Paperman observed that the big rustpot was flying a French tricolor. It occurred to him that this could only be the water barge from Guadeloupe. It was already passing the Gull Reef pier, and nobody was there to wave! He started running up and down the waterfront, sawing both arms in the air and screaming at the oncoming barge, "No, no. Non, non. Stop! Stop! Arretez-vousl" He made a megaphone of his hands and howled, capering here and there, "Arretez-vousll A-RRRRETEZ-VOUS!" The barge moved steadily on. There was nobody on deck. The enormous old contraption was coming in with snorts and clanks; the Frenchman in the wheelhouse, directly over the engines, could not possibly hear him.
Paperman suddenly ceased his dancing and screeching, aware that the entire hill crowd was staring at him in silent amazement. The waterfront strolling and bargaining had also stopped dead, and perhaps forty Kinjans were goggling at the berserk white man, not very surprised, but willing to be entertained.
Paperman put his hands in his pockets and sauntered along the Waterfront, whistling, trying to look sane. The barge came alongside, and stopped. A fat mustached old man in white trousers, a peaked cap, and an incredibly shabby brass-buttoned blue jacket limped out of the deckhouse, threw two thick manila lines on the waterfront pavement, and went back inside. Two burly Negroes, stripped to the waist, tied the lines to bollards and climbed aboard the barge, dragging a thick black hose.
Norman jumped up on the low deck, the iron plating of which felt fiery through his rubber soles. At the open door of the deckhouse, he knocked. The barge captain sat inside at a little table, pouring himself pink wine from a half-gallon jug. He had a drooping big belly, and his thick mustache was streaked pink from the wine, and yellow from an old pipe lying on the table in a spill of ash. Ignoring the knock, he drank half the glass of wine and stared straight ahead out of far-off, filmy eyes.
Paperman thought that the man might be deafened by his own engines. "Monsieur le capitainel" he bellowed.
The Frenchman pulled open a drawer, took out a greasy green record book, laid it open before Paperman, and lapsed back into his melancholy trance. The open pages showed columns and columns of numbers entered in brown ink. Paperman explained at the top of his voice, in a tumble of agitated French, that he did not want to see the book, that he was not an official, that he was le nouveau proprietaire of the Gull Reef Club, and that he needed water. The captain only stared straight ahead, once or twice groaning in a heartbroken way, as though seeing phantom German columns marching down the Champs-Elysees. When Paperman paused he looked up and spoke several hoarse hostile sentences in strange French, waving his arms stiffly with palms upward. Then he poured more wine and sighed, and stared, and drank. Nothing Paperman said after that had the slightest effect on him.
Norman went forward to the two Negroes, who squatted beside the thumping, pulsing hose. "Can you tell me where Senator Pullman's bar is?" he said.
The men shifted their eyes at each other.
"You know who Senator Pullman is, don't you?"
There was a full minute of silence. "Senat-uh Pull-mon?" said one, with an air of repeating a phrase in Chinese.
Beside himself, Paperman jumped off the barge. In all his life he had never been confronted with a shortage of water. To his New York mind, water was something that flowed from taps. The supply was instant, limitless, and as certain as air to breathe. There were thirty-eight people registered at the hotel and in the cottages, only six under capacity. All those taps running dry at once; all those toilets ceasing to flush-!
In the arcade of shops opposite the fort, leading off Queen's Row, he saw a small hanging sign in red, white, and blue, Peace and Prosperity Bar. Surely on this little island, he thought, the barkeepers knew each other. He ran across the cobbled square. There were several Negro and white drinkers in the Peace and Prosperity Bar, but he saw no bartender. Leaning in the doorway was a moon-faced, short young Negro in a light blue drip-dry suit and a black knitted tie, smoking a cigar with a sensuous rounding of his mouth. Paperman said to him, "I beg your pardon. Do you happen to know where I can find Senator Pullman's bar?"
"I'm Senator Pullman. This is my establishment. Can I be of any assistance to you?" said the Negro, in clear mainland accents.
Paperman threw his arms around him. "Senator Pullman! Thank God!"
The senator, surprised and amused, endured the hug and asked what the trouble was. Paperman poured out his tale.
"Well, well, so you're Mr. Paperman. Lorna was telling me about you. You're just as handsome as she said, too. Welcome to Kinja."
"Thank you. Do you know French? Can you talk to the barge man?"
"About what?"
"About the water! Tell him to save some for the Club."
Senator Pullman wrinkled his nose and his brows, and looked much older and shrewder. "Well, you see, he's commenced pumping into the municipal system now, and he's got to discharge his entire capacity." When the senator used long words, a slight beat on the last syllables disclosed his island origins.
"But we're down to one day's supply. One day! All those people, Senator."
"Yes, it would be a definite health hazard." Pullman looked up at the cloudless sky, screwing one eye shut. "I do think we're going to get some rain. The Club has a very expansive roof, and you can catch a week's supply from one generous precipitation."
"Supposing it doesn't rain?"
