As Marie-France saw them manhandle the long, dark fish she said with satisfaction, “Good. They got a sailfish. Cady will be pleased.”
Ten minutes later they were admiring the catch laid out on the beach and listening to Cady describing in graphic detail his fight with the sailfish. Then Guy took Marie-France’s arm and took her off to the house leaving the four of them on the beach.
Cady, his face now serious, said to Kirsty, “Out there fishin’ Guy told me that Lascelles has one or more guns on his boat. He knows him well an’ thinks that, if pushed enough, he might use them.”
“Oh.” Kirsty’s face fell. “What about those bird people? Surely . . .”
“Apparently they won’t always be around.”
“Oh.” She looked down at the sand, scuffed it with her bare toes.
“What are you suggesting?” Ramesh asked Cady with a stern frown. “That we abandon the whole thing?”
“Hell no!’ Cady answered, surprised by the tone of his voice. “I’m just repeatin’ what Guy told me. That’s somethin’ I had to do. It’s a whole new ball game.”
“You’re right, Cady,” Kirsty said thoughtfully. “Of course I want to go on – no matter what the dangers- but it’s not fair to drag you all into it. Ramesh it’s your boat.” She held up a hand as he started to speak. “Wait. I think you three should talk it over without me. If you decide to go straight on to Mombasa I’ll understand. You can drop me off at Mahé and I’ll try to find some other way . . . really I’ll understand. It’s a personal business to me — I can’t expect others to risk their lives.” She turned away and started walking across the sand.
“Wait!” Ramesh called.
She stopped and turned.
“Come right back here,” he said, and suddenly he was not the placid, overly courteous, even timid man they had all imagined. His voice rang with authority.
“Kirsty! Come back here!”
Slowly she retraced her steps, wondering at the change in the man. He was like an emerging chrysalis. Ever since they had set sail from Mahé she had noticed his confidence. He remained ever courteous and considerate, but he was slowly dropping his cloak of diffidence. In spite of her anxiety she felt a growing admiration.
They stood in a circle. Ramesh looked at them all in turn, his head high, his back straight. Then he said, “It is true. The Manasa is my boat. I am the Captain – the master. I am responsible for the boat and the safety of all those sailing in her. I take the decisions even though, as you all know, a short time ago I was an inexperienced babu. I take the decisions. Is that not correct Cady?”
“Sure. But . . .”
“No ‘buts’ please.” Ramesh held up a severe hand. “Of course I listen to advice. I am not a dictator but I am knowing that on a boat only one man can be in charge, especially in conditions of hazard and danger and so on and so forth.” He turned to Lani. “You are in a difficult position because you are not having a choice at this time.”
Instantly Lani said, “I need no choice, Ramesh – you know that.”
“Good.” He turned to Kirsty. “So I have taken the decision. The Manasa will proceed to Poivre and stay in constant contact with Jaloud. If Cady wants to disembark at Mahé he . . .”
Cady’s roar cut him off. “Now wait a minute!” He took a step forward, his face reddening with anger. “Who said any goddam thing ‘bout gettin’ off!”
Lani defused the situation. She started laughing. They looked at her in surprise and she laughed harder. Then she drew a breath and said, “You are all crazy. Nobody wants to give up or ever wanted to. You are going round in little circles saying the same things. Shall I get a Bible? Shall we all swear an oath of loyalty?”
They all smiled, and Kirsty said, “Guy was right, and Cady was right to warn us. It’s better to know the worst.”
“Anyway it’s not so bad,” Cady said. “The odds have been evened out a bit. I’ll tell you about it on the boat.” To Ramesh he said, “I never doubted you were the skipper an’ in charge. I guess I’ve had ten times more experience on boats and if you ever ask my advice I’ll give it – but only when you ask.”
Ramesh ducked his head in acknowledgment. “I am knowing that Cady. It is a relief to me that you are on board.” He glanced at his watch. “Now let us say goodbye to Guy and Marie-France. I would like to be under way by one o’clock.”
