The Closed Harbour (11 page)

"I must get away."

"You are wondering what they will do?"

"I suppose I am. The way they cling to me, at least she does, motherly love I suppose. It is not so simple. I had better think it over."

"Nothing is simple."

"You have not shaved or washed for four days and you will go about with that horrible coat and cap, it has become your second skin, Marius."

"I must really straighten myself up, some terrible lethargy has got hold of me, I seem to have no will, except to hide away when I am not cringing before somebody."

"You are perhaps a little crazy. For instance you think because you have sunk two ships somebody will just come along and give you complete liberty to sink another one. You may be proud, you may at times have taken leave of your senses, but you are not stupid, surely you are not stupid?"

"God! The terrible position I am in. I am afraid to tell myself what."

"The hell of it is they don't even know."

"The hell of it is they may have to."

Marius rolled over on his back. Through a slit in the curtain he caught a pencil line of sky, a swift vision of blue, the sea, it was always there. He saw it with a lazy, indifferent eye.

"Consider certain things. They are broken. They have sold up and left their home, which was once your home, you have broken the roots of something you never really understood. They are here, below there. They have followed where you went. Blood is blood anywhere on earth."

"I have been here nearly four months, each day like a ladder, climbing, somewhere there is a rung missing, there always is. I cannot even find a berth here. And now I will ship away as anything, I have made up my mind. There is one thing of which I can never be sure. Who saw? Who is dead and who is alive? The timbers are rotting but there is always more timber. There are yet ships upon the sea."

"You know perfectly well that if you could once see Follet things might look different. He is only formidable because not seen. He is an intelligent man, a man of character, but one has to get past his little henchman. If one knew where Follet lived. You would go. You would beg for a berth. You would begin at the very bottom. Work upwards."

"I am perhaps telling myself a fairy-tale."

"You are talking for the sake of talking, Marius has been talking to Marius for some weeks now, like a parrot."

"I cannot remain here any longer."

"I should think not. Get this into your thick head at once, that if once you were a commander, you are not so now, and never will be again. The only ship whose bridge you will stride is a fairy ship and she sails in a fairy sea. Though you hug your misery you also hug your infernal illusion."

"Christ! I must get up and go out."

He sat up, stretching his legs, he swung round and out of the bed.

He sat on its edge, his head between his hands.

There came to his ears a shout, a single word. "Nine."

It seemed to strike on the door like a hammer, it made Marius jump.

Then the front door banged. The house was silent again.

"Nine."

Which meant "it is nine o'clock and there is food on the table."

He stood up, shivered a little, then crossed to the door in his shirt. He opened it, and from the top of the stairs called, "all right."

But there was only the silence. He came into the room again, shut the door violently, went to the chair to get his clothes. There were no clothes.

"Am I still drunk, where the hell are my clothes?"

He searched frantically around the room, he tossed the bed-clothes this way and that, finally flung them in a great heap on the floor, he rushed to the only cupboard, this was empty.

"I must be drunk. I undressed here. Somebody has stolen my clothes."

He stood by the window, bewildered, what on earth had happened? Then he sat down on the disordered bed and stared round the room.

No mistake at all. This was his own room. It certainly was not Lucy's. He went out, stood listening on the landing. Then he crept down the stairs. He quietly opened the kitchen door, peered round, there was nobody there. He saw the table, the coffee, the roll. He entered. Then on the chair he saw the bundle.

"I burnt your rags."

He picked up the piece of paper, read again.

"Burnt them. My God, she's burnt my uniform."

He picked up the bundle, opened it, let the garments fall slowly, one after the other. He watched them fall. A black suit and vest, a white muffler, a loud patterned check cap.

"She thinks I'm a peasant," he shouted, "she thinks I'm a peasant."

He sat down.

"They are both out. At the mass. Of course. Would I be happy if I went to mass? Would I be happy in my peasant's clothes?"

He shook with laughter.

"It means something else. 'Get out.' I shall."

