Ship of Fools (19 page)

Everybody in the room turned to stare at her.

“But where,” inquired Frau Rittersdorf of the Captain, “
where
does she come from? No one saw her come on board, nor in the town before that,” she said, doubtfully, looking around the table, “at least, none of us.”

“And no wonder,” said the Captain, importantly. “That lady—she is a Spanish condesa—was brought on board quietly, hours before the other passengers, by two police officers who attempted at once to escort her to the steerage, under the impression that I was going to put her in chains for the voyage, or at least confine her to a cabin. I could not treat a lady so, no matter what she had done,” said the Captain, and his eyes rested gently upon his passenger; indeed, they feasted themselves upon that personage, a real member of the nobility, a species seen all too rarely upon his modest decks. “I should somehow have managed to provide for her properly; but fortunately, friends of hers reserved her stateroom by cable to Mexico, when it was learned that she would sail on this ship.”

“Her hands!” exclaimed Lizzi. “What is she doing with them?”

“She is in a highly wrought nervous state at the moment,” said Dr. Schumann. “Pardonable in her situation, perhaps. She will feel better shortly.” His tone and glance were dryly professional.

“A little on the faded side,” said Herr Rieber, and instantly repented his tactlessness when seven pairs of eyes fastened upon him in rebuke.

“She is not young, true,” said Dr. Schumann, “and her troubles are rather complicated—all completely unnecessary perhaps, but still …”

“Would I not be a dupe,” asked the Captain, glancing sharply from face to face, “to take these Latin-American politicals seriously? I was told she is a dangerous revolutionist, an international spy, that she carries incendiary messages from one hotbed of sedition and rebellion to another, that she incites to riot—you would hardly believe all the nonsense. My own opinion is, she is one of these idle rich great ladies who like excitement, who get into mischief and make more mischief without in the least understanding what they do—this is always true of women in politics of any kind!—and she has got her fingers badly burnt. Well,” his voice softened, “this will teach her a lesson, it is not for us to add to her penalties. She is only going to Tenerife, in any case. That is not so bad, and in the meantime, I wish her a pleasant voyage.”

“Those students who greeted her with such apparent respect,” said Herr Professor Hutten, thoughtfully, “resemble very little the revolutionary type as I have learned to recognize it in Mexico. I should have said of these that they are the lamentably overindulged sons of well-to-do parents who have not taken their parental duties very seriously. It is a type all too prevalent in Mexico, indeed, in all the Americas. One of our most constant problems,” he said, “was to protect our German youth from their influence in our schools. I am happy to say, relying as we did on the infallible combination of German character and German methods of discipline, we enjoyed a modest success.”

“In Guadalajara also,” rejoined Frau Schmitt, “how often I have heard my dear husband deplore a state of affairs where our beautiful German children were exposed to the pernicious foreign customs.”

“I had never imagined a revolutionist wearing such pearls,” said Frau Rittersdorf, who had been thinking her own thoughts. “If, indeed, they are real, which is doubtful.”

“When such a lady wears pearls,” said little Frau Schmitt, respectfully, “I think we may be confident they are real.”

“The students,” said the Captain to Herr Professor Hutten, heading off this dangerous feminine diversion of the topic, “are on their way to complete their studies in Montpellier, since on account of the recent disturbances the University in Cuba has been closed over their heads. It is all disorder of the most senseless kind, naturally, and should have been suppressed long ago without hesitation and with every necessary severity. As for revolutionists, they are a species of animal I am not acquainted with. I leave them gladly to those whose business it is to deal with them.” Leaning his head low over his plate, ducking up and down rhythmically, he began to gulp his dinner.

The subject seemed closed, or suspended satisfactorily, on exactly the right note.

Jenny, who felt refreshed and good-tempered after her nap, in spite of her disturbing dream, told David what she had learned about La Condesa, and was surprised at his look of lively admiration as he watched the lady, who had grown calmer and was peering nearsightedly into her salad. “Who told you all this?” he asked, unwilling to believe anything Jenny said, however entertaining it might be.

“Wilhelm Freytag, this morning while we were walking around deck,” said Jenny.

