The Atlas Murders (20 page)

 “I would like very much to
meet you in dear old England. I will definitely come there again.”

 “So Fokir, I want your
address so I can write you when I get back home to normal duty.”

 Fokir took out a small note
pad and wrote his address then he tore it up and put it back in his pocket. “I
should not have given you that cigarette, you know how dangerous it would be if
your room mate found an address like this. You are in enough danger as it is.”

Fokir was much annoyed with
himself for not thinking straight.

“Never mix business with
pleasure Henry, it could be catastrophic.”

He stood up and finished his
drink His great big smile was infectious as they shook his hand.

“I want to wish you every
success my dear Henry.”

“Fokir, you are a great man,
you’ve been so kind and helpful and I’ll be forever in your debt - goodbye.”

Fokir and the matron then
left.

Henry sat sipping his whiskey
and smiling to himself as he looked at the weed in the ashtray. “Bloody, pot,”
he said under his breath, looking around the empty room. He finished his drink
and stood to leave - there would be no goodbye for Nilima.

He reached the door leading
out to the side alleyway and decided to go this way and not through the bar.
The door opened just as he reached for the door handle and standing before him
a little breathless from running, the most beautiful sight he thought he had
ever seen. He gasped, “Nilima.”

She threw her arms around his
back and rested her face on his chest. He could feel her panting like a
frightened bird.

“Henry, wait, Henry”.

 They walked back to the room
and Nilima slid the bolt on the door and sat on Henry’s knee.

“You write me letter when you
go away. I write to you Henry, I learn to write at college. Not too good
English, but I learn more.”

 “Of course I will write to
you my precious and will look forward to your letters. To leave you is making
me very sad, our worlds so far apart.”

Henry wrote out his address
on a small sheet of paper she took out of her little bag, she handed him her
address printed in careful in rounded capital letters.

“You have wonderful writing
Nilima.”

 “You like, I write to you some
letters you, easy to read.”

 “Yes it will be very easy to
read it’s a work of art.”

 She opened Henry’s shirt and
moved her tiny hands over his chest.

“Like you wonderful love me.
I read your letter and maybe cry.”

Their love making was
prolonged and gentle. They spent a long while lying together with the
smoothness of her body like silk, so exactingly molded and erotic. No were words
spoken.

 Henry sat up and Nilima
pulled him back to her again, “not time Henry.”

 He kissed her tenderly and
pushed her silky hair back from her face.

“I must go.”

 He dressed and what rupees
he had, he put into her little bag. Nilima walked with him to the alleyway door
and kissed him goodbye. He stood for a little while looking down the narrow
alley. There were a couple of mangy dogs sniffing around in desperation more
than hope of finding food. The sight of the shacks where human beings existed
was an indictment to all developed countries of their neglect to their fellow
man.

The effects of the weed he’d smoked
hadn’t completely worn off, so he decided against getting a rickshaw as the
walk back to the ship would clear his head.

He needed his full faculties
when he reached the dark area of the dock and he pulled his knife out and
opened the blade. He was cautious and walked in the clear space where the bales
had been loaded into the ship. His view, although in semi darkness, was
unimpeded. He stopped several times listening and the only sound he though he
heard was some of the dock girls doing business with noisy customers behind the
jute not far from him. He was happy to reach his cabin. He couldn’t believe how
late it was; it was one in the morning. Gary Conrad was snoring, fast asleep, and
didn’t hear him come in and fall exhausted onto his bunk.

Chapter
Twenty-One

 Oswyn Welland wasn’t on board
for breakfast and one of the pantry staff said he heard he might not join the
ship but maybe travel onto Colombo separately. This pantry rumor, like most,
was proven untrue when he arrived on board an hour before sailing at fourteen
hundred hours.

Sailing from Bombay - like leaving
most ports - gave the crew a sense of purpose; there was work to be done and
most were happy to be back at sea.

The deck watches were of
extreme importance to Henry and he went to the recreation room first night out
and sat around playing cards intent on finding out which of the able seamen had
watch duty and what watches they were on. There were three seamen appointed to
each watch, the twelve to four, the four to eight, and the eight to twelve - two
able seamen and one ordinary seaman to each watch. Henry was hoping that Tukola
and his roommate would be appointed the same watch; if so, it would give him a
great chance to search their cabin. It was coming up to twenty hundred hours and
the new watch was coming on. One of the watch keepers going off duty from the
four to eight would make tea for the incoming men. Henry was disappointed to
see Tukola’s roommate coming into the pantry for tea before going on the eight
to twelve, while Tukola was still playing cards in the recreation room. He knew
there would be no chance to search his cabin this trip.

