Hollow Sea (33 page)

'I'm sorry for those bloody stewards,' Rochdale said after a long silence. He got up and commenced walking up and down the deck. He went out on deck then. The door slammed to, and this time to no accompanying rattle of the tin-mug. 'I wonder what'd happen if we struck a bloody mine,' Rochdale said to himself. He sat on the hatch, kicking his heels. There was something boyish about him now. He sat on his hands and swung his feet to and fro. He went along the well-deck, climbed the ladder and stood still on the top step, looking aft. There they were. Funny, he had passed and re-passed but he never thought of them, and generally he went along the weather-side. He had always looked at them from the masthead. He had often seen men of the watch on giving a hand to the stewards. Poor sods, he thought, he wouldn't have their jobs for a million. He saw two of them now, he saw Mr. Walters. They were grouped about a man.

'Mind my leg, goddam you!' he heard the man say.

The two stewards were trying to sit him on a tin pan.

'Take me off the bloody thing I tell you, you crazy fools. Don't you understand plain English?' But the two stewards held on to him. Mr. Walters looked for'ard. How quiet it was there, the water ahead was smooth like glass. Hardly a breath of wind.

'We're not going to murder you!' Mr. Walters said. 'Be glad you're alive, man, even if you have a hole in your leg. What the devil's the matter with you? Some of your mates are trying to get to sleep. Be patient for Christ's sake. We go to all the trouble of getting you here, trying to help you, and this is how you behave. Stay on the pot. Do your duty and shut up!'

'I don't want to—'

'Shut your mouth I tell you!' He clapped his hand over the man's mouth. Mr. Walters's eye was suddenly drawn to the next man. He was asleep. Mr. Walters watched the slobber bubble as the man breathed.

'Did you go to the young chap aft?' Mr. Walters asked.

'Yes, sir, I went with Sloane. Here, hold up for Christ Almighty's sake. Damn you, spit, poke, or piddle and be done with it,' the exasperated steward said. When he reached the word 'done' his voice pitched high – a thin screech.

'You fed him?'

'Yes, sir. And we had a job, too. He'll fight no more. Silly little cuss! He still shouts, he's cracked all right, shouts your ears off. Still wants to fight for his bloody King, he does. There! Take it away. That's done.'

'Feel better now?' Mr. Walters asked. 'Phew!' the dreadful smell. He looked away while they removed the pan. He laid the man back on the palliasse.

'Leg still hurting?' he asked. There was a gentle tone in Mr. Walters's voice. No answer.

'Is your leg hurting you
now
?' The leg was a mass of bandage.

'Then damn your bloody festering leg – hang it – we do all we can for you fellows, and—'

The stewards hearing Mr. Walters's shouts rushed back, minus the pan. Mr. Walters looked furious. But they said nothing, understanding everything. So it went on. From man to man.

'Have those three men been taken below?' Walters asked them.

'Yes, sir,' they replied with one voice. They looked tired, their clothes were filthy.

'Good! Oh, look! Get your bowl, Sloane. Marvel, cotton wool quickly now.'

He rushed to the end of the line, pulled out his handkerchief and dropped it against the man's mouth, spurting blood.

'Steady! Steady! Sloane! Come here! Just put your hand behind this man's head. That's it. He'd better go into the saloon. Damn it, this ship will be in a bloody mess when we're quite finished.'

'Marvel, prop that fellow up there. Here! Third from the left. Yes. That one. He keeps slipping down all the while. Do it once too often. Smother himself. He's the one paralysed. Yes, that's right! God! I'll be glad to see the back of this.'

He called the two stewards to him, saying, 'Stand by in the saloon, you've nothing to do, just sit there, when you hear a call attend to it. That's all. We'll be in port soon. It's a bit lousy, men, but it can't be helped. Pure accident.'

He left them and went to his room.

Mr. Hump snored. A fly sat on his nose; the deepest snore would not move it. Mr. Walters shouted, 'Wake up! Wake up!' Yawning, Mr. Hump sat up.

'Well,' he said, 'how many this time, Mr. Walters?'

'Don't be inquisitive! God! I'm tired! D'you know, Hump, I've lost about seven pounds in as many days? Oh well, it's nearly the end now, Hump.'

Mr. Hump made no reply. He got up and began to dress. After a while he said, 'I never did this kind of job before, Mr. Walters. I think you're right. It wouldn't be a bad idea to change routes. This part of the world gives me the creeps! I had the hell of a dream, I dreamt I was hanging head downwards over number two hatch.'

'Did you fall?'

