The Sand Pebbles (29 page)

“Same me! Same me!” he cried.

“You’re graduating, Po-han,” Holman told him.

He told Po-han that he was going back on deck watches. Po-han would have charge of the repair gang on his own. Po-han got a cup of coffee and they stood by the throttle and talked about it. Holman did not say that he was probably going to have to leave the ship. He did not want to think of that. He did not want to leave the ship, and friends like Burgoyne and Po-han. He knew now that he had never had any friends before.

Loud voices sounded from the quarterdeck. The liberty party was coming aboard.

“Hell, he’s getting underway!” somebody said. “Hey, Ho-mang, got any coffee down there?” someone else yelled.

“Fresh pot!” Holman shouted.

Perna and Stawski came down in blues and peacoats, damp with rain, swaying a little. They were mean drunk, not happy drunk.

“Who’s your new throttleman, Ho-mang?” Perna jeered. Po-han stepped away from the throttle, still holding his coffee cup. “What’s his rate?” Perna asked.

“We’re just testing,” Holman said. “Try the engine, Ski.”

Stawski was snuffling and blinking and turning his head. Words did not come easily to him, even sober. “Prong the engine!” he said. “Prong the pronging engine!”

Po-han was still grinning and admiring the engine. He was too happy to understand.

“Ask the new throttleman if you can have some coffee, Ski,” Perna said. “Say
sir
to him. Maybe he’ll let you use his cup.”

Stawski’s flat face screwed up. He flew into a drunken, crying rage. “You slant-eyed son of a bitch!” he howled. He knocked the coffee cup from Po-han’s grasp. “You slopeheaded bastard!”

He began slapping and kicking Po-han. Po-han cowered back, arms
shielding his face. Holman grabbed Stawski’s peacoat collar and jerked him back and around.

“Knock that off, you drunken ape!” he said.

Stawski howled and swung at him. Holman slapped the distorted face twice hard and then slugged him in the belly. Stawski sat down in the spilled coffee, legs sprawling, tears on his cheeks.

“I’m gonna get up and kill you!” he sobbed.

“Get him out of here! Put him to bed!” Holman snapped at Perna.

“We’ll get out, all right,” Perna said.

Holman saw pure hatred in the little watertender’s pointed face. He looked more than ever like a rat. Holman shook with sudden anger.

“I savvy you, Perna. You ain’t as drunk as you’re making out,” he said. “You put Stawski up to that, God damn you!”

“We’ll get out of
your
engine room, Ho-mang!”

“And don’t come back,” Holman said. “We can get along just fine down here if we never see you two bastards again.”

He kicked the blubbering Stawski to his feet and started the two men up the ladder. Perna looked down from the gratings, showing all his teeth.

“You ain’t heard the last of this, Ho-mang,” he said.

Breakfast was an angry hush. No one but Burgoyne would talk to Holman. Holman knew he had to square things.

“I’m ready to go back on deck watches,” he told Farren.

“All right. You’ll have the mid,” Farren said curtly.

Holman went to quarters and calisthenics and afterward drew Burgoyne aside. “What’s so Goddamn wrong, Frenchy?” he asked.

“Po-han hit Stawski. He raised his hand to a white man,” Burgoyne said. “They’re blaming you. Maybe they’re right.”

“I hit Stawski.”

“Perna says Po-han did. And Po-han was drinking coffee and handling the throttle.”

“Perna’s a liar!” Holman didn’t know what to say. “What’s wrong with
you
, Frenchy? You and me both been drinking coffee with Po-han.”

“Well, things was all tore apart and upside down then.” Burgoyne’s lean face looked distressed. “God damn it, I’m pulled both ways, Jake,” he said. “I like Po-han. I know Perna’s a sneak. But guys have got feelings, too.” He dug out his round tin of Copenhagen. “You
and Po-han just ride out the storm, Jake. Maybe something’ll happen to take their minds off it.”

Something did happen. Lynch came aboard, red-eyed and weary. He had lost weight and the skin sagged along his jaw. He went up to the CPO quarters and scuttlebutt had the story within the hour. He had been drunk the whole time in Hankow. He had married the Russian woman and cashed in his liberty bonds and they had bought the teashop. He was not happy about it.

“I went to sleep on the train coming down here and I dreamed it wasn’t so,” Lynch said. “Then I woke up and it was so.” He looked at Franks and Welbeck, across the table from him. “What am I gonna
do?”

“Why the hell did you ever do it?” Franks asked.

