Maddon's Rock (3 page)

But the
Trikkala
seemed to have settled to sleep in her little pool of shadow. Only the deck lights swung their dim yellow globes in the wind, casting dark moving shadows across the deck. On the bridge the muffled figure of the watch paced to and fro. The wind was from the east. It came roaring over the huddle of dockside sheds and made strange noises in the
Trikkala’s
superstructure. It was bitterly cold and already the snow had a crisp crust of ice that crunched beneath my feet. I got
to windward of the bridge on the starboard side and leaned my back against the sheltering ironwork.

The noise of the docks was now no more than a distant clatter. There were no arc lights to dazzle the night. I had a clear view down the black waters of the Tuloma River to Kola Bay. Distant buoy lights danced with their reflections like will-o’-the-wisps. Down the estuary, far, far to the north, the horizon showed as a black line against the cold, changing colours of the Northern Lights.

I lit a cigarette. I felt depressed. I cursed Rankin for letting slip that I was going for a commission. And I was angry with Betty for forcing my hand. Instead of a month’s disembarkation leave, I was due to report immediately to Deepcut for pre-OCTU training. Besides, I wasn’t cut out for an Army Officer’s job. The Navy—yes. I’ve been sailing very nearly since I could walk. At sea I’ve plenty of confidence. But the Navy had turned me down on eyesight. And in the Army I’d always felt like a fish out of water.

A light suddenly shone out from a porthole just to the left of where I was standing. The porthole was open. A voice said, “Come in, Mr. Hendrik, come in.” It was a soft, gentle voice with a strangely vibrant quality: A door closed and there was the sound of a cork being drawn out of a bottle. “Now, what about this guard?”

Hendrik’s voice answered, “Well, it’s nae more than we expected.”

“A guard—no. But we expected soldiers, not a Naval Warrant Officer. That might make it awkward. Know anything about this fellow Rankin, Mr. Hendrik?”

“Aye. I met him in—weel, I met him the other nicht. I’ve an idea that if there’s any deeficulty wi’ him he could be made to see reason. He’s no short o’ cash. If ye like I’ll away and see Kalinsky in the mornin’. It’d be Kalinsky he’d be dealing wi’—they all do. As for the corporal and the other two soldiers, we’ll no have any trouble——”

And that was all I heard of the conversation for the porthole suddenly closed and the little circle of light was blotted out as it was battened down from inside. I stood
there for a moment, watching the glowing tip of my cigarette and trying to make sense out of the fragment of conversation I had heard. Hendrik had been speaking to the captain. I realised that. But just what the significance of it was I could not determine.

Puzzled, I walked slowly back to our quarters. Bert was pacing up and down outside the door. He had his rifle slung on his shoulder and he swung his arms to keep himself warm. His face looked pinched and cold in the light that swung above the engine-room hatches. “Any luck, Corp?” he asked as I came up.

“About what?” I asked.

“Why the blankets and ’ammocks. Thort that was wot you’d gawn off ter see aba’t.”

“Haven’t they been sent up?” I asked.

“Not a sign of ’em,” he replied.

“I’ll go down and see Rankin about them,” I said.

“Good. An’ when yer see ’im, Corp, give ’im my love and tell ’im I’d like ter ring ’is stupid neck. I can just see ’im sticking it fer two long hours a’t in this beastly wind. Ask ’im why we can’t do our guard dooties inside.”

“All right, Bert,” I said. There was a companionway in the after-deckhousing. I went down this and found myself in a long corridor. It was warm and smelt of engine oil and stale food grease. The only sound in that empty steel-lined corridor was the steady hum of the dynamos. I hesitated and at that moment a door opened and a man in gum-boots went aft. The sound of men’s voices drifted through the lighted doorway. I went down the corridor, knocked and entered. It was the crew’s mess room. Three men were seated at one of the scrubbed deal tables. They took no notice of me. One of them, a Welshman, was saying, “But I tell you, man, he’s not sane. This very morning, it was, up for’ard where the Russians were fixing that plate. The door of Number Two bulkhead was open and I went through to see what was going on. The Captain was there, with Mr. Hendrik. Watching the Russians, they were. And as soon as he sees me, he says, ‘Davies,’ he says, ‘what are you doing here?’ So I tells him I just stepped through to
see what all the racket was about. ‘Well, get out, man,’ he says. And then ’Out, damned spot! Out, I say!’ And with that he starts roaring with laughter. ‘Go on, Davies,’ he says, ‘back to your work, man.’”