He picked up the clothes and returned to his bedroom. He dressed, washed, he shaved, stared at himself in the mirror for some time. Then he went down and had his breakfast.

"Another day. Only the clock talking, sometimes I hate that clock so much I would like to dash it to pieces. They will come back, wearing their sackcloth. Words are so precious with them that I suppose if they pressed one out, it would bleed. They will soon be back from the mass, I had better get out."

He crossed to the hanging mirror and stared at it, the reflection in the glass attracted him.

"To-day I do not even know who I am," he played about with the peaked cap, "Marius you hardly know yourself."

He pulled down hard on the peak, gave a shrug of the shoulders, then quickly left the house by the rear door. It was turned ten o'clock. Two women were gossiping over a fence, a boy played in the gutter. He hurried away, but from time to time glanced behind him.

"I am getting into a bad habit," he thought.

He stood on the pavement edge, he looked West. Over there lay Heros, a big firm, if he went this morning it was possible that Philippe would scarcely recognise him. They had many ships. One might say one had tried for the last time, then try again. But suddenly he had turned on his heel and was hurrying off in another direction. He walked faster, then, hardly realizing it he began to run. And he did not stop until he had reached the tall ugly house on the corner.

There was the loose Michelin poster swinging away from the wall, and there in front of the door the battered-looking lamp that was never lighted. Its door was closed. He did not knock but pushed against it, and it did not give. He turned the handle, the door gave to him, he pushed and went inside. He stood still in the half darkened lobby, then he felt for the bolt and shot this back. The sound echoed through the house.

"Who is there?"

He recognised Madame's voice, but did not answer. He knew where he wanted to go. Mounting the three stairs he went off down a long narrow corridor. When he came to the door he wanted he heard voices, girls chattering. He gripped the handle and pushed, there was some resistance. Seized with a sudden fury he threw himself against it.

Behind it stood two naked women.

"Shift your great arse," Marius said, he still knew where to go, what he wanted, he had already seen her lying in the bed. She was still asleep.

"Lucy."

"Christ! She looks even more naked when she's asleep," staring down at her, the mouth was partly open, "I could not see her more clearly if she was split wide open."

"Lucy! Wake up."

He began shaking her. Behind him the two girls were still so astonished by the intrusion that they remained speechless.

"Here, you bitch, wake up," Marius shouted, "come on," his hands gripped her shoulders, "damn you for a bitch, wake up, was I talking in my sleep last night? Was I drunk, very drunk?"

Lucy slowly opened her eyes, then instinctively raised her hands and covered her bosom.

"Who the hell are you?"

"You know who I am. You knew last night, and the night before, tell me what did I say last night?"

"What do you want?"

The expression on her face angered him, "injured innocence, by God."

"Not you. Was I talking in my sleep last night. What did I say? Lucy, please tell me what I said."

His manner changed, she at length sat up in the bed. Her mouth was still open, and she continued to stare at him.

"For God's sake," he said, "can't you wake up, at least you would not look so ugly. Lucy, please tell me, tell me now, what did I say?"

"Tell you what?" She yawned, stretched up her arms. "What bloody right have you in here, you haven't even paid."

He caught her arms and pulled them down, he leaned over her.

"I beg you to tell me this one thing, Lucy, what did I say, you must have heard me, we weren't both snoring like pigs, I'm sure, I know I parroted in my sleep, but what was it I said. Please, Lucy."

He added, without meaning too, "that Labiche was here, too, that fish—."

"How do I know what you said, let go of my arms, I don't know
who
you are. Anyhow I hate your suit, get off my bed."

She pushed vigorously and he did not resist. He turned, saw the two girls.

"Please," Marius, said.

They went out without a word, he was alone with Lucy.

"Madame will be here any moment, I have to go shopping with her. It is my morning."

She went and sat down at the dressing-table, and he sat watching her.

"This flesh-house stinks of the cheapest perfume," Marius said, "what kind do you use, Lucy, I could find you better smelling stuff than that."

