65 Short Stories (61 page)

‘Are you all right?’ Campion shouted to him.

‘Yes, enjoying the bath,’ said Izzart.

He imagined that the waves would pass by as the Bore ascended the river, and in a few minutes at the outside they would find themselves in calm water once more. He forgot that they were being carried along on its crest. The waves dashed over them. They clung to the gunwale and the base of the structure which supported the attap awning. Then a larger wave caught the boat as it turned over, falling upon them so that they lost their hold; there seemed nothing but a slippery bottom to ding to and Izzart’s hands slithered helplessly on the greasy surface. But the boat continued to turn and he made a desperate grab at the gunwale, only to feel it slip out of his hands as the turn went on, then he caught the framework of the awning, and still it turned, turned slowly right round and once more he sought for a hand-hold on the bottom. The boat went round and round with a horrible regularity. He thought this must be because everyone was clinging to one side of it, and he tried to make the crew go round to the other. He could not make them understand. Everyone was shouting and the waves beat against them with a dull and angry roar. Each time the boat rolled over on them Izzart was pushed under water, only to come up again as the gunwale and the framework of the awning gave him something to cling to. The struggle was awful. Presently he began to get terribly out of breath, and he felt his strength leaving him. He knew that he could not hold on much longer, but he did not feel frightened, for his fatigue by now was so great that he did not very much care what happened. Hassan was by his side and he told him he was growing very tired. He thought the best thing was to make a dash for the shore, it did not look more than sixty yards away, but Hassan begged him not to. Still they were being carried along amid those seething, pounding waves. The boat went round and round and they scrambled over it like squirrels in a cage. Izzart swallowed a lot of water. He felt he was very nearly done. Hassan could not help him, but it was a comfort that he was there, for Izzart knew that his boy, used to the water all his life, was a powerful swimmer. Then, Izzart did not know why, for a minute or two the boat held bottom downwards, so that he was able to hold on to the gunwale. It was a precious thing to be able to get his breath. At that moment two dug-outs, with Malays in them riding the Bore, passed swiftly by them. They shouted for help, but the Malays averted their faces and went on. They saw the white men, and did not want to be concerned in any trouble that might befall them. It was agonizing to see them go past, callous and indifferent in their safety. But on a sudden the boat rolled round again, round and round slowly, and the miserable, exhausting scramble repeated itself It took the heart out of you. But the short respite had helped Izzart, and he was able to struggle a little longer. Then once more he found himself so terribly out of breath that he thought his chest would burst. His strength was all gone, and he did not know now whether he had enough to try to swim for the shore. Suddenly he heard a cry. Izzart, Izzart. Help. Help.’

It was Campion’s voice. It was a scream of agony. It sent a shock all through Izzart’s nerves. Campion, Campion, what did he care for Campion? Fear seized him, a blind animal fear,’ and it gave him a new strength. He did not answer. ‘Help me, quick, quick,’ he said to Hassan.

Hassan understood him at once. By a miracle one of the oars was floating quite close to them and he pushed it into Izzart’s reach. He placed a hand under Izzart’s arm and they struck away from the boat. Izzart’s heart was pounding and his breath came with difficulty. He felt horribly weak. The waves beat in his face. The bank looked dreadfully far away. He did not think he could ever reach it. Suddenly the boy cried that he could touch bottom and Izzart put down his legs; but he could feel nothing; he swam a few more exhausted strokes, his eyes fixed on the bank, and then, trying again, felt his feet sink into thick mud. He was thankful. He floundered on and there was the bank within reach of his hands, black mud in which he sank to his knees; he scrambled up, desperate to get out of the cruel water, and when he came to the top he found a little flat with tall rank grass all about it. He and Hassan sank down on it and lay for a while stretched out like dead men. They were so tired that they could not move. They were covered with black mud from head to foot.

