The Jack Finney Reader

by Jack Finney

  "Yeah." I shook his hand perfunctorily and dropped it. "I remember now; torpedoman, first class, weren't you? And not on my ship at all; no particular reason why I should remember you, is there?" and I smiled at him.

  "No. No reason," he said, smiling at me a little mockingly as he sat down on the sand beside the girl. "But I remember you, lieutenant."

  I didn't answer — I wasn't here to bicker and act the kid — and I sat down on the sand, smiling at the girl across from me because I had the sudden feeling it would annoy Moreno. She smiled back, but faintly, her eyes amused, knowing exactly what I was doing, and I grinned.

  "Rosa is a relative of Ed," Vic said, nodding at Moreno, which didn't explain anything to me, but I didn't question him, because now the man I'd first seen on the porch came out of the house and walked down the steps toward us. He smiled, plodding through the dry sand, and I started to get to my feet again, but he wagged a hand at me. "Stay where you are," he said pleasantly, and sat down on the sand a yard from Moreno. Vic was beside me to the right, lying back on one elbow in his denims and blue work shirt. Moreno sat opposite him, cross-legged on the sand. Rosa, beside him, lay back on the sand on an elbow now, one good-looking knee raised, watching us all with amused interest.

  "This is Hugh Brittain," Vic said to the new man, then he turned to me. "Frank Lauffnauer," he said.

  "Glad to know you," Lauffnauer said, smiling and leaning forward from the waist to extend his hand.

  "Glad to know you," I said as we shook hands, and in that instant I decided it would be me who'd open the meeting, and that whatever I said would be abrupt and challenging. I spoke immediately, taking the floor before anyone else could begin. "You a navy man, Frank?" I said.

  "Highest-ranking man here," Moreno said casually, but instantly. He was trying to take the initiative away from me, I knew, but I didn't give him the chance.

  "What rank?" I said, and Lauffnauer folded his arms across his chest, regarding me pleasantly.

  "Commander," he answered, and something in the way he pronounced the word struck a spark of recognition in my mind, and I realized something else that had been simmering in some part of my brain. "Glad to know you," he'd said a few moments ago, and now I realized that he'd pronounced "glad" almost, though not quite, as though the d had been followed by a t. And now the C in "commander" had been slightly stressed, as though in his mind the word was spelled with a k.

  "What navy was that, Frank?" I said.

  "German," he answered, his tone confirming that he understood I knew he would say this; and the G in "German" came out a "Ch."

  Moreno said, "You know, lieutenant, we might have a question or two ourselves. If you don't mind."

  "Yeah, Hugh," Vic said easily and conciliatingly. "We'll brief you thoroughly on everyone here; and there's still a fifth man in the house. But first—"

  "It's all right, Vic … Ed," Lauffnauer said, wagging a palm at them, then folding his arms again. "He should ask all he wishes to know. It is quite right; and we should understand each other. I think Hugh and I will be friends."

  In a dead monotone, giving no weight or emphasis to any of the words, I said. "Were you a Nazi?"

  He moved one arm, palm upward, in what amounted to a shrug, then folded them across his chest again. "I am never sure, in this country, what people mean when they ask that," he answered. "Was I a member of the National Socialist Party of Germany?" he continued. "No, I was not. But did I fight in the armed forces of Germany under the rule of the Nazi Party? Yes, of course. And did I hate Adolf Hitler?" Again, with a slight move of one shoulder, he shrugged. "Not at first," he said quietly, "not before the war."

  He put his hands on his thighs and leaned toward me, eyes narrowed and intent on my face. "When I was a young man, Mr. Brittain, back home finally, in the early 1920's, a veteran of the first war, honorably discharged, things were — difficult in Germany. More so than I think you may know. Jobs were most hard to find; the pay very low; and often I did not eat at all, and seldom enough. But when Hitler became Reichschancellor" — he pronounced it "Reich-kunslur," as well as I can reproduce it — "things changed. Then I worked; then I even got more schooling. I became a student at a German school for submarine men — secretly, for the Treaty of Versailles forbade it, as it forbade a great many things which kept Germany hungry during my youth. But under Hitler I became an officer — me, a former enlisted man. Hitler concerned me, Mr. Brittain, for I truly do not like fanatics of any kind. But still" — again he shrugged — "l ate, I had dignity again, I became an officer in the navy. And I did not hate Hitler at first."

