Уильям Моэм - The Narrow Corner

“We’ll anchor at Badu to–night,” he said. “That’s about forty–five miles. It looks all right in the Sailing Directions. There’s an anchorage there.”

“What is it?”

“Oh, just an uninhabited island. We generally anchor for the night.”

“Blake doesn’t seem any more pleased to have me on board,” said the doctor.

“We ’ad a bit of an argument last night.”

“What’s the trouble?”

“He’s only a kid.”

Dr. Saunders knew that he must earn his passage, and he knew also that when a man has told you all his symptoms he will have gained confidence and will tell you a great deal more besides. He began to ask the skipper questions about his health. There was nothing on which he was prepared to talk at greater length. The doctor took him down into the cabin, made him lie down, and carefully examined him. When they went on deck again the grey–haired blackfellow, Tom Obu by name, who was cook and steward, was bringing aft their dinner.

“Come on, Fred,” called the skipper.

They sat down.

“This smells good,” said Nichols, as Tom Obu took the lid off the saucepan. “Somethin’ new, Tom?”

“I shouldn’t be surprised if my boy hadn’t lent a hand,” said the doctor.

“I think I can eat this,” said the skipper as he took a mouthful of a mess of rice and meat that he ladled on to his plate. “What do you think of this, Fred? Seems to me we’re goin’ to do ourselves O.K. with the doc on board.”

“It’s better than Tom’s cooking, I’ll say that for it.”

They ate with hearty appetite. The captain lit his pipe.

“If I don’t ’ave a pain after this I’ll say you’re a wonder, doc.”

“You won’t have a pain.”

“What beats me is ’ow a fellow like you come to settle in a place like Fu–chou. You could make a fortune in Sydney.”

“I’m all right in Fu–chou. I like China.”

“Yep? Studied in England, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve ’eard tell you was a specialist, ’ad a big practice in London, and I don’t know what all.”

“You mustn’t believe all you hear.”

“Seems funny your chuckin’ everything and settlin’ in a lousy Chinese city. You must ’ave been makin’ a packet in London.”

The skipper looked at him with his little shifty blue eyes and his grinning face was quick with malice. But the doctor bore his scrutiny blandly. He smiled, showing those large discoloured teeth of his, his eyes shrewd and alert, but gave no sign of embarrassment.

“Ever go back to England?”

“No. Why should I? My home’s in Fu–chou.”

“I don’t blame you. England’s finished, if you ask me. Too many rules and regulations for my taste. Why can’t they leave a fellow alone? that’s what I’d like to know. Not on the register, are you?”

He shot the question out suddenly as though he wished to take the doctor by surprise. But he had met someone who was a match for him.

“Don’t say you haven’t confidence in me, Captain. You must believe in your doctor. He can’t do much for you if you don’t.”

“Believe in you? Why, if I didn’t believe in you you wouldn’t be ’ere.” Captain Nichols grew deadly serious; this was something that concerned himself. “I know there’s no one as is a patch on you anywheres between Bombay and Sydney, and if the truth was only told I shouldn’t be surprised if you’d ’ave to go a long way in London before you could find anyone as could ’old a candle to you. I know you’ve taken every degree a fellow can take. I’ve ’eard tell as ’ow if you’d stayed in London you’d be a baronet by now.”

“I don’t mind telling you that I’ve got more degrees than are any use to me,” the doctor laughed.

“Funny you shouldn’t be in the book. What’s it called? The ‘Medical Directory.’”

“What makes you think I’m not?” murmured the doctor, smiling but wary.

“Fellow I knew in Sydney looked you up. Talkin’ about you, ’e was, to another doctor, pal of ’is, and sayin’ you was such a marvel and all that, and out of curiosity they ’ad a look–see.”

“Perhaps your friend looked in the wrong edition.”

Captain Nichols chuckled slyly.

“Perhaps he did. I never thought of that.”

“Anyhow, I’ve never seen the inside of a gaol, Captain.”

The skipper gave a little start. He repressed it at once, but he changed colour. Dr. Saunders had made a shot in the dark and his eyes twinkled. The skipper laughed.

“That’s a good one. No more ’ave I, doc, but don’t you forget there’s many a man’s gone to gaol for no fault of ’is own and there’s many a man as might ’ave gone there if he ’adn’t thought a change of air would suit him.”

They looked at one another and chuckled.

“What’s there to laugh about?” said Fred Blake.

TOWARDS evening they sighted the island where Captain Nichols designed to pass the night, a cone covered to its summit with trees so that it looked like a hill in a picture by Piero della Francesca, and sailing round it they came to the anchorage they had read of in the “Sailing Directions.” It was a well–sheltered cove and the water was so clear that as you looked over the side you saw on the ocean floor the fantastic efflorescence of the coral. You saw the fish swimming, like natives of the forest threading their familiar way through the jungle. Not a little to their surprise they found a schooner anchored there.

“What’s that?” asked Fred Blake.

His eyes were anxious, and indeed it was strange to enter upon that silent cove, protected by the green hill, in the still cool of the evening and see there a sailing vessel. She lay, sails furled, and because the spot was so solitary her presence was vaguely sinister. Captain Nichols looked at her through his glasses.

“She’s a pearler. Port Darwin. I don’t know what she’s doin’ ’ere. There’s a lot of ’em round by the Aru Islands.”

They saw the crew, a white man among them, watching them, and presently a boat was lowered.

“They’re comin’ over,” said the skipper.

By the time they were anchored, the dinghy had rowed up and Captain Nichols exchanged shouts of greeting with the captain of the schooner. He came on board, an Australian, and told them that his Japanese diver was sick and he was on his way to one of the Dutch islands where he could get a doctor.

“We got a doctor on board,” said Captain Nichols. “We’re givin’ ’im a passage.”

The Australian asked Dr. Saunders if he would come along and see his sick man, and after they had given him a cup of tea, for he refused a drink, the doctor got into the dinghy.

“Have you got any Australian papers?” asked Fred.

“I’ve got a ‘Bulletin.’ It’s a month old.”

“Never mind. It’ll be new to us.”

“You’re welcome to it. I’ll send it back by the doctor.”

It did not take Dr. Saunders long to discover that the diver was suffering from a severe attack of dysentery. He was very ill. He gave him a hypodermic injection, and told the captain there was nothing to do but keep him quiet.

“Damn these Japs, they’ve got no constitution. I shan’t get any more work out of him for some time then?”

“If ever,” said the doctor.

They shook hands and he got into the dinghy again. The blackfellow pushed off.

“Here, wait a bit. I forgot to give you that paper.”

The Australian dived into the cabin and in a minute came out again with a “Sydney Bulletin.” He threw it into the dinghy.

Captain Nichols and Fred were playing cribbage when the doctor climbed back on to the Fenton . The sun was setting and the smooth sea was lucid with pale and various colour, blue, green, salmon–pink and milky purple, and it was like the subtle and tender colour of silence.