The Narrow Corner (12 page)

“We’ll be wantin’ a new jib, too. I’ll just go and doll meself up and then I’ll join you.”

The skipper went down into the cabin. His toilet did not take him long, for it consisted only in changing his pyjamas for a pair of khaki trousers, putting a khaki coat on his bare back and slipping his naked feet into old tennis shoes. They clambered by rickety steps on to the pier and walked along it. There was no one there. They reached the quay and after hesitating for a moment took what looked like the main street. It was empty and silent. They wandered down the middle of the roadway, abreast, and looked about them. It was pleasant to be able to stretch one’s legs after those days on the lugger, and a relief to feel under one’s feet the solid earth. The bungalows on either side of the road had very high roofs, thatched and pointed, and the roofs, jutting out, were supported by pillars, Doric and Corinthian, so as to form broad verandahs. They had an air of ancient opulence, but their whitewash was stained and worn, and the little gardens in front of them were rank with tangled weeds. They came to
shops and they all seemed to sell the same sort of things: cottons, sarongs and canned foods. There was no animation. Some of the shops had not even an attendant, as though no purchaser could possibly be expected. The few persons they passed, Malays or Chinese, walked quickly as though they were afraid to awaken the echo. Now and then a whiff of nutmeg assaulted the nostrils. Dr. Saunders stopped a Chinese and asked him where the hotel was. He told them to go straight on, and presently they came to it. They went in. There was no one about, but they sat down at a table on the verandah and thumped on it with their fists. A native woman in a sarong came and looked at them, but vanished when the doctor addressed her. Then appeared a half-caste, buttoning up his stengah-shifter, and Dr. Saunders asked if he could have a room. The man did not understand, and the doctor spoke to him in Chinese.

The man answered in Dutch, but when the doctor shook his head, with a smile made signs that they were to wait and ran down the steps. They saw him cross the road.

“Gone to fetch someone, I expect,” said the skipper. “Extraordinary thing they shouldn’t speak English. They give me to understand the place was civilized.”

The half-caste returned in a few minutes with a white man, who gave them a curious glance as his companion
pointed them out to him, and then as he came up the steps politely raised his topi.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” he said. “Can I be of any service to you? Van Ryk cannot understand what you want.”

He spoke English very correctly, but with a foreign accent. He was a young man, in the twenties, very tall, six foot three at least, and broad-shouldered, a powerful fellow, but clumsily built, so that though he gave you an impression of great strength, it was of an ungainly nature. His ducks were neat and clean. A fountain pen protruded from the pocket of his closely-buttoned tunic.

“We’ve just come in on a sailing-boat,” said the doctor, “and I want to know if I can have a room here till the next steamer comes in.”

“Surely. The hotel isn’t as full as all that.”

He turned to the half-caste and fluently explained what the doctor wanted. After a brief conversation he returned to English.

“Yes, he can give you a nice room. Your board included, it’ll come to eight gulden a day. The manager’s away at Batavia, but van Ryk’s looking after things, and he’ll make you comfortable.”

“What about a drink?” said the skipper. “Let’s ’ave some beer.”

“Won’t you join us?” asked the doctor politely.

“Thank you very much.”

The young man sat down and took off his topi. He had a broad, flat face and a flat nose, with high cheek bones and rather small black eyes; his smooth skin was sallow, and there was no colour in his cheeks; his hair, cut very short, was coal black. He was not at all good-looking, but his great ugly face bore an expression of such good nature that you could not but be somewhat taken by him. His eyes were mild and kindly.

“Dutch?” asked the skipper.

“No, I’m a Dane. Erik Christessen. I represent a Danish company here.”

“Been here long?”

“Four years.”

“Good God!” cried Fred Blake.

Erik Christessen gave a little laugh, childlike in its simplicity, and his friendly eyes beamed with good will.

“It’s a fine place. It’s the most romantic spot in the East. They wanted to move me, but I begged them to let me stay on.”

A boy brought them bottled beer, and the huge Dane before drinking raised his glass.

“Your very good health, gentlemen.”

Dr. Saunders did not know why the stranger so very much attracted him. It was not only his cordiality, that was common enough in the East: there was something in his personality that pleased.

“Don’t look as if there was much business ’ere,” said Captain Nichols.

“The place is dead. We live on our memories. That is what gives the island its character. In the old days, you know, there was so much traffic that sometimes the harbour was full and vessels had to wait outside till the departure of a fleet gave them a chance to enter. I hope you’ll stay here long enough to let me show you round. It’s lovely. An unsuspected isle in far-off seas.”

