Array Коллектив авторов - 30 лучших рассказов британских писателей / 30 Best British Short Stories

‘Hullo, there!’ I called. ‘What foolery is this?’

But there came only the indistinct sounds of a boat being pulled away into the night.

Then I heard Will’s voice from the direction of the after scuttle:

‘What’s up, George?’

‘Come here, Will!’ I said.

‘What is it?’ he asked, coming across the deck.

I told him the queer thing that had happened. He put several questions; then, after a moment’s silence, he raised his hands to his lips and hailed:

‘Boat, ahoy!’

From a long distance away there came back to us a faint reply, and my companion repeated his call. Presently, after a short period of silence, there grew on our hearing the muffled sound of oars, at which Will hailed again.

This time there was a reply: ‘Put away the light.’

‘I’m damned if I will,’ I muttered; but Will told me to do as the voice bade, and I shoved it down under the bulwarks.

‘Come nearer,’ he said, and the oar strokes continued. Then, when apparently some half dozen fathoms distant, they again ceased.

‘Come alongside!’ exclaimed Will. ‘There’s nothing to be frightened of aboard here.’

‘Promise that you will not show the light?’

‘What’s to do with you,’ I burst out, ‘that you’re so infernally afraid of the light?’

‘Because –’ began the voice, and stopped short.

‘Because what?’ I asked quickly.

Will put his hand on my shoulder. ‘Shut up a minute, old man,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Let me tackle him.’

He leaned more over the rail. ‘See here, mister,’ he said, ‘this is a pretty queer business, you coming upon us like this, right out in the middle of the blessed Pacific. How are we to know what sort of a hanky-panky trick you’re up to? You say there’s only one of you. How are we to know, unless we get a squint at you – eh? What’s your objection to the light, anyway?’

As he finished, I heard the noise of the oars again, and then the voice came; but now from a greater distance, and sounding extremely hopeless and pathetic.

‘I am sorry – sorry! I would not have troubled you, only I am hungry, and – so is she.’

The voice died away, and the sound of the oars, dipping irregularly, was borne to us.

‘Stop!’ sang out Will. ‘I don’t want to drive you away. Come back! We’ll keep the light hidden if you don’t like it.’

He turned to me. “It’s a damned queer rig, this; but I think there’s nothing to be afraid of?”

There was a question in his tone, and I replied, ‘No, I think the poor devil’s been wrecked around here, and gone crazy.’

The sound of the oars drew nearer.

‘Shove that lamp back in the binnacle,’ said Will; then he leaned over the rail and listened. I replaced the lamp and came back to his side. The dipping of the oars ceased some dozen yards distant.

‘Won’t you come alongside now?’ asked Will in an even voice. ‘I have had the lamp put back in the binnacle.’

‘I – I cannot,’ replied the voice. ‘I dare not come nearer. I dare not even pay you for the – the provisions.’

‘That’s all right,’ said Will, and hesitated. ‘You’re welcome to as much grub as you can take–’ Again he hesitated.

‘You are very good!’ exclaimed the voice. ‘May God, who understands everything, reward you–’ It broke off huskily.

‘The – the lady?’ said Will abruptly. ‘Is she–’

‘I have left her behind upon the island,’ came the voice.

‘What island?’ I cut in.

‘I know not its name,’ returned the voice. ‘I would to God–’ it began, and checked itself as suddenly.

‘Could we not send a boat for her?’ asked Will at this point.

‘No!’ said the voice, with extraordinary emphasis. ‘My God! No!’ There was a moment’s pause; then it added, in a tone which seemed a merited reproach, “It was because of our want I ventured – because her agony tortured me.”

‘I am a forgetful brute!’ exclaimed Will. ‘Just wait a minute, whoever you are, and I will bring you up something at once.’

In a couple of minutes he was back again, and his arms were full of various edibles. He paused at the rail.

‘Can’t you come alongside for them?’ he asked.

‘No – I dare not,’ replied the voice, and it seemed to me that in its tones I detected a note of stifled craving, as though the owner hushed a mortal desire. It came to me then in a flash that the poor old creature out there in the darkness was suffering for actual need for that which Will held in his arms; and yet, because of some unintelligible dread, refraining from dashing to the side of our schooner and receiving it. And with the lightning-like conviction there came the knowledge that the Invisible was not mad, but sanely facing some intolerable horror.

‘Damn it, Will!’ I said, full of many feelings, over which predominated a vast sympathy. ‘Get a box. We must float off the stuff to him in it.’

This we did, propelling it away from the vessel, out into the darkness, by means of a boat hook.

In a minute a slight cry from the Invisible came to us, and we knew that he had secured the box.

A little later he called out a farewell to us, and so heartful a blessing that I am sure we were the better for it. Then, without more ado, we heard the ply of oars across the darkness.

‘Pretty soon off,’ remarked Will, with perhaps just a little sense of injury.

‘Wait,’ I replied. ‘I think somehow he’ll come back. He must have been badly needing that food.’

‘And the lady,’ said Will. For a moment he was silent; then he continued, ‘It’s the queerest thing ever I’ve tumbled across since I’ve been fishing.’

‘Yes,’ I said, and fell to pondering.

And so the time slipped away – an hour, another, and still Will stayed with me; for the queer adventure had knocked all desire for sleep out of him.

The third hour was three parts through when we heard again the sound of oars across the silent ocean.

‘Listen!’ said Will, a low note of excitement in his voice.

‘He’s coming, just as I thought,’ I muttered.

The dipping of the oars grew nearer, and I noted that the strokes were firmer and longer. The food had been needed.

They came to a stop a little distance off the broadside, and the queer voice came again to us through the darkness:

‘Schooner, ahoy!’

‘That you?’ asked Will.

‘Yes,’ replied the voice. ‘I left you suddenly, but – but there was great need.’

‘The lady?’ questioned Will.

‘The – lady is grateful now on earth. She will be more grateful soon in – in heaven.’

Will began to make some reply, in a puzzled voice, but became confused and broke off. I said nothing. I was wondering at the curious pauses, and apart from my wonder, I was full of a great sympathy.

The voice continued, ‘We – she and I, have talked, as we shared the result of God’s tenderness and yours –’

Will interposed, but without coherence.

‘I beg of you not to – to belittle your deed of Christian charity this night,’ said the voice. ‘Be sure that it has not escaped His notice.’

It stopped, and there was a full minute’s silence. Then it came again. ‘We have spoken together upon that which–which has befallen us. We had thought to go out, without telling anyone of the terror which has come into our – lives. She is with me in believing that tonight’s happenings are under a special ruling, and that it is God’s wish that we should tell to you all that we have suffered since – since–’

‘Yes?’ said Will softly.

‘Since the sinking of the Albatross .’

‘Ah!’ I exclaimed involuntarily. ‘She left Newcastlefor ’ Friscosome six months ago, and hasn’t been heard of since.’