Уильям Моэм - The Narrow Corner

“Known a lot of them big fellows. Sentimental, that’s what they are. Never ’it a chap smaller than yourself. Their minds don’t work quick, you know. A bit stupid, generally.”

The doctor chuckled. It diverted him to think of that rascal making shrewd use of the decent feelings of others to go his crooked, nasty way.

“You took a risk. If he hadn’t had himself well in hand he might have hit you before he knew what he was doing.”

“What was ’e upset about? Sweet on the girl ’imself?”

Dr. Saunders thought it unnecessary to tell him that Erik was engaged to Louise Frith.

“There are men who object to hearing their girl friends spoken of in that way,” he answered.

“Come off it, doc. Don’t pull that stuff on me. It don’t go with you at all. If a girl’s easy a chap likes to know. If someone else ’as been there, well, there’s a chance for ’im, ain’t there? Stands to reason.”

“You know, you’re one of the dirtiest tykes I’ve ever met, skipper,” said the doctor in his detached manner.

“That’s a compliment in its way, ain’t it? Funny part is, you don’t like me any the less if I am. Seems to me to prove you ain’t exactly a saint yourself. And I don’t mind tellin’ you I’ve ’eard as much in various quarters.”

Dr. Saunders’ eyes twinkled.

“Digestion troubling you to–night, skipper?”

“I ain’t exactly comfortable, and it would be a lie if I said I was. I don’t say I’m in pain, mind you, but I just ain’t comfortable.”

“It’s a long business. You can’t expect to be able to digest a pound of lead after a week’s treatment.”

“I don’t want to digest a pound of lead, doc, and I don’t pretend for a minute I do. Mind you, I ain’t complaining. I don’t say you ain’t done me good. You ’ave. But I got a long way to go yet.”

“Well, I’ve told you, have your teeth out. They’re no use to you, and God knows, they don’t add to your beauty.”

“I will. I give you me word of honour. The minute I’m through with the cruise. I don’t see why we can’t pop over to Singapore. Sure to be a good American dentist there. The kid wants to go to Batavia now.”

“Does he?”

“Yes, ’e got a cable this mornin’. I don’t know what it was all about, but ’e’s all for stoppin’ on ’ere a bit and then goin’ to Batavia.”

“How d’you know he got a cable?”

“I found it in the pocket of ’is pants. He put on a clean suit to go ashore in, and ’e left his pants lyin’ about. Untidy little blighter. That shows you ’e’s not a sailor. A sailorman’s always tidy. Has to be. It was all Greek to me. The cable, I mean. In cypher.”

“I suppose you didn’t notice that it was addressed to me?”

“You? No, I can’t say I did.”

“Well, have another look at it. I just gave it to Fred to decode.”

The doctor found it highly diverting thus to throw Captain Nichols off the scent.

“Then what’s the reason of all this changin’ around? He was always for keepin’ away from big places. Naturally, I thought it was on account of the cops. Anyhow, I mean to get to Singapore or sink the ruddy boat in the attempt.” Captain Nichols leaned over impressively and looked with deep emotion into the doctor’s eyes. “I wonder if you realise what it means to a chap not to ’ave ’ad a beefsteak and kidney puddin’ for ten years. Talk of girls. You can ’ave all the girls in the world you like. There’s not one I wouldn’t give if I could only eat a suet puddin’ with plenty of treacle and a good wallop of cream all over it. That’s my idea of ’eaven and you can put your golden ’arps where the monkey put the nuts.”

ERIK, with his deliberate stride that seemed to measure the earth as a man might measure a cricket pitch, walked down to the beach. He was unmoved. He dismissed the skipper’s shameless innuendo from his mind. It had left a nasty taste in his mouth and as though he had drunk a nauseous draught, he spat. But he was not devoid of humour and he gave a little low chuckle as he thought of the innuendo’s absurdity. Fred was just a boy. He could not imagine that any woman would look at him twice; and he knew Louise much too well to suppose even for an instant that she could give him even a thought.

