The Surfacing (13 page)

So, he said brightly. He was putting it back up onto the shelf. It had been acknowledged.
The pain and the loss, and the pain to come. Now he wanted them to talk about something
else.

He ate little, left as soon as he could. The others listened to the door close. Still
they said nothing. They were waiting until they heard the door close at the far end
of the corridor.

Mr MacDonald, Kitty said. If you had the slightest respect for that man's loss you
would have kept your mouth shut.

There was total silence in the room. MacDonald turned in his seat to face her properly.

I can see you feel very strongly about the matter, Miss Rink, he said. And I suppose
considering your condition we should none of us be altogether surprised at the fact.
Nonetheless, you must admit that in such a trial religion can be a great comfort.

To whom? she said. To you, perhaps.

I am merely quoting Cabot himself, what he said, the succour he expects his wife
to find in her faith.

He said that to shut you up, Kitty said. It's a ready-made answer, that's all, your
faith, as you like to call it. What do you actually know or care about Cabot's wife?

MacDonald nodded in concession. I am prepared to write to the good woman if her husband
thinks that might be of some comfort, he said. Someone would have to translate, of
course.

Did you write to Giorgio's father? she said.

No, I did not, MacDonald said. I ought to have written. I will readily admit that.

Why didn't you?

I have to say, Miss Rink, I am surprised at your rather belligerent attitude towards
me this evening. If nothing else, it reeks of ingratitude, considering all I have
done for you, and at no small risk to my own position, I might add. I can only allow
that the sad news we have had has touched a very tender nerve in you.

23rd September

In the late evening, in the cracks the sea was now the colour of port. On the land,
the shadows of the headboards reached far across the snow, for home, and Mecca, and
Jerusalem. The wind was due west. The ice grumbled against the hull. At night Morgan
lay and listened to it burrowing in through the planks, searching him out. A cabin
was being cleared for her aboard the
North Star
, but still Myer had not gone into
the bay, to join the other ships.

What is he waiting for? DeHaven asked his friend.

It was the 23rd of September. The last traces of summer were gone. To the north,
the Wellington Channel was a wreck, a new kind of wilderness. Morgan had never seen
the like.

Think of it as sugar, DeHaven said, who had caught his friend staring again. A million
sugar loafs. Ten thousand shiploads. A lifetime's supply, gratis. It's a child's
paradise. Why would anyone in their right mind want to go anywhere else?

That makes me feel immeasurably better about our prospects, Morgan said.

Here and there a lead still threaded its way through it all, for Myer to look at
longingly. They would not last. Even here at the mouth of the bay, the ice was now
closing up.

Finally, the
North Star
was ready to go home, the next day if all went well. Morgan
expected a scene, when he went to her cabin, to announce the news that she was being
transferred.

You managed to get this far, Kitty, he said. And for that, I tip my hat to you.

She did not answer him. She seemed not to have heard.

Even if I wanted you to stay, he wanted to say. Myer was against it, and DeHaven.
A medical doctor. He was ready to plead. He had all his arguments ready, and all
his rage, but she didn't say a word. She stood with her back to him, folding up her
petticoats.

Afterwards he sent Cabot in to help her with the packing, and went to find DeHaven,
and together the two men rowed over to the land to walk about, not to be aboard when
the time came to take her off. They walked up to the stone house now built as a refuge
for Franklin, or any other shipwreck. Morgan stood in its shadow and found the ship
with the glass. He watched the stiff farewells, watched her climbing into the whaleboat.
A small trunk was handed down. MacDonald was sitting beside her. Daly and Cabot at
the oars. They started to pull.

I should have brought champagne, DeHaven said.

Liar, Morgan said. A blind man could see you're sorry to see her go.

I admit there are things I'll miss.

A woman's presence, you mean, Morgan said. Her civilizing influence.

Exactly.

That and her scintillating repartee.

Now now, DeHaven said. She gave it to MacDonald the other night very nicely indeed.

True. I didn't think she had that class of beef in her.

Another few months and she'd have had us all marching in line.

