The Sand Pebbles (30 page)

“Go on, sir,” Bordelles said.

“I also delegate authority within my ship. It is possible to see
San Pablo
as a working structure of authorities, down to the level of seamen and coolies who control only their own behavior. It is necessary to allow each man a graded leeway in his use of authority, because it is a dynamic structure, not a static form. I am guided in that by navy regulations. Unfortunately, we have no written regulations governing the Chinese boatmen. All we have is a body of custom and usage. I have no
official
authority over Shing.” He frowned.

“You can throw him off your ship. You can break his rice bowl.”

“Yes. And his face is involved here. He may feel he has to break his own rice bowl, if I overrule him.”

“They say Big Chew wouldn’t mind replacing Shing.”

“Lynch’s face is involved, too.”

“Poor Lynch.” Bordelles chuckled. “Do you consider he’s really married, sir?”

“Of course not.” Lt. Collins smiled.

“Well, Holman is not going to swing the crew over,” Bordelles said. “They feel very strongly about it. Many of them have never really accepted Holman.”

“I simply have to get rid of him. There may be a place for him in a big ship. But not in
San Pablo.”

“Bronson has hinted to me of something unhealthy in Holman’s relationship with that coolie.”

Lt. Collins shook his head, frowning. Homosexuality was a nasty, ever-threatening danger aboard ship. That was why the men had to be given periodic access to women, whether the missionaries approved or not. Under the right circumstances a commanding officer could simply write out an Undesirable Discharge for a man, from which there was no appeal, and set him ashore. But it was not a power to be used lightly.

“I’ll arrange a transfer when we’re in Hankow again,” he said.

“Do you have to wait, sir?”

“I feel I’d better. Otherwise government funds would be expended in transportation. It would all have to be down on paper.” He looked up and smiled. “And frankly, Tom, I wouldn’t know what to write. I’d rather handle it by word of mouth.”

“Yes, sir, I see that,” Bordelles said. “Well, Holman is not going to change the crew’s mind. Rest easy on that, sir.”

Holman went down to the main deck. He was trying to think hard and coldly. Burgoyne called him aside.

“I was talking to Scharf last night, in the Red Candle,” he said. “He’s ready to fix Po-han up with a job in the smelter.”

“No, by God!” Holman said. “Po-han earned his place on here. I ain’t going to let ’em take it away from him!”

He told Burgoyne what Lt. Collins had promised. Burgoyne was certain the Sand Pebbles would not be swung over. He urged Holman to drop the notion and let Po-han go to the smelter. Holman would not consider it.

“Okay, if I lose,” he said. “But I ain’t lost yet.”

He talked to Big Chew, alone with him in the galley. Without either man actually saying it, they agreed that they might cost Lop Eye Shing so much face that Big Chew could get his job. Holman said he would talk to the crew after dinner and it would help if it was a very good dinner. Big Chew’s eyes gleamed.

“Apple pie,” he said. “Lemon. Wine. I glate gingah.”

The dinner was exceptionally good. Holman did not try to join the talk. All morning they had been grinning and watching him
covertly, waiting for him to show some sign of distress, some admission of defeat. The food took their minds off it. There was hot, clear chicken soup with Chinese cabbage and lean beef stewed tender with several vegetables and hot biscuits with pots of strawberry jam. Wong put two pies on each table, and they were masterpieces. Criss-crossed strips of cheese were half melted into the flaky brown crusts and inside grated ginger and lemon peel gave a hot, spicy tang to the mixed cheese and apple and other nameless, delicate flavors. The perfume filled the compartment and every man ate two pieces. Then they leaned back in their chairs with coffee and cigarettes and they were all in a very good mood.

Big Chew had done his part. Holman stood up. He stepped into the bull ring and stood facing them, arms out and braced against the white stanchions on either side. The Sand Pebbles hushed their talking and eased their chairs around to face him back.

“Guys, I been all wrong and I’m sorry,” Holman said. “I’m back on deck watches now and I’ll stand by for any man that asks me until I make up every watch I missed. Things I said that I shouldn’t, I’m sorry about them, too.”

They did not have much expression. He told them about Po-han disobeying Shing for the good of the ship and how it was not fair that Shing should make him suffer for that. A few heads nodded.

“I say Lop Eye Shing don’t have any right to fire somebody, if the ship loses by it,” Holman said. “Everybody knows there’s bad blood between Lop Eye and Big Chew. If Shing gets away with this, he’s liable to fire Big Chew next.”

