Send a Gunboat (1960) (13 page)

“Don’t you talk to me like that, you—you ugly oaf!” She wriggled in her seat, as if consumed with anger and indignation.

“Where is the doctor’s place?” Rolfe spoke from between his clenched jaws, fighting the sickness which threatened to engulf him.

“If you think I’m going down there, looking like this! What’s got into you?”

Rolfe followed the curve of the road as it dipped down towards the town. “Must get there quickly. If anything happens to that child—” he left his words unfinished.

“If you must make a fool of yourself! Turn right at the
first damned group of huts and follow the sea road.” She tried to move closer to him, her voice suddenly pleading. “We could have left the kid at one of those houses. They’re used to this sort of thing. The kids are always dying off, here!”

He eased her free with his arm, his face like a stone. “I’m not surprised,” he murmured quietly.

She straightened up on the seat, pulling her skirt over her knees, and fumbling with the gaping front of her dress. Her tone was hostile, and yet ashamed. “I didn’t mean it to be like this!”

“No. I don’t suppose you did.”

The sea spread out to greet them, and the moon shimmered coldly on the black water, the masts of beached fishing boats pointing starkly at the sky. They had by-passed the town and were twisting and turning among the little wooden buildings of the fishing village.

“You have to leave the road just up here,” she directed flatly. “There is only a pathway.”

Even as she spoke, he saw a long, low building, its whitewashed walls shining in the moonlight, a crude red cross painted on the corrugated iron roof.

He braked as gently as he could, and got out, hoping that Fallow might ask him to take the child, but the big man brushed past him, his face towards the house, and oblivious to the long smudges of blood on his knees and chest.

“I—I’ll stop here,” Ursula called after them, “I’ll wait, if you like?” Again, that breathless yearning trembled in her words.

“No, don’t wait.” He watched Fallow’s broad back, and wanted to run after him, to apologise, to help, anything. “Come in with us if you want to.”

He heard the clash of gears. “I can’t stand the sight of the man!” She was shouting now, “And you’re drunk!” Her other words were drowned by the roar of the engine as she let in the clutch. But Rolfe was already hurrying after Fallow.

They reached the door, and even in the poor light, he could see its crude, unpainted surface, and the general air of poverty about the building.

He banged on the rough planking, conscious of Fallow’s silence, and the child’s sharp breathing. The door creaked open,
and a diminutive man in a shapeless white smock held a lantern over his head. He studied each of them in turn, his almond eyes flickering as they rested on Fallow’s burden.

“The doctor, is he in?”

The little man held the door wide, and they followed him into a wide whitewashed room lined with crude wooden benches. There was a smell of disinfectant and sweat, which made Rolfe’s stomach twist uncontrollably.

He hung his lantern on a nail in the low ceiling, and reached out his arms commandingly.

“Please! The child! I take to Doctor!” He gathered the limp body with surprising ease, and pushed open a side door with his foot. A shaft of light flung his shadow weirdly across the floor, and he regarded them dispassionately. “You wait here, if you want!” The door swung behind him.

Fallow sank on to one of the benches, his face downcast. Only his hands moved ineffectually over the stains on his uniform.

Rolfe paced the room like a caged thing, his mind racing. You’ve done it again! You bloody, useless, self-pitying maniac! The pain in his head could hardly be endured, yet he could think with fresh clearness and bitter understanding. If only the sickness in his stomach would go. Then perhaps he could at least act like a human being. He shook his head, trying to shake off the nausea. It was more than that. It was the sickness of real despair, which held him so remorselessly.

He glanced unseeingly at his watch, having long since lost all sense of time. I can’t stand this, he thought wildly. Must go and find out what’s happening in there, and then get away. In his mind, the picture of his remote cabin wavered like a glimpse of heaven.

“I’m going to find out what they’re doing!” Fallow jumped at the sound of his strained voice. “I’ll go mad if I stop here!”