  I nodded. "And so you became a submarine commander?"

  "In time. For over three years of the war I only trained others. I commanded a U-boat for just over five months, before the war ended."

  "Sink many ships?" I said pleasantly.

  "Four. And hit two others."

  "Were any of them American?" I said it softly, smiling at him.

  "No," he said, "as it happened, none. I sank four merchant ships, three of them British, one of them Greek. I torpedoed an English grain vessel, completely disabling, but not sinking it; it was my last torpedo, and I returned to base at Kiel. And so, Mr. Brittain, yes, I was a submarine commander. And I did what submarine commanders do in wartime. I fought on the wrong side, true. Mr. Brittain, all Germans say this now, and a very great many of them lie, but not all; I did not know — I was in the navy throughout the war, and I simply did not know of the terrible things Germans were doing in occupied Europe. I truly did not, and when you come to know me, you will believe me."

  I believed him now. Here, a yard away from me, smiling, was a former German submarine commander; yet there was no monocle in his eye, and he hadn't once shouted, Achtung!

  "Well" — I looked around the group — "any more navies represented?"

  "One," Moreno said shortly. He was sitting up now, and I could see he'd had enough of my taking over, and he muttered something I couldn't make out, which was probably a good thing. Glancing up at the house, he called, "Line!" and we all turned and sat staring at the door. A tall, thin Negro in gray wash slacks, black sweater and a white shirt open at the collar came strolling out onto the porch, eating an apple. As he came down the steps, smiling, and walked toward us across the sand, I saw that his brown eyes, deep-set under his brows, were wise and intelligent; just now they looked a little amused. I got to my feet as he stopped beside us, and Vic said, "This is Lincoln Langley, Hugh; usually called Linc …. Hugh Brittain, Linc," and we each said something and shook hands.

  "Sit down, Hugh," Linc said then. "I'll be going right back to the house." He grinned. "It won't quite do for me to hobnob with the rest of you out here in broad daylight."

  "Yeah" — Vic grinned back at him — "we're strictly an ordinary little group no different from anyone else on the island today, out sunning ourselves on the beach. I guess Linc must be the cook or chauffeur or something …. What do you want to be, Linc?"

  "Butler," he answered, smiling.

  Then Rosa sat up and leaned toward me, smiling mockingly. "You do not like Nazis, Mr. Brittain?" she said softly. "Good! Neither do I; and with more reason than you, I think. I saw the Americans drive them from Italy when I was a girl; yet now, today, Linc cannot sit here with the rest of us." She sat waiting inquiringly, and I had nothing to say.

  Then she lounged back on the sand as Lauffnauer spoke gently. "So do not be too hard on me, Hugh; it is not I who am opposed to Lincoln Langley on this beach."

  "Nor I," I said. "Langley or anyone else."

  "Good," Lauffnauer said, "and I believe you."

  Then Moreno spoke. "Let's get on with it," he said shortly. "Linc's an Englishman, and he served on a limey sub."

  I was astonished somehow, and I'm sure my face showed it, because Linc smiled. "Quite right," he said. "I'm of Jamaican descent; my father was a merchant seaman, he was often in England, and he and my mother emigrated there just before I was born; they bought a small farm. So I
was born in England, an English citizen, and I served four years in British submarines; wireless operator first class, later a chief."

  "Well" — I grinned up at Linc, then glanced around at the others, my eyes smiling and friendly — "we're a motley crew, all right."

  "We sure are," Vic said, "and a good one." Then he glanced up at Langley. "Any questions about Hugh here, Linc? Want us to move on up to the house so you can sit in on this?"

  "No." Langley shook his head. "He's qualified; you told us that last week. And he looks fine to me. Whatever the rest of you decide is O.K. … See you later, Hugh," he said pleasantly, and I nodded, and he walked on back to the house.

  "All right, lieutenant," Moreno said then, "you ready to listen? Or you got more questions?"

  "Yeah," I said, "one more, anyway," and I nodded at Rosa Lucchesi. She was sitting now, arms around her legs, one cheek resting on her knees, and she just smiled, and Moreno grinned too.

  "Why, sure," he said, "I can tell you why Rosa is here." He paused momentarily, enjoying this. "She's part of the crew. Any objections?"

  "Objections? No. But before you recruit me, I have to know why."

  "We've got to have Rosa, Hugh," Vic said quickly. "There's a reason, a good one, and you'll hear all about it."