Chapter 18
The shot rang out and a spout of water erupted about ten yards beyond the floating bottle.
“It jumps!” Ramesh exclaimed. “It jumps in my hand!”
“Sure it does,” Cady said patiently. “It’s the recoil. Here, put your left hand on top of your right wrist to steady it like this. Aim again. Remember to imagine that the barrel is your finger. Point it at the target. Keep your arm stiff an’ just squeeze the trigger real gentle.”
They were standing on the stern of Manasa forty miles south-west of Bird Island. It was early evening and the wind had died away which it often does during the changeover of monsoons. Ramesh had never even held a gun in his life and Cady had suggested that they use one clip of the 9mm ammunition to give him some practice with the Walther. He was tempted to do the same thing himself with the Sten gun but each magazine contained only thirty-two rounds and, on automatic, that was gone in a two-second burst. He decided to keep all six magazines just in case.
Kirsty and Lani were standing on the coach roof, interested observers and at the next shot they shouted and clapped their hands. The water spout was only a couple of feet past and to the left.
“Good!” Cady said and bent down to pick up the ejected cartridge from the deck.
The next shot was over again and far to the right and Ramesh was crestfallen.
“You snatched the trigger,” Cady said sternly. “The barrel moved just before the shot. Squeeze it Ramesh – like you’d pluck an over-ripe plum.”
The next shot was very close, the bottle almost obscured by spray.
He never did hit the bottle, but the last four shots were close and Cady was well pleased.
Ramesh was not. “Damn!” he muttered as the sound of the last round rolled away across the empty sea.
“Don’t worry,” Cady said encouragingly. “For a first try it was damn good – an’ any one of those last four would have downed a man. Besides, a hand gun is for use close up. You hit a guy anywhere with that from five yards an’ he’ll know all about it.”
Ramesh looked down at the gun in his hand. The blue-black metal. The stocky serrated grip and the slim barrel with its wedged foresight. The weight felt good in his hand – balanced. He tried to imagine the sensation of pointing it at a man and squeezing the trigger. No spouts of water or broken glass but torn flesh and smashed bone and blood. He wondered if he could do it.
Cady was reading his thoughts. “If someone was tryin’ to kill you Ramesh – you’d do it – bet your ass!”
Ramesh nodded grimly. “Yes I believe it. Have you ever done it?”
“Only once,” Cady said. “I was on a supply ship in Jakarta Harbour. Because of congestion we had to wait weeks to unload. Those days there were a lot of robberies from ships – pirating really. They’d come out quietly in the middle of the night, hook on with cloth covered grapples an’ swarm over the side. We took turns standin’ guard with a Colt 1911 – big .45 that would stop an elephant. Well they came one night. I was dozin’ off, got lucky an’ just spotted some shadows at the stern rail. Hell, I really panicked. Just blazed away the whole damn clip. They used damn great dugouts with five outboards on the back. They took off in a cloud of smoke.”
“Do you think you killed one?”
“Who knows? There was a little blood on the rail. Guess I winged him.”
“Hummm,” Ramesh muttered thoughtfully, looking down at the pistol. He held it out to Cady who, with his finger, slowly pushed the barrel away to the side.
“Never point a gun at someone Ramesh.”
“But it’s empty.”
“Sure, an’ a
lot of people have died from a gun they knew was empty.”
He took the gun and clicked on the safety and released the clip.
“I’ll give it a clean, an’ the Sten. You did well Ramesh. Good shootin’ for a first try.” He looked at his watch. “Then I’m gonna get a coupla hours sleep before I take the watch.”
Ramesh had divided up the night watches between himself and Cady. Despite protests he had taken the tiring dog watch for himself. Midnight to four in the morning.
He moved up to the wheel and pushed the throttle and Manasa picked up speed and slid through the flat sea towards the Amirantes.
The wind increased just after three in the morning. Cady woke as soon as the engine was throttled back. His first thought was that something was wrong, but then he heard Ramesh moving forward on the deck above him and guessed that he was putting up sail. He contemplated going up to help, but decided against it. Ramesh might think he lacked confidence in him. Then he faintly heard Ramesh call something and the boat turned slightly to a new course, so either Lani or Kirsty was at the helm.