At one stage I thought she was actually going to bite him, Morgan said.

I'd say it was stewing a long time. Can you imagine being cooped up in that little
cabin three whole weeks, with just him and his Bible? Thanks be to God he's moving
back, is all I'll say. Another week of his lectures and I'd be cutting his throat
in his sleep.

Morgan lifted the glass to his eye, watched the whaleboat go round the far side of
the
North Star
. He did not find her again.

I could smell her in the washroom this morning, DeHaven said reverently. He lifted
his sleeve to his nose. I think I even have her on some of my clothes.

Why don't you go along, if you're going to miss her so much?

Don't encourage me.

You wouldn't dare, Morgan said. You wouldn't leave me alone out here with this circus.

DeHaven lifted his other sleeve, pushed his face into it, inhaled deeply.

What happens between a lady and a lady's doctor, I wish not to know, Morgan said.

She's a fine-looking woman, DeHaven said. I'll give you that.

Is that a compliment to me or to her?

And the approach of motherhood has done her no harm. No harm at all.

I know, Morgan said. He sounded quite bereaved. I never before knew what they meant
when they said blooming, but the word is wonderfully apt. These past few days there's
been an actual glow off her. I shouldn't be surprised, perhaps. Her personal physician
has been marvellous with his care.

That afternoon, Myer told Morgan they might now unpack the organ. He had them set
it out in the men's mess. Almost to himself, Myer spoke of the benefit to the men's
morale, even their health, whilst Petersen worked the pump, in something like a trance.
Both his head and Myer's nodded mechanically. Morgan watched them both, and wondered
which man – which persuasion – he hated most.

The music funnelled up through the hatch, drifted fragrantly across the still air
of the bay. It was an old, familiar hymn, and on each of the other ships men began
to appear on deck. There was no rush, no commotion. They were like the ragged figures
he had often seen in the fields, pinned in place by the angelus bell. They stood
there like sleepwalkers, revelling sullenly, snared in the dream. There was no more
hammering, no more heaving, no more coiling of rope. The communion was general. The
scene had been arranged long before. To a man they stood without moving, without
a sound, staring towards the west. Morgan too had finally heard the call. He stood
half hidden behind the galley,
staring towards the
North Star
. She did not appear,
but he remained where he was, as fixed as any of them. As the handle turned, he forgot
his spite, felt the hymn unravelling inside him, note by note. The machine was not
pumping music into him, but drawing it forth. Stubbornly, strictly, he had always
refused to believe in the words, but now he could feel his lips forming them silently.
He had learned them all as a boy, and no amount of work could ever scrub them from
his heart.

When he went down to dinner that evening, he found MacDonald sitting alone at the
table.

This morning, Morgan said. No hitches? No trouble? No trouble at all.

Thank you, Mr MacDonald, Morgan said. I'm sincerely grateful to you for that.

During dinner, Myer insisted on discussing the winter ahead. In any case, he said,
we are well set to meet whatever trials the climate can bring. In our outfits, our
outlook, and our health. Dr DeHaven, do you not agree?

DeHaven said nothing. Water was dripping from the beams down onto floor. A drop landed
on his plate, left a little crater in the cold sauce. It was like the first drop
of summer rain on a month's dust. DeHaven hung his head for a moment, like a man
in private prayer. He kept a tight grip on his cutlery. Then he opened his eyes,
exhaled audibly, and raised his head to look directly at his commander.

I do agree with you, Mr Myer, he said, that it is quite remarkable how well the thing
has been planned, the guarantee of idleness and boredom, and futility and danger,
for the next six months of our lives.

My plans, sir, are to persist, and to endure, and to be ready to serve whenever the
chance presents itself, however soon or however late. Is that too ambitious for you?

Ambitious isn't the word that comes to mind, DeHaven said.

I won't be interrogated, sir.

Now now, Mr Myer. No one is interrogating you. I simply presumed you would appreciate
a frank, honest exchange of opinion between gentlemen. I underestimated your vanity,
it seems.