  "In any case," Lauffnauer said gently, "we are not sailing around the world; we may not even need to dive. A few simple duties, that is all, which she can perform quite as well as a man."

  "I will make as good a man as you, Mr. Brittain," Rosa said, and I nodded.

  "Sure," I said, "and a lot better girl."

  "That's right." Vic grinned. "The Navy was never like this, was it, Hugh?"

  "Well, if we're sure the lieutenant hasn't any more questions about us," Moreno said, "maybe it's all right if we ask a few about him?"

  Again Vic spoke quickly, intervening. "Sure. I haven't any; I served in the Navy with Hugh, and I'm the reason he's here now. I think he's all right with you, too, isn't he, Frank?"

  Lauffnauer nodded. "So far as I can tell; I am sure he is. If he walked onto a ship of mine to join the crew, I'd expect him to do well. If he didn't" — he smiled at me — "I would shoot him."

  I nodded at Lauffnauer, then turned to Moreno. "What's on your mind?" I said.

  He didn't answer or glance at me. Speaking to Vic and Lauffnauer, he began talking — slowly, choosing his words and thoughts carefully. "He's qualified to serve on a submarine just as well as anyone here. No question about that. And I'm sure he has guts. Of a certain kind. In a war I'm sure he'd be noble and heroic, an inspiration to his men." He grinned slightly with one corner of his mouth. "But this takes nerve of a different kind. Everyone of us has to be ready to do anything necessary; anything that's necessary."

  "And you think he won't?" Vic said.

  Moreno shrugged. "I don't say that; I just don't know. Do you? How good is he? How tough? Really tough?"

  "As tough as you are, Moreno," I said, lounging back on the sand on one elbow. "Any day at all."

  He nodded slowly. "Maybe," he said. "Maybe you are. I hope so anyway, lieutenant." He smiled.

  "And now's as good a time as any," I said softly, "to knock off that 'lieutenant' stuff. I'm not in the Navy now, and neither are you."

  He smiled again. "That's right," he said softly. "Now you're in my crew."

  "Your crew?" I stared at him, then sat upright, swinging to Vic.

  "That's right, Hugh," he said, nodding. "Moreno is captain."

  "Moreno?" I said angrily. "Why?"

  Vic shrugged, and Moreno lounged back on the sand, grinning. "Hugh, any of us could captain the sub," Vic said. "Somebody has to, and any of us could do it — Frank's commanded a sub! In wartime. Moreno's like a lot of chiefs and enlisted men in the United States or any other Navy — as good as many a man I've known with stripes on his sleeve and, in some ways, for what we're planning, even better. Not snobbish about taking orders from an ex-seaman, are you, Hugh? We've got a full commander who isn't."

  "No, of course not," I said instantly, though I wasn't sure. I shrugged. "Anyway, it's up to you people; it's your plan. Which brings us to the big question; just what the devil are you planning?"

  Vic's eyes came to life, glowing with sudden excitement, and he opened his mouth but, before he could speak, Moreno interrupted. "Hold it!" he ordered, and I swung my head to glare at him.

  Then he smiled at me, and this time it was with complete friendliness. A man who could assume complete control over his own emotions as Moreno just had — I knew he didn't feel friendly at all — was at least something more than just a thug. It was perfectly possible, I realized in that moment, that Moreno was qualified for command. And, knowing it, I was ready to admit it, and Moreno understood that too. "I think everything we want to tell Hugh," he said quietly to Vic, "will make more sense if he sees what we're talking about first."

  Vic nodded. "I guess it would. Ever do any skin diving; Hugh?"

  I nodded, and Lauffnauer said, "Well, we have equipment to lend you, and one of us will take you down — to see something I am sure will surprise you."

  "I'll do it," Moreno said, getting to his feet. "Right now. I need to attach a buoy anyway."

  And so, for the first time, I saw the U-19. In the house I changed into a pair of trunks Vic loaned me, and we carried our diving equipment to the beach. Moreno brought along a short pine board wrapped with line. We dragged a battered boat out from under the porch down to the water, then rowed a mile out into the ocean, Moreno watching landmarks on the shore to position us.