Before Fallow could utter a protest, Rolfe gripped the door handle, and softly eased his way into the other room. For a moment he blinked to accustom his eyes to the glare of a pressure paraffin lamp, which was being held over a white-sheeted table by the little servant. Rolfe held his breath, watching the bending
figure of a young man who was making final adjustments to the bandaging of the child’s chest and shoulders. Pieces of stained cotton-wool lay on the bare wooden floor, and the child’s torn clothing had been tossed hastily on one of the scrubbed chairs. She was still quiet, her bare skin biscuit-coloured against the sheet. Rolfe looked pityingly at the hunger-swollen belly and small, stick-thin legs. Under the lamplight she looked shrunken and frail, only her eyes showed the flickering life of childhood. He watched the doctor’s long hands working with swift, practised ease, and noted the dark, untidy lock of hair falling across his face, which was turned away from him. He could only make out the firm, sun-tanned cheek, and well-cut chin. About my age, he thought, as the man stood up wearily and stretched his shoulders.

The servant stared woodenly at the child, and smiled gravely. “Nice job, Doctor Felton.” He pointed with his chin in Rolfe’s direction, “That man’s here now, Doctor.”

“What the devil!” Felton swung round angrily, and Rolfe shrank back in horror, as the remaining half of the doctor’s face became visible under the harsh light.

The whole of the left side had been savagely scored away from the eyebrow to the chin. It was as if a sheet of greaseproof paper had been stretched across a loose tangle of raw flesh. Above the smooth nightmare of crude surgery, the left eye squinted in horrible concentration, and the whole effect made Rolfe retch helplessly, a cold sweat breaking across his brow.

“Well, well, Chu! So the gallant Captain is honouring us with a visit!” The tone, though soft, was filled with scorn. “Have you come to see the results of your handiwork? Or did you want to have a look at me?” The dreadful eye gleamed like a chip of glass.

Rolfe pressed his palms back on the wall, digging his nails into the rough plaster. “Sorry, Doctor, I didn’t realize. I mean, I just wanted to find out how she was!” It sounded empty and stupid, and the bile in his throat threatened to choke him. The face floated in a mist before him, and he knew that if he left the safety of the wall, he would fall.

“She’s alright as it happens,” the answer was like a slap in the face. “No doubt you enjoyed your party with the empire-builders!”

Rolfe’s legs quivered, and helplessly he sat down on a carved camphor-wood chest. “Please excuse me,” he choked, “I’m afraid I’m making a bit of a fool of myself!”

One half of Felton’s lip curled contemptuously, the other half, a red slit, remained still and dead. “We’re very sorry about that, I’m sure!”

The child made a small sound, and immediately Felton bent over her. With her eyes like dark pools, she reached up weakly, and explored the man’s face with her small fingers. Rolfe felt a lump rising, and a sharp pain behind his eyes. The complete lack of fear or pain in the little creature’s expression filled him with awe and a sudden humility. It was more like a wild dream than ever. All the things which were happening around him tore at his heart in a way unknown to real life.

Without leaving the table, Felton spoke over his shoulder, his calm voice trembling with anger, “Well, aren’t you going? Haven’t you done enough?”

“I wasn’t driving. It was an accident.” How ineffectual it sounded. “We got her here as fast as we could!”

“We? So there are more of you, eh? The Laker girl, I suppose! Well, this isn’t her first victim by any means. Not that you care, of course!”

Rolfe dropped his head in his hands, not caring what they thought. Nothing they said could be too bad, and he felt the resistance draining from him.

He heard a door open, and he waited for Fallow’s voice to add to the chaos. Instead, a new voice, a soft, gentle sound, penetrated between the protection of his clasped hands.

“I’ve sent someone for her father, Brian, and I—” there was a pause, and a quick intake of breath. “What’s happened now? I saw the Laker’s car drive off. Now who’s this?”

Rolfe raised his head slowly, the figure of a girl forming mistily before him.

Dressed in a rough white overall which reached practically to the floor, the girl looked at first glance like a child. Rolfe stared incredulously at the dark cloud of rich chestnut hair, swept hurriedly back into a loose knot at the nape of her slim neck, and the perfect sun-tanned, oval face, seemingly dominated by wide, hazel eyes. Her soft, moist mouth was parted, giving her an
expression of surprise and alarm. Even as he stared, she nervously lifted her small hands to her hair, the smile fading.

“It’s the Captain of the gunboat.” Felton spoke as if Rolfe was not in the room. “He and his friends have just brought the child here as you know. What you didn’t know is, that he’s actually sorry about the accident!” He turned lightly to Rolfe, and again the face glared angrily in its distorted mask. “Now get out, for God’s sake! You and your kind make me sick! Keep away from me while you’re here, and be damned to you!”

Rolfe staggered to the door, his eyes burning.

