Atlantic Fury (38 page)

Down on my knees, I reached out my hand to the bones, touched one, plucked it from the blackened heap with a feeling of sick revulsion as I recognised what it was. The end of the bone disintegrated into dust, leaving me with a knee joint in my hand. I poked around – a hip bone, femurs, pieces of the spinal column, the knuckles of human fingers. It was all there, all except the head, and that I found tucked away under a slab of rock – a human skull untouched by the fire and with traces of hair still attached.

I put it back and sat for a moment, feeling numbed; but not shocked or even disgusted now that I knew. It had to be something like this. I was thinking how it must have been for him, his life soured by what had happened here, the prospect of discovery always hanging over him. And then automatically, almost without thinking, I stripped my anorak off and began to pile the grim relics of that wartime voyage on to it. There was more than the bones – buttons like rusted coins, the melted bronze of a unit badge, a wrist watch barely recognisable, all the durable bits and pieces that made up a soldier's personal belongings. And amongst it all an identity disc – the number and the name still visible:
ROSS
,
I
.
A
. Pres.

A pebble rattled in the darkness about me and I turned. But there was nothing, only the swell sloshing about in the great cavern of the geo, a faint, hollow sound coming to me from beyond the narrow defile of the fault. The last thing I did was to scatter the blackened stones about the cave, flinging them from me. Then, the pieces of bone bundled into my anorak, the last traces removed, I scrambled to my feet, and picking up my burden, started for the faulted exit that led to the geo.

I was halfway up the slope to it when the beam of my torch found him. He was standing by the exit, quite still, watching me. His face was grey, grey like the rock against which he leaned. His dark eyes gleamed in the torch beam. I stopped and we stood facing each other, neither saying a word. I remember looking to see if he were armed, thinking that if he'd killed Braddock … But he'd no weapon of any kind; he was empty-handed, wearing an old raincoat and shivering uncontrollably. The sound of water on the geo was louder here, but even so I could hear his teeth chattering. ‘Are you all right?' I said.

‘Cold, that's all.' He took a stiff step forward, reaching down with his hand. ‘Give me that, I'll do my own dirty work, thank you.' He took the bundled anorak from me.

‘Who was it?' I asked. ‘Braddock?' My voice came in a whisper, unnatural in that place.

‘Give me the torch, will you.'

But I'd stepped back. ‘Who was it?' I repeated.

‘Man named Piper, if you must know.'

‘Then it wasn't Braddock?'

‘Braddock? No – why?' He laughed; or rather he made a noise that sounded like a laugh. ‘Did you think I'd killed him? Is that it?' His voice was harsh, coming jerkily through the chattering of his teeth. ‘Braddock died two days before we sighted Laerg.' And he added, ‘You bloody fool, Donald. You should have known me better than that.' And then, his voice still matter-of-fact: ‘If you won't give me the torch, just shine it through here.'

I did as he asked and he went through the narrow defile in the rock, down the slope beyond into the geo, hugging the bundle to him. The falling tide had left my dinghy high and dry. The bows of his boat were grounded just astern of it. There were sails, mast and oars in it, two rusted fuel cans, some old lobster pots; but no clothing, not even oilskins. ‘Got anything to drink with you?' he asked as he dumped the bundle.

I gave him my flask. His hands were shaking as he unscrewed the cap, and then he tipped his head back, sucking the liquor down. ‘How long had you been there?' I asked.

‘Not long.' He finished the whisky, screwed the cap back in place and handed me the empty flask. ‘Thanks, I needed that.'

‘Were you watching me all the time?'

‘Yes. I was coming through the fault when I saw the light of your torch. Luckily it shone on your face, otherwise …' Again that laugh that had no vestige of humour in it. ‘You reach a certain point … You don't care then.' He waded into the water, swung a leg over the side of the boat in a moment. ‘Deep water … if I'd been able to do this at the time …' He swung the engine and it started at once, the soft beat of it pulsing against the walls. He pushed the gear lever into reverse. The engine revved and the bows grated and then he was off the beach and reversing slowly, back down the geo towards the grey light of the entrance. He backed right out and then disappeared, and I stood there in the half-darkness of the cavern's gloom, wondering whether he'd come back and if he did, what would happen then. Did he trust me? Or did he think I was like the rest of the world – against him? My own brother, and I wasn't sure; wasn't sure what he'd do, what was going on in that strange, confused mind of his – wasn't even sure whether he was sane or mad.