"That's a prudent question, but you needn't worry. In that case talk to Lorna. She'll tell you how to get emergency water. Incidentally, if you encounter any electrical problems, I have a degree in electrical engineering. In our community a liquor license is more remunerative, so-" He winked at Paperman and went behind the bar.
Paperman hurried off down the square to the landing. The gondola was tied to a cleat, the boat boy was gone, and a knot of white people stood there muttering and arguing. Several of them were tourists in heavy dark clothes, with luggage heaped around them. A guest who recognized Norman told him that there had been no boat service for an hour. The gondola had been tied empty at the pier across the water until a few minutes ago, when some guests had rowed over and left it.
Paperman had no choice. "New arrivals first, please, get in and I'll take you across," he said. This occasioned a jostling rush into the craft, very nearly overturning it. Then he had to swing a number of heavy suitcases onto a rack at the bow. This exertion in the vertical noon sun, followed by the effort of rowing the laden, unsteady boat three hundred yards, plus the job of tying up the boat and helping out the passengers, put Paperman in a drenching sweat. He ran up the lawn to the main house, and through the lobby to the bar.
There, sure enough, was the boat boy, in ragged blue shorts and shirt, new and obviously slashed up by a knife. Still wearing his gondolier's hat, he was rattling a shaker with a look of exalted pride all different from his usual veiled sullen glare. Paperman paused. There were about thirty people drinking in the bar, and on the beach. This was revenue.
"Gilbert, please give me that hat."
"Dis my hat, suh," said Gilbert, looking hurt. "Mistress Ball she did give me dis hat."
"A bartender doesn't wear a hat. Only a boat boy wears a hat."
"Oh! Dat right?" Gilbert at once removed the hat, grimaced at it, and passed it to Norman.
"I see you're doing a fine job. Keep it up."
"I doin' everything just like Thor," said Gilbert. "I can work de cash register."
"Splendid." Paperman raced out on the lawn again, straight to a man whom he had observed clipping a hedge near the pier. When the people across the water saw Paperman they began shouting.
"Hello," Paperman said to the gardener, a stout Negro in khaki work clothes, all buttoned up against the sun. "I'm the new owner of this club, you know."
"Yes please." The man touched his hand to his headgear, a brown paper bag folded like an overseas cap; smiled in a mournful, kindly way, and went on clipping.
"What's your name?"
"Millard."
"Millard, I'd like you
to row that boat for a while. Just take the people back and forth, you know?"
"Mistress Ball she said clip de hedges Torsdays."
"Yes, well, this is just for now. It's an emergency. You can let the hedge go."
Millard looked at him in perplexity. "I de gardener, please."
"Of course. But I'm making you the gondolier. Just for now. Here's your gondolier's hat."
He offered Millard the shallow yellow- and red-ribboned straw. The gardener hesitantly took it, removed his paper hat, and set the straw on his head. A look of bashful delight crept over his face.
"I row de boat good, suh."
Millard went to the boat and cast off, smiling proudly all the while at Paperman. He rowed with clumsy strength, and closed the other shore fast. Paperman was watching him help passengers into the gondola, when the arrival of another vessel at the pier cut off his view. This was a battered old power boat gasping up from the waterfront, with Tex Akers in the bow, at the head of a phalanx of perhaps twenty-five tool-carrying workmen.
"Hi, there," Akers called. "Ready or not, here we come."
He jumped from the moving boat across eight feet of water, his long bare legs taking him easily to Paperman's side.
"Quite a work force you've got there," Paperman said. The boat bumped to a stop and the men streamed off.
"Sure do, but that's my lookout," said Akers, grinning down at Norman in the friendliest way. He was about a head and a half the taller øf the two. "I've got a payroll to keep going. This is the whole Cove outfit. You'll just get your job done three times as fast. Actually with this all-out kind of operation I'm hoping to wrap it up in less than a week. I figure to work Sunday, but the overtime will cost me, not you.
All right, fellows, this way." He led the battalion of workers-there were about two Negroes to each white man-across the lawn toward the main house.
The old power boat snorted away, and Millard came rowing alongside, with the gondola so crowded that its gunwales were level with the water. He helped everyone out without mishap, still wreathed in dignified smiles under the ribboned hat. Paperman told him to carry up to the main house the bags accumulating on the pier, and to take fewer people in the boat next time.
Millard said, "I can row de boat all full."
"Yes, but we don't want you drowning them."
"No please," said Millard, roaring with laughter. He loaded himself with an astonishing number of bags and strode up the lawn.
For the first time since Sheila had awakened him with her pounding, Paperman now drew a couple of quiet long breaths, standing in the sunshine on the pier. The upsetting withdrawal of Thor seemed to be contained. Norman had to get the accountant in to keep the books, until he could take them over; he had to start to work on the reservations, answer the letters and telegrams, and so forth. Perhaps he would even have to double as a bartender for a while. But he would survive. Tom Tilson had put the matter fairly; the new manager's name was Paperman.
He had sweated right through all his clothes. His new yellow shirt hung in black wet blotches, and he could feel trickles running down his nose and his neck, and under his arms. He returned to the White Cottage, and put on trunks. As he walked down the path to the water, he saw a blond masked head break the surface, far out. Iris came streaking in toward him, swimming with loose neat arm strokes. "Hi! Welcome, Norm! Or should I say, mine host? What's the good word?"
