And now from the other room there was silence.
Peter waited, and his hands tightened round the pick haft. It was Lesset out there, he guessed. If he came in he was going to have a reception. He saw Tereza’s face in the shadows … Footsteps came slowly across the outer room. Peter turned his head and watched the half-open door. The water dripped from Grazia’s clothes at his side in musical runnels to the flooded floor.
‘Who’s there?’
It was Lesset’s voice.
There was nothing to be done. The man would call again and then move to the door and they would be discovered. He could manage Lesset, maybe, but the others would hear and that would be the end … And then he saw Grazia. Her face turned to him and there was a warm, comforting smile on it. Her hand came out gently and just touched him on the arm. The next moment she was wading past him and Tereza to the door. Stiffly she hauled herself up the step and her great bulk blocked the opening.
Outside in the main room Lesset heard her coming. His hand in his pocket held the automatic. He heard the sigh as she lifted her great legs and then she was standing in the doorway, the water dripping from the gay dress with its concentric circles of gold and red. She stood there and ran her hands over her face, grumbling to herself like a woman disturbed from heavy sleep. Her hands went down and she saw him.
Her face lit up, she raised her fat, pudgy arms in a gesture of happiness and shouted loudly, ‘ Heaven be praised. The world ain’t ended and it’s Mistah Lesset!’
In that moment Lesset, although he smiled, cursed her inwardly. The men outside would have heard her and she had saved herself from the same treatment as Pasquale. If he shot her down in cold blood, he would have trouble with the men, he knew. Now Grazia would have to be taken with them and somewhere at sea she could be dealt with.
‘Grazia.’ He put his arm round her shoulder and helped her out into the sunshine. The three men had come running up at the sound of her voice and they stood there smiling at her as she began to tell them what had happened to her. She had been in the storeroom when the wave had struck and a great pile of sacks and crates had fallen on her, knocking her out. After she had come round it had taken her a long time to work her way free of the piles of sacks and crates which had buried her. She looked a sad sight, her dress torn and ripped.
‘But Mistah Lesset, where is everybody? They still in the church?’
Lesset nodded. There was no escaping what was coming. He hurried it on. ‘They’re trapped, but they’re in no danger. We’re fitting out a boat … to go and get help.’
She was looking at him curiously, frowning, and he could see the tenseness in the men.
‘But we could all dig and get them out, Mistah Lesset. That’s the thing to do.’
‘No.’ He let the hardness deliberately into his voice. ‘You just sit up here and don’t stir around, Grazia. When we’re ready to go, we’ll go.’ He looked at the three men and then particularly at Assis. ‘And when we go, you’ll have to come with us.’ He said it to them, not to her. And he knew that they understood. He waited for Assis to speak, but the man turned away and began to move back to the motor-boat.
‘Mistah Lesset. Ah’m going up there to see what can be done!’ Grazia began to move.
‘Stay where you are, Grazia, and don’t interfere.’ He had the automatic openly in his hand now.
Slowly Grazia lowered her weight to a good chair under the window of the bodega and stared at him. Her head was making a little nodding motion as though slowly she were putting a lot of things together in her mind.
‘Sure, Mistah Lesset. Come to think it over now, Ah ain’t surprised. You and Assis and the Pastori brothers. Sure … Ah sees now what I didn’t see before … All the nights Ah sits out here and can’t sleep and Ah sees things.’ She was thinking of Peter and Tereza in the storeroom, remembering the pick and shovels they held. This man must not know about them. Peter had said he was a bad man. He sure was … He sure was meaning something bad for her, too.
Lesset slowly put the automatic back. ‘You’d have done better to go to church this morning, Grazia. Far better.’
‘Sure, Mistah Lesset. Ah should have gone to church. But the Good Lord ain’t goin’ to punish me for that. But Mistah Lesset, sir, you sure got it comin’ when the Good Lord catches up with you. And He will.’
Chapter Sixteen
Standing well back in the main room of the bodega, Peter could see them all. Lesset and the three men by the motor-boat and Grazia’s head just showing above the edge of the window. He had heard every word which had passed between them and he was ashamed now that he had ever doubted Grazia. She had behaved magnificently.