“He’ll play hell!” Duckbutt Randall exclaimed.

Heads nodded and a growl ran along the tables. They were coming around. Then Bronson raised his hand.

“Why tell us? Go talk to the skipper.”

“I did. Shing’s pretending it’s because the crew wants to get rid of Po-han,” Holman said. “If I can tell the skipper that ain’t so, he’ll overrule Shing. He told me he would.”

Bronson smiled nastily. “Well, you know, Ho-mang, it is so.”

“For the good of the ship, Bronson. Po-han’s trained up and
ready to replace Chien, and he’s the only Chinese aboard that is. With him down there, I can stay topside just like Pitocki did. It can be like old times again.”

“Balls, Ho-mang!” Bronson was enjoying it. “Your pet coolie was using mess gear and he hit a white man. Next thing we know he’ll be up here after a bunk and a place at the mess table.”

A mutter ran along the tables. Yeah! That’s telling him, Bronson! Their faces were like curtains coming down on rows of windows. Holman clenched his teeth.

“I was cold sober that night and I know what happened,” he said. “I was the one hit Stawski. Po-han was drinking coffee, all right, but he had it in one of their tea bowls.”

“He
was
using a mess cup!” Perna jumped up. “That’s really true about the mess cup! I seen it!”

“But the part about hitting Stawski ain’t true, is it, Perna?” Holman asked softly. He could see it register on all the closed faces. “All right, Bronson, he used a mess cup. Stawski broke it. And I’ll guarantee Po-han won’t never use another one. Is that one thing enough to cancel out all the good he done, and what he can still do, for the ship? Do you think that’s
fair
, Bronson?”

The fat face took on a cautious look. Bronson knew he had become a spokesman. He glanced at the other Sand Pebbles and back to Holman.

“Well, considering the difference between a slopehead and a white man, Ho-mang, yes. Yes, I think it’s fair enough,” he said.

Perna, Crosley, Randall and others nodded agreement. Sure it’s fair. Tell him, Bronson. Holman iced his temper.

“What kind of difference you figure makes that much difference, Bronson?” he asked evenly.

“Slopeheads just ain’t Americans and by law they can’t ever be Americans,” Bronson said.

“You mean being fair only counts between Americans?”

“Well, white men.” Bronson shifted in his chair. “I mean, fair’s different with slopeheads. They’re sneaky. They lie and steal. They’re dirty. Their yellow goes clear to the bone. There ain’t one in all China
with guts enough to stand up and fight like a man. Fair’s different, with people like that.” He glanced around, and heads nodded.

“None of that’s true about Po-han.”

“He’s a slopehead, ain’t he?”

“Bronson, would you personally fight Po-han? To prove what you just said?”

“Why should I? Everybody knows that!” Bronson said angrily. “I don’t need to prove it!”

“I don’t know that personally about Po-han, and neither do you,” Holman said softly through his teeth. “Are you game to prove that about Po-han personally? I’m asking you.”

Bronson colored. “Oh, I could. I could, all right. But I don’t see why the hell I should oblige you.”

“How about Stawski fightin’ Po-han?” Burgoyne said.

All heads turned aft to Stawski’s table. The suggestion pleased them. Yeah, yeah, let Ski fight him. Stawski stood up, grinning.

“Sure, I’ll fight him,” he said. “I’ll beat his goddamn eyes around to slant the other direction.” He was pleased with the attention.

“If Po-han shows enough guts standing up to Stawski, we’ll let him stay aboard,” Burgoyne said. “How about it, guys?”

“No! No, by God! Only if he wins the fight!” Bronson stood up. “A slopehead would let you beat him to death, if there was any money in it. Winning is the only thing that counts!”

They were all agreeing with Bronson. Holman knew it was the best he could do, just now. Po-han couldn’t win, of course. But if he took a beating and showed real guts, it would touch them, and that would be the time to try again.

“It’s a deal,” Holman said. “Only if Po-han wins.”

He sat down and poured a cup of coffee. He was surprised at how tired and trembling he was. Talk about the fight buzzed at all the tables. They decided to stage the fight at the Red Candle on the next payday, which was a few days off. Bronson turned to face Holman’s table.

“You want to bet any money on your man, Ho-mang?”

“What odds?” Holman asked.

“Even money. You rate slopeheads even with white men using your mouth, Ho-mang. You got the guts to do it with your money?”

