Hamilton, Donald - Novel 01 (7 page)

     
She smiled quickly, "No, I'll be all
right," and he realized that she did not have a coat. A little
embarrassed, he retrieved his cap and raincoat from the check room where he had
left them so as not to have to return to his room, and they went out of the
hotel. With the coming of darkness the wind had diminished, and the clear sky
of the afternoon had become clouded so that there were no stars.

     
"Looks like we'll have more
rain," he said, taking her arm to guide her across a street. Her arm was
unresponsive under his hand, and he released it as they mounted the curb on the
far side. "They have the damnedest sidewalks in this town," he said
as she stumbled over the ancient uneven bricks.

     
She tossed aside a strand of hair that
blew across her face and smiled up at him but did not speak. He had the
uncomfortable feeling that he was talking to himself, and he remembered once,
under pressure from his mother, taking the daughter of some family friends to a
dance: I don't see why you don't take Ellen, she's such a sweet girl and the
McIntyres
are our best friends.... She had been a sweet
girl, all right, in the stiff pink taffeta all sweet girls wore, and she had
smiled at him in just that shy helpless way when he had tried to talk to her.

     
When they came out of the movie the wind
was barely strong enough to stir the short full skirt of her dress as she stood
under the marquee buttoning her jacket. "Well," he said, "Did
you like it?"

     
"I don't see why they give them
food," she said. He frowned uncomprehendingly.

     
"How about taking a stroll down by
the water?" he asked. "It's early."

     
She glanced at him. "All right,"
she said after a moment, and they turned away from the hotel and walked slowly
past the darkened store fronts of the small business district.

     
He said suddenly, "Oh, you mean the
newsreel."

     
She nodded.
"With
all the other people who are starving, to give them food!"

     
"Well, you can't let them
starve," he said.

     
"Why not?"

     
He glanced at her quickly, a little
irritated. "Don't be silly," he said.

     
Her small insistent voice said, "It's
not silly. Maybe it's not practical to kill them all, but you don't have to
give them food that other people ..."

     
"Don't be so bloodthirsty," he
said, laughing uncomfortably. "After all, the war's over. You can't let
people starve."

     
"They did."

     
"They also beat up Jews and tortured
people. Do we have to do that, too
""

     
"No, but..."

     
They had stopped, facing each other, in
front of a weather-beaten
shopfront
displaying a few
dusty automobile accessories and one large tire. Suddenly she laughed.

     
"I'm sorry," she said. "I
liked the movie."

     
They went on, out of the business
district, and he walked beside her, not touching her, a little resentful at the
way she had changed the subject, as if it were something he were not quite
bright enough to discuss.

     
"Listen ..." he said presently.

     
"Don't let's talk about it," she
said, smiling at him. "We wouldn't agree. We wouldn't ever agree, so
there's no use talking about it, is there?" She touched his arm to make
him look at her and, after a moment, curled her fingers about it. "These
sidewalks are awful," she said.

     
They walked under the bare trees between
the white-painted frame houses in the darkness, and then the houses stopped and
they came around the side of a great blind building, like a barn, and saw the
water dark before them.

     
"God, what a stink," Branch
said, and he looked at the warehouse and read the faded letters in the
darkness: Queen's Harbor Fertilizer Co.

     
"What is it?" the girl asked,
sniffing.

     
He told her. "Let's get to windward
of it," he said, and they walked quickly across the cinders of the wharf
to where a long pier jutted out into the river. At the end of it they stopped,
and Branch, sniffing, laughed. "That's the trouble with water, there's
always something that smells." He pointed down at the motorboat tied to
the pier below them.
"Fish or oysters.
Can you
stand it?"

     
"I don't mind it," she said.

     
She bent down to test the rough boards of
the pier, and sat down, unbuttoning her jacket, her legs dangling over the
moored boat. He sat down beside her. She moved a little, uneasily, and giggled.
"Splinters," she said, feeling of herself.

     
"Want me to put my coat
... ?"

     
"No, it's all right."

     
In front of them the water stretched
unbroken and hardly rippled in the darkness to the mouth of the river. There
were a few lights on the far shore and to the right
was
the wharf and the warehouse; and over the end of the wharf showed the masts of
the oyster boats tied up in the cove beyond. The water splashed gently at the
pilings below them, rocking the boat at their feet.

     
Constance
Bellamann
said abruptly, "I've never been in one.

     
"A boat?"

     
She nodded.

     
He said, "What did you do, come over
by plane?"

     
"No, but ..." She broke off
sharply and bit at her lip. "You tricked me! How did you know?"

     
"She said she-"

     
"Oh," Constance
Bellamann
said. "Well, I meant a little one. Like
that."

     
"That's not so small," he said.
"It's close to thirty-five feet."

     
"Do you like them?" she asked.
Then she laughed. "
that's
a silly question.
You're in the Navy."

     
He grinned in the darkness. "Well, it
doesn't always follow, but I used to sail when I was a kid."

     
"A boat like
that?"