He motioned Tereza to move to the far door and wait for him. Slowly he edged to the side of the window where, hidden from the men, he could whisper easily to Grazia. He was worried now with a new thought. As Lesset had spoken the man’s intentions had become clear to him. If he had not heard him speak he might never have guessed what was in his mind. He was going to take Grazia with him and there could only be one reason for that. Lesset and his men were going to disappear and they wanted everyone to think that they had perished in the wave. It had to be that, otherwise they would never bother with Grazia. He could see it all. Lesset deciding that he and Tereza were drowned … the whole field clear for him, and God help anyone who was still around to see him before he left … The quiet inhumanity of the man was something which he could not understand. He just had to accept it.
Suddenly Grazia’s voice came gently to him, a husky, humming whisper as she spoke out of the corner of her mouth, leaning back in her chair so that her head rested against the window sill.
‘Mistah English … Ah knows you there. Hear the water drip from your trousers. Lord, son, you got to get up to that church and get help otherwise old Grazia’s goin’ to be in a fix. Ah’ms good as sittin’ in de executin’ chair right now, and frankly, Mistah English, it don’t suit the shape foh ma bottom.’
‘We’ll do it, Grazia. Don’t worry.’
‘Ah do worry, but Ah’m relyin’ on you and prayin’ to the Lord.’
‘They’ll be a couple of hours on that boat yet. I’ll do it.’
He left her and went back to Tereza. They crept quietly out of the side door and hurried back to the church. They climbed the pile of rubble, dropped down the small dip on the other side and heard the sound of men working inside the church. They had two hours, perhaps a little more. The motor-boat engine would be soaked. That was the main thing which would hold Lesset back. Putting the boat on rollers and getting her down to the slip was nothing.
The two of them said little. He stripped off his shirt and went to it. With Tereza to shovel away the dirt and earth as he lifted rocks and masonry clear and prised out the chunks of broken marble, the work was easier. But it was still hard and they had a long way to go. So much would depend, he knew, on what progress the men in the church were making. He could hear them shout occasionally now, a muffled calling, and he guessed they could hear him working away outside. But he dared not call back for fear Lesset should hear him.
For an hour they worked away, digging downwards towards the low stone arch of the door. The sun was high now, beating down on them. The gulls had come back into Portos Marias, screaming still over the refuse in the streets. The streams of water down the roadside had thinned and were now no more than gentle trickles. Mud and earth were caked about their arms and legs. The pain in Peter’s side had now spread in an even agony all over his body, but it was an agony he scarcely felt. He had one thought in mind; to dig and dig, to heave at the masonry and rocks, to fight his way down to the door. His breath came, harsh and laboured, and behind him he could hear Tereza working away, clearing the dirt, stacking the stones and pieces of marble to one side. They were hidden from the road now by the hole they had made and the sun beat pitilessly down on them. A great cloud of flies buzzed round their heads. Their hands were soon cut and torn, but they kept on. Their toil was slowed up by the neces
sity for caution. Tereza had to keep an eye on the street. Once she went down to the corner of the square to see how the work was going on.
‘They’ve got it up on log rollers,’ she said as she came climbing back to him. ‘ But they’re not moving it yet. Manöel’s hammering at the stern and the other two are still at the engine.’
He lifted a large piece of stone and dumped it to one side. ‘And Grazia?’
‘I couldn’t see her from the corner. But Lesset was wandering around.’
They worked on and suddenly the voices inside the church were louder. The sound of rocks and stones being moved and dirt being scraped away came through clearly to them. For a moment Peter thought he could hear Quisto’s voice. He could imagine Quisto in there, voluble, not for a moment daunted. His shovel struck hard, firm stone. He turned to Tereza and pointed. Showing above the piled rubble was the keystone at the head of the church door.
