The Complete Short Stories of W. Somerset Maugham - II - The World Over (103 page)

“There’s no doubt that travel is a great education.”

It was really an experience to find herself alone with all those men. How they would laugh when she told them all about it when she got home! They would say that things like that only happened to Venetia. She smiled when she heard the captain on deck singing with that great booming voice of his. Germans were so musical. He had a funny way of strutting up and down on his short legs singing Wagner tunes to words of his own invention. It was
Tannhauser
he was singing now (that lovely thing about the evening star) but knowing no German Miss Reid could only wonder what absurd words he was putting to it. It was as well.

“Oh, what a bore that woman is, I shall certainly kill her if she goes on much longer.” Then he broke into Siegfried’s martial strain. “She’s a bore, she’s a bore, she’s a bore. I shall throw her into the sea.”

And that of course is what Miss Reid was. She was a crashing, she was a stupendous, she was an excruciating bore. She talked in a steady monotone, and it was no use to interrupt her because then she started again from the beginning. She had an insatiable thirst for information and no casual remark could be thrown across the table without her asking innumerable questions about it. She was a great dreamer and she narrated her dreams at intolerable length. There was no subject upon which she had not something prosy to say. She had a truism for every occasion. She hit on the commonplace like a hammer driving a nail into the wall. She plunged into the obvious like a clown in a circus jumping through a hoop. Silence did not abash her. Those poor men far away from their homes and the patter of little feet, and with Christmas coming on, no wonder they felt low; she redoubled her efforts to interest and amuse them. She was determined to bring a little gaiety into their dull lives. For that was the awful part of it: Miss Reid meant well. She was not only having a good time herself, but she was trying to give all of them a good time. She was convinced that they liked her as much as she liked them. She felt that she was doing her bit to make the party a success and she was naively happy to think that she was succeeding. She told them all about her friend Miss Price and how often she had said to her: Venetia, no one ever has a dull moment in your company. It was the captain’s duty to be polite to a passenger and however much he would have liked to tell her to hold her silly tongue he could not, but even if he had been free to say what he liked, he knew that he could not have brought himself to hurt her feelings. Nothing stemmed the torrent of her loquacity. It was as irresistible as a force of nature. Once in desperation they began talking German, but Miss Reid stopped this at once.

“Now I won’t have you saying things I don’t understand. You ought all to make the most of your good luck in having me all to yourselves and practise your English.”

“We were talking of technical matters that would only bore you, Miss Reid,” said the captain.

“I’m never bored. That’s why, if you won’t think me a wee bit conceited to say so, I’m never boring. You see, I like to know things. Everything interests me and you never know when a bit of information won’t come in useful.”

The doctor smiled dryly.

“The captain was only saying that because he was embarrassed. In point of fact he was telling a story that was not fit for the ears of a maiden lady.”

“I may be a maiden lady but I’m also a woman of the world, I don’t expect sailors to be saints. You need never be afraid of what you say before me, Captain, I shan’t be shocked. I should love to hear your story.”

The doctor was a man of sixty with thin grey hair, a grey moustache, and small bright blue eyes. He was a silent, bitter man, and however hard Miss Reid tried to bring him into the conversation it was almost impossible to get a word out of him. But she wasn’t a woman who would give in without a struggle, and one morning when they were at sea and she saw him sitting on deck with a book, she brought her chair next to his and sat down beside him.

“Are you fond of reading, Doctor?” she said brightly.

“Yes.”

“So am I. And I suppose like all Germans you’re musical.”

“I’m fond of music.”

“So am I. The moment I saw you I thought you looked clever.”

He gave her a brief look and pursing his lips went on reading. Miss Reid was not disconcerted.

“But of course one can always read. I always prefer a good talk to a good book. Don’t you?”

“No.”

“How very interesting. Now do tell me why?”

“I can’t give you a reason.”

“That’s very strange, isn’t it? But then I always think human nature is strange. I’m terribly interested in people, you know. I always like doctors, they know so much about human nature, but I could tell you some things that would surprise even you. You learn a great deal about people if you run a tea-shop like I do, that’s to say if you keep your eyes open.”

The doctor got up.

“I must ask you to excuse me, Miss Reid. I have to go and see a patient.”

“Anyhow I’ve broken the ice now,” she thought, as he walked away. “I think he was only shy.”

But a day or two later the doctor was not feeling at all well. He had an internal malady that troubled him now and then, but he was used to it and disinclined to talk about it. When he had one of his attacks he only wanted to be left alone. His cabin was small and stuffy, so he settled himself on a long chair on deck and lay with his eyes closed. Miss Reid was walking up and down to get the half-hour’s exercise she took morning and evening. He thought that if he pretended to be asleep she would not disturb him. But when she had passed him half a dozen times she stopped in front of him and stood quite still. Though he kept his eyes closed he knew that she was looking at him.

“Is there anything I can do, Doctor?” she said.

He started.

“Why, what should there be?”

He gave her a glance and saw that her eyes were deeply troubled.

“You look dreadfully ill,” she said.

“I’m in great pain.”

“I know. I can see that. Can’t something be done?”

“No, it’ll pass off presently.”

She hesitated for a moment then went away. Presently she returned.

“You look so uncomfortable with no cushions or anything. I’ve brought you my own pillow that I always travel with. Do let me put it behind your head.”

He felt at that moment too ill to remonstrate. She lifted his head gently and put the soft pillow behind it. It really did make him feel more comfortable. She passed her hand across his forehead and it was cool and soft.