But presently Izzart’s mind began to work, and a pang of anguish on a sudden shook him. Campion was drowned. It was awful. He did not know how he was going to explain the disaster when he got back to Kuala Solor. They would blame him for it; he ought to have remembered the Bore and told the steersman to make for the bank and tie up the boat when he saw it coming. It wasn’t his fault, it was the steersman’s, he knew the river; why in God’s name hadn’t he had the sense to get into safety? How could he have expected that it was possible to ride that horrible torrent? Izzart’s limbs shook as he remembered the wall of seething water that rushed down upon them. He must get the body and take it back to Kuala Solor. He wondered whether any of the crew were drowned too. He felt too weak to move, but Hassan now rose and wrung the water out of his sarong; he looked over the river and quickly turned to Izzart.

‘Tuan, a boat is coming.’

The lalang grass prevented Izzart from seeing anything.

‘Shout to them,’ he said.

Hassan slipped out of view and made his way along the branch of a tree thatoverhung the water; he cried out and waved. Presently Izzart heard voices. There was a rapid conversation between the boy and the occupants of the boat, and then the boy came back.

‘They saw us capsize, Tuan,’ he said, ‘and they came as soon as the Bore passed. There’s a long-house on the other side. If you will cross the river they will give us sarongs and food and we can sleep there.’

Izzart for a moment felt that he could not again trust himself on the face of the treacherous water.

‘What about the other tuan?’ he asked.

‘They do not know’

‘If he’s drowned they must find the body.’

‘Another boat has gone up-stream.’

Izzart did not know what to do. He was numb. Hassan put his arm round his shoulder and raised him to his feet. He made his way through the thick grass to the edge of the water, and there he saw a dug-out with two Dyaks in it. The river now once more was calm and sluggish; the great wave had passed on and no one would have dreamed that so short a while before the placid surface was like a stormy sea. The Dyaks repeated to him what they had already told the boy. Izzart could not bring himself to speak. He felt that if he said a word he would burst out crying. Hassan helped him to get in, and the Dyaks began to pull across. He fearfully wanted something to smoke, but his cigarettes and his matches, both in a hip-pocket were soaking. The passage of the river seemed endless. The night fell and when they reached the bank the first stars were shining. He stepped ashore and one of the Dyaks took him up to the long-house. But Hassan seized the paddle he had dropped and with the other pushed out into the stream. Two or three men and some children came down to meet Izzart and he climbed to the house amid a babel of conversation. He went up the ladder and was led with greetings and excited comment to the space where the young men slept. Rattan mats were hurriedly laid to make him a couch and he sank down on them. Someone brought him a jar of arak and he took a long drink; it was rough and fiery, burning his throat, but it warmed his heart. He slipped off his shirt and trousers and put on a dry sarong which someone lent him. By chance he caught sight of the yellow new moon lying on her back, and it gave him a keen, almost a sensual, pleasure. He could not help thinking that he might at that moment be a corpse floating up the river with the tide. The moon had never looked to him more lovely. He began to feel hungry and he asked for rice. One of the women went into a room to prepare it. He was more himself now, and he began to think again of the explanations he would make at Kuala Solor. No one could really blame him because he had gone to sleep; he certainly wasn’t drunk, Hutchinson would bear him out there, and how was he to suspect that the steersman would be such a damned fool? It was just rotten luck. But he couldn’t think of Campion without a shudder. At last a platter of rice was brought him, and he was just about to start eating when a man ran hurriedly along and came up to him.

‘The tuan’s come,’ he cried.

What tuan?’

He jumped up. There was a commotion about the doorway and he stepped forward. Hassan was coming quickly towards him out of the darkness, and then he heard a voice.

Izzart. Are you there?’

Campion advanced towards him.

Well, here we are again. By God, that was a pretty near thing, wasn’t it? You seem to have made yourself nice and comfortable. My heavens, I could do with a drink.’

His dank clothes clung round him, and he was muddy and dishevelled. But he was in excellent spirits.

‘I didn’t know where the hell they were bringing me. I’d made up my mind that I should have to spend the night on the bank. I thought you were drowned.’

‘Here’s some arak,’ said Izzart.

Campion put his mouth to the jar and drank and spluttered and drank again. ‘Muck, but by God it’s strong.’ He looked at Izzart with a grin of his broken and discoloured teeth.’ I say, old man, you look as though you’d be all the better for a wash.’

