Hammond Innes: The Strange Land

‘Same as you,’ I said. ‘Fundador.’

‘Ca va. Make it eight, Jose. An’ one fer yourself. We’re celebrating.’

‘Good run?’ I asked him.

‘Sure we had a good run. We always have good runs. Wet, that’s all. Molto bloody wet.’ He seized hold of the bottle on the counter and took a swig at it. ‘Only we ain’t the only ones to get wet tonight,’ he said, grinning and wiping his mouth. ‘There’s a poor bastard out there… Christ! You never saw such a sight. We picked him up against the beam of Malabata. All plain sail an’ going like a train. Couldn’t see the boat fer spray. Jesus! There are some crazy bastards! Single-handed and full sail!’

I caught his elbow as he turned back to join his crew. ‘What sort of boat was she?’ I asked him.

‘Ketch or yawl — couldn’t be certain in the spotlight.’

‘About fifteen tons?’

‘Yeah, about that. Why? You know the boat?’

‘If it’s the boat I’m expecting, there should be two men on board her.’

‘Well, this bloke was single-handed.’

‘How do you know?’

‘How do I know? Because there was only one bloke in the Goddamned boat, that’s how.’

‘In the cockpit?’

‘Well, he wasn’t standing in the bows, I can tell you. She was taking it green, right back as far as the coach-roofing.’

‘The other fellow was probably below,’ I said. ‘In a storm that’d be the sensible — ‘

‘What do you know about it?’ He thrust his face close to mine. ‘In a storm you shorten sail. This crazy bastard had full main and mizzen set, Number One jib and stays’l. If you don’t believe me, ask one of the boys. They all saw it. He was a single-hander all right.’

Kostos thrust his long nose between us. He had a thin, acquisitive face and dark, restless eyes. ‘How far is he, this boat?’

‘About five miles.’

The Greek nodded. ‘Good. That will be him. And you are right. He is alone — one man.’

‘Well, that’s fine.’ Big Harry grinned. ‘Kostos agrees with me. He’s never seen the boat, but he agrees with me. That means I’m right, eh?’

Kostos smiled and tapped the side of his nose. ‘Not a sparrow falls,’ he said.

Big Harry roared with laugher and clapped him on the back. Then he turned and rolled back along the bar to join his crew. The Greek stared at me. He had grown sleeker and fatter with the years. When I had first come to Tangier he had been a pale, undernourished little runt of a man, inquisitive, restless, his grubby fingers prodding energetically into every pie. Now his hands were manicured, his clothes well cut and he had an air of flashy opulence. ‘What do you want with Wade?’ he asked me curiously.

‘Wade?’

‘Yes, Wade: the man who sails this boat into Tangier. What do you want with him?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Then why are you asking about the boat?’

‘That’s my business.’

He stared at me hard. The pupils of his eyes were the colour of sloes when the bloom has been rubbed off. An unpleasant silence stretched between us. I watched him trying to sum me up, trying to understand what I was doing back here in Tangier. ‘You have been away from here a long time, Captain Lat’am,’ he said, smiling. ‘Things have changed. I have an organisation here now, several companies.’ He paused significantly and then said, ‘You like a drink?’

‘No thank you,’ I said.

He nodded and smiled. ‘All right, Lat’am. But don’t do nothing foolish.’ He went back to his drink then and I wondered what his interest was in Gay Juliet and her skipper. I was wishing Dr Kavan had chosen a more conventional method of travelling out. I was wishing, too, that I hadn’t decided to wait for the boat at this bar.

I seated myself at one of the tables. A newspaper lay there, the black print of the headlines ringed by the base of a wine glass. Idly, I picked it up. There had been trouble at Casablanca. There was always trouble at Casa, for it grew too fast and the people of the bled were herded in packing-case slums of indescribable squalor. And then I noticed the weather report. There was a gale warning, and heavy falls of snow were reported in the High Atlas, The pass of Tizi N Tichka, which linked Marrakech with Ouarzazate, was closed. I had never known the pass blocked so early in the year and I wondered if there had been snow at Enfida. I started thinking of the Mission then, wondering if it was all right and how Julie Corrigan was making out with the kids. George would be painting, of course. He never stopped painting. But Julie …

And then I was thinking of the girl again, alone there in the far corner of the bar. The rings of spilled wine had reminded me of how she had snapped the stem of her glass. I lowered the paper. She was still there, and she was staring out of the window, just as she had been when I had first noticed her. But there was nothing to see there; only the rain drops glistening on the glass and the lights of the ships out there in the blackness of the harbour. Her face and neck were reflected in the dark surface of the glass, disembodied and blurred, like the face and neck of a girl in an old painting.

And then I realised that it wasn’t the world outside nor the reflection of her own image that she saw there, but the bar and the men ranged along it under the naked lights, the whole room. I couldn’t see her eyes, but somehow I knew that she was watching us all surreptitiously. And suddenly I knew, too, that she wasn’t here by chance — she was here because she was waiting for somebody, or something. She had the tension and watchfulness and the resignation of a woman waiting. She was massaging nervously at the fingers of her left hand. I couldn’t see whether she wore a wedding ring or not, but that was the finger she was massaging.

She turned her head then and our eyes met again. I heard Big Harry shouting to his crew, telling them to drink up and get the hell out of here and go on up to Maxie’s with him, and all the time she seemed to be measuring me, trying to make up her mind about something.

Finally she got slowly to her feet. I watched her all the time she was coming across the cafe towards me. Her clothes were poor and did not fit very well, yet she moved easily and she had a good figure. She didn’t smile as she reached my table. She just kept her eyes on mine and said, ‘Do you mind please if I ask you something?’

‘Go ahead,’ I said, wondering what was coming.

She was nervous and her eyes looked scared. It gave her face a sort of beauty, that and the way her mouth puckered at the corners. ‘You talk about a boat with the big sailor over there.’ She nodded towards Big Harry. ‘When will it come, please?’

‘The boat?’

‘Yes, the boat.’

A chair overturned with a crash as one of the crowd stumbled drunkenly. Harry was leading them out of the bar now.

‘Are you waiting for Gay Juliet, too?’

She nodded her head solemnly. ‘Yes, that is the name. When will it come, please?’

The street door was wide open now and the wind was blowing sand and dust along the floor. Surprisingly a glint of moonlight streaked the roadway outside. ‘Soon,’ I said. ‘Big Harry saw her five miles out. That was probably an hour ago, maybe more.’ The street door shut with a bang. ‘Would you like to join me whilst you’re waiting?’ I suggested. And when she didn’t answer I said, ‘Why are you interested in the boat? Do you know one of them?’

She shook her head uncertainly, as though bewildered by the question.

‘Who is it you’re waiting for?’ I asked. ‘Is it Wade or Dr Kavan?’

Her eyes widened fractionally and her mouth opened as though she had caught her breath, but she still said nothing, and I asked her whether she would like a drink.