The doctor pricked up his ears. He recognized it as a quotation, but could not place it.

“What does that come from?”

“That? Oh, ‘Pippa Passes.’ Browning, you know.”

“How does it happen that you’ve read that?”

“I read a lot. I have plenty of time, you see. I like English poetry best of all. Ah, Shakespeare.” He looked at Fred with a soft, gracious glance, a smile on his great mouth, and began to recite:

“ ‘… of one whose hand,

Like the base Indian, threw a pearl away

Richer than all his tribe; of one whose subdued eyes,

Albeit unused to the melting mood,

Drop tears as fast as the Arabian trees

Their medicinal gum.’ ”

It sounded odd in that foreign accent, somewhat gruff and guttural, but what was odder still was that
there a young Danish trader should quote Shakespeare to the shifty scoundrel Captain Nichols and to the oafish lad Fred Blake. Dr. Saunders found the situation faintly humorous. The skipper gave him a wink that signified quite clearly that this was a queer fish, but Fred Blake flushed and looked shy. The Dane had no notion that he had done anything to excite surprise. He went on eagerly.

“The old Dutch merchants were so rich here in the great days of the spice trade, they didn’t know what to do with their money. There was no cargo for the ships to bring out and so they used to bring marble and use it for their houses. If you’re not in a hurry I’ll show you mine. It used to belong to one of the perkeniers. And sometimes, in winter, they’d bring a cargo of nothing but ice. Funny, isn’t it? That was the greatest luxury they could have. Just think of bringing ice all the way from Holland. It took six months, the journey. And they all had their carriages, and in the cool of the evening the smart thing was to drive along the shore and round and round the square. Someone ought to write about it. It was like a Dutch Arabian Nights Tale. Did you see the Portuguese fort as you came in? I’ll take you there this afternoon. If there is anything I can do for you, you must let me know. I shall be very glad.”

“I shall get my traps,” said the doctor. “These
gentlemen have very kindly given me a passage here. I don’t want to put them out more than I can help.”

Erik Christessen beamed amiably on the other two. “Ah, that is what I like in the East. Everyone is so nice. Nothing is too much trouble. You cannot imagine the kindness I’ve received at the hands of perfect strangers.”

The four of them got up and the Dane told the half-caste manager that Dr. Saunders would be coming along in a little while with his luggage and his boy.

“You should have tiffin here. It is
reistafel
to-day, and they make it very well. I shall be here.”

“You two fellows had better have tiffin with me,” said the doctor.

“
Reistafel’s
death to me,” said Captain Nichols. “But I don’t mind sittin’ and watch you eat it.”

Erik Christessen solemnly shook hands with the three of them.

“I’m so very glad to have met you. It’s not often we get strangers on the island. And it’s always a pleasure to me to meet English gentlemen.”

He gave them a bow as they separated at the bottom of the steps.

“Intelligent chap, that,” said Captain Nichols when they had walked a little. “Knew we was gentlemen at once.”

Dr. Saunders gave him a glance. There was no trace of irony in his expression.

A
COUPLE
of hours later, the doctor having settled in, he and his guests off the
Fenton
were sitting on the verandah of the hotel drinking a glass of Schnapps before tiffin.

“The East ain’t what it was,” said the skipper, shaking his head. “Why, when I was a young chap, at Dutch ’otels there’d be bottles of Schnapps on the table, at tiffin and dinner, and you just ’elped yourself. Free of charge it was. And when you’d finished the bottle you told the boy to bring another.”

“Must have come expensive.”

“Well, you know, that’s the funny thing, it didn’t. You very seldom found a chap as took advantage of it. Human nature’s like that. Treat a man proper and ’e’ll respond wonderfully. I believe in ’uman nature, I always ’ave.”

Erik Christessen came up the steps, took off his hat to them and was passing into the hotel.

“Come and have a drink with us,” called Fred.

“With pleasure. I’ll just go in and wash first.”

He went in.

“Hulloa, what’s this?” said the skipper, eyeing Fred slyly. “I thought you didn’t like strangers?”

“It depends. Seems rather a good sort to me. He never asked us who we were or what we were doing here? Generally everyone’s so curious.”

“He has naturally good manners,” said the doctor.

“What’ll you have?” asked Fred when the Dane rejoined them.

“The same as you.”