“Is it a habit by now?” asked David.

“This is only the second time,” said Jenny. “I wish you'd look at the zarzuela troupe. Aren't they simply weird?” For some reason she could not admit the human existence of the Spanish company. They seemed to be life-sized dolls moved by strings, going gracefully through a perpetual pantomime of graceless emotions. Their frowning faces, their gestures of anger, ill-humor, mockery, contempt, all seemed too farfetched and overrehearsed to be probable; she did not believe that any of it came out of living organisms.

The Spaniards had hardly removed their several gazes from La Condesa since she appeared, and their eyes were charged with staring, bitter resentment. They nudged each other and whispered, their mouths sullen; as they ate, or turned their heads, their eyes moved and maintained their gaze.

“If they're planning to rob her,” said Jenny, “they will give themselves away long before the deed. That fellow they call Pepe hasn't been able to tear his eyes from her pearls once. And I really don't blame him—look, David darling, aren't they lovely?”

“They seem all right,” said David, “but they could be pearls from the ten-cent store and I wouldn't know. I never saw a real pearl close up.”

“Darling, you make yourself sound as if you'd had a pathetic childhood. Did you?”

“Yes, I damned well did.”

“Well, you might at least admit they are beautiful.”

“I'm not sure I think so,” said David, “I'm so blinded with prejudice against people who can afford to buy pearls. They may be wonderful. I don't care.”

“It's handsome of you to concede that much,” said Jenny. “Really handsome.”

“I'd perhaps like them better if I knew they weren't real,” said David, idly, losing interest.

“Yes, darling,” said Jenny, with sudden gaiety, “I know, that is just the kind of fellow you are—but would you like a sawdust woman instead of one with live insides? It is really strange,” she said, “but I can love you and real pearls too—now how can that be?”

She smiled at him, he watched the smile change her face altogether for the better, and smiled back at her lovingly. They seemed beautiful to each other. “Are you calling me a fake?” asked David. Jenny said, “Besides, maybe she didn't buy them at all. Maybe she inherited them, or they were given to her by a lover.”

“Maybe,” said David, and a pleasant silence settled between them.

At the Captain's table, Frau Hutten observed that her husband was not eating well; indeed, he was manipulating his knife feebly, raising an ill-laden fork from time to time for appearance's sake only. His face was stern and pale, a light effusion appeared on his forehead. When the talk, rather aimless, drifted around to the Professor, it paused there uncertainly, went around him and was taken up on the other side. Halfway through her own lunch, which she was enjoying, Frau Hutten in one flash of a thought was annoyed with her husband—so reasonable a man where the problems of others were concerned, so wise and all-seeing in abstract ideas, he was no more than a willful child when it came to a question of his own good. She had helped him to their cabin two hours before, he had allowed her to stretch him flat and put cold towels on his head, and he had, in his temporary weakness, promised that he would be quiet and allow her to nurse him back to health.

Then without warning he had roused himself, had thrown away the towel and sat up, exclaiming in a loud, martial voice, “No, Käthe, this is a weakness of which I must be ashamed … it wants only a small effort of the will, and this shall be conquered …”

Frau Hutten, seeing that one of his stubborn fits was on the way, had tried to head it off, as if it were an escaping animal. “Ah, no!” she protested. “Here, Will does nothing for you. Let your Will rest for the moment, and make yourself comfortable. This is no time for the exercise of the higher faculties.”

Her husband had not troubled even to answer such heresy. He had risen, squared his shoulders, drawn his brows together over his nose, and, at the sound of the bugle, had taken her arm firmly under his.

“Forward,” he said, “let us breathe the fresh air and take our food as usual, and leave all such nonsense as seasickness to our good Bébé who has no intellectual resources to speak of—
il est chien de coeur
,” he said, archly; they then both laughed, jovially, and went away laughing, and arrived in triumph at the table.

Now, unless they got away quickly, God knew what might happen. Losing her appetite so suddenly it left a great void that filled promptly with nausea, she did the one thing necessary to deceive her husband and persuade him from the table. “Excuse me,” she said, standing up without looking at anyone, nodding around the table slightly. “My dear,” she appealed to the Professor, “will you please go with me, I don't feel very well.”