The other two men laughed, and one of them said, “You don’t want to worry about that, mate. He’s always like that, Captain Halsey is. You’re new to the ship. But we bin with him four trips now, ain’t we, Ernie? Shakespeare, Shakespeare, Shakespeare. He’ll stand on the bridge and spout Shakespeare by the hour. And when you pass his cabin, you’ll often hear ’im ranting and raving inside. Ain’t that so, Ernie?”

The man referred to as Ernie nodded and took his pipe out of his mouth. “Aye, that’s right,” he said. “An’ when you take a message to him up on the bridge you never know whether it’s the ghost of Banquo or one of King Richard’s bastards you’re talking to. Gave me the willies at first. But I got used to it now. And there’s some fine speeches he makes, too. You’ll find half the crew’ve got pocket editions of Shakespeare in their ditty boxes just for the fun of imitatin’ the Old Man.” He looked up then and saw me standing in the doorway. “Hullo, chum,” he said. “What do you want?”

“Can you tell me which is Mr. Rankin’s cabin?” I asked.

“The Navy feller, eh? Reck’n he’s got the one next door to Mr. Cousins. Here, I’ll show you.” He got to his feet and led me along the corridor. But when we found Rankin’s cabin, it was empty. “Does he drink?” the man called Ernie asked me in a whisper. I nodded. “Oh well, then he’ll be in the Chief’s cabin.” He knocked at the door of a cabin farther for’ard and a slurred voice mumbled “Come in!” He opened the door and peered in. “Okay, chum, there you are,” he said.

I thanked him and went in. The Chief Engineer was lying on his bunk. Bloodshot little eyes peered at me above florrid cheeks. The naked electric light bulb beat down upon his bald head. Bottles of beer lay about the floor and on a chest of drawers stood two opened bottles of whisky. The room was thick with smoke and the stale
smell of drink. Rankin sat on the foot of the Chief’s bunk. He was in his shirt sleeves and his collar was undone. They were playing cribbage. The cards were laid out on the blankets of the bed. “Wot d’you want?” asked Rankin.

“We’ve no blankets and no hammocks,” I said.

He gave a sneering laugh and turned to the Chief. “Did you hear him, Chief?” he said. “No blankets and no hammocks!” He belched and scratched his head. “You’re a corporal, aren’t you? Going to be an officer? Where’s your initiative, man? Go and find the ship’s storeman. He’s the man to give you blankets and hammocks, not me.” And then as I did not move, he said, “Well, what are you waiting for?”

“There’s another thing,” I said. But I stopped then. His little pale blue eyes, like baby oysters swimming in their own mucus, were watching me closely. He knew what I was going to say. He knew that it was unnecessary for the guard to be outside. And he was waiting for me to say it, so that he could sneer at my ability to carry out orders. This was the sort of man for whom the protection of rank meant the pleasures of despotism. “It doesn’t matter,” I said and closed the door.

It was the sailors in the crew’s mess-room who produced blankets and hammocks for me. Bert met me at the top of the companionway and relieved me of some of my burden. “Did yer see Rankin?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“Any chance of us doing the guards inside?”

“No.”

His little monkey face peered up at me from his balaclava. “Yer did ast ’im, didn’t yer?”

“No,” I said. “He was drunk and he was just waiting for the opportunity to get at me. It wasn’t any use.”

Bert slid the door of the storage room back with his shoulder and flung the handful of blankets he had taken from me on to the floor between the packing cases. “Blimey!” he said, “if you was a rooky yer couldn’t be more spineless And he turned away to continue his guard.

I hesitated. But I only said, “I’ll relieve you at one.” Then I went inside and slid the door to. Sills and I slung the hammocks between the packing cases. It was past midnight before we’d got them fixed. I climbed into mine and tried to get some sleep before I went out to do my turn. But I couldn’t sleep. I felt angry with myself and depressed about the present and the future. Even the thought of being back in England didn’t cheer me. But for the fact that it would be the end of things between Betty and myself. I knew I should have thrown up the idea of going for a commission.

When I went out to relieve Bert an hour later, loading seemed to have stopped throughout the docks. The arc lights had all been switched off and a peace had descended on the place. The snow-covered roofs of the dock sheds glimmered faintly in the light from the deck lights. Beyond lay a vague huddle of ships and sheds. The Northern Lights lay right across the northern sky, pulsing coldly. In their light the snow-muffled town looked chill as ice. “Wind’s droppin’ a bit,” Bert said.