‘We’ll do it. We’ll do it yet,’ he breathed, filled with an impatient desire to get them out, to be pelting down towards the square with a backing of men behind him. Lesset had weapons but he could never stand against them all. They would sweep over him like a wave … God, how he wanted to get at that man …
Tereza’s hand came down sharply and grabbed his arm. He looked round. Her head was tilted towards the street. In the moment’s silence he heard it; the sound of footsteps coming up the road. They dropped flat in their hollow. Then, inching himself up the slope, he peered between two great chunks of marble and got a clear view. Lesset, a shotgun crooked in his arm, was coming towards the church.
Peter dropped back out of sight. They lay there, he with his arm across Tereza’s shoulders and she with her face pressed close to the earth, her eyes looking into his. The steps came slowly up to them. They heard the beat change from sharp to clear to a dull pad, as Lesset skirted the pile of rubble where it fanned into the road. Peter prayed that he would not come up, prayed that he would not notice the work which had been done, and he blessed the sun which had baked and dried the soft rubble they had thrown out so that it was indistinguishable from the rest.
There was a long period without sound of footsteps. Then they started up again and the sound receded. Peter looked out and saw Lesset moving back to the square. He turned the corner.
They went back to work. Wedged longways across the lower part of the keystone was a long length of hard coping stone. Peter cleared the rubble half-way down its girth. It was as thick as a great Scots pine. He swung at the rubble behind the column with his pick. As he did so a hole, black and no bigger than a man’s head, appeared and a rush of warm air blew into his face. He knelt down at the hole, feeling Tereza leaning over him. From the gloom within came clearly the sound of voices and far off the faint glimmer of candles. He was going to shout, careless of Lesset when a face came up to the aperture. He saw Quisto’s long white mane powdered with dirt. The broad face stared at him, for a moment, solemn and passive, a face marked with filth and carrying deep lines of strain. Then the face grinned, the blue eyes sparkled and a grimy hand came groping through the hole, grasping his, moving and touching Tereza’s bare knee, and Quisto’s voice was in their ears.
‘Santa Maria … Now perhaps the women will be quiet and believe what I have said.’
‘Are you all right? Is anyone hurt?’ asked Tereza.
‘Guarani has broken a leg and one or two have been cut by pieces that fell from the roof, but there is nothing to worry about. But it has been hard work with so much noise from the women. A man cannot do his best with so much advice.’
‘We’ll have you out in a moment. There is trouble out here. Lesset and the two Pastori brothers are with Assis. They are the ones … You know.’ Quisto nodded. ‘And they are getting a boat ready to leave now …’ Peter turned groping for his pick.
‘Senhor Peter,’ Quisto called him back. ‘It is not so easy. From this side we can tell. The marble columns are all across the door, like a wall of logs. Below this huge stone there is nothing but them …’
Peter rested his hand on the length of stone. Below this lay the marble columns, and on his side they were backed up by the tons of rubble under his feet. It would take him ages to pick away at this hard coping stone and make a hole big enough for a man to crawl through. He spoke his thoughts almost without knowing it. ‘If we don’t get you out quickly we shall never stop them. They would have left you here to die for all they cared …’
Quisto heard the anger in his voice. His face disappeared. He shouted something to someone behind him, and there was a long discussion. Then he turned back.
‘Nimo Dinez says it can be done. He has had experience of these things. When they made the blockhouse he worked with them and he has done quarrying on the mainland. But we shall need the black powder charges and the fuse cord.’
‘You mean you can blow your way out?’
‘There is hurry, no, senhor? If we put a charge under this top piece of stone … Pam! We shall have enough room for some men to scramble out.’
‘But where will I get the stuff?’
Quisto chuckled.
‘In the safe at the canning factory. You will find a box with black powder cartridges and some fuse cord. Bring them all. Nimo can fix it so that no one is hurt in here. But out there, you must get clear. So it was Senhor Lesset, eh? Por Deus, how can one ever tell what is in a man’s heart? To think of all the good food and wine of mine he has had … Oh, the monster!’ It was suddenly coming to Quisto. ‘When I get out, I shall wring his foul neck. I shall give myself the privilege which your youth denies you, Senhor Peter, of striking an older man … The corrupter. It is he who led Assis astray … brought a new wickedness to us when we were content with our own kind. He’s played with my children, sat beneath my roof and in his heart has been—’
‘Quisto!’ Tereza bent close to the hole. ‘ There is no time for that.’