Shortly after this, Tukola
stood up to leave saying he was going to get his head down as he was first
wheel on the twelve to four watch. Henry went on deck and sat up on number four
hatch, lit up a Lucky Strike and inhaled the smooth smoke while gazing out over
the calm dark ocean. He saw the lights of passing ships and somehow it brought
Vera to mind; it seemed so long ago and in a different world. Nilima the
beautiful girl seemed to be somewhere beckoning to him the wonder and sadness
of meeting such a person. Yes that was the expression ‘ships that pass in the
night’. There was a faint flashing light on the port side that was land; the
coast of India stretching away for a thousand miles to the island of Ceylon and
its capital city, Colombo, their next port of call. The ship’s movement was the
only stirring of air, the stars were hiding behind a low cloud and the humidity
was oppressive.

 Henry heard voices coming
from the alleyway leading to the foredeck then the deck hands began to appear. The
chief officer was rigged out in a white boiler suit - he was brandishing a flashlight.

 “Jump down from there,” he
said to Henry, “you can help with these storm battens.”

 “Aye-aye sir,” he said. The
light was dim on the deck but Henry could see they were hauling out long flat
lengths of metal bars from between the mast house and the hatch and stretching
them across the hatches. Henry stood alongside one of the ordinary seamen and
asked him how he could help.

 “Get up on the hatch there
mate and pull this batten across to meet the one from the other side.”

Henry did as he was told. They
were clipping the bars under the hatch combing and laying it across the hatch
covers which were tarpaulin over the timber hatch boards. The one they called
chippy, (the carpenter) had two adjustable wrenches and after fitting a bolt
into two lugs on the middle of the storm batten, he proceeded to tighten the
nut on the bolt holding the storm batten tight in place. Henry saw what was expected
of him and placed the storm battens, keeping them opposite the ones coming from
the other side of the hatch, and after about an hour, all the hatches were
battened and ready for the storm the chief officer told them they had just
received a warning for. Henry heard him tell the boatswain to close all storm
doors along the decks and check all derrick guy ropes make sure they were
secure and to check the anchor storm covers and securing chains. The chief
officer continued to issue forth instructions to the boatswain: “Close the dead
lights on all ports along both alleyways and no one was to go out on deck. All
watch keepers going to and from the bridge were to use the inside stairs. Pass
this on to the engine men and none are to go on deck to dump clinkers until I
give the all clear. Rig life lines on both forward and after decks just in case
of an emergency.”

 “Aye-aye, sir, said the
boatswain, “I’ll see to that right away and when do we expect to be into this
weather?”

 “The latest position of this
cyclone was about five hundred miles south of us and it’s moving in a north-westerly
direction at a speed of forty knots with wind speeds of up to a hundred and ten
miles an hour. With a bit of luck it might track out into the Indian Ocean, but
we have to be prepared for a battering if it doesn’t.” He turned and went back
up to the bridge to report to the captain.

The captain was in the chart
room leaning over the chart and with a pair of dividers he was measuring the
distance we would travel in six hours and the distance the storm would travel
in the same time. He turned to the chief officer, “I was just calculating how
long before we get the first of this storm, it seems about eight hours. Everything
secure on deck?”

 “Yes sir, all battened down
and secure.”

“I think we might be a bit
close to the coast for comfort.” He put the dividers on the coast line and the
ship’s course line and measured at the side of the chart. “Ten miles, not a
lot, the wind will blow us off the land coming from an easterly direction but
as the storm passes over it, will change to westerly, so we’d be better to give
ourselves more room.”

“Yes, sir, I suggest we alter
course thirty degrees to starboard.”

The captain laid the dividers
back on the chart and looked at the barometer. “Falling, better keep an eye on
it. Yes thirty degrees should do, you lay off the new course and I’ll give the
change to the quartermaster.” The captain went into the wheelhouse and gave the
order to alter course thirty degrees to starboard. “Let me know when you are on
your new course.”

The repeat order came from
the darkness “Thirty degrees to starboard, sir.”

The ship’s head swung across
the dark ocean where the horizon and sky was just as one. Only the fiery
streaks of lightning split the dark clouds to the sea. There was no thunder,
only the flashing of lightning like the blitz on European cities during the
war. The helmsman spoke his course. “Steering two one zero sir.”

“Steady at that.”

 The chief officer handed
over the watch to the third mate and left the bridge. The captain stayed
looking out at the calm black sea. There was a noticeable lift in the ship’s
motion now. He turned to the third mate. “There’s a swell rising, we might get
some heavy rain that’s usually the trend with these tropical storms.”

 The third mate walked out
onto the wing of the bridge with the binoculars; he was looking at a ship
crossing the Rangoon’s bows. He gave an order to the helmsman: “starboard
thirty degrees.” The altered course to starboard brought her beam on to the big
glassy swell. She rolled like a drunken sailor and started shipping sea onto
her port decks.

The captain stood at the
windows with his legs braced to steady himself against the severe roll. He
waited until the crossing ship had passed to the port side and soon the Rangoon
was back on course again. He called to the third mate who was on the wing of
the bridge: “If the visibility gets any worse, turn on the radar and don’t be
afraid to call me if you need me.” As he turned to leave the wheelhouse, the rain
started; it came bucketing down, splashing off the deck on the bridge wing and
the windows. The captain turned back, “turn on your radar third.”