I offered him a cigarette. There were only two left. He looked up at me quickly and then took one. We lit up and stood leaning against the rail for a while without speaking. Suddenly Bert said, “Sorry I lost me temper this evenin’, Corp. Must a’ bin the wevver. I felt fair bra’ned off, I did.”

“It’s all right, Bert,” I said.

We stood there in silence for a time and then he said, “Goodnight,” and left me alone to the cold and my thoughts.

It was seven o’clock when I came out on deck for my second spell of duty and in the dull morning light there was an air of bustle about the ship. The hatches were being battened down over the holds, fore and aft, and billows of black smoke pouring out of the funnel showed that we were getting up steam. As the light strengthened, the port seemed to come to life. Tugs hurried back and forth across the river, hooting; and occasionally the deep note of a ship’s siren sounded. A destroyer lay farther down the estuary, a dirty white ensign just visible in the
drifting smoke of her funnels. Shortly after Sills relieved me, two corvettes slipped down to join her and the three steamed slowly out of sight round a bend. “Think we’ll sail this morning, Corp?” Sills asked. There was a strange longing in his voice. He was not more than twenty. Probably this was the first time he’d been out of England.

“Looks as though there’s a convoy forming,” I said. “There’s two boats over there being towed out from their moorings.”

Ten minutes later the Liberty boat in the next berth to us slipped her moorings and with much hooting was hauled out into the open river by a diminutive tug that fussed around, churning the cold slate surface of the water to a muddy brown. I took a stroll round the ship. There was no doubt about it, we were getting ready to sail, and I began to feel that sense of excitement that is inevitable with the thought of putting to sea.

As I came abreast of the gangway I saw the figure of the first mate hurrying across the quayside. He walked quickly up the gangway and disappeared below the bridge in the direction of the Captain’s cabin. I was reminded then of the conversation I had overheard the previous night. I leaned against the rail staring down unseeingly at the bustle of the docks, trying to figure out what had been meant, when Rankin’s voice interrupted my thoughts, “Get your bedding all right, Corporal Vardy?” he asked.

I turned. His face looked grey above the blue-clothed bulk of his body and the little oyster eyes were bloodshot. “Yes,” I said, “I got them all right.” And then without stopping to think, I said, “Does the name Kalinsky mean anything to you, Rankin?”

He took a little breath and his eyes narrowed. “You trying to be funny, Corporal?” he asked, endeavouring to cover that momentary shock.

“No,” I said. “I just happened to hear two people mention your name in connection with Kalinsky.”

“Who were they?” he asked.

I turned to go. But he caught me by the shoulder and spun me round. “Who were they?” he hissed angrily.

The bloodshot little eyes were staring at me over their pouches of flesh and there was a flicker of something I couldn’t make out for a moment. And then I realised that he was frightened. “Who were they?” he repeated.

“The Captain and the first mate,” I said.

He let me go then and I left him standing slightly dazed at the top of the gangway. It was warmer now and the heat of the boilers was melting the snow round the engine-room hatches. Several ships had moved out into the harbour and there was an air of expectancy over the ship and the port that it was impossible to ignore.

I went below for a shave. The crew’s washrooms were primitive. But there was plenty of hot water. The cook was standing in the open doorway of the galley, a fat, greasy man with a wart on his lower lip and little twinkling brown eyes. He produced a tin mug full of steaming cocoa for me with the conspiratorial air of an amateur producing a rabbit out of a hat.

I stood chatting with him as I drank, gratefully sweating in the warmth of his roaring galley fires. He’d been in almost every port on the globe. This was his fourth visit to Murmansk. “Ever heard of a man called Kalinsky in Murmansk?” I asked.

“On Molotov Street—wot used to be St. Peter’s Street?” he asked.

“Maybe,” I said. “What sort of a bloke is he?”

“Well, he ain’t a Slav and he ain’t a Jew and he ain’t a Turk neither, nor a Greek,” he said. “But I guess he’s a mixture of every race that ever set up shop to barter the pants off of an honest seaman. He’s wot we’d call in England a fence. Why, you ain’t in trouble with him, are you?”

“No,” I said. “I’ve got nothing to barter except my rifle.”

His round little tummy heaved with laughter. “Kalinsky ain’t above buying rifles,” he said. “He’s doing a good trade just at the moment in rifles and sabres with the Yanks as souvenirs of Russia. Swears they’re Cossack, but they range from Lee Enfields to Italian
carabinieri
carbines.”