  We anchored, fitted on our equipment, and I followed Moreno down the anchor rope to the ocean floor; he carried his rope-wrapped board shoved in his weight belt. At the bottom, actually standing on the clean sand for a moment, the light a hazed yellow-green, visibility maybe eighty feet, I watched Moreno begin to swim slowly into deeper water, and I followed. Within minutes — it was hard to judge time here — we reached the ancient sunken submarine; I learned later that he'd been out to her twice before.

  Of course, Lauffnauer was right; when I saw that black bulk looming just ahead in the yellow-greenlit depths of the water, and then, swimming closer, understood what I was seeing, I was astounded. I was utterly absorbed, fascinated, and, reaching the little conning tower, I clung to it, staring around me. Beside me, Moreno had released his pine-board buoy, paying out the line attached to it as it floated to the surface; then he tied the end of the line to the conning tower.

  Frank must have some reason, I knew, for thinking or at least hoping that we might raise and operate this tiny sub. She must have been put down here undamaged, her ballast tanks filled; whoever had done it leaving through the escape hatch. But what chance there was that she was anything but a ruin I simply didn't know; no one could say with certainty until we'd raised her, if we could, and found out for ourselves. She was probably full of sea water long since — and yet, I thought, her valves might have held; they just possibly might have. Moreno touched my shoulder then, pointing upward, and I nodded, and we started up.

  Frank Lauffnauer told me what they proposed to do with the U-19, if we could possibly raise and operate her again. Sitting on an old kitchen chair tipped back against the dining-room wall, Lauffnauer told me something of how the U-19 came to be where she was and why he thought there was at least a chance that we could get her operating again. "She was an experimental submarine," Frank said, "one of many testings of various German inventions during those last desperate months of the First World War. We were sent over to harass shipping along your East Coast; no submarine could be spared then for purely experimental purposes. But, also, we were sent out as a test. The inside hull — I remember the strange, rough feel of this — was coated with a resilient, spongelike material. On the day our crew assembled, the Unteroffizier explained to us that this coating was impregnated with a chemical compound devised by German scientists. Its purpose, he concluded, was to absorb and discharge overboard excessive moisture; obviously he was very little i
nterested, and impressed even less. But" — Frank shook his head slowly, a shoulder moving in a little shrug — "it worked, and worked beautifully, on the trip over, at least. That little submarine was drier than even the World War Two U-boats I sailed in, all of which were equipped with huge air-conditioning systems for fighting moisture."

  Frank grinned at me. "We have all served in navies, so I am sure it will not surprise you to know what happened when I mentioned to superior officers the apparently successful U-19 experiment. There were no longer any records to be found of the U-19 or of how her interior had been treated — at least not in their proper places. Obviously these were lost in the chaos of the years following the surrender; perhaps even deliberately destroyed during the surrender. And, therefore, to the mind of a German captain I talked to, for example, they had never existed, and I could not possibly have known what I was talking about — a boy of fifteen at the time and an enlisted man at that!" Frank smiled. "And so, I never mentioned the U-19 again, and am glad now that I did not."

  Again Frank shrugged. "Of course, after so many years, it may be that the inside of the U-19 is hopelessly rusted in spite of its coating. The steady moisture seepage inside the pressure hull of a submarine is always a problem, and a big one." Frank shook his head. "But if she has not flooded, I believe she will not be too badly damaged; I saw with my own eyes how this coating worked, and I know — this was explained — that if it worked at all, there was no reason why it should not continue indefinitely. I am certain there is a chance my old ship can be operated again if we can raise her." Lauffnauer turned to Moreno who was sitting at the dining-room table and said, "What do you think, Ed? Have you changed your mind about getting her out?"

  "No." Moreno shook his head calmly. "I don't see any big problem. Water's calm, and the weather report's good for tonight."

  Turning to me, Lauffnauer said, "I brought Moreno into this for two reasons. He was the first man I asked, in fact

  "How'd you two get together, by the way?" I said.

  "We met at the Brooklyn Navy Yard. Your Government — mine, too, now — brought me over from Germany in 1946, after the war. The Navy was interested, as you may remember if you weren't too young, in the snorkel on our submarines. I was hired as an expert on them, which I was, and brought to America as a civilian employee of the Navy, with the opportunity to become a citizen, and I was very glad to come. Once again after a war" — he smiled — "Germany was not a good place to be. Here I met very many submarine men, among them Moreno, and I remembered him. In any case, it was fortunate that I knew Moreno; he is a good submarine man, and he and his cousin were commercial fishers …. Tell Hugh about that."