by Kim Ekemar
Well, I think I wasn’t too far off the mark. Without asking for permission he began to take off his overcoat, which was full of snow. He announced he needed to see me urgently to talk about my investment strategy. I had to plan for the future, he told me. We were still standing in the hallway. While he waited for me to invite him in, he looked around the place as if it was the first time he had come inside the McPherson residence. Still in my nightclothes, I really wasn’t in a mood to talk, but I was at loss for words to tell him.
The door to the living room was closed and I looked inside. Lorena was sitting by the corner window as usual, playing solitaire, so I knew she had observed Mr. Pringle coming up the hill. I decided to invite him into the kitchen instead. He said he wouldn’t mind a cup of coffee to get the chill out of his bones. He followed me into the kitchen. I closed the door so Lorena wouldn’t listen in on us while Mr. Pringle sat down at the table next to the window. I put some water to boil on the stove and looked in the cupboards until I found the instant coffee jar and some mugs. Mr. Pringle began to ask about Inocencia. His manner was friendly and cheerful – perhaps it can best be described as the ‘everybody-here-in-Harbor-is-buddy-with-his-neighbor’ kind of heartiness. I told him I understood she had taken the Greyhound to do some errands in Boston and meet with her husband. “And her brother?” he asked me. Might be that he joined her, because he left yesterday carrying a suitcase, I told him. He looked relieved at this news. And so it went, until he couldn’t hold back his horses any longer. He leaned forward and with garlic on his breath asked me to trust him with a highly confidential investment tip he shared only with very special customers of his. He waited for me to react, but I honestly couldn’t muster much enthusiasm for his insider information.
The house was of course warm and cozy compared to the cold and snowy streets in the bleak daylight outside. Mr. Pringle had not come dressed for work at the bank and asked permission to remove his sweater. Beneath it he wore a blue shirt and no tie. Perhaps he wanted to impress on me that he wasn’t like any of the other stuffy old bankers who presumably had tried to lure my fortune away into some suspicious investment fund. When he took off the sweater I noticed that he had a penchant for gold chains, layer upon layer of displayed riches of the kind his profession is devoted to.
“So Inocencia left?” he insisted again. Wearily I confirmed she had.
“She’s gone?”
“Why do you want to know?” I asked him, suspiciously.
“Because you said it as if she’s left Dan instead of gone to join him.”
“That’s a stupid assumption”, I told him as I handed him his cup of coffee. “Why would Inocencia want to leave Dan?”
He looked hurt, even unbelieving, and I remember I wondered why he was so interested in Inocencia. I didn’t particularly enjoy his company and hoped to get rid of him as soon as he had finished his coffee.
“Well, what do you know, I think Inocencia finally left for good, just like I knew she eventually would”, he said out loud.
At this very moment the kitchen door swung open and Xavier appeared in the doorway. Neither of us had noticed him climbing up the hill or entering the hallway from the street. We had both had our backs to the kitchen window while I prepared the coffee. Xavier was wearing his overcoat, full of snow, but I couldn’t see the suitcase he had left with the previous day.
“Inocencia has left for good, you say?” His words were directed to Mr. Pringle, not to me, and they were spoken as a command, not a question. Mr. Pringle’s eyes didn’t know where to look except they did everything to avoid Xavier’s. Xavier began to harass us. He sounded menacing, and he sarcastically insisted on knowing what kind of fishy business I was up to with Pringle. I got a strong impression they had met on previous occasions and it was obvious that they didn’t like each other. The more Xavier taunted him, the more Mr. Pringle huddled. Had Pringle lusted after Xavier’s sister, who was a married woman? Xavier seemed to think so as he spitted out insults in English and curses in Spanish. Mr. Pringle lamely tried to defend himself. He claimed he didn’t have a clue what Xavier was talking about or where Inocencia could be found. His cowardly behavior spoke of fear of retaliation, though, and this gave Xavier cause to heap additional abuse on him.