He looked at the luminous dial of his watch and decided to try to get a little more sleep before relieving Ramesh. He turned over in the narrow bunk and pounded his pillow and tried to settle down.
But sleep eluded him, and his thoughts, as they had done frequently of late, turned to Lani.
He knew he was falling in love and it confused and worried him. That evening they had eaten dinner on the afterdeck: one of Dave’s pork pies with salad, preceded by smoked sailfish, which Guy had given them from a previous catch. Ramesh and Kirsty had dominated the conversation speculating about the habits and lives of sooty terns and giant tortoises and whether animals can communicate and if they have feelings and so on. They were very relaxed with each other and had Cady not been so preoccupied with Lani he would have noticed the affection that had grown between them. Lani was merely picking at her food.
“The pie’s great,” he said. “Don’t you like it?”
She looked up and smiled slightly. “I’m sure it’s good. I am not very used to it though. Where I come from we cook pigs differently.”
“Sure. Western food must be real strange for you. Hell I don’t mind eatin’ Chinese food every damned day.”
“No,” she said firmly. “I must get used to it. I must get used to lots of new things.”
He had been about to ask her what she foresaw for herself in the future, but held back the question. None of them had much idea on that score, particularly Lani.
She had a curious way of looking at him. Never a full, direct look, but kind of snatched glances. In any other girl he would have thought she was being coy – flirting even-but he knew it was not the case. It was as though she was almost frightened of him. He noticed that when she spoke to Ramesh or Kirsty she looked them straight in the eyes.
It puzzled him. He pounded the pillow again and tried to get his great length comfortable, then sighed and looked at his watch. Three thirty. No point in trying to sleep now. He rolled out of the bunk and pulled on a pair of denim shorts. He would see if Ramesh wanted coffee or anything.
He padded barefoot down the corridor past the silent engine room and entered the dark saloon. He was about to go up the companionway when he heard the voices. They were very low, almost whispers but the wind was astern carrying them clearly to him.
“I like her very much Lani. I’m surprised you noticed. Is it so obvious?”
Her voice was fainter. She was obviously sitting on the stern rail.
“In a way, Ramesh. I know you very well now. I notice the way you look at her. How you become attentive to her. How you are more alert when she talks to you – it is not unnatural.”
Cady froze where he was, a foot on the bottom step.
Ramesh’s voice was underlaid by a note of concern. “Do you mind, Lani? Does it bother you?”
“Oh no.” She said it lightly. “I think she is a very good woman, and she feels the same as you do. I can see it.” A pause, then, “But I worry for you Ramesh. She is obsessed. She has no proof that her son is alive but she is positive.”
“So am I,” Ramesh said simply.
“I know. I also. But I think because I want to believe it- for her sake. Back there on the island when Cady talked about the guns you were angry at the thought of giving up the search. I feel you will get the same obsession. It is not good. What if the boy is indeed dead? How long will you search for him?”
“I don’t know Lani, or what will happen in the weeks ahead, but I shall be fatalistic. Let happen what will happen.” A pause. “I too am worried – but about Cady.”
“Why?”
“Well . . . well they were together you know. He likes her very much. Maybe loves her.”
“No.” She was quietly emphatic. “He likes her, yes, but they are not lovers. There is something-a kind of closeness but they will not be lovers. I think it is like I feel for you – but the other way round.”
There was a silence except for the creaking of the sails, then Ramesh murmured, “But he is so handsome . . . so virile . . . it must be hard for a woman not to be very attracted . . . don’t you think?”
“Oh no. I don’t think so.”
“Really?”
“Really. Sometimes you forget Ramesh that I am Chinese. We have different ideas about what is attractive. We see many westerners as coarse and gross, with hairy bodies like apes. When the first ones came to China they were called fang gweilo. It means foreign devil – or barbarian. We find it takes a long time to get used to them. I mean I can hardly look at Cady’s face.” ‘
“But it is still bruised.”
