The Howling Man (12 page)

Eileen told them.

Mrs. McKenzie's smile changed her face, it washed away the years and she became almost beautiful. "My dear," she said, "you were quite right. The
Lady
is
special. More special, I should say, than either you or your husband might imagine. You see, this is the ship Jack and I sailed on when we were married--which would be fifty-six years ago."

"Fifty-five," said the redheaded man. He took a drink of tea and set the cup down gently. "She was a splendid thing then, though. The ship, I mean!"

"Jack, really."

Eileen looked at McKenzie and said, in an even voice: "I thought you told us that it was an old rust bucket."

"Not 'it.'
She
." Burgess blushed. "Should both have been struck down by lightning," he said. "Greatest lie ever uttered. Mrs. Ransome, mark this: the
Lady Anne
was and is now the finest ship that ever crossed the sea. Queen of the fleet, she was."

"And quite unusual," put in McKenzie. "Only one of her kind, I believe. Y'see, she specialized in honeymooners. That was her freight then: young people in love; aye. That's what makes your presence so--what shall I say--ironic? Eh? No, that isn't it. Not ironic. Sally, what is the damned word I'm looking for?"

"Sweet," said his wife, smiling.

"No, no. Anyway, that was it. A regular floating wedding suite, y'might say. Young married couples, that's all you'd ever see on her. Full of juice and the moon in their eyes. Dear me. It was funny, though. All those children trying to act grown-up and worldly, trying to act married and used to it, d'you see, and every one of 'em as nervous as a mouse. Remember, Burgess?"

"I do. Of course, now, that only lasted for a few days, McKenzie. The
Lady Anne
gave 'em time to know each other." The old man laughed. "She was a wise ship. She understood such things."

Mrs. McKenzie lowered her eyes, but not, I thought, out of embarrassment. "At any rate," she said, "although it was, needless to say, unofficial, that did seem to be the policy of the owners, then.
Everything
arranged for young people. For anyone else, I imagine the ship must have been a bit on the absurd side. Love has its own particular point of view, you know: it sees everything larger than life. Nothing too ornate for it, or too fancy, or too dramatic. If it is a good love, it demands the theatrical--and then transfigures it. It turns the grotesque into the lovely, as a child does . . ." The old woman raised her eyes. "Where a shipping line ever found that particular vision, I shall never know. But they made the
Lady Anne
into an enchanted gondola and took that moment of happiness and--pure--sweet pain that all lovers have and made the moment live for two really unspeakably pleasant weeks . . ."

The redheaded McKenzie cleared his throat loudly. "Quite so," he said, glancing at his wife, who smiled secretly. "Quite so. I expect they get the drift, my dear. No need to go sticky."

"But," said his wife, "I feel sticky."

"Eh? Oh." He patted her hand. "Of course. Still--"

Burgess removed his pipe. "The point is," he said, "that we spent a good many fine hours aboard this old scow. The sort of hours one doesn't forget. When we heard that they were going to. . . retire. . . the
Lady
, well, it seemed right, somehow, that we should join her on her last two-way sailing. And that, I think accounts for the number of old parties aboard.. Most of 'em here for the same reason, actually. Boshier-Jones and his wife over there, sound asleep: the bald chap. Engineer in his day, and a good one. The Whiteaways, just past the column. They were on our first sailing. Innes Champion, the writer: quite a droll fellow most of the time, though you wouldn't guess it now. A widower, y'know. Wife passed on in '29. They had their honeymoon on the
Lady
--a better one, if possible, than ours: propeller fell off--that would be in 1906--and they were four days in repairing it, so he says. Terrible liar, though. Don't know that chap in the wheel-chair; do you, McKenzie?"

"Brabham. Nice enough, but getting on, if you know what I mean. Tends to tremble and totter. Still, a decent sort."

"Alone?"

"I fear so."

Mrs. McKenzie took a sip of cold tea and said: "I hope you understand a bit more of our attitude, Mrs. Ransome. And I do hope you will forgive us for staring at you and your husband occasionally. It's quite impolite, but I think we are not actually seeing
you
so much as we are seeing ourselves, as we were fifty years ago. Isn't that foolish?"

Eileen tried to say something, but it didn't work. She shook her head.

"One other thing," Mrs. McKenzie said. "You
are
in love with each other, aren't you?"