He dropped his ungainly bulk into a chair. They began to chat. He said nothing that was very clever or amusing, but there was a guilelessness in his conversation that made it pleasing. He filled you with confidence. He irradiated well-being. Dr. Saunders did not judge hastily, and he mistrusted his instincts, but this he could not miss and, reflecting upon it, he could ascribe it to nothing but an amazing and delightful sincerity. It was quite obvious that Fred Blake was much taken with the huge Dane. Dr. Saunders had never heard him talk so easily.

“Look here, you’d better know our names,” he said after a few minutes. “Mine’s Blake, Fred Blake, and the doctor’s called Saunders, and this fellow is Captain Nichols.”

Somewhat absurdly Erik Christessen got up and shook hands all round.

“I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance,” he said. “I hope you’re going to stay here a few days.”

“Are you still sailing to-morrow?” asked the doctor.

“Nothing to stay for. We saw a dinghy this morning.”

They went into the dining-room. It was cool and dim. Punkahs drawn by a small boy fitfully stirred the air. There was one long table, and at one end of it were sitting a Dutchman with a half-caste wife, a stout woman in loose pale draperies, and another Dutchman with a dark enough skin to suggest that he, too, had native blood in him. Erik Christessen exchanged polite greeting with them. They gave the strangers an incurious stare.
Reistafel
was served. They piled their plates with rice and curry, fried eggs, bananas and a dozen strange concoctions that boys kept bringing them. When everything was handed they were faced with a mountain of food. Captain Nichols looked at his with profound distaste.

“This’ll be my death,” he said solemnly.

“Don’t eat it, then,” said Fred.

“I must keep up me strength. Where would you be now if I ’adn’t ’ad me strength when we struck that bad weather? It’s not for my sake I’m eatin’ it. It’s for yours. I don’t take a job unless I know I can do it, and not me worst enemy can say I spare meself.”

Gradually the piles of food diminished, and Captain Nichols with stubborn determination cleaned up his plate.

“God, we haven’t had a meal like this for weeks,” said Fred.

He ate voraciously, with a boy’s appetite, and enjoyed his food. They drank beer.

“If I don’t suffer for this it’ll be a miracle,” said the skipper.

They had their coffee on the verandah.

“You’d better have a sleep now,” said Erik, “and then when it’s cooler I’ll come round and show you the sights. Pity you’re not staying a bit longer. It’s a beautiful walk up the volcano. You can see for miles. The sea and all the islands.”

“I don’t see why we shouldn’t stay till the doctor sails,” said Fred.

“Suits me,” said the skipper. “After all the ’ardships of life on the ocean wave this is a bit of all right. I’m not sure if a drop of brandy wouldn’t settle that
reistafel
now I come to think of it.”

“Trading, I suppose?” asked the Dane.

“We’re prospectin’ for shell,” said the skipper. “Got to find some new beds. There’s a fortune for anyone who’s lucky.”

“D’you have any papers here?” asked Blake. “In English, I mean.”

“Not London papers. But Frith gets a paper from Australia.”

“Frith. Who’s Frith?”

“He’s an Englishman. He gets a bundle of Sydney Bulletins every mail.”

Fred went strangely pale, but what the emotion was that blanched his cheek, who could tell?

“D’you think there’s a chance of my having a squint at them?”

“Of course. I’ll borrow them or I’ll take you up there.”

“How old’s the latest?”

“It oughtn’t to be very old. A mail came in four days ago.”

L
ATER
, when the heat of the day was passed and his own work finished, Erik fetched them. Dr. Saunders was sitting alone with Fred, for the skipper, suffering from a violent attack of indigestion, had announced that he didn’t want to see no bloody sights and had returned to the lugger. They sauntered through the town. There were more people about than in the morning. Now and then Erik took off his hat to a sunburned Dutchman who walked with a stout and listless wife. There were few Chinese, for they do not settle
where no trade is, but a number of Arabs, some in smart tarbouches and neat suits of duck, others in white caps and sarongs; they were dark-skinned, with large shining eyes, and they had the Semitic look of the merchants of Tyre and Sidon. There were Malays, Papuans and half-castes. It was strangely silent. The air was heavy with fatigue. The grand houses of the old perkeniers, in which dwelt now the riff-raff of the East from Baghdad to New Hebrides, had the shamefaced look of respectable citizens who could not pay their rates. They came to a long white wall, all crumbling away, and this once had been a Portuguese monastery; and then to a ruined fort of great grey stones overrun with a wild jungle of trees and flowering shrubs. There was a wide space in front of it, facing the sea, where grew huge old trees, planted it was said by the Portuguese, casuarinas, kanaris and wild figs; and here, after the heat of the day, they had been used to ramble.