‘I’ll wash later.’

‘All right, so will I. Tell them to get me a sarong. How did you get out?’ He did not wait for an answer. ‘I thought I was done for. I owe my life to these two sportsmen here.’ He indicated with a cheery nod two of the Dyak prisoners whom Izzart vaguely recognized as having been part of their crew ‘They were hanging on to that blasted boat on each side of me and somehow they cottoned on to it that I was down and out. I couldn’t have lasted another minute. They made signs to me that we could risk having a shot at getting to the bank, but I didn’t think I had the strength. By George, I’ve never been so blown in all my life. I don’t know how they managed it but somehow they got hold of the mattress we’d been lying on, and they made it into a roll. They’re sportsmen they are. I don’t know why they didn’t just save themselves without bothering about me. They gave it me. I thought it a damned poor lifebelt, but I saw the force of the proverb about a drowning man clutching at a straw. I caught hold of the damned thing and between them somehow or other they dragged me ashore.’

The danger from which he had escaped made Campion excited and voluble; but Izzart hardly listened to what he said. He heard once more, as distinctly as though the words rang now through the air, Campion’s agonized cry for help, and he felt sick with terror. The blind panic raced down his nerves. Campion was talking still, but was he talking to conceal his thoughts? Izzart looked into those bright blue eyes and sought to read the sense behind the flow of words. Was there a hard glint in them or something of cynical mockery? Did he know that Izzart, leaving him to his fate, had cut and run? He flushed deeply. After all, what was there that he could have done? At such a moment it was each for himself and the devil take the hindmost. But what would they say in Kuala Solor if Campion told them that Izzart had deserted him? He ought to have stayed, he wished now with all his heart that he had, but then, then it was stronger than himself, he couldn’t. Could anyone blame him? No one who had seen that fierce and seething torrent. Oh, the water and the exhaustion, so that he could have cried!

‘If you’re as hungry as I am you’d better have a tuck in at this rice,’ he said. Campion ate voraciously, but when Izzart had taken a mouthful or two he found that he had no appetite. Campion talked and talked. Izzart listened suspiciously. He felt that he must be alert and he drank more arak. He began to feel a little drunk.

‘I shall get into the devil of a row at K. S.’ he said tentatively.

‘I don’t know why.’

‘I was told off to look after you. They won’t think it was very clever of me to let you get nearly drowned.’

‘It wasn’t your fault. It was the fault of the damned fool of a steersman. After all, the important thing is that we’re saved. By George, I thought I was finished once. I shouted out to you. I don’t know if you heard me.’

‘No, I didn’t hear anything. There was such a devil of a row, wasn’t there?’

‘Perhaps you’d got away before. I don’t know exactly when you did get away.’ Izzart looked at him sharply. Was it his fancy that there was an odd look in Campion’s eyes?

‘There was such an awful confusion,’ he said. ‘I was just about down and out. My boy threw me over an oar. He gave me to understand you were all right. He told me you’d got ashore.’

The oar! He ought to have given Campion the oar and told Hassan, the strong swimmer, to give him his help. Was it his fancy again that Campion gave him a quick and searching glance?

‘I wish I could have been of more use to you,’ said Izzart.

‘Oh, I’m sure you had enough to do to look after yourself,’ answered Campion.

The headman brought them cups of arak, and they both drank a great deal. Izzart’s head began to spin and he suggested that they should turn in. Beds had been prepared for them and mosquito nets fixed. They were to set out at dawn on the rest of their journey down the river. Campion’s bed was next to his, and in a few minutes he heard him snoring. He had fallen asleep the moment he lay down. The young men of the long-house and the prisoners of the boat’s crew went on talking late into the night. Izzart’s head now was aching horribly and he could not think. When Hassan roused him as day broke it seemed to him that he had not slept at all. Their clothes had been washed and dried, but they were bedraggled objects as they walked along the narrow pathway to the river where the prahu was waiting for them. They rowed leisurely. The morning was lovely and the great stretch of placid water gleamed in the early light