Blood Ties

by A. J. Quinnell

  Very seriously Ramesh said, “Jack I am not able to find the correct words to thank you. I cannot think what I would be doing now if you had not helped me.”

  Jack waved a nonchalant hand, looking pleased but sheepish. “Forget it Ramesh — I enjoyed it. Anyway. Cady did a lot of the work —more than half.”

  “Bullshit!” Cady said cheerfully, coming up the companionway. His face and bare torso were still discoloured by yellowing bruises. “I just provided some labour.” To Ramesh he said seriously, “I’m a fair mechanic but I wouldn’t even have attempted that job. I don’t have that kinda experience or knowledge. Jack’s an engineer an’ as fine a one as I’ve ever worked for.”

  Jack was trying to look modest again but then he noticed something. “Hello, what’s this?”

  They all turned to see Dave Thomas coming down the jetty carrying something rolled up under his arm. Behind him was Jimmy the bartender with a tray of glasses and an ice bucket.

  “Champagne,” Ramesh said. “I asked Dave to send it out as soon as he heard the engine start.”

  They climbed aboard and, while the glasses were being poured, Dave handed Ramesh the thick roll of paper.

  “Admiralty charts,” he said, “for all these islands. You’ve probably got them but these have been annotated by local yachtsmen and the like, showing unmarked coral heads and so on. Just mail them back to me when you get to East Africa.”

  Ramesh started to thank him but Dave waved a hand in dismissal.

  The glasses were passed out and they all looked expectantly at Ramesh.

  “To Jack and a fine piece of engineering,” he said.

  They all drank except Jack. He waited and then raised his glass. “To Manasa and,” a glance at Kirsty, “a successful voyage.”

  They echoed his words and drank and then Dave asked Ramesh, “When do you plan to leave?”

  Ramesh shrugged. “Well if everything is all right I think we go at dawn tomorrow. If this wind keeps up we should make Bird Island by sunset.” He looked at Jack for confirmation.

  “Sure. Cady and I will check over everything else mechanical this afternoon. Of course by now Jaloud could have moved on to the Amirantes . . .” He thought for a moment. “But still you’ll have to go to Bird first. Those ornithologists don’t have a fixed route or timetable. They’re certainly going to Poivre and then Aldabra but they could divert on the way. Guy Savy will know their next destination after Bird.”

  “He invited us to visit him,” Kirsty said. “We became friendly on the ship.”

  “Then it is decided,” Ramesh said and drained his glass. “And tonight you will all be my guests at the Northolme. Dave, can you make it?”

  “Sure,” Dave answered with a grin. “Saturday night — Joan will put the record player on and we’ll have a bit of a dance.” He winked at Lani. “Do you know how to do the twist young lady?”

  She looked mystified and Cady said, “Don’t worry – I’ll teach you.” He glanced at Jack. “I’ll toss you for who checks the bilge pump and who does the toilet.”

  Jack grinned. “No deal, you do ‘em both while I check the steering mechanism and the wiring.”

  Cady grimaced comically. “I had a feeling that would happen.”

  Book Three

  Chapter 16

  It looked like a huge swarm of bees circling above the green smudge on the horizon.

  “Are they really birds?” Kirsty asked in awe.

  “Must be,” Cady answered. “Guy said there were close on two million of’em from May through September.”

  They were standing on the foredeck of the Manasa as it heeled over gently on a broad reach.

  “But it’s so small,” Kirsty said. “They must cover the place.”

  “No. Apparently they nest only on a couple of acres on the east of the island. Each pair has just a tiny patch of sand as its own territory.”

  Kirsty shook her head. “Cady, the whole island doesn’t look bigger than a couple of acres.”

  He smiled. “We’re still about ten miles off Kirsty — and it’s very low. We’ll be up to it in a couple of hours.”

  They turned and made their way back past the dog house. Ramesh was at the wheel and he did not look much better than when he had first woken up.

  Cady grinned at him. “Still sufferin’?”

  He nodded mournfully. “I will never, never drink again; never!”

  “Oh come on, Ramesh,” Kirsty said. “It was a good party and you weren’t really drunk. Just kinda merry.”