'Oh, no. I didn't fall. But it was a hell of a dream! I got quite scared.'

'Pity,' Walters said. 'Pity! They say we'll be in Alex. at night. But I don't believe them. Such fairy tales get about. Those fellers down there are having a rotten time! I never thought I'd see my staff acting as orderlies, everything except wet-nurses. Just like children! Naughty children! You can't always be sorry for them! Well, to hell with everything, I wouldn't care this minute if she struck a hundred mines. Reckon I'll sleep through it all. I'm not used to fourteen hours a day, Hump, not at my age, and I'm always a bit scared of my feet.'

He threw coat and cap on the settee and flung himself on to the bunk. 'Good night,' he said, and drew the blanket over his face. Mr. Hump went out.

'My name's Jack Carney, you see. I was in the Fusiliers at fourteen! I didn't give a goddam for nobody you see. Carney my name is, sailor. Jack Carney!'

'Yes. I know that, laddie,' Rochdale said. He wiped sweat off the soldier's forehead.

'Why don't they take that thing down?
WHY
DON
'
T
THEY
?' the man shouted.

'Ssh!' Rochdale said. 'Ssh! You'll be home soon, lad, home in a nice warm bed and you'll have a grand time. Your mother'll make potato cake. Ssh now! There's a good lad.'

'Why don't they shift it? It's all bloody lies I tell you! He can't be looking at anything. He can't see beggar all. How can he, he's dead. And the beggars know it. They're laughing. I saw it all last night! They dragged him out of that hold. They stuck a penny cracker in his gob. They're only laughing. It's all bloody bunk.'

'Ssh!' Rochdale said, he laid his hand on the soldier's head. 'Ssh!'

'You can see it now, I tell you. I heard him piddling down here. I thought it was rain at first. I laughed like hell then. It was him. They're pretending, that's all. He's no bloody sailor, and the ship's just going round in circles. It's a cod. A dead man can't see! D'you hear that? That fellow laughing on the bridge. They can hear me talking, d'you see?'

'Ssh! Keep quiet, laddie! You're only dreaming! Cool yourself. Would you like a drink of nice cold water? Why don't you try and go to sleep? Ssh now.'

'My name's Jack Carney I tell you! I was in the Buffs at fourteen.'

Rochdale turned his head away. 'The bloody man's raving,' he told himself. Why didn't the steward come? He shouted furiously, 'Steward! Steward!'

And when Sloane came out of the saloon, 'Have you seen this man?'

'Have I seen that man! God, I seen him every minute, every second, for ten days.'

'Ten days?'

'Ten bloody days.'

'But he's in delirium.'

"Course he is! What d'you think it was? Ring a ring a bloody roses?'

The steward went back into the saloon.

'Poor bastards!' Rochdale said. Well, you couldn't blame them, on their feet all day, half the bloody night. A dirty job, and all because nobody gives a goddam. No, sir. Nobody cares a brass farthing. He looked at the soldier again. The soldier was looking at him. There was something so frenzied, yet so helpless about the look in his eyes that for a moment Rochdale fully expected the wounded man to leap up and throttle him.

'Tell us about your mother, laddie. Tell us about your home, Jack Carney.' He leaned over the man, smiled in his face.

'Carney! Jack Carney! I was in the Fusiliers at fourteen! Look at him! Just look. Up there! See him cocking his leg. You watch. When he turns round you'll see that cracker. He grins down here, and we laugh then. Aye! Where's my bloody head?'

'Keep quiet! Ssh now! Everything's all right. Your name isn't Jack Carney,' Rochdale said. 'Your name's Jack Nobody, everybody knows that. Go to sleep! Know what'll happen if you keep looking like that? They'll say, your eyes are fine, up you go my bloody lad. They'll send you up there, bring him down. The look-out man, not the fellow you saw! You're talking through your hat, Jack Carney, you're going balmy. If you don't go asleep they'll tie you up. Same as the other fellow. Maybe they'll chuck you overboard. See! Now keep quiet.'

'There was a simple man. He stood with simple men. They stuck a cracker in his mouth, explain it if you can. I am a simple man. I stood with simple men.'

'Steward! Steward!' called Rochdale. He wanted to run to the saloon. To drag out the steward, say, 'Look! Look!' But he could not move. A hand held his own. Its grasp was steel. He shouted again, 'Steward! Steward!' Now the steward Marvel came out.

'Look at this man,' Rochdale said. 'He's cracked. Potty! Can't you do anything for him? I was coming along the deck a while ago, and so I just sat down. I was talking to him. He looked lonely. Listen to him. "I am a simple man. Jack Carney is my name." He's reciting poetry or something. Why don't you fellers do something? Take him aft. He's balmy.'