"The good word is, I'm doubling your rent."
"Oh, you Americans. What know-how!" She took off her mask, shaking back her heavy streaming hair. "Gad, things must be well in hand, if you're swimming at noon. I hear Henny didn't come with you."
"She'll be along in a few days." He dived into the sweetly cool water and floated beside her. "I've had a hell of a morning."
Iris was astonished by the news of Thor's defection. She said she had slept until noon, and hadn't seen the yacht arrive or leave. "Of course I heard Amy talk off and on about buying Moonglow, but I never thought she would. Amy's a close girl with a shilling, but she was mad for Thor, all right. She's bought herself a package, believe me."
They came out of the water. Lying beside Iris on her Indian blanket, in the shade of high oleanders heavy with pink blossoms, Norman told her about Henny's ailment.
"Oh, Lord, what a time for that to happen. Everything's hit you at once." Iris shook her head. "This place needs a man and a woman, Norm. Or two faggots, like before, same difference. The man looks after the upkeep, the driving, the money, and all that. The woman's in the office, and watches the service, and makes pretty noises at the people. Amy and Thor were very good."
Norman said, "There's nothing really wrong with Henny. She often shows up with odd aches and pains when she's tense. She'll be down in a week or two. I just have to get through until then."
Iris sat up. "Look here, let me help."
"Nonsense. I'll manage."
She said, getting to her feet, "I'll just get the salt out of my hair and spiff up. Honestly, it'll be fun. I'm bored to death anyway."
"Iris, the worst is over. I'm all right."
"You don't know that. Somebody should check the books and receipts, for instance. Gilbert's just a boy. I'll see you up in the office in an hour." She bounded up the embankment, waving off his protests.
As she did so, Norman heard a distant crash, and then continuing loud noises of demolition-hammerings, smashings, the fall of stones, the yelling of men, the shattering of glass. He was planning a short nap, but this sound could only be the Akers crew getting to work. He wanted to see that. He dressed quickly and hurried toward the main house, where at the rear, clouds of plaster dust were rising above the roof into the sunshine.
In the lobby, a gigantic greasy brown tarpaulin billowed in the breeze, masking the doorway of the old game room. The sounds of breakage and collapse were coming from behind this tarpaulin, and wisps of plaster dust floated through holes in the heavy cloth, like smoke from a fire. Fortunately it was the lunch hour. The lobby was deserted.
Paperman lifted an end of the tarpaulin and slipped behind it, into a scene of sad ruin. Half of the back wall of the room lay in rubble on the floor. A ragged egg-shaped hole was open to the sea and to the sun, which blazed into the room through tumbling eddies of dust. Even as Paperman arrived, a ringing smash of many sledge hammers at once sent another great chunk of the thick cement wall crumbling inward, unveiling more blue sky, grass, and sea.
"Hold everything!" bawled Paperman, half blinded by the dust boiling up at him.
"Easy, fellows," he heard Akers say. "Here's the boss."
His arms before his eyes, Paperman groped and stumbled to the hole in the wall, and climbed through into the sunshine.
"What's all this?" he said. "The job's just inside construction. Why are you knocking down the wall?"
The contractor said he had two reasons. There was the problem of getting men and materials in and out of the room. This way, the entire job would be done behind the tarpaulin. The heavy noise would be over today, and then the guests would have undisturbed use of the lobby. Otherwise workmen would be passing through the hotel with construction materials and rubbish for a week. Moreover the wide dining-room window, which they had already demolished, would have been unusable for the new small rooms. It was cheaper to knock the wall down and put up a new one than to break it partially and then rebuild it.
"This thing's looking real good," he said. "We came on a couple of one-inch pipes under the floor, from the days when they had a kitchen back here. We just hook in our hot and cold water, flush out the rust, and I reckon that'll cut the plumbing cost maybe in half."
He drew Paperman a little away from the men. The six who had been smashing the wall were leaning on their sledge hammers. The rest of the workers, a very large group, were lying around on the grass, drinking fruit nectar out of cans, listening to Calypso songs on portable radios, and making loud incomprehensible jokes, with bursts of jolly laughter.
"If it's convenient," Akers said, "can you
let me have an advance on the job now?"
"I suppose so. How much?"
"Well, the usual thing is a week's costs, but that's the whole price in this case. How's about half?"
"Two thousand dollars?" Norman said dubiously.
Akers' lantern-jawed face, with dust caked on the reddish bristles of his chin, broke into a gentle, engaging smile.
"I'd much rather bill you at the end, but these local suppliers don't give credit, you see, they've had too much trouble with a few fly-by-night characters who've come and gone since I've been here. The responsible contractors are left holding the bag. I've ordered all the materials for the job from Amerigo Supply, and the stuff'll be here in the morning, provided I get a check over there before bank closing time today. That's how things work here. Call Chunky Collins, and ask him."
Herman Wouk - Don't Stop The Carnival Page 15