“Oh God, I don’t know! It was like I lost all my backbone.” Lynch cradled his head in his hands. “She kept feeding me vodka and orange juice. That stuff dissolves your brains, boys. Don’t ever touch it!”

“She’s a White Russian, so she doesn’t have a passport. That makes her Chinese, to American law,” Welbeck said. “And it’s against the law to marry a slopehead. I don’t understand how the consulate would give you a license.”

“I don’t remember getting one.”

“Then you
ain’t
married, Lynch, old boy, old boy!” Franks said.

“She says I am. And I remember being in a church.” Lynch rubbed his forehead. “There was singing and silver and gold. And a priest in robes and a big beard. He kissed me and I slugged him.”

“Without a license, you ain’t married,” Welbeck said firmly. “The church boloney don’t count. Only the law counts.”

“You’re still a free man, Lynch,” Franks said. “Brace up, kid! You’re free!”

“But she’s got my money! She’s sitting and grinning right now up there on top of that teashop!”

Lynch would not be comforted. The Sand Pebbles laughed about his
trouble at dinner and it eased the tension. They agreed that Lynch was not really married, he had just been taken for his money. He had lost liberty bonds but not liberty.

“I had her out once. Her name’s Looby,” Wilsey said. “She’s one of the coal heavers.”

It was a legend that White Russian women worked their way down from Vladivostok to Shanghai on the coastal steamers. The tall, muscular ones with their hair in thick blond braids were said to have stoked boiler furnaces. They were all supposed to have been princesses in the old days.

“She’s big enough to handle poor old Lynch,” Farren said.

Holman stood his quarterdeck watch very correctly. When Lt. Collins went down to his gig to go ashore, Holman saluted smartly, and he put his lungs into passing the word:
“San Pablo …
leaving!
San Pablo …
leaving!” Then for good measure he ran up to the boat deck and shouted, “Bridge, there! Bear a hand hoisting that absentee pennant!” Holman was being very military. Lynch was senior OOD. He came on the quarterdeck only once. He looked sourly at Holman.

“What did you do to the engine?”

“Lined up the foundations. It’s all back now. Tests out perfect.”

Lynch glowered a long moment, grunted and went away. Holman shrugged. Just before he was relieved, Lop Eye Shing went ashore. Because of his paralysis, he was the only Chinese permitted to come and go across the quarterdeck except on duty. Shing greeted Holman courteously and they talked for a few minutes. Watching him being sculled away in his hired sampan, Holman thought that Shing was taking his loss of face like a man. When Holman went below to write up the engineering log, Po-han told him that he would not be aboard the next day. Shing had fired him. Po-han’s face was very blank.

Holman raged. “He can’t do it!” he swore. “That lopeyed son of a bitch! I won’t let him get away with it!” He insisted that Po-han must stay aboard. “I fix! I speakee you proper, Po-han, I fix!” he kept saying. Po-han agreed to stay, but his face was still blank.

Holman went to the CPO quarters. Lemon was setting the table
for Lynch’s supper. Lynch was lying in his bunk with his eyes closed.

“Lynch!” Holman said. Lynch opened his eyes. “Lop Eye Shing wants to fire Po-han,” Holman said. “And Po-han is just now all set to take over down there, like Chien used to have it. Will you tell that droop-faced bastard where to get off, or shall I go tell him?”

“I told Shing to fire him. The whole crew wants to get rid of that coolie.” Lynch rose up on his elbow. “If I could, I’d fire you too. God damn you, you disobeyed my orders! Something could’ve happened!”

“It was my neck out. You was clear,” Holman said. “Anyway, nothing happened.”

“The blazing hell nothing happened!” Lynch swung his legs over the bunk side and sat with fists on thighs. “I got married and lost my money! You call that nothing?” He glared accusingly. “Don’t try to look innocent! You drew down bad luck, just like I said you would, and I’m the one got hit!”

Holman didn’t know whether to laugh or curse. “Well, you don’t have to take it out on Po-han,” he said. “He only done what I told him.”

“I guess you told him to hit Stawski.”

“That’s Perna’s lie! I hit Stawski!”

“Well, I fired Po-han for it!” Lynch said. “And now get the hell out of here!”

“One man for request mast, sir. Holman,” Bordelles said. “It’s about that coolie who hit Stawski.”

“Bring him to my cabin,” Lt. Collins said.

He sat sideways at his desk to face the two men. Holman was in undress blues, very neat, as if for inspection. He looked tense.

“Well, what is it, Holman?”