“Poor dear,” she said. “I know what doctors are. They haven’t the first idea how to take care of themselves.”

She left him, but in a minute or two returned with a chair and a bag. The doctor when he saw her gave a twitch of anguish.

“Now I’m not going to let you talk, I’m just going to sit beside you and knit. I always think it’s a comfort when one isn’t feeling very well to have someone near.”

She sat down and taking an unfinished muffler out of her bag began busily to ply her needles. She never said a word. And strangely enough the doctor found her company a solace. No one else on board had even noticed that he was ill, he had felt lonely, and the sympathy of that crashing bore was grateful to him. It soothed him to see her silently working and presently he fell asleep. When he awoke she was still working. She gave him a little smile, but did not speak. His pain had left him and he felt much better.

He did not go into the saloon till late in the afternoon. He found the captain and Hans Krause, the mate, having a glass of beer together.

“Sit down, Doctor,” said the captain. “We’re holding a council of war. You know that the day after tomorrow is Sylvester Abend.”

“Of course.”

Sylvester Abend, New Year’s Eve, is an occasion that means a great deal to a German, and they had all been looking forward to it. They had brought a Christmas tree all the way from Germany with them.

“At dinner today Miss Reid was more talkative than ever. Hans and I have decided that something must be done about it.”

“She sat with me for two hours this morning in silence. I suppose she was making up for lost time.”

“It’s bad enough to be away from one’s home and family just now anyway and all we can do is to make the best of a bad job. We want to enjoy our Sylvester Abend, and unless something is done about Miss Reid we haven’t a chance.”

“We can’t have a good time if she’s with us,” said the mate. “She’ll spoil it as sure as eggs is eggs.”

“How do you propose to get rid of her, short of throwing her overboard?” smiled the doctor. “She’s not a bad old soul; all she wants is a lover.”

“At her age?” cried Hans Krause.

“Especially at her age. That inordinate loquacity, that passion for information, the innumerable questions she asks, her prosiness, the way she goes on and on-it is all a sign of her clamouring virginity. A lover would bring her peace. Those jangled nerves of hers would relax. At least for an hour she would have lived. The deep satisfaction which her being demands would travel through those exacerbated centres of speech, and we should have quiet.”

It was always a little difficult to know how much the doctor meant what he said and when he was having a joke at your expense. The captain’s blue eyes, however, twinkled mischievously.

“Well, Doctor, I have great confidence in your powers of diagnosis. The remedy you suggest is evidently worth trying, and since you are a bachelor it is clear that it is up to you to apply it.”

“Pardon me, Captain, it is my professional duty to prescribe remedies for the patients under my charge in this ship, but not to administer them personally. Besides, I am sixty.”

“I am a married man with grown-up children,” said the captain. “I am old and fat and asthmatic, it is obvious that I cannot be expected to undertake a task of this kind. Nature cut me out for the role of a husband and father, not for that of a lover.”

“Youth in these matters is essential and good looks are advantageous,” said the doctor gravely.

The captain gave a great bang on the table with his fist.

“You are thinking of Hans. You’re quite right. Hans must do it.”

The mate sprang to his feet.

“Me? Never.”

“Hans, you are tall, handsome, strong as a lion, brave, and young. We have twenty-three days more at sea before we reach Hamburg, you wouldn’t desert your trusted old captain in an emergency or let down your good friend the doctor?”

“No, Captain, it’s asking too much of me. I have been married less than a year and I love my wife. I can hardly wait to get back to Hamburg. She is yearning for me as I am yearning for her. I will not be unfaithful to her, especially with Miss Reid.”

“Miss Reid’s not so bad,” said the doctor.

“Some people might call her even nice-looking,” said the captain.

And indeed when you took Miss Reid feature by feature she was not in fact a plain woman. True, she had a long stupid face, but her brown eyes were large and she had very thick lashes; her brown hair was cut short and curled rather prettily over her neck; she hadn’t a bad skin, and she was neither too fat nor too thin. She was not old as people go nowadays, and if she had told you that she was forty you would have been quite willing to believe it. The only thing against her was that she was drab and dull.

“Must I then for twenty-three mortal days endure the prolixity of that tedious woman? Must I for twenty-three mortal days answer her inane questions and listen to her fatuous remarks? Must I, an old man, have my Silvester Abend, the jolly evening I was looking forward to, ruined by the unwelcome company of that intolerable virgin? And all because no one can be found to show a little gallantry, a little human kindness, a spark of charity to a lonely woman. I shall wreck the ship.”

“There’s always the radio-operator,” said Hans.

The captain gave a loud shout.

“Hans, let the ten thousand virgins of Cologne arise and call you blessed. Steward,” he bellowed, “tell the radio-operator that I want him.”

The radio-operator came into the saloon and smartly clicked his heels together. The three men looked at him in silence. He wondered uneasily whether he had done something for which he was to be hauled over the coals. He was above the middle height, with square shoulders and narrow hips, erect and slender, his tanned, smooth skin looked as though a razor had never touched it, he had large eyes of a startling blue and a mane of curling golden hair. He was a perfect specimen of young Teutonic manhood. He was so healthy, so vigorous, so much alive that even when he stood some way from you, you felt the glow of his vitality.

“Aryan, all right,” said the captain. “No doubt about that. How old are you, my boy?”

“Twenty-one, sir.”

“Married?”

“No, sir.”

“Engaged?”

The radio-operator chuckled. There was an engaging boyishness in his laugh.

“No, sir.”

“You know that we have a female passenger on board?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you know her?”

“I’ve said good morning to her when I’ve seen her on deck.”