Текст книги "Rich Man, Poor Man"

Автор книги: Irwin Shaw

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Текущая страница: 49 (всего у книги 53 страниц)

“Dry,” Wesley said.

“She’s solid,” Thomas said. “The old Clothilde.” Then he noticed the glasses in Rudolph’s and Gretchen’s hands. “We continuing the celebration?” he asked.

“Just one drink,” Rudolph said.

Thomas nodded. “Wesley,” he said, “take the wheel. We’re going back to Antibes. On the port engine. Keep the revs low and watch the oil and water gauges. If the pressure drops or it begins to heat up, cut it right away.”

Rudolph could sense that Thomas would have preferred to take the wheel himself, but he wanted to make sure that Wesley didn’t feel guilty about the accident.

“Well, folks,” Thomas said as Wesley started the engine and slowly swung the Clothilde’s bow around, “I’m afraid there goes Portofino.”

“Don’t worry about us,” Rudolph said. “Worry about the boat.”

“There’s nothing we can do tonight,” Thomas said. “Tomorrow morning, we’ll put on the masks and go down and take a look. If it’s what I think it is, it’ll mean waiting for a new screw and maybe a new shaft and putting her up on land to fit them. I could go on to Villefranche, but I get a better deal from the yard in Antibes.”

“That’s all right,” Jean said. “We all love Antibes.”

“You’re a nice girl,” Thomas said to Jean. “Now, why don’t we all sit down and have our dinner?”

They could only do four knots on the one engine and Antibes harbor was silent and dark as they entered it. No horns greeted their arrival and no flowers were strewn in their wake.

IV

There was a small, insistent tapping sound in his dream and as he swam up from sleep Thomas thought, Pappy is at the door. He opened his eyes, saw that he was in his bunk with Kate sleeping beside him. He had rigged up another section to the lower bunk so that he and Kate could sleep comfortably together. The new section could be folded back during the day, to give them room to walk around the small cabin.

The tapping continued. “Who’s there?” he whispered. He didn’t want to wake Kate.

“It’s me,” came the answering whisper. “Pinky Kimball.”

“In a minute,” Thomas said. He didn’t turn on the light, but dressed in the dark. Kate slept deeply, worn out by the day’s activities.

Barefoot, in sweater and pants, Thomas cautiously opened the cabin door and went out into the gangway, where Pinky was waiting for him. There was a huge smell of drink coming from Pinky, but it was too dark in the gangway for Thomas to tell just how drunk he was. He led the way up to the pilot house, past the cabin where Dwyer and Wesley slept. He looked at his watch. Two-fifteen on the phosphorescent dial. Pinky stumbled a little going up the ladder. “What the hell is it, Pinky?” Thomas asked irritably.

“I just came from Cannes,” Pinky said thickly.

“So what? Do you always wake up people when you come from Cannes?”

“You got to listen to me, mate,” Pinky said. “I saw your sister-in-law in Cannes.”

“You’re drunk, Pinky,” Thomas said disgustedly. “Go to sleep.”

“In pink pants. Listen, why would I say a thing like that if I didn’t glom her? I saw her all day, didn’t I? I’m not that drunk. I can recognize a woman I see all day, can’t I? I was surprised and went up to her and I said I thought you were on the way to Portofino and she said I am not on my way to Portofino, we had an accident and we’re bloody well in Antibes harbor.”

“She didn’t say bloody well,” Thomas said, not wishing to believe that Jean was anyplace else but on the Clothilde, asleep.

“A turn of phrase,” Pinky said. “But I saw her.”

“Where in Cannes?” He had to remember to keep his voice down, so as not to awaken the others.

“In a strip-tease joint. La Porte Rose. It’s on the rue Bivouac Napoléon. At the bar with a big Yugoslav or something in a gabardine suit. I’ve seen him around. He’s a pimp. He’s done time.”

“Oh, Christ. Was she drunk?”

“Looping,” Pinky said. “I offered to take her back to Antibes with me but she said, This gentleman here will drive me home when we are ready.”

“Wait here,” Thomas said. He went down into the saloon and along the aft gangway, passing the cabins where Gretchen and Enid slept. There was no sound from either cabin. He opened the door to the master cabin in the stern. There was a light on in the gangway all night, in case Enid wanted to go to the bathroom. When Thomas opened the main cabin door, just enough to look in, he saw Rudolph sleeping in pajamas, in the big bed. Alone.

Thomas closed the door gently and went back up to Pinky. “You saw her,” he said.

“What’re you going to do?” Pinky asked.