Peter was with her. ‘Give me the key, Quisto.’
‘The key?’
‘For Pete’s sake, Quisto. Every moment counts. The key of the safe.’
Quisto laughed. ‘But it has no key, senhor. Just go to it and open it. This is an honest place—and besides, I never keep money in it. Only odds and ends that I do not know what to do with.’
Peter and Tereza stood up. As they looked at each other the same thought was suddenly in their minds. To get to the canning factory Peter would have to cross a small stretch of open ground in full view of the men working in the square.
Quisto’s voice came up to them: ‘Tereza … find a pin or something for your blouse. It is not modest to be like that before any man.’
They had found four lengths of old mast to serve as rollers. But as they hauled the boat up on to them they discovered another gap in the planking just under the curve of the stern on the port side. Manöel was finishing the repair to it now. Lesset sat watching him. For some time he had been growing more and more impatient. Everything was going so well, and he wanted to be away. Vasco was re-assembling the engine and Assis was fitting back into place the petrol tank which they had emptied and dried.
Lesset glanced over his shoulder. Commere Grazia was still sitting on her chair by the window. She sat there brooding, never saying a word but keeping her eyes on them the whole time. There was something odd in her placidity. She was like a great cow, devoid of thought; but he knew that she was well aware of what lay in store for her. So far none of the men had said anything about her. He would have no trouble from Manöel and Vasco, he knew that. And once Assis was out with them he would have to do as he was told. It was bad luck for Grazia, but there it was …
Manöel straightened up and tossed aside his hammer. The job was done. Lesset came over to the boat as Vasco and Assis climbed out.
‘What do you think?’ Lesset tipped his head towards the engine.
Vasco shrugged his shoulders. ‘She will go. Not the first time, maybe. But she will go.’
‘Petrol and oil?’
‘There is plenty over at t
he cannery,’ said Vasco. ‘ But let us get her down to the slip first.’
Commere Grazia watched them, tipping back in her chair, troubled by the heat and waving a hand lazily to make a draught to keep away the flies from her face. She saw them, two on each side of the boat, pushing it forward on the rollers. They would go so far, until the end roller came free from under the stern and then Assis would pick it up and carry it round and lay it ready for the bows to move forward across it. The boat was heavy and it moved slowly, but she saw that they would soon do it. She thought of the people in the church, and of Peter and Tereza working away there, and she wished that she was not old and fat and useless. If she had been eighteen with the spring of life in her body and a blind passion in her heart, she would have gone for them, found a knife or taken a shotgun from one of them … She didn’t know what she would have done but she would have done something instead of sitting, fat and useless, and, the Lord help her, more than a little scared.
Suddenly, from behind her in the bodega, she heard Tereza’s voice, low, urgent and breathless.
‘Grazia.’
‘Yes, honey.’
‘Peter’s got to get into the cannery. We need blasting powder … After that it will only be minutes before the men are out. But he’s got to get there and we need your help.’
‘Just say. Ah’ll do anything.’
‘He’s at the corner of the street now. Give me time to get back to him and then do something to attract their attention. Anything. Shout, scream, run away, but keep them looking at you while he gets across the open space.’
‘O.K., honey. Ah’ll think of somethin’. You get back to yoh man.’
‘And the same again when he comes out.’
‘Tell him wave somethin’ from the gateway when he’s ready to come back. Ah’ll do it.’
She heard Tereza move back across the room. She sat there and in her mind she followed the girl through the alleyways to the foot of the road that ran up to the church, timing her and thinking about her and Peter; and all the while her eyes were on Lesset and his men and the boat which was drawing nearer each moment to the slip. She didn’t even try to think what she would do. The Lord would put something into her mind. She hadn’t done very well by the Lord in the past, but it wasn’t only her now in need, it was lots of other people, good people, and the Lord wouldn’t let her down. Tereza was back now. She began to count fifty for a margin.
The Man from the 'Turkish Slave' Page 18