Xavier moved away from the door to take off his overcoat. Beyond him I saw Lorena watch our way with her usual expression of disinterest. For once, however, she was at least looking. When Mr. Pringle saw Xavier take off his coat he rose right away to enter the hallway - I suppose to get his own overcoat and leave. Xavier barred his exit from the kitchen and snarled more intimidations. Mr. Pringle got a wild look about him and tried to press himself past his bully. Xavier grabbed at Mr. Pringle’s gold chains, tore them in a sideways motion and struck him over the neck. His hand was rigid with the fingers stiffly outstretched, and he hit the left side of Mr. Pringle’s neck in a karate strike. Mr. Pringle toppled over. Xavier ended his vicious attack by kicking his victim in the head. Mr. Pringle immediately stopped moving.
Then it was my turn. When Xavier saw that Mr. Pringle was incapacitated and doubled over in pain he slowly twisted his head to face me. I stood still and kept my open hands alongside my body, just as I had been taught to do when you face an enemy more powerful than you. It makes you less threatening, the sarge at the training camp had insisted, although he always added nothing guaranteed it was foolproof.
Xavier studied me through eyes reduced to narrow slits. He wore an expression of disgust. I felt fear in his presence. He insisted I should tell him where Inocencia was. He moved closer to stress that he was serious about his demand. From the living room behind him, Lorena watched the scene as if it were a new televised soap opera. I told Xavier to go ahead and ask her instead; if anyone knew where Inocencia was, it would be Lorena. The logic in my statement made him stop in his tracks. He turned and sauntered over to the living room across the hall.
“Lorena!” When he boomed out her name it sounded like a mortar shot. She played with a lit candle on the table before her and shaped the soft stearine into abstract figures. Next to her haphazardly placed playing cards cluttered the table.
“I wonder if he’s dead”, she said, meaning Mr. Pringle. He hadn’t moved since Xavier had struck him down. Her calm observation made Xavier stop and look back at the heap of the man he had attacked. I saw his face in profile and thought I detected a flicker of uneasiness for the first time. Then Xavier’s eyes became hooded and his face darkened visibly.
At this moment the phone rang. Xavier quickly crossed the living room and picked it up. In rapid Spanish he spoke with someone who very obviously was passing on some excellent news to him. There was talk about la merca and Nueva York, but that’s about all I understood, and only because these words were repeated so many times. The conversation lasted a good while without any of us moving from his or her place. Xavier’s menacing glances across the hallway warned me against trying to leave the kitchen. I avoided his eyes and bent down to see how Mr. Pringle was. He had a very weak pulse and his face was drained of blood. There was some of it running along his neck, though, either caused by Xavier’s heavy blow or when Mr. Pringle’s head had hit the floor.
The next moment Xavier screamed in my ear to get up, and he roughly pulled me by the shoulder and half dragged me into the room where Lorena was sitting. There was a gun in his hand and he pressed it against my neck. He shouted something in Spanish to Lorena. From what happened next I gathered he told her he had to leave urgently and to fetch him a rope from the basement. After returning with the rope Lorena took the gun while Xavier very expertly tied my hands in front of me. Next he bound them to my waist and secured my arms and legs to a straight-backed wooden visitors’ chair. When he had finished he returned to the kitchen. Through the open doors I could see him stand over Mr. Pringle and study him for a moment. When he saw that Mr. Pringle didn’t move, although he kicked him lightly in belly, he started to drag him out of the kitchen. Mr. Pringle began to sputter and groan. Xavie
r pushed Pringle inside a closet in the hallway. After locking the door, he pocketed the key. He spoke to Lorena in Spanish, waved the gun and gestured my way. His face was flushed and he moved nervously across the room. After a glance at his watch he turned and headed for the overcoat that he had thrown on the hallway floor. There was no way of mistaking that he would deal with the situation as soon as he returned, and that she should check that we didn’t do anything stupid while he was gone. He would get the information about his sister from us, were the last words he shouted to me before he hurried outside. There was a click as he locked the front door. I was tied to the chair near the window facing our neighbor Brett Moorefield’s house. The sky was leaden over the white neighborhood, and it was snowing lightly. It was getting darker and I judged the time to be three o’clock. There were no lamps lit neither in our house, nor in our neighbor’s.