“Go and get her,” Thomas said.

“Do you want me to come with you? It’s a rough crowd.”

Thomas shook his head. Pinky sober was no help. Drunk he’d be worthless. “Thanks. You go to sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.” Pinky started to remonstrate, but Thomas said, “Go ahead, go ahead,” and pushed him gently toward the gangplank. He watched Pinky walk unsteadily along the quay, going in and out of shadow, toward where the Vega was berthed. He felt his pockets. He had some loose change in his wallet. Then he went down to his own cabin, stepping carefully past the cabin that Dwyer and Wesley shared. He woke up Kate with a slight tap on her shoulder.

“Keep it low,” he said. “I don’t want to wake up the whole ship.” Then he told her Pinky’s news. “I’ve got to go get her,” he said.

“Alone?”

“The fewer the better,” he said. “I’ll bring her back and put her in her husband’s bed and tomorrow he can say his wife has a headache and is staying in bed for a day or so and nobody’ll catch on to anything. I don’t want Wesley or Bunny to see the lady drunk.” He also didn’t want Wesley or Dwyer to be around if there was going to be any trouble.

“I’ll go with you,” Kate said. She started to get up. He pushed her down.

“I don’t want her to know that you’ve seen her drunk with a pimp either. We’ve got to live the rest of our lives as friends.”

“You’ll be careful, won’t you?”

“Of course, I’ll be careful,” he said. He kissed her. “Sleep well, darling.”

Any other woman would have made a fuss, he thought as he went up on deck. Not Kate. He put on the espadrilles he always left at the gangplank and went down to the quay. He was lucky. Just as he was going through the archway a taxi drove up and let off a couple in evening clothes. He got into the taxi and said, “La rue Bivouac Napoléon, Cannes.”

She wasn’t at the bar when he went into La Porte Rose. And there was no Yugoslav in a gabardine suit, either. There were two or three men standing at the bar, watching the show, and a couple of hookers. There were some single men at tables and three men whose looks he didn’t like, sitting with one of the performers at a table near the entrance. Two elderly American couples sat at a table on the edge of the dance floor. An act was just beginning. The band was playing loudly and a red-headed girl in an evening dress was swaying around the floor in the spotlight, slowly taking off a long glove that went up nearly to her shoulder.

Thomas ordered a Scotch and soda. When the barman brought the drink and placed it in front of him, he said, in English, “I’m looking for an American lady who was in here awhile ago. Brown hair. Wearing pink pants. With a monsieur in a gabardine suit.”

“Have not zee no American lady,” the barman said.

Thomas put a hundred-franc note on the bar.

“Maybe I begin to remembair,” the barman said.

Thomas put down another hundred-franc note. The barman looked around him quickly. The two notes disappeared. He took up a glass and began to polish it assiduously. He spoke without looking at Thomas. With all the noise from the band there was no danger of his being overheard.

“Be’ind les toilettes,” the barman said, speaking rapidly, “is found un escalier, staircase, to ze cave. Ze plongeur, ze dishwasher, he sleep there after work. Per’aps you find what you look for in cave. The name of fellow is Danovic. Sal type. Be careful. He has friends.”

Thomas watched while the strip-teaser took off one stocking and waved it and began to work on the garter of the other stocking. Then, still seeming to be interested in the act, he strolled slowly toward the illuminated sign in the rear that said Toilettes, Telephone. Everybody in the room seemed to be watching the girl in the spotlight and he was fairly sure that no one noticed him as he went through the archway under the sign. He passed the stink of the toilets and saw the steps going to the cellar. He went down them quickly. There was a thin, veneered wooden door at the bottom of the steps, with patched strips showing in the dim light of the small bulb that lit the stairway. Over the noise of the band, he could hear a woman’s voice from behind the door, pleading hysterically, then being cut off, as though by a hand across the mouth. He tried the door, but it was locked. He backed off a little and lunged at the door. The rotten wood and the flimsy lock gave at the same time and he plunged through the doorway. Jean was there, struggling to sit up, on the dishwasher’s cot. Her hair was streaming wildly about her face and her sweater was half torn from one shoulder. The man in the gabardine suit, Danovic, was standing beside her, facing the door. In the light of the one bulb strung on a wire from the ceiling, Thomas could see stacks of empty wine bottles, a work bench, some carpentry tools spread about.

“Tom!” Jean said. “Get me out of here.” She had been frightened out of her drunkenness or she hadn’t been as drunk as Pinky had imagined. She tried to stand up, but the man pushed her back roughly, still facing Thomas.