Several men laughed. It’s really me they want to hurt, more than Po-han, Holman thought. If I lose some money to ’em, and be a good sport about it, it might help when I try again.

“Okay, even money,” he said.

“How much?”

“Eighty Mex. That’ll be my whole payday.”

“I want twenty of it!” Crosley yelled.

They shared it out among them, arguing excitedly. They were like sharks smelling blood, Holman thought. Perna was very bitter because he did not get any of the bet.

“Bet the payday after, Ho-mang!” he urged. “I’ll give you two to one.”

“I don’t like to be in debt,” Holman said. “One payday’s enough.”

“Three to one,” Bronson said. “Still scared, Ho-mang? How about four to one?”

“Five to one, you cheap bastard!” Perna yelled from his table. “You got shit in your blood, Ho-mang?”

“I’ll take them odds, Perna, if you’re so anxious to bet,” Burgoyne said.

“How much?” Perna was taken aback.

“All you got, boy. All you can borrow.”

Perna hesitated.

Burgoyne grinned and tugged at his mustache. “You smelled of your own blood lately, Perna?”

“All right, forty Mex,” Perna said. “I’ll take your money, Frenchy. It’ll spend as good as anybody’s.”

Then they were all after Burgoyne, shouting and waving arms. The fever had them. Burgoyne bet all he had. Restorff was fidgeting.

“I’ll take some of that five-to-one money, if there’s any left,” he said, not too loudly.

“You already bet the other way,” Farren said.

Restorff hushed him. He went over to the nonrated table looking for bets. After a moment Farren followed him, to hedge his own bets.

“You really figure Po-han’s got a chance?” Holman whispered.

“He’s got anyway one in five,” Burgoyne said. “At least he’s hard and tough. Ski’s soft, and he’s got mud in his blood.”

“Po-han’s got fire. You know, I think he
will
win!”

“If he’s willing to fight.”

“Sure, he’s willing!” Holman said.

Holman and Burgoyne took Po-han to the Red Candle shortly before eight o’clock. It was a clear, cold night. The two sailors were nervous and jumpy, but Po-han was calm. Holman thought it was a kind of false calm, and it worried him.

“Remember, Po-han, you got to
fight!”
he said for the tenth time, as they crossed the courtyard. “You got to hit him! hurt him! hit him! hurt him!”

“Can do, Jehk.”

Po-han had been that way ever since he had agreed to fight. He had not wanted to fight. He said that he was afraid of Stawski and he could not fight him. Holman and Burgoyne had had a long argument with Po-han, down by the workbench.

“Too much cold this side,” Po-han kept saying, patting over his heart. “Suppose cold this side, any man no can fight.”

“You before plenty time fight Chinese man. One time you fight Fang, makee him black eye,” Holman urged. “How fashion no can fight Stawski?”

“Ski no same!” Po-han was very earnest. “Too much no same! I flaid Ski.”

“I think he means he’s got military fear for Americans,” Burgoyne said.

Military fear was a kind of built-in cringe. They built it into you in boot training and afterward you could never get rid of it. If you thought you did, you were only leaning too far in the other direction trying to fool yourself. They could call it military pride and loyalty up and down all they wanted to, but when you looked at it closely it was still a cringe. It bent a man, and he could never be straight again. You could not just talk him straight.

“Listen, Po-han,” Holman said. “You hit Ski, makee bleed little bit, I think you heart plenty hot.” He patted his own heart. “I already speak you fight Ski. Suppose no fight, I lose face.”

Po-han gave in. “You no lose face, Jehk. I fight Ski.”

They had drilled Po-han on only a few simple things: to keep his left out, his chin in, and to work on Stawski’s gut. They didn’t want to confuse him. They began to think that Po-han would have a real chance if he would only fire up. But he would not fire up.

The dressing room was across the court from the bar. It was small and cold and bare, with Jennings’ medical stuff on a table. In one corner Perna and Crosley were getting Stawski ready. They had drinks and Stawski was complaining because they would not let him have one.

“After the fight I’ll buy you all you can hold,” Perna said. “With Frenchy’s money.”

The two sets of men did not talk to each other. Po-han stripped down and put on a pair of Burgoyne’s white summer shorts. He shivered. Burgoyne went out to get a
pukow
from Mother Chunk. Farren and Jennings came in and they measured off four long, equal strips each of linen bandage and adhesive tape. Farren had the gloves. He was going to be referee. Burgoyne came back with two Chinese quilts and threw one to Stawski.