  He smiled ruefully. “I was not merry this morning, I am telling you that.”

  Cady said, “Why don’t you go down for a rest? I’ll take the wheel and call you when we’re a coupla miles off.”

  Ramesh looked doubtful. “But you have done more than your share.”

  “I enjoy it,” Cady said equitably. “Bin a long time since I was on a yacht.”

  Gratefully Ramesh relinquished the helm and went below.

  Kirsty sat on a canvas chair sunning herself and Cady was left with his thoughts.

  It really had been a good party. Rajaratnam and Stevens had come with their wives. Earlier in the week Stevens had invited the four of them up to his tea plantation for dinner and it had been a pleasant evening.

  As soon as they had all arrived at the Northolme, Jack Nelson and Dave Thomas appointed themselves bartenders for the night and set about it with a will.

  Joan White had prepared a huge curry and, while it simmered, joined the others on the terrace. When Fiona went down to feed the fish she invited Lani to join her. Lani had bought some locally designed hand-dyed sarongs and was wearing one. It had a pattern in white and red, tucking in over her breasts and flowing down, moulding her slim body.

  On the beach they both pulled up their sarongs and waded in. Lani was excited and skittish. When she held the first piece of food under the water and a big grouper nosed in for it, she shrieked and jumped back laughing, splashing water over herself and Fiona.

  Cady decided he had never seen anyone so alive or unselfconsciously beautiful.

  Down below, lying on his bunk, Ramesh was also remembering the party. He had taken three more aspirins and his headache was slowly abating. He too conjured up the image of Lani splashing in the water but unlike Cady it made him appreciate just how very young she was; hardly more than a child. He realised that over the past few days his feelings for her had truly coalesced and they were now definitely paternal. His searing concern when she had been locked up was the concern of a father for a child.

  Halfway through the party Ramesh had suddenly realised that it was the only party he had ever attended in his life. He looked at the people around him and felt a great welling up of affection. Two months ago the only friend he had was Jaran Singh. Now he was surrounded by friends – and of the most unexpected variety. He had been musing on the strange twists of fate that had brought it all about when Jack came over with a tall frosted glass.

  “Come on old cock. Enough of that beer, try this.”

  “What is it?”

  Jack winked. “Singapore Gin Sling.”

  “Is it not very strong?”

  “Just a trifle – but good for a party.”

  Gingerly Ramesh tasted it and immediately liked the refreshing bitter-sweet taste.

  It was a hot night and he drank it rather quickly and then another. He calculated later that he had drunk four before dinner, but then everyone had been drinking at an accelerated pace.

  After dinner, during which several bottles of dry white wine were consumed, they all went back to the terrace and Joan put some music on. About a score of locals had arrived at the bar, apparently Saturday night regulars. Tables were cleared to leave space for dancing and soon the terrace was alive with colour and movement.

  Ramesh had wedged himself into a corner of the bar determined to be a mere spectator. He had never danced in his life and with his shyness was not about to start. Dave was doing a stint behind the bar and refused to serve R
amesh a beer.

  “Stay with gin,” he advised and twirled one end of his moustache, “with a little tonic and a lot of ice.”

  Ramesh readily agreed. He was feeling very relaxed. He watched as Cady taught Lani how to do the twist.

  “Pretend you’re dryin’ your back with a towel,” he said, and she did so and immediately had the swinging, swaying movement; laughing up at the giant who gyrated in front of her.

  Later, when the music had slowed down, Jack led Kirsty on to the floor and Ramesh had been amazed that in spite of the man’s bulk he was feather light on his feet. He commented on it to Dave who grinned and said, “A lot of fat men are good dancers. Wait till you see me!”

  Kirsty was in a dark blue dress cut square across her breasts, tight at the waist and flaring slightly to just above her knees. After several days in the sun she was deeply tanned while her heavy hair, swaying on her shoulders as she danced, had become even blonder.

  Ramesh had a couple more gin and tonics and was beating the bar with his hand in time to the music when she pushed through to him.

  “Come on, Ramesh. You’re the only one who hasn’t danced.”