“What do you want?” Danovic said. He spoke English, but thickly. He was about the same size as Thomas, with heavy shoulders. He had a knife or razor scar down one side of his face.

“I came to take the lady home,” Thomas said.

“I’ll take the lady home when I’m good and ready,” Danovic said. “Fout-moi le camp, Sammy.” He pushed heavily at Jean’s face, as she struggled again to get up.

Overhead, the noise of the band increased as another garment came off.

Thomas took a step nearer the cot. “Don’t make any trouble,” he said to the man quietly. “The lady’s coming with me.”

“If you want her, you will have to take her from me, Sammy,” Danovic said. He reached back suddenly and grabbed a ball-peen hammer from the workbench and held it up in his fist.

Oh, Christ, Thomas thought, Falconettis everywhere.

“Please, please, Tom,” Jean was sobbing.

“I give you five seconds to leave,” Danovic said. He moved toward Thomas, the hammer ready, at the level of Thomas’s face.

Somehow, Thomas knew, no matter what happened, he had to keep the hammer away from his head. If it hit him even a glancing blow, that would be the end of it. “Okay, okay,” he said, retreating a little and putting up his hands placatingly. “I’m not looking for a fight.” Then he dove at Danovic’s legs as the hammer swung. He got his head into the crotch, butting as hard as he could. The hammer hit his shoulder and he felt the shoulder going numb. The man was reeling backward, off balance, and Thomas wrapped his arms around his knees and toppled him. His head must have hit something, because for a fraction of a second he didn’t struggle. Thomas took the chance and pulled his head up. Danovic swung the hammer and hit the elbow that Thomas threw up to protect himself. He went for the hand with the hammer again, clawing at the man’s eyes with his other hand. He missed the hammer and felt a stab of pain in his knee as the hammer came down again. This time he got hold of the hammer. He ignored the blows of the other hand and twisted hard. The hammer slid a little way on the cement floor and Thomas leapt for it, using his knees to keep the man away from him. They both were on their feet again, but Thomas could hardly move because of his knee and he had to switch the hammer to his left hand because his right shoulder was numb.

Over the noise of the band and his own gasping he could hear Jean screaming, but faintly, as though she were far away.

Danovic knew Thomas was hurt and tried to circle him. Thomas made himself swing around, making the leg work for him. Danovic lunged at him and Thomas hit him above the elbow. The arm dropped, but Danovic still swung the good arm. Thomas saw the opening and hit the man on the temple, not squarely, but it was enough. Danovic staggered, fell on his back. Thomas dropped on him, straddling his chest. He lifted the hammer above Danovic’s head. The man was gasping, protecting his face with his arm. Thomas brought the hammer down three times on the arm, on the shoulder, the wrist and the elbow, and it was all over. Danovic’s two arms lay useless alongside his body. Thomas lifted the hammer to finish him off. The man’s eyes were opaque with fear as he stared up, the blood streaming down from the temple, a dark river in the delta of his face.

“Please,” he cried, “please, don’t kill me. Please.” His voice rose to a shriek.

Thomas rested on Danovic’s chest, getting his breath back, the hammer still raised in his left hand. If ever a man deserved to get killed, this was the man. But Falconetti had deserved to get killed, too. Let somebody else do the job. Thomas reversed the hammer and jammed the handle hard into Danovic’s gaping, twitching mouth. He could feel the front teeth breaking off. He no longer was able to kill the man, but he didn’t mind hurting him.

“Help me up,” he said to Jean. She was sitting on the cot, holding her arms up in front of her breasts. She was panting loudly, as though she had fought, too. She stood up slowly, unsteadily, and came over and put her hands under his armpits and pulled. He rose to his feet and nearly fell as he stepped away from the shivering body beneath him. He was dizzy and the room seemed to be whirling around him, but he was thinking clearly. He saw a white-linen coat that he knew belonged to Jean thrown over the back of the room’s single chair, and he said, “Put on your coat.” They couldn’t walk through the nightclub with Jean’s sweater torn from her shoulder. Maybe he couldn’t walk through the nightclub at all. He had to use his two hands to pull his bad leg up, one step after another, on the staircase. They left Danovic lying on the cement floor, the hammer sticking up from his broken mouth, bubbling blood.

As they went through the archway under the Toilettes, Telephone sign, a new strip-tease was starting. The entertainment was nonstop at La Porte Rose. Luckily, it was dark outside the glare of the spotlight on the artiste, who was dressed in a black, skirted riding habit, with derby and boots and whip. Leaning heavily on Jean’s arm, Thomas managed not to limp too noticeably and they were almost out of the door before one of the three men sitting near the entrance with the girl spotted them. The man stood up and called, “Allô! Vous là. Les Americains. Arrêtez. Pas si vive.”

