife. “If the Reds had won.… They were anti-Christ. They burnt churches and broke sacred images and relics. They violated nuns and murdered priests.”

“It was all very bad for business,” repeated José obstinately. “I know a man in Bilbao who had a big business. It was all finished by the war. War is very stupid.”

“The voice of the fool,” murmured Haller, “with the tongue of the wise. I think that I will go and see how my wife is. Will you excuse me, please?”

Graham finished his meal virtually alone. Haller did
not return. The mother and son opposite to him ate with their heads bent over their plates. They seemed to be in communion over some private sorrow. He felt as if he were intruding. As soon as he had finished he left the saloon, put on his overcoat and went out on deck to get some air before going to bed.

The lights on the land were distant now, and the ship was rustling through the sea before the wind. He found the companionway up to the boat deck and stood for a time in the lee of a ventilator idly watching a man with a lamp on the well deck below tapping the wedges which secured the hatch tarpaulins. Soon the man finished his task, and Graham was left to wonder how he was going to pass the time on the boat. He made up his mind to get some books in Athens the following day. According to Kopeikin, they would dock at the Piræus at about two o’clock in the afternoon, and sail again at five. He would have plenty of time to take the tram into Athens, buy some English cigarettes and books, send a telegram to Stephanie and get back to the dock.

He lit a cigarette, telling himself that he would smoke it and then go to bed; but, even as he threw the match away, he saw that Josette and José had come on to the deck, and that the girl had seen him. It was too late to retreat. They were coming over to him.

“So you are here,” she said accusingly. “This is José.”

José, who was wearing a very tight black overcoat and a grey soft hat with a curly brim, nodded reluctantly, and said:
“Enchanté, Monsieur,”
with the air of a busy man whose time is being wasted.

“José does not speak English,” she explained.

“There is no reason why he should. It is a pleasure to meet you, Señor Gallindo,” he went on in Spanish. “I very much enjoyed the dancing of you and your wife.”

José laughed rudely. “It is nothing. The place was impossible.”

“José was angry all the time because Coco—the negress with the snake, you remember?—had more money from Serge than we did, although we were the principal attraction.”

José said something unprintable, in Spanish.

“She was,” said Josette, “Serge’s lover. You smile, but it is true. Is it not true, José?”

José made a loud noise with his lips.

“José is very vulgar,” commented Josette. “But it is true about Serge and Coco. It is a very
drôle
story. There was a great joke about Fifi, the snake. Coco was very fond of Fifi, and always used to take it to bed with her. But Serge did not know that until he became her lover. Coco says that when he found Fifi in the bed, he fainted. She made him increase her wages to double before she would consent to Fifi’s sleeping alone in its basket. Serge is no fool: even José says that Serge is no fool; but Coco treats him like dirt. It is because she has a very great temper that she is able to do it.”

“He needs to hit her with his fist,” said José.

“Ah!
Salop!”
She turned to Graham. “And you! Do you agree with José?”

“I have no experience of snake dancers.”

“Ah! You do not answer. You are brutes, you men!”

She was obviously amusing herself at his expense. He said to José: “Have you made this trip before?”

José stared suspiciously. “No. Why? Have you?”

“Oh no.”

José lit a cigarette. “I am already very tired of this ship,” he announced. “It is dull and dirty, and it vibrates excessively. Also the cabins are too near the lavabos. Do you play poker?”

“I
have
played. But I don’t play very well.”

“I told you!” cried Josette.

“She thinks,” said José sourly, “that because I win I cheat. I do not care a damn what she thinks. People are not compelled by law to play cards with me. Why should they squeal like stuck pigs when they lose?”

“It is,” Graham admitted, tactfully, “illogical.”

“We will play now if you like,” said José, as if someone had accused him of refusing a challenge.

“If you don’t mind, I’d sooner leave it until to-morrow. I’m rather tired to-night. In fact, I think that if you will excuse me I shall get to bed now.”

“So soon!” Josette pouted, and broke into English. “There is only one interesting person on the boat, and he goes to bed. It is too bad. Ah yes, you are being very bad. Why did you sit next to that German at dinner?”

“He did not object to my sitting beside him. Why should
I
object? He is a very pleasant and intelligent old fellow.”

“He is a German. For you no German should be pleasant or intelligent. It is as the French people were saying. The English are not serious about these things.”

José turned suddenly on his heel. “It is very boring to listen to English,” he said, “and I am cold. I shall go and drink some brandy.”

Graham was beginning to apologise when the girl cut him short. “He is very unpleasant to-day. It is because he is disappointed. He thought there were going to be some pretty little girls for him to roll his eyes at. He always has a great success with pretty little girls—and old women.”

She had spoken loudly, and in French. José, who had reached the top of the companionway, turned and belched deliberately before descending.

“He is gone,” said Josette. “I am glad. He has very bad manners.” She drew in her breath, and looked up at the clouds. “It is a lovely night. I do not see why you wish to go to bed. It is early.”

“I’m very tired.”

“You cannot be too tired to walk across the deck with me.”

“Of course not.”

There was a corner of the deck below the bridge where it was very dark. She stopped there, turned abruptly and leaned with her back to the rail so that he was facing her.

“I think you are angry with me?”

“Good gracious, no! Why should I be?”

“Because I was rude to your little Turk.”

“He’s not
my
little Turk.”

“But you are angry?”

“Of course not.”