The beach was deserted. Everyone slept. He walked along the pier and hailed the Fenton . She was anchored a hundred yards out. Her light shone like a little steady eye on the smooth surface of the water. He shouted again. There was no answer. But a muffled, sleepy voice rose from below him. It was the blackfellow in the dinghy waiting for Captain Nichols. Erik went down the steps and found it tied to the bottom rung of the rail. The man was still half asleep. He yawned noisily as he stirred himself.

“Is that the Fenton’s dinghy?”

“Ye’. What you want?”

The blackfellow thought it might be the skipper or Fred Blake, but seeing his mistake was irritable and suspicious.

“Just row me on board. I want to see Fred Blake.”

“He ain’t on board.”

“Sure?”

“If he ain’t swum.”

“Oh, all right. Good night.”

The man gave a discontented grunt and settled down again to sleep. Erik walked back along the silent road. He thought that Fred had gone to the bungalow and Frith had kept him talking. He smiled as he wondered what the boy would make of the Englishman’s mystical discourse. Something. He had taken to Fred. Beneath his pretence of worldly wisdom, and behind all that idle chatter about racing and cricketing, dancing and prize–fighting, you could not but be conscious of a pleasant and simple nature. Erik was not altogether unaware of the lad’s feelings towards himself. Hero–worship. Oh, well, there was no great harm in that. It would pass. He was a decent kid. One might make something of him if one had the chance. It was nice to talk to him and feel that, even if it was all strange to him, he was trying to understand. It might be that if you cast a seed on that grateful soil a fair plant would spring up. Erik tramped on, hoping to meet Fred; they would walk back together, they might go on to his house, and they could rout themselves out some cheese and biscuits and have a bottle of beer. He did not feel at all sleepy. He had not many people to talk to on the island; with Frith and old Swan he had mostly to listen. It was good to talk deep into the night.

“Had tired the sun with talking,” he quoted to himself, “and sent him down the sky.”

Erik was reticent about his private affairs, but he made up his mind to tell Fred of his engagement to Louise. He would like him to know. He had a great desire to talk about her that night. Sometimes love so possessed him that he felt if he did not tell somebody about it his heart would break. The doctor was old and could not understand; he could say things to Fred that it would have embarrassed him to say to a grown man.

It was three miles to the plantation, but his thoughts so absorbed him that he did not notice the distance. He was quite surprised when he arrived. It was funny that he had not met Fred. Then it occurred to him that Fred must have gone in to the hotel during the time he had gone down to the beach. How stupid of him not to think of that! Oh, well, there was nothing to be done about it. Now that he was there he might just as well go in and sit down for a bit. Of course, they’d all be asleep, but he wouldn’t disturb anyone. He often did that; went up to the bungalow after they’d gone to bed and sat there thinking. There was a chair in the garden, below the verandah, in which old Swan sometimes rested in the cool of the evening. It was in front of Louise’s room and it reposed him strangely to sit there quite quietly and look at her window and think of her sleeping so peacefully under her mosquito curtains. Her lovely ash–blond hair was spread on the pillow and she lay on her side, her young breast rising and falling softly in deep slumber. The emotion that filled his heart when he thus pictured her was angel–pure. Sometimes he was a little sad when he thought that this virginal grace must perish and that slim and lovely body at last lie still in death. It was dreadful that a being so beautiful should die. He sat there sometimes till a faint chill in the balmy air, the rustle of the pigeons in the trees, warned him that day was at hand. They were hours of peace and of enchanting serenity. Once he had seen the shutter softly open, and Louise stepped out. Perhaps the heat oppressed her or a dream had awakened her and she wanted a breath of air. On her bare feet she walked across the verandah and with her hands on the rail stood looking at the starry night. She wore a sarong round her loins, but the upper part of her body was naked. She raised her hands and shook out her pale hair over her shoulders. Her body was silhouetted in wan silver against the darkness of the house. She did not look a woman of flesh and blood. She was like a spirit–maiden and Erik, his mind full of the old Danish stories, almost expected her to change into a lovely white bird and fly away to the fabled lands of the sunrise. He sat very still. He was hidden by the darkness. It was so silent that when she gave a little sigh he heard it as though he held her in his arms and her heart were pressed to his. She turned round and went back into her room. She drew the shutter to.