“It’s not that. I see his blond eyebrows and long hair like an albino, and the hair on his face when he doesn’t shave sometimes – and on his chest and arms. Oh, of course I will get used to it,” she giggled, “just like pork pies.”
From the tone of his voice Ramesh was obviously intrigued. “But you like him?”
“Oh yes. Very much. He has good character and much kindness . . . but he is so very ugly.”
If their ears had been sharper they would have heard the single word muttered in the saloon: “Goddam!”
And if their eyes could have pierced the darkness and the wooden coaming, they would have seen Cady’s face-split by an enormous grin.
Chapter 19
They passed the south-eastern tip of Daros two hours after dawn. Cady had the watch and as the others were all asleep he lashed the wheel and took a bearing. Then he altered course a few degrees further south. The wind had freshened to a force four and Manasa bowled along at a steady six knots.
Cady was at peace with the world. He recorded the change of course in the log book and calculated that they would reach Poivre in the early afternoon and the ‘haunting’ would finally begin. He was looking forward to it. In a strange way he was anxious to see Lascelles again. He would not provoke anything but he was impatient to be in the vicinity of the man. He wanted to watch him in the way that a hunter will stalk his quarry knowing that the moment of decision will surely come.
He was no longer confused about his emotions. They were crystal clear. He had a great affection for Kirsty and enormous admiration.
He was in love with Lani. It felt good to have things clear in his mind. He felt like a runner who had just finished a long and gruelling race and is relaxing under a hot shower: tired but warm and with the tension flowing out of him. He had seen and done much in his twenty-six years. For the past eight years he had worked hard and travelled the world and known excitement and sometimes fear. But he had never known love as he now experienced it, and it was as though he had reached a pinnacle and for the first time was breathing fresh and pure air.
He heard a noise in the saloon and then Kirsty’s face appeared in the companionway. Her hair was sleep-tousled and she had a hand over her yawning mouth.
“Morning, Cady,” she mumbled. “You up there alone?”
“Yeah. Sleep well?”
She smiled sleepily. “And how! Where are we?”
“Just passin’ Daros. I figure we reach Poivre in about six hours.”
“That’s fast isn’t it?”
“Sure is. We picked up a wind in the night.”
She moved up the steps and looked over the side at the island a couple of miles away: a line of coconut trees, a white beach and nothing else to be seen.
“Breakfast Cady? Bacon and eggs and coffee?”
“Great!” He was suddenly ravenous.
“Shall I make it for the others?”
“No, they were both awake till after four. Let them sleep.”
Fifteen minutes later they were eating at the folding table on the stern deck. The wind was so steady on the beam that Manasa sailed herself.
Kirsty was wide awake now, her hair blowing in the breeze, her eyes sparkling. She kept glancing at Cady as he voraciously demolished four eggs and half a dozen rashers of bacon.
When he finally wiped his plate clean with a piece of bread she poured him more coffee and asked:
“So tell me?”
“What?” he mumbled through his last mouthful.
“What happened? You look like a cat that swallowed an entire cage full of canaries.”
He looked at her closely and she smiled and said, “Let me guess. You’re in love. It’s not me so it must be Lani.” She laughed at the almost guilty look on his face.
“She thinks I’m ugly!” He said it as if in explanation.
Kirsty nodded. “I know, she told me last night.”
“She did!”
“Sure. After dinner when we went to bed we had a long talk. Sort of woman’s talk. I guess she needed to.”
“Go on.” He was leaning forward across the table.
She shook her head. “That’s all. We talked about Ramesh and you and . . . well woman’s talk.” She paused. “I’m glad for you Cady – and for me. It kind of clears the air for us. Remember when we talked in the hospital in Mahé? Well, I was still a bit worried about side-tracking you from your career or something.” Her eyes crinkled as she smiled. “Well now I won’t feel guilty. Instead of being nervous about the depth of your feelings I can relax knowing that I’ve got a truly good friend.”
Blood Ties Page 17