The girl’s face was all at once hovering beneath him. “Are you alright, Captain?” Her eyes were filled with concern, which made Rolfe feel even more desperate. It was too much. First that ghastly mask, and now this soft, beautiful face, which was perfection and loveliness undreamed of.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Felton,” he muttered, groping for the door. Behind him he heard Felton laugh sarcastically. “I beg you to excuse me. I must get back—to my ship!”

With unbelieving eyes he watched her hand on his sleeve. “Are you quite sure you’ll be able to manage?”

He nodded helplessly, and as the cool air fanned his face, he found himself in the roadway, with Fallow standing silently nearby.

She stood uncertainly watching him, her teeth white in the moonlight. “I’m
not
Mrs. Felton, by the way, “she said softly, “I’m his sister.”

He reached out for her hand, which he seized eagerly. “Tell your brother I’m sorry,” he faltered, “He thinks that I—” his voice died away.

“Don’t mind him. He’ll understand.” She disengaged her hand, and Rolfe stood staring at the closed door.

Fallow fell in step beside him, as he walked heavily along the dark road. He was glad of Fallow’s silence now, it helped him to appreciate the magnitude of his loneliness, and the realization of his recent behaviour filled him with scathing contempt.

As their feet scrunched over the uneven surface, Doctor Felton’s sister was rarely absent from his thoughts.

THE RASP OF
scrubbing brushes and the clank of a salt-water pump, mingled with the subdued chattering of the Chinese seamen, brought Rolfe slowly out of his coma-like sleep.

For some moments he lay staring at the white deck-head and the revolving fan, trying to piece together the events of the previous night. Even the sounds of the seamen washing decks, and the other friendly shipboard noises, were insufficient to drag him from his general feeling of depression, and as uneven pieces of his memory jumbled together in his aching head, he felt a real sense of frustration and loss.

“Tea, Captain-sir!” Chao’s slender hands manipulated the wide cup and saucer at the side of the bunk, and his quiet, smoky eyes were watchful, as he tried to gauge his master’s new mood.

Rolfe grunted, and rolled on to his side, wincing with the effort. He stared with disgust at the dirty uniform which Chao was bundling under his arm, and at the trail of disorder which had followed his own unsteady steps across the cabin a few hours earlier. Over the rim of the cup, he absently watched the boy, as he pattered about the cabin, laying out fresh white drills, and preparing the morning shower. Somewhere in the ship a pipe twittered, and Chase’s coarse voice bellowed “Attenshun on the upper deck! Face aft an’ salute!” He could picture the colours being hoisted to start a new day, as he had seen it done so many hundreds of times before. On the distant flagship, the Admiral would be hearing the blare of bugles, and the precise clicks as the marine guard presented arms. Gunboat or cruiser, peace or war, it made little difference to the navy’s respect for tradition. He groaned, and sat on the side of the bunk, rubbing his naked stomach with the palm of his hand. The touch of the smooth flesh made him stir uneasily, and the memory of Ursula’s pleading sent a stab of remorse through him.

“Blast her!” he muttered. “What a fool I made of myself there!”

“Sir?”

“Nothing, Chao. I’m getting old or something. That’s all.”

Chao smiled, not understanding. “Captain-sir enjoy his party?”

Rolfe stared at him balefully, looking for some small sign of insolence, but the dark eyes, and wide grin, were bare of either disrespect or disloyalty.

“It was quite a party,” he answered briefly.

As he shaved, he thought about the General, or rather, he tried to concentrate on his forthcoming visit to his headquarters. But quietly and persistently, another person entered into his thoughts. He saw the rough white smock, the huge, sad eyes, and the gleaming mass of auburn hair. What had brought her to Santu? What made her stop with that distorted creature of a brother? He studied his steely eyes in the mirror, their hard stare reflecting the unanswered questions.

There was a tap at the door, and Fallow, his cap under his arm, stepped across the coaming.

He waited mutely until Rolfe had completed his toilet, his red face blank and preoccupied with inner thoughts.

“Major Ling’s on the jetty, sir. Says ’e’s come to drive you to the General’s.”

Rolfe buttoned up his fresh tunic, pondering over the announcement. “Very good, Number One. I didn’t expect him, but I’m glad I shall be escorted, as it were.” He stared questioningly at the other man. He’s brooding about last night, he thought. “Everything all right in the ship?”