Lorena avoided any eye contact with me and began another game of solitaire in the light of the candles.
The Ship: Chapter VII
THE ROPE
Wayne had worked himself into a fury. With a roar he ran to the table and pulled up Gordon.
“I – told – you – that – the – woman – was – mine – after – you.” With great effort he molded the words and let them out between his clenched teeth. The bristly moustache vibrated with indignation and his eyes protruded like polished black marble. With his impressive strength he lifted Gordon from the chair and held him so that only his toes touched the floorboards. Gordon looked at him in wonder with a look similar to that of an uncomprehending child.
Wayne groveled and barked while Gordon crowed and licked his fat lips. Gordon’s lack of reaction made Wayne even more incensed. He screamed savagely and threw Gordon with incredible force across the table. I couldn’t move in Porfirio's merciless grip and suddenly had Gordon’s panting face in my lap.
An impish grin spread across Gordon’s cheeks and replaced his surprised expression. His eyes shone as he wallowed out of my lap and down on all fours. Wayne ran towards him. Gordon hurled himself at his knees, and the unexpected offensive made Wayne lose his balance. The two giants rolled on the floor before my feet – Wayne a powerhouse of muscles and Gordon a flaccid piece of fat.
The confrontation swiftly evolved into yet another fight of life and death. Gordon thrust his thumbs hard into Wayne's eyes. Wayne wailed and pounded Gordon’s head repeatedly against the floor. Gordon wheezed and tried to free himself from Wayne's hold. With a sudden jerk Wayne pulled his adversary up into a sitting position and forced Gordon to ease the pressure on his eyes.
He heaved Gordon towards one of the legs of the table standing closest, an iron post screwed firmly into the floor. Gordon’s skull smashed into the post and he collapsed, unconscious. During the struggle his undershirt ripped apart to reveal some heavy chains of gold around his neck. Tirelessly, Wayne continued to pound Gordon’s head against the iron post. His skull must have cracked because the back of his head became indefinable bloody pulp. Still the seething Wayne did not stop.
“Now we’re waiting for your climax, Wayne”, said Porfirio sarcastically. At last he took his hand off my shoulder. “Although slightly different, it will obviously be as bloody as the one Gordon achieved.”
Wayne flashed a glance in the direction of Porfirio. He paused, because the remark made him aware that Gordon no longer felt pain. The dead man in Wayne's fists grinned back at the man who had taken his life.
Wayne let go of the body and rose to his feet. He looked viciously about him, prepared to quash whoever dared to challenge his actions. No one, not even Porfirio, spoke a word. Wayne backed off into the burnt corner.
Now that Wayne remained at a safe distance Gary dashed through the room to Gordon’s corpse. Eagerly he tore at the chains and fumbled among the chins to find the locks. One after another the chains slithered into his pocket while he cast vigilant glances sideways. His hands quivered slightly. Porfirio walked over to him, both amused and contemptuous.
“Where does all your plunder go, Gary?” Gary did not answer him and continued to loosen the chains that Gordon still wore. Porfirio snorted. “I think you tuck it away like the squirrels do. You stash your loot in different hiding places and then forget about half. Most likely you have made a secret resolve to amass funds in contemplation of our new life on my Spanish estate. For some baffling reason, which at the moment escapes me, I doubt that you have plans of sharing them.”
Gary shrank, jittery and afraid of being beaten. Yet he stayed next to Gordon, who still wore two chains. Porfirio did not touch Gary but continued to mock him. Gordon’s nude, trembling body quivered like jelly when Gary's fidgeting fingers tugged at the gold. The blotchy skin of the dead man had acquired a bluish tone.
“What is your opinion, Wayne, is it fair that Gary becomes the sole heir?” Porfirio kept provoking. He had taken the floor between the two. “Apparently you won't get a part of anything! Neither the woman, nor the gold …”
Wayne's face darkened. Nervously he closed and opened his fists and took a step towards Porfirio.
“… or did you have in mind to be satisfied with the remains of our visiting party?” Porfirio looked suggestively at me. “Not quite as delicious as the woman Gordon devoured, admittedly, but surely he will do as distraction for a loser like you.” He laughed maliciously and tremors of fear consumed me. To avoid vomiting and cause provocation, I swallowed repeatedly as the nausea in my throat came and went.