Herr Professor Hutten rose at once, backing stiffly away from his place, overturning his chair, which he hardly noticed. Frau Hutten had to brace herself strongly to support the weight of his assisting arm. There remained nothing to do but to go, as swiftly as possible, without another word. Not until their cabin door had closed upon them safely did Herr Professor Hutten fetch a loud hollow groan. He fell face downward on the couch, retching. Bébé crawled out of his corner towards him and licked his fallen hand more in duty than in pleasure; and Frau Hutten, overcome by the revolting sight, felt a dreadful chill down her spine. She fell back too, upon the bed, eyes closed.

“Käthe,” called her husband, hoarsely, “Käthe, help me.”

“Let me alone,” she said heavily, through stiffened lips. By means of a slow surging movement, she rolled over and reached for the bell, which she pressed down and held steadily, not letting go until the door was opened and she heard sounds of rescue in the room. Conscience, duty, attentiveness, obedience—all the granite foundations of her marriage, her wifely career slid from under her without a sound, and she sank into a hideous luxury of moral collapse. Let somebody else wait on him hand and foot for a change. Let him do something for himself. Let somebody even, for once, do something for her! She was sick of the world … she was sick to death of people … in a harsh gulping voice she demanded relief of the stewardess, whose rather amiably stupid, absent-minded face instantly chilled into hostility; and the hand that poked spoonfuls of crushed ice into Frau Hutten's open mouth was anything but gentle.

Dr. Schumann, strolling about the deck after lunch, paused to glance at the horse races, set up for the first time since Veracruz, and was indignant when he saw that, in spite of his express orders, the boy with the floating kidney had been put again at the job of moving the toy animals along the track. A small number of passengers were sitting about comfortably, their faces smooth and at ease, eyelids relaxed behind dark glasses, enjoying the sunlight and the sea air; but the boy sweated as he stooped and rose, straightening his lame back slowly, stooping again, with dark lines around his pale gray mouth, his eyes strained. The other boy was tough and able, but he kept his eyes down as if he were ashamed of his childish occupation.

Further along, Dr. Schumann saw the tall shrill girl and the little fat man, who seemed to be inseparable, playing ping-pong violently, and several persons were splashing about in the small canvas swimming tank set up on the lower deck. On the port side Dr. Schumann stepped carefully around a game of shuffleboard without observing the players, but nodding Good day in their direction; and saw, at the same time, almost without seeing, Ric and Rac, the two Spanish children, beguiling the ship's cat, a fine tiger tom, with back strokings and ticklings under his chin. The cat arched, his face full of sophisticated pleasure, and allowed himself to be picked up between them.

He was heavy, loose, ungainly in his surrender, and in his sensual trance he did not grasp the nature of their intentions towards him until it was almost too late. With sharpened faces and urgent hands, Ric and Rac lifted him to the rail and tried to push him overboard. He stiffened, dug his foreclaws into the rail, braced and clawed fiercely with his hind feet; his back went into a bow, his tail became a wild plume. Silently, desperately, he fought with all his weapons.

Dr. Schumann fairly leaped forward and seized the children back from the rail. They brought the cat with them in their rush; he fell out of their clutches and tore his way across deck straight through the shuffleboard game—a thing he would not ordinarily have done, for he was a polite cat. The children stared upward at Dr. Schumann, their bare arms, striped with long bleeding scratches, going suddenly limp in his hands.

Dr. Schumann, holding them firmly but with practiced gentleness, examined the depths of their eyes for a moment with dismay at their blind, unwinking malignance, their cold slyness—not beasts, though, but human souls. Oh yes, human, more's the pity, thought the Doctor, loosening his hold.

Instantly they wriggled free, their fierce little faces exactly alike except for the mysterious stigmata of sex, turning towards each other with their instinctive complicity; then they ran, their thin legs jutting at the knees, their tangled hair flying. He supposed they should have, as a matter of form, at least a few drops of iodine on those scratches, but he felt they would probably do as well without it.