 “Aye-aye sir.”

 Henry felt strangely happy
after coming off deck having helped the deck hands batten down the hatches. He
was standing in his cabin, towel wrapped round his middle after showering; he
felt the change in the ship’s motion as she began to roll. He closed the port
and dropped the dead light tightening it home. He looked in the mirror and
couldn’t believe how the sun could have lightened his hair to such a pale blonde.
He was tanned all over and his face had a lean look; he felt fitter than ever
in his life and his blue eyes looked sharp and serious. Perspiration trickled
down his body. How could anyone sleep in their cabin in this sweltering heat
and humidity? he thought. He opened the door full but the heat from the
alleyway was every bit the same. He directed the air vent across his bunk; it
was blowing the hot air straight from deck and had no cooling effect. He lay
down naked and tried to read. He knew he couldn’t go on deck as the captain had
forbidden all hands to go outside - all the storm doors were closed anyway. It
was twenty three hundred hours when he switched out the light and tried to sleep.
He heard Gary Conrad come in and ask, “are you asleep Henry, bloody hot in this
alleyway?”

 Henry feigned sleep he
didn’t feel like having a con-flab with Conrad at that moment. He spent a
restless night drenched in perspiration, feeling the motion of the ship
becoming more violent as she pitched mercilessly to the huge head on sea. He
was relieved to get up at seven hundred hours and start work in the officer’s
saloon. He had to sprinkle water on all the linen table cloths and put up the
small side boards round the tables. He screwed the chairs to the deck and when
he had all this done, he began to lay the cutlery and condiments. The young
radio operator was first in; his red mop bathed in perspiration. Henry watched
him as he looked around as if expecting someone to jump up from under a table.
You are one disturbed fellow, Henry thought to himself.

”What will it be, orange
juice or grapefruit?”

 “Grapefruit please.”

As a steward, Henry shouldn’t
have engaged him in conversation, but as there was no one else around he
thought, why not.

“Bad weather forecast I
believe?”

 “Yes, the six hundred
forecast gave winds reaching a hundred and twenty miles an hour.”

 “Wow, in for a bit of a
battering. So how did you enjoy our last port?”

 “I enjoyed the sights and
the shops. Sad to see so many poor children it doesn’t seem right that that
should be.”

 “No, I suppose not but it’s
a cruel world.”

The ship drove into a heavy sea
and Henry held onto a table. It seemed she would never come up out of it. Then
slowly she began to rise up on the next sea.

“Holy cow,” he exclaimed, “that
must have been a mountain.”

He went to get the breakfast
and he saw that the second steward was white with fear, standing in the pantry.
He looked Henry in the eyes and spoke with trepidation.

 ”Thought she wouldn’t rise
herself out of that one, it’s like being in a submarine, can’t even see
daylight from our cabins.”

 “I know, and the heat is
unbearable, hard to get a bit of shut eye in these conditions. Give me a double
helping for that young radio lad.”

 “Bloody hell,” the second
steward exclaimed, “he’s some fucking gannet and he looks like he never got a
bite to eat.”

The captain and chief officer
were in the saloon when he went back in. The captain spoke to Henry.

 “Just the fried breakfast please
steward. She’s hove to for now so you can tell the chief steward she’ll be easy
for the next few hours. Hope to be out of the worst of it by evening and we can
breathe a bit of fresh air again.”

 He left and told the chief
steward who had come into the pantry.

“I’ll pass it on to the cooks.
It’s like a mini hell in that galley at the moment.”

 Henry got to serve the
afternoon smoko onto the bridge and was glad to get a look out at the daylight
when he got to the wheelhouse. My good Jesus, look at those seas, he thought. The
ship was hove too and not making any headway through the water, just holding
her course riding out the monstrous seas. The second mate shouted at him. ”Hold
on.” She rode over a great ‘white back’ shipping water across her complete foredeck
then she plunged into the trough and buried herself half way up the fore part
to the wheelhouse. Henry could only gaze speechless - she’ll never come out of
this, he thought. There was nothing forward to see only the mast sticking up
out of a raging sea. It seemed an age before she began to rise slowly, throwing
the hundreds of tons of water off her decks as she came up onto the next big
foaming monster. The hatches were visible for a brief minute before she was
awash again. The second mate was watching for any damage to the canvas covers
on the hatches and to see if the storm battens were holding; so far they were
intact. The timber hatches were the most vulnerable part of a ship in very
stormy conditions, and if they gave way she would flood her holds and most
likely take a list and founder. The second mate, a man of about fifty and an experienced
old salt was looking out the windows up at the sky. There were slight breaks in
the heavy dark low cloud. He muttered under his breath, “the wind is going
round to the west; it should start to ease soon.” Not soon enough for me, Henry
thought.

He looked at Henry.

“Are you waiting for
something steward?”

“No, sir just looking.”

 “Here, you can take this empty
cup with you.”