The cramped quarters heightened my helplessness, my repugnance, my nausea. The disorder, the reeking oil lanterns, the stench from Gordon’s unwashed body, the smell of blood thick in the air … it was unbearable. And I had an agonizing suspicion that I would be their next game.
Gary had managed to separate the last chain from its former owner and half walked, half crawled towards the revolving door. His motions caught Wayne's attention, and like a bull he swiveled his huge head in Gary's direction. Porfirio kept still: superior, aloof, unattainable. Gary tried to sneak past Wayne, whose arm shot out catching him in an iron grip.
“There's something to what Porfirio says, Gary”, he said darkly. “Why should you keep the gold? It's mine! I was the one who took on Gordon!”
Gary whimpered and sought to free himself, but Wayne could easily hold him.
“Where do you hide everything that you pilfer?” Wayne shouted, infuriated by Gary's attempt to evade him. Gary reddened but did not reply. Darting, his eyes sought help.
Porfirio stood with his arms crossed and smiled at them. Gary made a lame effort to get out of Wayne's clutch.
“Answer me!”
“I have nothing hidden, a few trinkets that's all …” Gary's voice did not sound convincing and his protest ended in a dejected mumble.
Wayne rocked him lightly back and forth. He glared at Gary, his bared teeth making him scowl.
“And besides, my belongings have nothing to do with the rest of you”, Gary said, trying to pluck up courage. “Each and everyone must see to his own interests …”
Wayne closed his enormous fists around Gary's lapels and hoisted him up in the air. His flushed face trembled with the impotence of not being able to express himself in any other way than by displaying sheer strength. Alternately obstinate, irksome and shifty, Gary argued as he wriggled in Wayne’s hold.
Wayne's bass became more menacing. Its timbre vibrated with indignation. He felt cheated of Oona, ignored for not receiving his quota of Gary's hidden riches and stung to the marrow by Porfirio's scorn. I made myself as small as possible and hoped that no one would notice me. I glanced sideways. Porfirio watched them with his eyes half shut and a faint smile playing on his lips. Invariably indifferent, Stuart sat alone by the other table engrossed in his meticulous task of peeling off stearine that had scurried down a candle. In a way he made me more ill at ease than any of the others. The continuous chain of violence and defilement that had occurred since our arrival on board had not produced the slightest reaction from him. What kind of
barbarous acts was not a man like Stuart capable of doing – a man who remained unmoved by this nightmare?
Gary refused to either share or reveal the whereabouts of his hidden loot. Wayne raged and suddenly threw Gary down as if he were a wet rag. Gary plunged head over heels to the floor beneath the table where I was sitting. I heard him breathing strangely after the fall; his every breath became a wheeze.
Cautiously, Gary looked out from under the table. Once again the cabin filled with apprehension. Gary tried to creep as far away as possible from the spot where Wayne stood. Wayne squinted his eyes and studied the prey. The very instant that Gary got up on his legs Wayne was on his back. The brawl was brief and unequal. He placed himself on top of Gary and used his left underarm to press him against the floor. With his free hand Wayne started to search through Gary's clothes for Gordon’s golden chains. Although Gary struggled back, he did not stand a chance.
Wayne triumphantly held up some of Gordon’s gold chains for all to view. This was a game he could win.
“Gary”, he said, his voice smooth. He was looking down at his floundering, defenseless victim. “I want to know where you've hidden the remainder of all the things you've collected …” He pressed Gary's throat determinedly to underline that he was dead serious.
The tempest outside blew with undiminished force. Wayne tilted his head to one side and appeared to sense something in the wailing wind that the rest of us did not hear. Maybe he was fortified by the storm's intense potency, or perhaps he felt something in common with the raging elements.
He waited, and then stood up, gold chains in his fist.
“Gary, I believe you have more things of interest in your cabin!” he cried and started towards the revolving door. “Who knows? More gold, fur coats, supplies, weapons … I want my share!”