She washed in the basin, combed her hair, smiled at herself in the glass, she could see him sitting there.

"You do not even take off your horrible cap," she said.

He removed this and flung it to the floor.

"Is that snake still crawling about your upper arm?" she asked.

"What did I say last night. Christ blast you, can't you answer?"

"You certainly do not look like a captain, Mr. Marius. There! Now that is Madame, you had better scoot," but the door opened and Madame Lustigne was standing there.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, she had not recognised him. "We have our hours of business like everybody else."

"It is that nice man in a peasant's suit," Lucy said, she turned and added, "I am quite ready, Madame Lustigne."

"Go and get your breakfast," Madame Lustigne said, and was so determined that she should not miss it that she took the girl by the arm and pushed her out through the door. She came back and faced Marius.

"This sort of thing does not help anybody, I heard you come in, you might try not to be so clumsy another time. What do you require now that you may not have at the proper time, Captain Marius? It is half-past ten o'clock. Are the gangways everywhere pulled up and the ships gone?"

She was standing very close to him, and he watched her high bosoms, they seemed to prance at him.

"I came to talk to Lucy," Marius said.

"You are yet miserable, you are now here four months and a day. And yet no ship."

She watched him swinging his cap as he sat there.

"Not yet," he said.

"Shame. Shame. So unfair. My poor captain, tell me, did you in fact kill the creature?"

When he did not answer she went on, "you are unhappy, yes, well of course I can see that. Many people are, my Captain, very many. Outside in the world everything is well—you, will come with me, Mr. Marius, we will have breakfast together, in some way I like you, yet I do not know why. Come along."

She caught him by the arm, he followed her out.

"I see that you have washed yourself and even changed," she said.

"Poor creature," she thought, "he has lost what he calls his ticket, how he talks when he has had a drop. A captain, a sailor, a bum."

In the narrow corridor she paused and smiled up at him.

"At half past ten in the morning, sailor, I should not do this for anybody else, but then you
are
a sailor, and they are our best customers and I am honest enough to value their patronage."

The small poorly lighted room gave Marius a feeling of claustrophobia.

"Sit down, Captain. Now I will bring in the breakfast," and she left him.

There was a uniformity about these rooms, all small and of the same size, they might have been tailored, the same curtain on the windows, the same floor covering. Only Madame Lustigne's bed was different, and this was of wood, the best oak.

Marius admired a sheer cleanliness here, absent from the other rooms, it lacked their scruff and stuffiness, and also the window was open. The bedsheets were of the purest linen, and clean, the blankets thick and a warm green in colour. The whole covered with a heavily decorated counterpane.

"A sailor's payment," he thought.

The window was small and barred. The sight of it un-nerved him yet he did not know why. He stood by it, looking down into a courtyard, where he saw a mass of litter and debris, and a great clothes-line of shifts, in varying colours, from orange to the brightest blue, bellying in the breeze like sails. He walked slowly round the room. At the altar he stopped.

"Always the Virgin, when it isn't Magdalene," he muttered.

The dressing-table fascinated him. He sat down on the small stool, looked at everything at once, and then piece by piece, particularly the array of bottles, of all shapes. One after another, he lifted the objects up and examined them. He unscrewed each fancy bottle and smelt it. A number of brightly-coloured tubes contained paint, perfume, lipstick, miraculous mud, Eau-de-Cologne, mascara. A single silver-backed hairbrush, some loose hairs, shampoos in bottles and packets, powder clotted on the corner of the mirror like a small white cloud. He picked up two tiny handkerchiefs.

"This is what smells," he said, holding them to his nose, "this is the perfume that stinks out the house."

A photograph of Madame, ten years younger, he thought, and looking her very best, did not attract him. He was sitting there, idly eavesdropping, when the door opened and Madame returned with a tray.

"You like my room, Captain?"

She put down the tray.

"This is most unusual, and I do not mind, do you?"

"I am not hungry," Marius said.