by Buzz Harcus
Stopping under a streetlamp to catch his breath, he glanced at his watch. It was 11:15, forty-five minutes to curfew. Time was running out. They had to get back to the ship, but where the hell was it? He'd become confused running aimlessly, first down one street, then another, down to his left, down to his right, stopping momentarily to catch their breathes, then running again.
Ahead of them loomed a central fountain surrounded by several tall lampposts. Stopping at the fountain, gasping for breath, Harry dropped heavily onto one of the cold stone benches encircling the fountain. God, the fountain looked so familiar to him, so damned familiar. Why should it? Why should it stick in his mind? It meant something to him, but what?
Osa had reached into her pocket pulling out a handkerchief which she dipped into the fountain. Wringing it out, she gently dabbed at the blood caked on Harry's face. He winced but endured the washing without uttering a sound.
"I know it hurts but dis vay you don't look so hurt," she said apologetically, trying to comfort him, continuing to wet the handkerchief and wiping his face clean.
"Just so I look good for you," he managed with a painful grin.
"Dere," she said after a moment, taking one last swipe at his face. She stood back looking at him. "You look much better, like the man I luf."
He laughed.
She bent forward, kissing him.
"What's that for?"
"Because I love you."
He shook his head. Women! Here they were, lost, in danger and she tells him she loves him. He gave a nervous laugh.
It was time to move again. Standing, he glanced around the area. Damn but it looked familiar. Old memories locked in the recesses of his mind began opening as he forced himself to remember, to recall the Tsingtao of his youth. He knew he'd been past this very fountain a hundred times; he was sure of it.
Sammy's joint down by the dock, the accordian player, Tsingtao beer, the white Russian bar girl who could suck a cigarette to ashes with one long suck. Yeah! He had it!
Clutching Osa to him, he kissed her enthusiastically. "We've got it made," he gasped, pointing past her. "That's the way to the dock area. I remember, I remember, c'mon, let's go!"
He pulled her after him, starting down one of the side streets. They were close now and a feeling of elation swept through him.
"Shemma," a voice rang out. "Shemma, shemma!"
The two froze. He remembers those words. Chinese police used to call out - What, what! Turning, He looked back, and then felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. A police officer was advancing toward them, his gun drawn. Looking up, he saw a stonewall, a possible chance to escape, but it was topped with shards of broken glass.
"Damn," he breathed, "so close, so close." He couldn't lose now, not now.
As the police officer approached, Harry suddenly swept Osa in his arms, kissing her. "Speak Swedish to him," he whispered in her ear. "We're lovers looking for our ship." He kissed her again.
"Why were you running?" the officer demanded, speaking in broken English, his gun still drawn as he approached closer, wary at their sudden embrace, wondering what they were up to.
Osa turned to him speaking in Swedish. Harry could tell by the blank expression on the officer's face that he was totally confused. Smiling, Harry spoke brokenly in English. "I am sorry, officer," he said haltingly as though searching for the right words, gasping as he deliberated, wiping the sweat from his brow, trying to keep his face partially covered. "Ve are from der Svedish ship in der harbor, der grain ship, und ve vant to get back to it before der midnight bell, but ve are lost. Perhaps you could tell us vitch vay to go?"
"Ahh yes," the officer sighed, holstering his pistol. "The dock, ahead over next hill," he said pointing down the street. He looked at his watch. "You have minutes. Fifteen. You quick, quick." He pointed in the direction once again. "Go that way."
"Tank you, tank you very much," Harry said, grinning, nodding. "Ve appreciate your help." He took Osa's hand in his and they started off running down the street in the direction the officer had indicated.
"If the guy's going to shoot us he better do it now," Harry wheezed, but nothing happened.
Topping the hill, they could see the dock area and Nurad nestled against the dock. They stopped to gaze down at the scene. Nurad had never looked more beautiful nor more inviting as it did right at that moment.
Osa, still gasping for breath, suddenly started laughing uncontrollably.
"What's so funny?" Harry gasped.
"You, speaking like a Svede trying to speak English. It vas funny, simply funny."
He laughed. They stood looking at each other laughing like a couple of kids. With bolstered spirits, they walked hand in hand down the hill and passed through the guard shack, submitting their passes. Harry glanced at his watch. It was 11:50 p.m.
Just inside the gate he noticed a restroom. Excusing himself, he stepped inside where he examined himself in the mirror. His face was bruised and puffy, but not notably distorted out of shape. He took his handkerchief and wiped off additional bloodstains and grime, then combed his hair, pulled his cap back on and hurried out to a shivering Osa.
"How do I look?" he asked stopping before her.
She looked him over, and then grinned. "You look like you had a nice time in town," she replied. "I especially enjoyed der Peking duck und der Tsingtao beer, but der floor show vas a bit rough." She laughed.
"I owe you one special dinner just for two with candlelight and soft music at our next port of call," Harry said apologetically. "And we'll skip the floor show."
"I vill hold you to your promise," she retorted. "Remember, I don't forget dat easily."
"Promise."
Taking her hand in his, they walked down to the ship kicking through the light layering of snow. Nurad was lit up like a small village, beautifid under big fleecy flakes of snow that continued falling all about them. As they moved up the gangway, Harry reached over and kissed her lightly.
"Vell, you two just made it," Sigmund said as they stepped on deck. "Did you forget you haf duty in five minutes, Harry?"