“Lop Eye Shing is trying to fire Po-han, sir, you know, the one I trained to replace Chien,” Holman said. “Shing ain’t aboard this morning. But I want to ask you to overrule Shing, so I can tell Po-han.”

“Do you know Shing’s reasons?”

“I think so, sir. His real reason.” Shing had a vested interest in keeping the engine misaligned, Holman said, to make more repair work. He had ordered the coolies to boycott the job. Po-han had disobeyed Shing, for the good of the engine and on Holman’s promise that Lt. Collins would protect him. Holman expanded on Po-han’s skill and intelligence and devotion. He was very tense and earnest about it and he made it a plausible story. “We just got to keep Po-han aboard, sir, for the good of the ship!” he finished.

“The ship is more than just the engine.” Might as well let the man down easy, Lt. Collins thought. “Your trouble is in letting something specific and concrete blind you to the larger view of things,” he said. “This coolie you speak of is a kind of unofficial contract laborer. Shing is the unofficial contractor. He has all the authority in the case. Do you see?”

“I see it ain’t fair to Po-han, sir,” Holman said stubbornly. “Do you mean you don’t have any authority over Lop Eye Shing?”

Bordelles frowned at Holman, in warning.

“Of course I have! Shing’s authority is delegated!” Lt. Collins paused to control his anger. Somehow, he was peculiarly vulnerable to this man Holman. “I am just as pleased as you are to have the engine reliable,” he said. “I am not pleased with the way it was done. You withheld information from me, just as you think you are doing at this moment.” He let anger edge his voice. “You disobeyed Lynch. Your coolie disobeyed Shing. You encouraged your coolie to violate the customary pattern of behavior in the engine room and in the end he struck a crew member. In short, you gravely misaligned the structure of authority in this ship. Shing’s action is the cheapest and easiest way to set it right again, and it has my full approval.”

He turned back to his desk. The interview was over.

“That don’t make it fair,” Holman said. “Po-han didn’t hit Stawski. I hit Stawski.”

“Perna and Stawski say differently,” Bordelles said sharply. “That’s two men’s words against yours, Holman.”

“That don’t make it true. Ski was drunk and Perna’s a liar.”

“So you say. Come on, get out of here.”

“It’s true, Mr. Bordelles! Po-han
didn’t
hit Stawski!”

Lt. Collins turned back to face them. “Of conflicting stories people tend to believe the one that pleases them most,” he said. “The crew believes Perna. Whether it is justified or not, their belief is itself a
fact
in the situation. I consider Shing to be acting on that fact, with my approval.”

“Well, does that answer you, Holman?”

Bordelles was motioning Holman toward the door. The man’s face was red and desperate and he was crunching his white hat.

“Listen. When I told Po-han you’d protect him, he didn’t believe you could,” Holman said. “None of the Chinese believe you can overrule Shing. But if I get the crew to agree to keep Po-han, will you do it?”

“Come on! Get out of here!” Bordelles shoved Holman.

Holman resisted. “If you never have overruled him, how do you know the coolies ain’t right?” he challenged. “He lives down there in the Spanish cabin, bigger quarters than you got! He draws more money than you! How does anybody know the coolies ain’t right?”

“Silence!” Bordelles shouted.

His face was white. He was trying to shove Holman out the door.

“No, wait!” Lt. Collins stood up. “Holman, if you can persuade the crew to want to keep Po-han, I will overrule Shing,” he said.

“Aye aye, sir!” Holman said.

The door closed behind Holman. Bordelles was still angry.

“The insolent bastard!” he said.

“Sit down, Tom.” Lt. Collins motioned to a chair and sat down himself, with his elbows on the table. “That Holman. He should never have been enlisted,” he said musingly. “He’s a dark, angry question unable to receive the answer. He’s a Caliban. I don’t know what he is.”

“He’s a troublemaker!” Bordelles hesitated. “Do you really think it was advisable …”

“To promise to overrule Shing?” Lt. Collins smiled. “It was impulsive, I admit. I don’t know. It might be good policy to overrule
Shing openly, just once. I have never thought out clearly the nature of his authority in the ship.” He drummed with his fingers. “Personal authority is always delegated. The person to whom it is delegated is always accountable to higher authority for the way he uses it. The supreme, undelegated authority in
San Pablo
rests in the American people collectively. Through a chain of command it is delegated to me; I exercise it in their name; and back through the chain of command I am responsible to them for what I do. That is why I must never let my authority even seem to be impugned from beneath. That is why mutiny is punishable by death.” He broke off, to smile at Bordelles. “Excuse me, Tom. I’m thinking out loud.”