  “Oh no, Kirsty,” he said in alarm. “I am not dancing. I am never dancing.”

  He pressed back against the wall but Kirsty grabbed his hand and led him protesting out on to the floor.

  “But I am not knowing the steps,” he said in real panic.

  “Don’t worry,” she laughed. “Just move your feet to the music — follow me.”

  She slid a hand on to his shoulder and moved close. Tentatively he put his arm around her waist and felt himself moving against her, and with the music.

  It was as though a magician had cast a sudden spell over him. His shyness and self-consciousness vanished and he felt the rhythm of the music from his hair to his toes, and the softness of the woman against him and the curve of her waist under his palm.

  In disbelief he muttered, “I am dancing . . . I am dancing.”

  Kirsty laughed in delight. “You’re very good Ramesh – a natural.”

  They danced three times during the next hour and in between sat together at the bar and he told her a little of India and she contrasted it with her life in New York. He had never been so loquacious: talking and drinking and laughing as though he had known her all his life.

  At one point she said, “Ramesh you have changed very fast.”

  He replied, “Anyone would who had spent thirty years working in an office and one day jumped on a boat and took off into the blue.”

  She smiled. “I think I know exactly what you mean!”

  Towards midnight the locals gave a demonstration of the sega and afterwards dragged the others on to participate.

  As Ramesh circled Kirsty in the hip-swinging contactless dance he suddenly felt the eroticism of it. He looked at her face with its half smile and narrowed eyes looking back at him and a surge of warmth spread through his body, as though he’d been abruptly immersed in heated syrup.

  The sensation, together with the drink, had confused him and when everyone was heading back to the bar he strolled away further down the terrace and into the partial shadow of some Causarina trees. He was feeling a little dizzy and his head was a whirlpool of impressions and emotions. He told himself that it was due to the drink. He simply wasn’t used to it.

  After a few minutes his head cleared and he had turned to go back when he saw, a few yards away, the figure of Jack Nelson. He was standing in profile and with the light behind him Ramesh saw that his face was twisted in pain. He saw him reach into his shirt pocket and then pop something into his mouth. Ramesh moved forward, saying

  “Jack, are you all right?”

  “Oh . . . Ramesh . . . Yes.” He paused and, with an effort, straightened his face. “Sure, just a bit of indigestion . . . too much curry.”

  Ramesh’s euphoria had turned to sadness. He wondered whether he should say something, offer sympathy or understanding, but Jack’s face had cleared and he was breathing easily. He clapped a hand on Ramesh’s shoulder.

  “Bloody good party, old boy. Too good to finish it early but you’d better get your crew back in an hour or so. It’s a full day to Bird and you don’t want to approach that reef in darkness,”

  He took Ramesh’s arm and led him back to the bar and within a few minutes Ramesh had regained his mood.

  His mood at dawn was something else again. He had awoken to his first ever hangover and in his ignorance thought he must be close to dying. Cady sitting on the opposite bunk and grinning like an ape had not improved his composure, but had given helpful advice and after Ramesh had held his head under the deck shower for ten minutes and taken three aspirin and managed to keep down a mug of tea and a slice of bread he felt marginally better. He had brushed aside suggestions that they postpone their departure for a day and started getting the boat ready.

  It had been a sad farewell, particularly for Ramesh. They all came to see them off. The Rajaratnams, the Stevens, Joan and Fiona, Dave and Jack and finally a sleepy-eyed policeman who had been assigned to ensure that Lani did in fact leave on the Manasa. He gratefully accepted a cup of tea and sat on the jetty gazing blearily out to sea.

  Dave had brought three cartons for delivery to the Savys: fresh vegetables and other provisions, and mail and newspapers. For Manasa he had brought two enormous pork pies which he had baked himself and which were coveted throughout the islands.

  Joan White had brought fresh home baked bread and a bottle of Gordons Gin which she presented to Ramesh with a wicked grin.

  The Stevens had brought several kilos of their own tea, and Rajaratnam a basket of fruit from his garden. Ramesh spoke a few words of thanks to him and his wife in Urdu. He had been unable to get him to accept a single rupee for his legal services.