And all the time the drip, drip of moisture from the roof, the slop of water never still as the swell moved gently against the rock walls.

The beat of the engine again and then the boat's bows nosing into the gap below that hanging slab. It came in, black against the daylight, and him standing in the stern, a dark silhouette, his hand on the tiller. The bows grated astern of my dinghy and he clambered out, bringing the painter with him. ‘Is the tide still falling?' he asked.

‘For another two hours.'

He nodded, tying the rope to a rock. ‘No tide table, no charts, nothing in the lockers, and bloody cold.' He straightened up, looking down at the rubber dinghy. ‘How did you make put in that thing – all right?' And then he was moving towards me, his eyes fixed on my face. ‘Why?' he demanded hoarsely. ‘Why did you come here?'

‘I knew you were headed for Laerg.' I had backed away from him.

‘Did you know why?'

‘No.'

‘But you guessed, is that it?' He had stopped, standing motionless, his eyes still on me.

‘How could I?' I was feeling uneasy now, a little scared, conscious of the strength of that thick-set body, the long arms. Standing like that, dark in silhouette, he reminded me of my grandfather – and the same crazy recklessness, the same ruthless determination. ‘I just knew there was something, knew you had to come back.' And I added, ‘Twenty-two days is a long time …'

‘Yes, too long.' He seemed to relax then. He was looking about the cavern now and I could see his mind was back in the past. ‘Thirteen days it took us. And then in the dawn I saw Tarsaval. God! I thought I'd never seen anything more beautiful.' He glanced about him, moving his head slowly from side to side, savouring the familiarity. ‘This place – brings it back to me. We were five days … Yes, five, I think.'

‘In here?'

He nodded, handing me back my anorak, empty now.

‘How many of you?'

‘Just the two of us – Leroux and myself. Alive. The other – he died during the night. We were grounded, you see. On one of the rocks of Eileann nan Shoay, out there. Hadn't the strength to get her off. It was heavy, that raft. The tide did that, some time during the night, and when the dawn came we were right under the cliffs. That dawn – there was a little breeze from the nor'-east. Cold as ice, and the stars frozen like icicles fading to the dawn sky – pale blue and full of mares' tails. We paddled along the cliffs. Just got in here in time. The wind came out of the north. I'd never have stood that wind. We were frozen as it was, frozen stiff as boards, no heat in us – none at all. We hadn't fed for six days, a week maybe – I don't know. I'd lost count by then.' He turned his head. ‘What made you come?' he asked again.

I shrugged. I didn't really know myself. ‘You were in trouble …'

He laughed. But again there was no humour in that laugh. ‘Been in trouble all my life, it seems. And now I'm too old,' he added, ‘to start again. But I had to come back. I didn't want anybody to know – about that.' And he added, ‘Not even you, Donald. I'd rather you hadn't known.'

I stared at him, wondering how much was remorse, how much pride and the fear of discovery. ‘Did you have to do it?' I shouldn't have asked that, but it was out before I could stop myself, and he turned on me then in a blaze of fury.

‘Have to? What would you have done? Died like Leroux, I suppose? Poor little sod. He was a Catholic, I suppose if you're a Catholic …' He shook his head. ‘Christ, man – the chance of life and the man dead. What did it matter? Lie down and die. I'm a fighter. Always have been. To die when there was a chance … that isn't right. Not right at all. If everybody lay down and died when things got tough – that isn't the way man conquered his world. I did what any man with guts would have done – any man not hidebound by convention; I had no scruples about it. Why the hell should I? And there was the boat – fuel for a fire ready to hand. I'll be honest. I couldn't have done it otherwise. But life, man – life beckoning.… And that poor fellow Leroux. We argued about it all through the night, there in the cave with the wind whistling through that fault. God in heaven, it was cold – until I lit that fire.' He stopped then, shivering under that thin raincoat. ‘Colder than last night. Colder than anything you can imagine. Cold as hell itself. Why do they always picture hell as flaming with heat? To me it's a cold place. Cold as this Godforsaken geo.' He moved, came a step nearer. ‘Was the old man right? Is there a way out of here?'

‘Yes,' I said. ‘If you'd only tried …' I was thinking of the sheep that roamed the island wild. ‘Didn't you try?'