But they were out of the door and somehow they managed to keep walking and a taxi was passing by and Thomas hailed it. Jean struggled to push him in and then tumbled in after him and the taxi was on its way to Antibes by the time the man who had called out to them came out on the sidewalk looking for them.

In the cab, Thomas leaned back, exhausted, against the seat. Jean huddled in her white coat in a corner, away from him. He couldn’t stand his own smell, mingled with the smell of Danovic and blood and the dank cellar, and he didn’t blame Jean for keeping as far away from him as possible. He passed out, or fell asleep, he couldn’t tell which. When he opened his eyes again they were going down the street toward the harbor of Antibes. Jean was weeping uncontrollably in her corner, but he couldn’t worry any more about her tonight.

He chuckled as they came up to where the Clothilde was tied up.

The chuckle must have startled Jean. She stopped crying abruptly. “What’re you laughing about, Tom?” she asked.

“I’m laughing about the doctor in New York,” he said. “He told me to avoid any sudden movements or strenuous exertion for a long time. I’d have loved to see his face if he’d been there tonight.”

He forced himself to get out of the cab unaided and paid the driver off and limped up the gangplank after Jean. He had a dizzy spell again and nearly fell sideways off the gangplank into the water.

“Should I help you to your cabin?” Jean asked, when he finally made it to the deck.

He waved her away. “You go down and tell your husband you’re home,” he said. “And tell him any story you want about tonight.”

She leaned over and kissed him on the lips. “I swear I’ll never touch another drop of liquor again as long as I live,” she said.

“Well, then,” he said, “we’ve had a successful evening, after all, haven’t we?” But he patted her smooth, childish cheek, to take the sting out of his words. He watched as she went down through the saloon and to the main cabin. Then he painfully went below and opened the door to his own cabin. Kate was awake and the light was on. She made a hushed, choked sound when she saw what he looked like.

“Sssh,” he said.

“What happened?” she whispered.

“Something great,” he said. “I just avoided killing a man.” He dropped onto the bunk. “Now get dressed and go get a doctor.”

He closed his eyes, but he heard her dressing swiftly. By the time she was out of the room he was asleep.

He was up early, awakened by the sound of hissing water, as Dwyer and Wesley hosed off the deck. They had come into port too late the night before to do it then. He had a big bandage around his knee and every time he moved his right shoulder he winced with pain. But it could have been worse. The doctor said there were no broken bones, but that the knee had been badly mauled and perhaps some cartilage had been torn away. Kate was already in the galley preparing breakfast and he lay alone in the bunk, his body remembering all the other times in his life he had awakened bruised and aching. His memory bank.

He pushed himself out of the bunk with his good arm and stood in front of the little cabinet mirror on his good leg. His face was a mess. He hadn’t felt it at the time, but when he had toppled Danovic his face had crashed against the rough concrete floor and his nose was swollen and his lip puffed out and there were gashes on his forehead and cheekbones. The doctor had cleaned out the cuts with alcohol and compared to the rest of him his face felt in good shape, but he hoped Enid wouldn’t go screaming to her mother when she got a glimpse of him.

He was naked and there were black-and-blue welts blooming all over his chest and arms. Schultzy should see me now, he thought, as he pulled on a pair of pants. It took him five minutes to get the pants on and he couldn’t manage a shirt at all. He took the shirt with him and clumped, hopping mostly, into the galley. The coffee was on and Kate was squeezing oranges. Once the doctor had assured her that nothing serious was wrong, she had become calm and businesslike. Before he had gone to sleep, after the doctor had left, he had told her the whole story.

“You want to kiss the bridegroom’s beautiful face?” he said.

She kissed him gently, smiling, and helped him on with his shirt. He didn’t tell her how much it hurt when he moved his shoulder.

“Does anybody know anything yet?” he asked.

“I haven’t told Wesley or Bunny,” she said. “And none of the others have come up yet.”

“As far as anybody is concerned, I was in a fight with a drunk outside Le Cameo,” Thomas said. “That will be an object lesson to anybody who goes out drinking on his wedding night.”

Kate nodded. “Wesley’s been down with the mask already,” she said. “There’s a big chunk out of the port screw and as far as he can tell the shaft is twisted, too.”

“If we get out of here in a week,” Thomas said, “we’ll be lucky. Well, I might as well go up on deck and start lying.”

