Уильям Моэм - The Narrow Corner

Captain Nichols had the unusual trait that he could play a mean trick on a man without bearing him any ill feeling afterwards, and he could not understand that the injured party might continue to harbour malice. Dr. Saunders noticed the idiosyncrasy with amused detachment.

“My impression is that Kim Ching has a good memory,” he said.

They talked of one thing and another.

“Do you know,” said the captain suddenly, “I don’t believe I’m goin’ to ’ave dyspepsia to–night. Say, what was that stuff you give me?”

“A little preparation that I’ve found useful in chronic cases like yours.”

“I wish you’d give me some more of it.”

“It mightn’t do you any good next time. What you want is treatment.”

“Do you think you could cure me?”

The doctor saw his opportunity coming.

“I don’t know about that. If I could watch you for a few days and try one or two things, I might be able to do something for you.”

“I’ve got a good mind to stay on ’ere for a bit and let you see. We’re in no ’urry.”

“What about Kim Ching?”

“What can ’e do?”

“Come off it,” said Fred Blake. “We don’t want to get into any trouble here. We’re sailing to–morrow.”

“It’s all right for you to talk. You don’t suffer like what I do. Look ’ere, I’ll tell you what I’ll do, I’ll go and see the old devil to–morrow and find out what ’e’s got against me.”

“We’re sailing to–morrow,” repeated the other.

“We’re sailin’ when I say we sail.”

The two men looked at one another for an instant. The skipper smiled with his usual foxy geniality, but Fred Blake frowned with sullen anger. Dr. Saunders interrupted the quarrel that was in the air.

“I don’t suppose you know Chinamen as well as I do, captain, but you must know something about them. If they’ve got their knife into you they’re not going to let you off for the asking.”

The skipper thumped his fist on the table.

“Well, it was only a matter of a couple of ’undred quid. Old Kim’s as rich as be damned. What difference can that make to ’im? He’s an old crook, anyway.”

“Have you never noticed that nothing hurts the feelings of a crook so much as to have another crook do the dirty on him?”

Captain Nichols wore a moody scowl. His little greenish eyes, set too close together, seemed to converge as he shot a bitter glance into space. He looked a very ugly customer. But at the doctor’s remark he threw back his head and laughed.

“That’s a good one. I like you, doc, you don’t mind what you say, do you? Well, it takes all sorts to make a world. Keep your eyes skinned and let the devil take the ’indmost, that’s what I say. And when you see a chance of makin’ a bit you’re a fool if you don’t take it. Of course everyone makes a mistake now and again. But you can’t always tell beforehand ’ow things are goin’ to turn out.”

“If the doctor gives you some more of that stuff and tells you what to do, you’ll be all right,” said Blake.

He had recovered his temper.

“No, I won’t do that,” said Dr. Saunders. “But I’ll tell you what: I’m fed up with this God–forsaken island and I want to get out; if you’ll give me a passage on the lugger to Timor or Macassar or Surabaya, you shall have all the treatment you want.”

“That’s an idea,” said Captain Nichols.

“A damned rotten one,” cried the other.

“Why?”

“We can’t carry passengers.”

“We can sign ’im on.”

“There’s no accommodation.”

“I guess the doctor ain’t particular.”

“Not a bit. I’ll bring my own food and drink. I’ll get a lot of canned stuff at Kim Ching’s, and he’s got plenty of beer.”

“Nothing doing,” said Blake.

“Look ’ere, young feller–me–lad, who gives orders on this boat, you or me?”

“Well, if it comes down to brass tacks, I do.”

“Put that out of your ’ead at once, my lad. I’m skipper and what I say goes.”

“Whose boat is it?”

“You know very well whose boat it is.”

Dr. Saunders watched them curiously. His bright, quick eyes missed nothing. The captain had lost all his geniality and his face was mottled with red. The youth bore a look of thunder. His fists were clenched and his head thrust forward.

“I won’t have him on the boat, and that’s that,” he cried.

“Oh, come on,” said the doctor, “it’s not going to hurt you. It’ll only be for five or six days. Be a sport. If you won’t take me I shall have to stay here God knows how long.”

“That’s your look out.”

“What have you got against me?”

“That’s my business.”

Dr. Saunders gave him a questioning glance. Blake was not only angry, he was nervous. His handsome, sullen face was pale. It was curious that he should be so disinclined to let him come on the lugger. In these seas people made no bones about that sort of thing. Kim Ching had said they carried no cargo, but it might be the sort of cargo that did not take up much space and was easily hidden. Neither morphine nor cocaine took up a great deal of room, and there was a lot of money to be made if you could take them to the right places.

“You’d be doing me a great favour,” he said gently.

“I’m sorry; I don’t want to seem a rotten sport, but me and Nichols are here on business, and we can’t go out of our way to land a passenger in some place we don’t want to go to.”

“I’ve known the doctor for twenty years,” said Nichols. “He’s all right.”

“You never set eyes on him till this morning.”

“I know all about ’im.” The captain grinned, showing his broken, discoloured little teeth, and Dr. Saunders reflected that he should have them out. “And if what I ’ear is true ’e ain’t got much on any of us.”

He gave the doctor a shrewd look. It was interesting to see the hardness behind his genial smile. The doctor bore the glance without flinching. You could not have told if the shaft had gone home or if he had no notion of what the skipper was talking.

“I don’t bother myself much with other people’s concerns,” he smiled.

“Live and let live, I say,” said the captain, with the amiable toleration of the scamp.

“When I say no, I mean no,” answered the young man obstinately.

“Oh, you make me tired,” said Nichols. “There ain’t nothin’ to be scared about.”

“Who says I’m scared?”

“I do.”

“I’ve got nothing to be scared about.”

They flung the short sentences at one another quickly. Their exasperation was increasing. Dr. Saunders wondered what the secret was that lay between them. It had evidently more to do with Fred Blake than with Nichols. For once the rascal had nothing on his conscience. He reflected that Captain Nichols was not the sort of man who would make it easy for anyone whose secret he knew. He could not exactly tell why, but he had an impression that, whatever it was, Captain Nichols did not know but only suspected it. The doctor, however, was very anxious to get on the lugger, and he did not mean to give up the project before he need. It amused him to exercise a certain astuteness to gain his end.

“Look here, I don’t want to cause a quarrel between you two. If Blake doesn’t want me, let’s say no more about it.”

“But I want you,” retorted the skipper. “It’s a chance in a million for me. If there’s a man alive as can put my digestion right, it is you, and d’you think I’m goin’ to miss an opportunity like that? Not ’alf.”

“You think too much about your digestion,” said Blake. “That’s my belief. If you just ate what you wanted to and didn’t bother, you’d be all right.”