The steward knelt down, gripped Rochdale by the shoulders, shook him.

'Christ Almighty! When in Jesus' name did you wake up? And where's your bloody nose? This ship is crazy, I tell you! I've been running round here so many hours I
can't count
'
em
.
Can't
count 'em. And then you roar the ship down. Steward! Steward! What the bloody hell can I do? I'm not a doctor – only a slop-rag. Put that in your pipe, you have no right here, anyhow.'

'That's so, glass-back. Here, I've got to go for'ard. Can't you sit down and talk to a poor beggar like that? Nobody's said a word to them. Might be cattle. They're only lads. They've got mothers and fathers like you. Understand! When you have to wash them, or bandage 'em up, don't any feelings come into you at all?'

'Oh, go to hell!' Marvel said.

He walked back to the saloon. In the middle of the saloon there was a mirror. He stood in front of this. Laughing he clenched his fists and drummed upon the sideboard.

'Damn fool! Thinks we don't know!
We
don't know! Eighteen hours a day wiping up slobber – blood and muck, then you sleep in it, then you mop up more and more. And you get eight pounds a month for that.'

He picked up a glass, put a little powder into it from a bottle, added hot water from an electric kettle. He stirred it as he went out, stopping by the fevered man he knelt down, opened his mouth with one hand, and poured the contents of the glass down the soldier's throat. He ignored Rochdale.

'Your name's not Carney,' he said. 'It's Stink. Jack Stink! And mine's Henry Stink! There's Captain Stink up there! See him! Now shut your gob and go to sleep.'

He went back to the saloon and sat down. He sat by the other steward who was reading a magazine – 'The Power of Love'. There was a reproduction of Venus on the page. 'She's got a fine pair of tits,' Marvel said. Sloane closed the magazine, flung it across the saloon.

'Where's this damned voyage going to end, Marvel? Four days. Seems like four years to me. Walters must think that we're made of iron. So we are, I think.'

'They say we'll be at Alex, at eight o'clock.'

'Eight o'clock, and it's five now! But it's bloody funny we've seen no land. I haven't heard a bell rung since I came on duty. What's it all mean?'

'Go up and see. I reckon somebody on the bridge will oblige.'

'How clever you are! I wonder how the rest of the crowd got on there?'

'Blown to beggary I expect. I reckon it was only a lark myself.'

'Hell of a lark! Look out, here's Hump coming. That man makes me want to cry.'

Mr. Hump put his head in the saloon. 'Anything fresh?' he asked.

'Yes. The man on the end of the line. Better have a look at him, sir. Got the rats or something. There was a sailor gabbing away with him a while ago. He nearly drove him balmy too. Will he go aft with the others?'

'No!' Hump said. 'Over the side. Where do you think he'll go? Come along here, you two, sitting on your backsides doing nothing.'

All three went to the man. Rochdale was still sitting there. The soldier had fallen asleep. Other soldiers were talking to each other about the man Carney. Rochdale looked at the men. 'Look out of the way, man,' Mr. Hump said. Rochdale did not move. The man's hand was fast in his own. He looked up at the stewards. Somehow as he looked at the long face of Mr. Hump he imagined the two out-jutting ears had become horns.

'What are you going to do with this soldier?'

'Who are you talking to? Marvel, Sloane, carry the man aft.'

'No, you won't. By Christ, you won't! Where were you fellers when this soldier was in high delirium? Aye! In your bunks! Probably counting up how much you made out of the poor bastards. You with your other friends, call the mate, the captain, call the whole confounded Navy if you like. You lot of swine! Call them! Go ahead! It's a goddam disgrace. You can't shift this man, and you won't shift him. What am I doin' here! Sitting down, you blind bat. Now tell that to the Skipper and he'll log me a day's wages. Go ahead. Tell him. I just came along here, in the dog watch you understand, and a man can do what the hell he likes in his own time. I'm telling you that straight. I just sat down talking homely to him. You could see the poor sod hadn't a friend in the wide world. He's cuckoo! Who's saying he isn't! He reckons that this ship ain't getting anywhere at all. Understand me! He reckons we're going round in circles. And maybe you'd go round in circles too, just like he was before if you got a mark on the napper like he did. He's got a bloody bandage on looks a week old, and like the leg of somebody's drawers. Maybe some hungry bastards ate all the bandages. I've been looking at his wound too. Big as a walnut! Why are you going to shift him aft?'