  Jack Nelson had brought nothing, but he had left his toolbox on board and, as Cady was about to heft it on to the jetty, he called out, “Leave it there Cady. It’s my gift to the boat.”

  Ramesh had protested. He knew that Nelson had owned the toolbox for many years and that, to an engineer, it was a very personal possession.

  But Nelson had been adamant. He wanted Ramesh to have it.

  Ramesh had climbed on to the jetty and taken his arm and they walked away from the others out of earshot.

  Ramesh struggled to find the words: “Jack I have made good friends here. People that before I would not be dreaming to become friends. All have helped me in my foolish adventure, but you have become special in my life. I only wish that you could come with us.”

  Nelson half smiled. “Believe me Ramesh, so do I. But that is not possible. I leave soon for England and will probably not return.”

  Ramesh said, “I know. That first day on Manasa I saw the edge of the colostomy bag. I wanted to cut off my tongue. My mother had the same thing. What you suffered last night was not indigestion but very great pain.”

  They stood looking at each other for a long moment then Nelson nodded slowly. “So you know what it means?”

  “Yes, but of course there is hope. It is not automatically terminal. They are always trying new drugs . . .”

  “No, Ramesh,” Jack’s voice was firm. “I’ve got it in the stomach too and it’s spreading. My weight’s dropping off and the pain gets steadily worse. O’Reilly waffles on about another op but I’ve had enough. I’ll go back to England and sort out my affairs . . . It’s only a matter of months.” He looked at Ramesh’s grief-stricken face and reached out and patted his arm. “Don’t worry. I’m not frightened of it. I was at first, but once you face something like that, and accept it . . . it’s not so bad.”

  Ramesh did not know what to say. He was fighting back tears. “I . . . I have so much to thank you for . . .”

  “No! The thanks come from me, I enjoyed fixing your engine. It did a lot for my self-respect. And there’s something else – thanks to you I won’t die a bigot.” His face was very serious but then it split into an affectionate grin. “In my will I’m goin
g to leave you my stupid, baggy shorts – and you’d better wear them at least once a week!”

  Ramesh managed to return the smile and Jack took his arm saying, “Come on. It’s time you cast off.”

  The Manasa sailed after much hugging and kissing and hardly a dry eye in sight.

  For the past half hour Ramesh had been dimly aware of an increasing noise. A sort of drifting and fading shrieking noise. His headache was now gone and he was about to go on deck to investigate when Cady called down.

  “Ramesh. We’re closing the island. In ten minutes we’ll be off the western point.”

  Ramesh emerged on deck to an extraordinary spectacle which the others were already watching. About half a mile off the starboard bow was a long, low island seemingly covered entirely by coconut trees. An almost white beach ran its length. Above it, and over the surrounding sea, in their tens of thousands, birds wheeled and dived in what seemed to be mindless confusion and in a cacophony of noise. The impression was exactly that of giant bees swarming around their nest, but then he saw some of them close to the surface, effortlessly contouring the waves, their wings motionless.

  It was a spectacle he could have watched for hours but then off the beam he saw the white foam of the reef and he quickly moved up beside Cady and studied the chart weighted down in front of the wheel. Dave had pointed out the gap in the reef and the bearings to be taken and other precautions.

  Ramesh was a little tense. Not because he worried about his ability to take Manasa safely in, but about Cady.

  It can be difficult having two men on a boat. One the owner and the other knowing that the owner was not very experienced and perhaps believing himself to be more competent.

  Ramesh realised that an important test was approaching. Cady was at the wheel, standing relaxed with legs apart, gazing at the fast-approaching westerly tip of the island and occasionally glancing at the compass. Ramesh had finished studying the chart and was now going to take the wheel and con the boat in, but he did not want to say anything to Cady. It was foolish and he knew in a moment he would have to. It was necessary on this first day to assert his authority on all matters concerning the boat. He waited two more minutes and was about to open his mouth when Cady, without taking his eyes off the island, took a step to one side and with one finger steadying a spoke of the wheel drawled.