"Yes," I said. "Very much."

"Splendid. I told Jack that when I first saw you this morning. But, of course, that wasn't the point. I'd forgotten the plan."

"Sally!" McKenzie frowned. "Do watch it."

The old woman put a hand to her mouth, and we sat there quietly. Then Burgess said, "I think it's time for the men to adjourn for a cigar. With your permission?"

We walked to the bar and Burgess introduced me around. "Van Vlyman, this is Ransome. He's American but he's all right. Nothing to worry about." "Sanders, shake hands with young Ransome. He and his wife are on their honeymoon, y'know. Picked the
Lady Anne!
No, no, I tell you: it's all been straightened out." "Fairman, here now, wake up; this is--"

The warmth of these men suddenly filled me, and after a while it seemed as though, magically, I wasn't thirty-two at all, but seventy-two, with all the wisdom of those years.

The man called Sanders insisted upon buying a round and raised his glass. "To the finest, lovliest, happiest ship that ever was!" he said, and we drank, solemnly.

"Pity," someone said.

"No!" The portly ex-colonel, Van Vlyman, crashed his fist down upon the polished mahogany. "Not a 'pity'! A
crime
. An evil, black-hearted crime, perpetrated by stupid little men with bow ties."

"Easy, Van Vlyman. Nothing to get heated over now."

"Nothing, indeed!" roared the old soldier. "Easy, indeed! God Almighty, are all of you so ancient, so feeble that you can't see the truth? Don't you know why they want to scrap the
Lady
?"

Sanders shrugged. "Outlived her usefulness," he said.

"Usefulness? Usefulness to whom, sir? Nonsense! D'you hear? She's the best ship on the sea." Van Vlyman scowled darkly. "A little slow, perhaps--but, I put it to you, Sanders, by whose standards? Yours? Mine? Thirteen, fourteen days for a crossing is fast enough for anyone in his right mind. Only people aren't in their right minds any more, that's the trouble. That's the core of it right there. People, I say, have forgotten how to relax. They've forgotten how to appreciate genuine luxury. Speed: that's all that counts nowadays. Get it over with! Why? Why are they in such a hurry?" He glared at me. "What's the damned rush?"

Burgess looked sad. "Van Vlyman, aren't you being a bit--"

"To the contrary. I am merely making an observation upon the state of the world today. Also, I am attempting to point out the true reason for this shameful decision."

"Which is?"

"A plot,
doubtless
of Communist origin," declared the colonel.

"Oh, really, Van Vlyman--"

"Haven't you eyes? Are you all that senile? The
Lady Anne
was condemned because she represents a way of life. A better way of life, by God, sir, than anything they're brewing up today; and they can't stand that. She's not just a ship, I tell you; she's the old way. She's grace and manners and tradition. Don't you see? She's the Empire!"

The old man's eyes were flashing.

"Nothing," he said, in a lower voice, "is sacred any more. The beasts are at the gate, and we're all too old to fight them. Like the
Lady
herself, too old and too tired. So we stand about in stone fury like pathetic statues with our medals gone to rust and our swords broken while the vandals turn our castles into sideshows, put advertisements for soap along our roads, and--wait! the time is soon!--reach up their hairy hands and pull the Queen down from her throne. Scrap the
Lady!
No. But how are we to stop them from scrapping England?"

The old man stood quite still for several minutes, then he turned and walked away; and McKenzie said, beneath his breath: "Poor chap. He'd planned this with his wife, and then she had to go and die on him."

Burgess nodded. "Well, we'll have some cards tonight and he'll feel better."

We drank another; then Eileen and I had dinner with the McKenzies and retired to our cabin.

Mrs. McKenzie had been right. Love does have its own particular vision: the plaster cupids and golden door didn't seem grotesque at all; in fact, very late at night, with the moon striping the calm black ocean, it seemed to me that there could hardly be a nicer room.

The next twelve days were like a lazy, endless dream. We had trouble, at first, adjusting to it. When you've lived most of your life in a city, you forget that leisure can be a creative thing. You forget that there is nothing sinful in relaxation. But the
Lady Anne
was good to us. She gave us time, plenty of time. And on the fourth day I stopped fidgeting and began to enjoy the pleasures of getting to know the woman I'd married. Eileen and I talked together and made love together and walked the ancient deck together, hoping that it would never end, secure in the knowledge that it would but not for a while.