"Oh, shit!" Harry exclaimed, slapping his forehead. "I forgot all about it! I'm sorry, Sigmund. We were having such a good time, got tied up and forgot all about the time. You know how it is when you're having fun! Jeez, I'm sorry." He felt Osa squeeze his hand at his comment. "Do I have time for a quick shower before I report for duty?"
Sigmund broke into a big grin. "Don't vorry. Captain Andress tought you might be tired from taking Osa into town und suggested dat I haf an udder sailor serve your vatch tonight. So go to bed. You look beat."
"Truer words were never spoken," Harry responded with a glance toward Osa. "I really feel beat. It's amazing what a woman can get you into."
Osa bit her lip trying to keep a straight face, trying not to burst into laughter. Poor Sigmund, she thought, if he only knew.
"You men are all alike," she chided after a moment, showing mock indignation. "Vy is it alvays der voman's fault? I am tired, too, trying to keep up vis dis man. He is not der only vun tied up." With a twit of her nose, she turned and started away. "I tink I go to bed now. I am tired."
"G'night, Sigmund," Harry called over his shoulder as he hurried after her. "Wait up, Osa. I'll walk you to your cabin."
He put out his arm in a gallant gesture so obvious that even Sigmund might notice, and she slipped her hand through it with an equally noticeable response. "Tank you," she smiled.
As they turned a corner out of sight of Sigmund, Harry made an abrupt change in plans steering her to his cabin. There was no protest from Osa. Once inside, behind a closed, locked door, he grabbed her tightly to him.
"God, it's good to be alive," he breathed, pressing her tightly to him, enjoying the feeling of his arms around her, realizing how much she meant to him. Her head was buried against his shoulder, arms around his neck. They were silent for several long moments just holding onto each other.
After a while, Harry tilted her head up and l
ightly kissed her. "Are you all right?" he whispered.
"Yes." Tears streamed down her cheeks.
"Why the tears?"
"Happy tears," she said. "I tought dey ver going to kill you. I vas so scared." She raised, kissing him. "I luf you, Harry. I really do..."
"I love you, too," he replied huskily. "I really mean it.
He winced as her hand touched softly to his face. "I'm sorry," she gasped. "Does it hurt much?"
"Honey, I ache all over," he said. "They did one hell of a number on me." He eased away from her starting to take off his jacket. "I better get out of these clothes and see how much damage they did to this old bod, 'cause I sure as hell hurt."
He motioned toward the desk. "There's a bottle of cognac in the lower right hand drawer. Get it. We need a celebration drink."
He shrugged off the heavy jacket and untied the seabag letting both fall to the deck. Continuing to disrobe, he yanked off his black turtleneck and then his T-shirt. Naked from the waist up, he began examining his body, especially his ribs. Large red welts appeared on his chest and stomach where Stan had beat and kicked him.
Osa glanced over at him from where she was pouring two full glasses of cognac. "Oh, Harry, you got red splotches all over you. You are badly hurt?"
"I'm tender, but nothing's broken," he answered with a sigh of relief. "Just badly bruised."
"I vill take care of you," she said setting the two glasses over to the edge of the desk and moving to him. She ran her hands lightly over his hairy chest and across his broad shoulders. "I vill make you vell, and den some," she said smiling mischievously.
Harry wrapped his strong arms around her and squeezed her buttocks, kneading the firm flesh. "I bet you will. I just bet you will."
He released her and picked up the two glasses of cognac. "To our successful treasure hunt," he said, handing her one of the glasses. "To our Tsingtao treasure." He touched his glass to hers, then brought it to his lips and drained it in one long continuous swallow. It burned all the way to his stomach. Osa stood flabbergasted, amazed he could down the scorching liquid so quickly. "More," he grinned holding out his empty glass. "More, it burns so good, and I hurt so bad."
She laughed. "You are crazy." She filled his glass again.
"Very observant," he nodded accepting the glass and tipping it, emptying it.
"Harry!" she exclaimed.
He set his glass down, grinning at her. "Now, my love," he said pulling her down on the carpet, "Let's see what we got for all our effort."
"Oh, Harry," she giggled. In the spirit of the moment, she took a deep swallow of the amber fluid, enduring the burn, then tipped the glass, emptying it, wiping away sudden tears.
She filled the glasses again. Then, cross-legged like a couple of kids, they pulled the money from the jacket and seabag and began counting. There were large denomination bills: thousand dollar, five hundred dollar, hundred dollar and even fifties. Excitedly, they leafed through the bills, counting, stacking. An hour later, an empty bottle between them, the money all neatly stacked, they sat grinning and giggling at each other.
"How does it feel to be engaged to a multi-millionaire?" Harry asked, his words slurred. "That is, if you'll become engaged to me." He giggled at his faux pas.
Osa laughed uproariously, her head thrown back.
She crawled over to him on her hands and knees pushing him over on his back, laying across him. Through slitted eyes, she looked at him, a silly grin on her face. "I accept your proposal," she said smothering him with kisses. "Und how does a man who has over two million dollars und his new fiance make love?" she giggled.
"Like dis," he said, laughing, wrapping her within his strong arms.
THE END
Author, Leslie F. "Buzz" Harcus served in China in 1947-48 in FMF-WESPAC, the 12th Service Battalion, located at the USMC base in Tsingtao. Buzz honed his writing skills at Michigan State University, then in television, media relations, promotion, and public health, before retiring. He lives in northern Michigan with his wife, Barbara, writing, playing his banjo, and in the summer, crewing aboard a tall ship, a replica 1850's schooner, Madeline, sailing the Great Lakes.
