The First Mystery Novel
Page 75
Cold, isn’t it? Yes, isn’t it, though! That was the way Sibyl talked. Here’s five thousand dollars, and take her away and kill her. I must be swimming upside down, it’s so hard. If it wasn’t for those damned little sandpipers, I’d quit. Too hard, this is. I’m not getting anywhere. The lights.…
The lights had gone.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The lights had gone, and there was nothing at all. He turned on his back and floated, surging up and down on the gentle swell. “I’m sorry,” he said. I’m very sorry. I’ve done very badly. I took the wrong turn, and I knew it. I was a stubborn sinner. Well…”
He was no more than an immensely heavy log floating gently up and down. It wouldn’t last much longer. But the sandpipers, he thought. You don’t quit. I’m sorry, but I have to quit. Too cold, and too tired. You don’t quit. Even one light would be enough. Even a star would be enough.
Well, if you haven’t got a light or a star, then you go on in the dark. A mouse in a pail goes on. He turned over, and his face went under the water. He lifted his arms and his head; he pushed that tremendous weight through the water. A great black shadow loomed over him. What’s that? he thought. That was The End.
It’s all right to die, as long as you don’t quit. Swim into that black shadow. His frozen numb feet touched something. He tried to stand, but that was not possible. He kept on moving his arms, and the water got shallow so that he could kneel. He went forward on his knees, and after a while he could see over the top of a bank. The lights were there, still twinkling.
Between him and the lights was an illimitable empty desert. He had to walk like a bear, like a gorilla, all bent forward, and he kept falling down. The wind was like a knife. An Arctic wind, he thought. His feet were certainly dead; but when they struck things, a pain came in his shoulders. If you could call it a pain. He kept on felling down, and it was impossible to get up, and sometimes he crawled for a little way.
A dog was barking. I’ve got to stand up, if there’s a dog. If there’s an animal, you can’t crawl like an animal. Only this time it was hard to get up. The dog jumped up at him, and knocked him down.
“What’s wrong with you, brother?” said somebody.
Brother. He did what he could about getting up. A little tremor went through the log lying on the grass. “Mr. and Mrs. Luther Bell,” he said.…
“You’re certainly tough,” said Sibyl.
He knew she wasn’t really there. The thing for him to do now was to keep his eyes closed and not breathe.
“Swallow this, dear,” she said.
And a glass came bumping against his mouth. He opened his lips, and whisky came flooding in. Only he had forgotten how to swallow; he kept it in his mouth until it burned his gums, and then he let it run down his gullet.
“More, please,” he said.
He swallowed as much as she would give him. Unfortunately he had forgotten how to open his eyes. If I could find my hands, I could pull up my lids, he thought. Then the whisky began to run through his veins like hot sunlight. He could breathe now, and he could open his eyes.
And he saw the sun, up in a blue sky.
“Where?” he said.
“What, dear?” said Sibyl.
“When—is this?”
“It’s Monday, dear. Are you better?”
Monday? Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday.… No. Sunday. Monday. Tuesday… Sunday.…
“Jocelyn?” he said.
“Oh, she’s fine,” said Sibyl.
He was lying in bed. He was warm now, but much too heavy to stir. “Who’s the other one—breathing?” he asked.
“Doctor Jacobs, dear.”
“I see,” he said.
He was all right now, except for being so heavy. He knew where his hands and feet were, anyhow.
“Where’s Jocelyn?” he asked.
“She’s fine!” Sibyl said, again.
“No,” he said, “I’m all right now. I want to know. Come on, sister. Give!”
She and Doctor Jacobs murmured together. The doctor came from somewhere and took his wrist.
“Give!” said Killian.
“My dear,” said Sibyl. “We don’t quite understand what’s happened.”
“Has the boat come back?”
She took a long time before she said, “No.”
“Anything heard of it?”
“No,” she said. “Not yet.”
“Wait!” he said, and dragged a great flapping hand across the blanket. “Time?” he said, with a lot of trouble.
“In a moment,” Sibyl said. She didn’t understand.
He pulled himself together, and it hurt. It was pulling hundreds of little strings and making them tight. “Time!” he said, again.
“Just a little while,” she said. He gave up. She didn’t understand.
He had to wait until the machinery was running better. My heart is picking up, he thought. Accelerating nicely. When the engine stops jumping like this, I’ll be all right. So when he was all right, he said, “What time is it, please?”
“Just about noon,” said Harriet.
“I see!” he said. “Wait, please.”
“I won’t go,” she said.
He looked at the sun in the blue sky for a while. “Harriet,” he said, “I want to know.”
“Yes,” she said.
She’s young, he thought. She’s young enough to understand. She’s cross. That’s a good thing to be. Young and cross, and she tells the truth.
“The Captain?” he said. “Is he crazy?”
“I never thought so,” she said. “He used to seem a little queer sometimes when he talked about the shipwreck, that’s all.”
He was quiet for a while, getting better.
“Are they looking for the boat?” he asked.
“Of course.”
“Is there any news of her?”
“Do you want it?” Harriet asked.
“Yes,” he said. “I do.”
She was young enough to tell the truth in the right way. “The Coast Guard station got a report from somebody,” she said. “Somebody saw the boat heading straight into a squall last night.”
“Nothing else?”
“Not yet,” she said.
Never, he thought. Jocelyn’s gone to the North Pole with a crazy skipper. Exaggerated. Very poor taste. Now she’s dead. She’s drowned. I did that. She said I would murder her, and I did.
“Well,” he said, “that’s that.”
I’m certainly being reasonable, he thought. I’m certainly taking this very well. Wonderfully well. I’m certainly a tough guy.
He turned over and buried his face in the pillow. Oh, God! Starry Eyes, I’m so sorry.… So sorry, Starry Eyes.…