We forgot, too, that the other passengers were in their seventies and eighties. It wasn't important, any longer. They were married couples, as we were, and in a very real way, they were on their honeymoons, too. Twice we surprised McKenzie and his wife on the promenade deck well after midnight, and the Burgesses hardly ever stopped holding hands. The women and men who were alone looked melancholy, but somehow not sad. Even the old colonel, Van Vlyman, had stopped being angry. We'd see him every now and then seated on the deck, his eyes looking out over the Atlantic, dreaming.

Then, treacherously, as if it had sneaked up on us, the twelfth day came, and the smell of land was in the air. Far in the distance we could see the gray spine of Cherbourg, and we wondered what had happened to the hours.

McKenzie stopped us in The Imperial Lounge. His face wore a slightly odd expression. "Well," he said, "it's almost over. I expect you're glad."

"No," I told him. "Not really."

That pleased him. "The
Lady's
done her job for you, then?"

"She has," said Eileen, a different, softer, more feminine Eileen that I'd known two weeks before.

"Well, then; you'll be coming to the dance tonight?"

"Wouldn't miss it."

"Capital! Uh ... one thing. Have you packed your luggage?"

"No. I mean, we don't dock till tomorrow night, so--"

"Quite. Still, it would do no harm to pack them anyhow," said McKenzie. "See you at the dance!"

Like so many others, the things he said frequently sounded peculiar and meant nothing. We went outside and stood at the rail and watched the old sailors--who were all part of the original crew--scrubbing down the ship. They seemed to be working especially hard, removing every trace of dirt, scraping the rails with stiff wire brushes, getting things neat.

At eight we went back to the cabin and changed into our evening dress; and at nine-thirty joined the others in the Imperial Lounge.

The incredible little band was playing antique waltzes and fox trots, and the floor was filled with dancing couples. After a few drinks, we became one of the couples. I danced with Eileen for a while, then with almost every other woman aboard. Everyone seemed to be happy again. Eileen was trying to rumba with Colonel Van Vlyman, who kept sputtering that he didn't know how, and Mrs. McKenzie taught me a step she'd learned in 1896. We drank some more and danced more and laughed, and then the clock struck midnight and the band stood up and played Auld Lang Syne and the people held hands and were quiet.

McKenzie and Burgess walked up then, and Burgess said: "Mr. Ransome, Mrs. Ransome: we'd like you to meet our captain, Captain Protheroe. He's been here as long as the
Lady
has; isn't that right, sir?"

An unbelievably old man in a neat blue uniform nodded his head. His hair was thin and white, his eyes were clear.

"A most unusual man, the captain," said Burgess. "He understands things. Like the rest of us, actually--except that his wife is a ship. Still, I doubt I love my Cynthia more than he loves the
Lady Anne
."

The captain smiled and looked directly at us. "You've had a pleasant voyage?" he asked, in a good strong voice.

"Yes, sir," I said. "We're grateful to have been part of it."

"Indeed? Well, that's very nice."

There was a pause, and I suddenly became aware of a curious fact. The vibration of the engines, deep below us, had stopped. The ship itself had stopped.

Captain Protheroe's smile broadened. "Very nice, indeed," he said. "As Mr. McKenzie pointed out to me earlier, your presence aboard has been rather symbolic, if I may use the word. Us ending, you beginning; that sort of thing, eh?" He rose from the chair. "Now then. I'm afraid that I must say good bye to you. We've radioed your position and you oughtn't to be inconvenienced for more than a few hours."

"Beg pardon?" I said.

Burgess coughed. "They don't know," he said. "Thought it would be better that way."

"Eh? Oh, yes, how stupid of me. Of course." Captain Protheroe turned his clear eyes back to us. "You won't mind obliging us," he said, "by gathering up your things?"

"Gathering up our things?" I parroted, stupidly. "Why?"

"Because," he said, "we are going to put you off the ship."

Eileen grabbed my arm, but neither of us could think of a thing to say. I was vaguely conscious of the stillness of the boat, of the people in the room, staring at us.

"I'm very much afraid that I shall have to ask you to hurry," said the captain, "for it is getting rather late. The rescue vessel is already on its way, you see. You, uh,
do
understand?"