She sighed. “You are very mysterious. You have still not told me why you are travelling on this boat. I am very interested to know. It cannot be because it is cheap. Your clothes are expensive!”

He could not see her face, only a vague outline of her;
but he could smell the scent she was using, and the mustiness of the fur coat. He said: “I can’t think why you should be interested.”

“But you know perfectly well that I am.”

She had come an inch or two nearer to him. He knew that, if he wanted to do so, he could kiss her and that she would return the kiss. He knew also that it would be no idle peck, but a declaration that their relationship was to be the subject of discussion. He was surprised to find that he did not reject the idea instantaneously, that the immediate prospect of feeling her full smooth lips against his was more than attractive. He was cold and tired: she was near, and he could sense the warmth of her body. It could do no one any harm if … He said: “Are you travelling to Paris via Modane?”

“Yes. But why ask? It is the way to Paris.”

“When we get to Modane I will tell you exactly why I travelled this way, if you are still interested.”

She turned and they walked on. “Perhaps it is not so important,” she said. “You must not think I am inquisitive.” They reached the companionway. Her attitude towards him had changed perceptibly. She looked at him with friendly concern. “Yes, my dear sir, you are tired. I should not have asked you to stay up here. I shall finish my walk alone. Good night.”

“Good night, Señora.”

She smiled. “Señora! You must not be so unkind. Good night.”

He went below amused and irritated by his thoughts. Outside the door of the saloon he came face to face with Mr. Kuvetli.

Mr. Kuvetli broadened his smile. “First officer says we shall have good weather, sir.”

“Splendid.” He remembered with a sinking heart that he had invited the man to have a drink. “Will you join me in a drink?”

“Oh no, thank you. Not now.” Mr. Kuvetli placed one hand on his chest. “Matter of fact, I have pain because of wine at table. Very strong acid stuff!”

“So I should imagine. Until to-morrow, then.”

“Yes, Mr. Graham. You will be glad to arrive back at your home, eh?” He seemed to want to talk.

“Oh yes, very glad.”

“You go to Athens when we stop to-morrow?”

“I was thinking of doing so.”

“Do you know Athens well, I suppose?”

“I’ve been there before.”

Mr. Kuvetli hesitated. His smile became oily. “You are in a position to do me service, Mr. Graham.”

“Oh yes?”

“I do not know Athens. I have never been. Would you allow me to go with you?”

“Yes, of course. I should be glad of company. But I was only going to buy some English books and cigarettes.”

“I am most grateful.”

“Not at all. We get in just after lunch, don’t we?”

“Yes, yes. That is quite right. But I will find out exact time. You leave that to me.”

“Then that’s settled. I think I shall go to bed now. Good night, Mr. Kuvetli.”

“Good night, sir. And I thank you for your favour.”

“Not at all. Good night.”

He went to his cabin, rang for the steward and said that he wanted his breakfast coffee in his cabin at nine-thirty. Then he undressed and got into his bunk.

For a few minutes he lay on his back enjoying the gradual relaxing of his muscles. Now, at last, he could forget Haki, Kopeikin, Banat, and the rest of it. He was back in his own life, and could sleep. The phrase “asleep almost as soon as his head touched the pillow” passed through his mind. That was how it would be with him. God knew he was tired enough. He turned on his side. But sleep did not come so easily. His brain would not stop working. It was as if the needle were trapped in one groove on the record. He’d made a fool of himself with that wretched woman Josette. He’d made a fool … He jerked his thoughts forward. Ah yes! He was committed to three unalloyed hours of Mr. Kuvetli’s company. But that was to-morrow. And now, sleep. But his hand was throbbing again, and there seemed to be a lot of noise going on. That boor José was right. The vibration
was
excessive. The cabins w
ere
too near the lavatories. There were footsteps overhead, too: people walking round the shelter deck. Round and round. Why, for Heaven’s sake, must people always be walking?

He had been lying awake for half an hour when the French couple entered their cabin.

They were quiet for a minute or two, and he could only hear the sounds they made as they moved about the cabin, and an occasional grunted comment. Then the woman began.

“Well, that is the first evening over! Three more! It is too much to think of.”

“It will pass.” A yawn. “What is the matter with the Italian woman and her son?”

“You did not hear? Her husband was killed in the earthquake at Erzurum. The first officer told me. He is very nice, but I had hoped that there would be at least one French person to talk to.”

“There are people who speak French. The little Turk speaks it very well. And there are the others.”

“They are not French. That girl and that man—the Spaniard. They say that they are dancers, but I ask you.”

“She is pretty.”

“Certainly. I do not dispute it. But you need not think little thoughts. She is interested in the Englishman. I do not like him. He does not look like an Englishman.”

“You think the English are all
milords
with sporting clothes and monocles. Ha! I saw the Tommies in nineteen fifteen. They are all small and ugly with very loud voices. They talk very quickly. This type is more like the officers who are thin and slow, and look as if things do not smell very nice.”

“This type is not an English officer. He likes the Germans.”

“You exaggerate. An old man like that! I would have sat with him myself.”

“Ah! So you say. I will not believe it.”

“No? When you are a soldier you do not call the Bosche ‘the filthy Bosche.’ That is for the women, the civilians.”

“You are mad. They are filthy. They are beasts like those in Spain who violated nuns and murdered priests.”

“But, my little one, you forget that there were many
of Hitler’s Bosches who fought
against
the Reds in Spain. You forget. You are not logical.”