Shut your mouth sir. God damn you. I won't be interrogated by a mere . . . supernumerary.
Myer's face was almost purple. He looked like a man with a disease.

Supernumerary, yes. Subordinate, no, DeHaven said calmly, the way one would explain
to a child. He gave every sign of enjoying the exchange. Take a good look at my contract,
he said. You have no more authority over me than –

I don't give a damn what your contract says. You'll obey or you'll be made to obey.
Ship's surgeon or not.

I'm not one of your cabin-boys, Myer. Remember that. These men here – he pointed
around the table – are all witnesses can be made to take the stand, if you so much
as lift a finger against me.

We're a long way from London now, Doctor, Brooks cut in.

There was perfect silence. Myer had not taken his eyes from his rival.

Be careful what you say now, DeHaven told him. And don't go making any promises you
can't keep. It won't raise your stock any. Au contraire, as our French friend would
say.

Myer's silence continued. He had a decision to make. To remind him of the fact, there
came a tepid knock on the door. It was Hepburn's stupid, guilty face.

I think you should come up to take a look at this, sir, he said.

Hepburn went out and Myer turned to face the table again. They were still waiting.
Nothing had changed. Finally he announced:

You will pack your bags, sir. Tonight. You will leave behind all medical supplies,
including your own instruments, for which I will be happy to give you a receipt,
and for which I have no doubt you will be more than generously reimbursed. You will
also surrender to me your private diaries
and journals, which are ship's property,
I think you will find. If you have any doubt on that point, you can consider your
contract. You are so fond of referring to that document I presume you have a copy
of it within easy reach.

You're welcome to them, DeHaven said, smiling sourly. I'm not going to need them,
when people ask me about my time under Captain Gordon Myer's command. Because what
I've seen on this ship, I'll never forget. What I've seen these past few months bears
not the remotest comparison, I can tell you, to anything I've seen in all my born
life.

Myer was gone. A stack of journals slammed onto the table, startling the plates.

Something for you boys to read, in the long winter ahead, DeHaven said.

Brooks was staring at him in silence, exactly as Myer had done.

What are you looking for, Brooks? DeHaven said. Someone to blame, I suppose. For
all the uncounted malheurs to come. Well, voila. Take a good, long, last look.

Brooks continued to stare zealously.

The Sound and the Channel are completely clogged up, DeHaven said. He was answering
questions that had not been asked. Can we at least admit to that? Can we at least
recognize the facts? For the life of me I can't see why we're not already hauling
into shore to make ourselves safe for the winter. What is it he's waiting for? I
tell you, it'll be a blessing – no, a miracle – if the
North Star
manages to get
out.

Brooks looked at him incredulously. He nodded at the wall. The season's not closed
yet. Not completely, he said. There might still be plenty of sailing to be done.

Mr Brooks, DeHaven said, obviously our opinions as to Mr Myer's abilities diverge.
So be it. But even I do not think the bastard sufficiently stupid that he would propose
leaving a safe winter harbour to go north through soup ten feet thick, into uncharted
waters, at the end of September, and the
mercury heading for zero Fahrenheit, twenty-five
degrees shy of the Pole.

Perhaps we should scupper the ship here and now, Brooks said. It sounds like that
would suit you best.

Go easy with the acid, Mr Brooks, Morgan said.

Plenty of sailing, DeHaven said. Just let him try it, I say, and see how far he gets.

What are you planning, Doctor? A mutiny? Mr Morgan, I trust you are taking note of
this.

The word had been pronounced. Everyone was listening now.

Nothing so grand, I'm afraid, DeHaven said.

Are you afraid to call a spade a spade?

Mr Brooks, if a commander shows himself unfit for command, mentally, morally or physically,
it is the duty of the medical officer to record and announce the fact. However disagreeable
the task might be. Take a commander proposing a course of action that serves no useful
purpose whatsoever, yet endangers the lives of every man aboard, and the ship itself.
Questions should be asked about the sanity of such an individual, I think you'll
agree. It wouldn't be a question of usurping his command, merely relieving him of
it. There's quite a difference, from a legal point of view.