     
"That's a motorboat, stupid," he
said. "You don't sail motorboats."

     
"Could you?"

     
"Listen," he said, grinning,
"anything that floats, I can handle it. Give me a battleship and I'11 show
you. Go ahead. I dare you."

     
She was silent and unsmiling and he looked
at her again, feeling a little deflated.

     
"Are you cold?" he asked her.

     
"No," she said. She put her hand
on his arm. "Why don't you-?" she said quickly, and stopped.

     
He grinned. "Sure. Anything you
say."

     
"If I told you ..."

     
"Tell me," he said.

     
She took her hand away and stood up,
brushing at her dress. He got up slowly and stood looking down at her.
"What's the matter,
Constance
?
Something wrong?"

     
Her eyes watched him out of her small,
pale, crowded face. "Yes," she said, "You're wrong. And I don't
know how to tell you without ..."

     
"I won't get sore," he said.
"What's the matter? Am I on the wrong side?"

     
She nodded, and took the lapels of his
raincoat in her fingers, not looking at him, but at her fingers holding the
waterproofed blue serge. "You should ... be helping us," she
whispered. "You're too ... nice to be ..."

     
He took her by the shoulders and shook her
minutely. "Cut it out," he said.
"Quit laying
it on with a shovel."
He was suddenly very angry with her because
she had almost had him believing in her, and he took her to him abruptly and
kissed her mouth.

     
Then he stood there, still holding her,
feeling stupid and bewildered because nothing had happened and it had been like
kissing an inanimate object, and her body was as
unresistant
to his grasp as her mouth had been to his kiss. Her eyes were open, looking up
at him with a curious flat calm.
lie
waited for her to
protest or struggle or slap him. The bright lipstick, black in the darkness,
was a little streaked on her upper lip to show that he had really kissed her.

     
Suddenly she shivered a little. He
released her and stepped back, licking his lips.

     
"All right," he whispered.
"All right, if it was that bad
... ."

     
She did not touch her hair or her dress or
do any of the things they did after being kissed, but walked beside him off the
pier and across the harsh cinders of the wharf and around the warehouse to the
sidewalk.

     
"Listen," he said as they came
up the sidewalk. "You don't have to throw an epileptic fit just because a
guy makes a pass at you."

     
He heard the tempo of her low heels on the
pavement increase beside him, and she did not speak. She was almost running,
and there was a quality of panic in her silence. The unfair advantage of his
long legs kept him easily abreast of her.

     
"Your mouth is crooked," he said
as they approached the hotel. She pulled a handkerchief from her jacket pocket
and rubbed at her lips, hurrying up the steps ahead of him, and he followed her
through the lobby to the foot of the stairs. The large young man came out of
the alcove below the stairs to face them, and the girl stopped abruptly.

     
Paul
Laflin
,
looking down at her, grinned. "Well,
Constance
," he said, "did
you have a nice time?"

     
She tried to slip past him, but he blocked
her way. Over her head he looked at Branch, still grinning. His grin became a
low chuckle.

     
"
Constance
is a little shy. Men seem
to frighten her."

     
The girl stood hopelessly still in front
of him, waiting until such time as he would permit her to go. The chinless man
stepped out of the shadow of the stairwell.

     
"She had a rather unfortunate
experience with the
Boche
," he said, smiling, to
Branch; and to the younger man: "Let her go, Paul."

     
Paul
Laflin
moved aside. The girl darted up the stairs, the brief loose skirt of her dress
fIuttering
about her knees with the rapidity of her ascent.
Paul
Laflin
stood watching her until she was out of
sight. Presently he began to laugh.

     
Mr. Hahn said, "Oh, be quiet,
Paul," and turned to Branch, taking his arm.
"How
about a drink, Lieutenant?"

     
The younger man followed as Branch
reluctantly allowed
himself
to be drawn towards the
taproom. Branch felt a finger touch his shoulder.

     
"Did she
... ?"

     
Mr. Hahn looked back and said, sharply,
"Stow it, Paul." He smiled at Branch. "That is the nautical
expression, I believe." As they sat down, he said, "She was at
Rochemont
. You have heard of
Rochemont
."

     
Branch put his cap on the table and
unbuttoned his raincoat. He had not heard of
Rochemont
.
He felt unpleasantly at a disadvantage, as if he had been caught making
improper advances to the neighbors" ten-year old daughter. He took his
pipe from his pocket, the smooth worn surface of it reassuring to his fingers,
and began to fill it automatically. He told the waiter whisky and ginger ale.
The mural above the two men facing him annoyed him in that the three
square-rigged vessels shown against a background of green shore and white-
porticoed
mansions were each sailing to a different wind.
You'd think
,
he reflected, that anybody would have
sense enough to check up on a thing like that before he painted a picture.

     
"Don't feel bad about it," Mr.
Hahn was saying. "Paul tried it a long time ago. It was very hard on his
ego. The chinless man, smiling, glanced at his companion. "Shall I tell
him?"