‘How could I? We only just had strength to crawl through to that cave. We were dead, man – both of us as near dead as makes no odds. You don't understand. When the ship went down … I wasn't going to have anything to do with the boats. I'd an escort. Did you know that? I was being brought back under escort. I saw those two damned policemen make bloody sure they got into a boat. They weren't worrying about me then. They were thinking of their own skins. I saw this Carley float hanging there, nobody doing anything about it. So I cut it adrift and jumped. Others joined me just before she sank. It was late afternoon and the sun setting, a great ball. And then she went, very suddenly, the boilers bursting in great bubbles. There were seven besides myself.' He paused then, and I didn't say anything. I didn't want to interrupt him. Nobody to confide in, nobody to share the horror of it with him; it had been bottled up inside him too long. But he was looking about the place again and I had a feeling that he had slipped away from me, his mind gone back to his memories. And then suddenly: ‘You say the way out is still there – you've been up to the top, have you?'

‘Yes.'

‘Well, let's get out of here. Up into the fresh air.' He started to move up the beach towards the fault, and then he paused. ‘What's it like up there? Fog, I suppose.'

‘No, it's above the fog. The sun's shining.'

‘The sun?' He was staring at me as though he didn't believe me. ‘The sun. Yes, I'd like to see the sun … for a little longer.' I can't describe the tone in which he said that, but it was sad, full of a strange sadness. And I had a feeling then – that he'd reached the end of the road. I had that feeling very strongly as I followed him up the slope and through the fault, as though he were a man condemned. ‘Give me the torch a minute.' His hand was on it and I let him have it. For a moment he stood there, playing the beam of it on that recess, standing quite still and searching the spot with his eyes. ‘Thanks,' he said. ‘I couldn't bear to go, you see, with the thought that somebody would find that. It wouldn't have mattered – not so much – if I hadn't changed my identity. But taking Braddock's name … They'd think I'd killed the poor bastard. Whereas, in fact, I saved his life. Pulled him out of the water with his right arm ripped to pieces. Managed to fix a tourniquet. He was tough, that boy. Lasted longer than most of the others despite the blood he'd lost. Do you know, Donald – I hadn't thought of it. But when he was dying, that last night – he was in my arms, like a child, and I was trying to keep him warm. Though God knows there wasn't much warmth in me by then. The other two, they were lying frozen in a coma, and young Braddock, whispering to me – using up the last of his breath. You're about my build, Iain, he said. And his good arm fumbling at his pockets, he gave me his pay book, all his personal things and the identity disc from round his neck, and all the time whispering to me the story of his life, everything I'd need to know.' The beam of the torch was still fastened on the recess and after a moment he said, ‘When a man does that – gives you a fresh start; and he'd got such guts, never complaining, not like some of the others, and none of them with so much as a scratch. Hell! You can't just pack it in. Not after that.' And then he turned to me suddenly. ‘Here. Take the torch. You lead the way and let's go up into the light of day.' But instead of moving aside, he reached out and grabbed my shoulders. ‘So long as you understand. Do you understand?' But then he released me and stepped back. ‘Never mind. It doesn't matter. It's finished now.' And he gave me a gentle, almost affectionate push towards the cave's exit. ‘We'll sit in the sun and listen to the birds. Forget the years that are gone. Just think of the old man and the way it was before he died. The island hasn't changed, has it? It still looks the way he described it to us?'

‘Yes,' I said. ‘It looks very beautiful.' And I climbed up through the continuation of the fault, up the slabbed stairway and out through the final cleft into the sunlight. The fog had thinned, so that it no longer looked like a sea below us, but more like the smoke of some great bush fire. It was in long streamers now, its tendrils lying against the lower slopes, fingering the rock outcrops, turning the whole world below us a dazzling white. Iain stood quite still for a moment, drinking it in, savouring the beauty of the scene just as I had done. But his eyes were questing all the time, searching the slopes of the hills and seaward where the rents in the fog were opening up to give a glimpse of the Atlantic heaving gently to the endless swell. The sunlight accentuated the greyness of his face, the lines cut deep by fatigue. He looked old beyond his years, the black hair greying and his shoulders stooped. As though conscious of my gaze he pulled himself erect. ‘We'll walk,' he said gruffly. ‘Some exercise – do us good.' And he started off towards the head of Strath Mhurain, not looking back to see if I were following him. He didn't talk and he kept just ahead of me as though he didn't want me to see the look on his face.