He followed Kate as she went up the ladder carrying the orange juice and the coffee pot on a tray. When Wesley and Dwyer saw him, Dwyer said, “For Christ’s sake what did you do to yourself?” and Wesley said, “Pa!”

“I’ll tell everybody about it when we’re all together,” Thomas said. “I’m only going to tell the story once.”

Rudolph came up with Enid and Thomas could tell from the look on his face that Jean had probably told him the true story or most of the true story. All Enid said was, “Uncle Thomas, you look funny this morning.”

“I bet I do, darling,” Thomas said.

Rudolph didn’t say anything, except that Jean had a headache and was staying in bed and that he’d take her some orange juice after they’d all had their breakfast. They had just sat down around the table when Gretchen came up. “Good God, Tom,” she said, “what in the world happened to you?”

“I was waiting for someone to ask just that question,” Thomas said. Then he told the story about the fight with the drunk in front of Le Cameo. Only, he said, laughing, the drunk hadn’t been as drunk as he had been.

“Oh, Tom,” Gretchen said, distractedly, “I thought you’d given up fighting.”

“I thought so, too,” Thomas said. “Only that drunk didn’t.”

“Were you there, Kate?” Gretchen asked accusingly.

“I was in bed asleep,” Kate said placidly. “He sneaked out. You know how men are.”

“I think it’s disgraceful,” Gretchen said. “Big, grown men fighting.”

“So do I,” Thomas said. “Especially when you lose. Now let’s eat breakfast.”

V

Later that morning Thomas and Rudolph were up in the bow alone. Kate and Gretchen had gone to do the marketing, taking Enid along with them, and Wesley and Dwyer were down looking at the screws again with the masks.

“Jean told me the whole story,” Rudolph said. “I don’t know how to thank you, Tom.”

“Forget it. It wasn’t all that much. It probably looked a lot worse than it was to a nicely brought up girl like Jean.”

“All that drinking going on all day,” Rudolph said bitterly, “and then the final straw—Gretchen and me drinking here on board before dinner. She just couldn’t stand it. And alcoholics can be so sly. How she could have gotten out of bed and dressed and off the ship without my waking up …” He shook his head. “She’s behaved so well, I guess I thought there was nothing to worry about. And when she has a couple, she’s not responsible. She’s not the same girl at all. You don’t think that when she’s sober she goes around picking men up in bars in the middle of the night?”

“Of course not, Rudy.”

“She told me, she told me,” Rudolph said. “This polite-looking, well-spoken young man came up to her and said he had a car outside and he knew a very nice bar in Cannes that stayed open until dawn and would she like to come with him, he’d bring her back whenever she wanted …”

“Polite-looking, well-spoken young man,” Thomas said, thinking of Danovic lying on the floor of the cellar with the handle of the ball-peen hammer sticking up from his broken teeth. He chuckled. “He’s not so polite looking or well spoken this morning, I can tell you that.”

“And then when they got to that bar, a strip-tease joint—God, I can’t even imagine Jean in a place like that—he said it was too noisy for him at the bar, there was a little cosy club downstairs …” Rudolph shook his head despairingly. “Well, you know the rest.”

“Don’t think about it, Rudy, please,” Thomas said.

“Why didn’t you wake me up and take me along with you?” Rudolph’s voice was harsh.

“You’re not the sort of man for a trip like that, Rudy.”

“I’m her husband, for Christ’s sake.”

“That was another reason for not waking you up,” said Thomas.

“He could have killed you.”

“For a little while there,” Thomas admitted, “the chances looked pretty good.”

“And you could have killed him.”

“That’s the one good thing about the night,” Thomas said. “I found out I couldn’t. Now, let’s go back and see what the divers’re up to.” He hobbled down the deck from the bow, leaving his brother and his brother’s guilts and gratitudes behind him.

VI

He was sitting alone on the deck, enjoying the calm late evening air. Kate was down below and the others had all gone on a two-day automobile trip to the hill towns and into Italy. It had been five days since the Clothilde had come back into the harbor and they were still waiting for the new propeller and shaft to be delivered from Holland. Rudolph had said that a little sightseeing was in order. Jean had been dangerously quiet since her night of drunkenness and Rudolph kept doing his best to distract her. He had asked Kate and Thomas to come along with them, but Thomas had said the newlyweds wanted to be alone. He had even privately told Rudolph to invite Dwyer along with the party. Dwyer had been pestering him to point out the drunk who had beaten him up outside Le Cameo and he was sure Dwyer was thinking of cooking up some crazy scheme of retaliation with Wesley. Also, Jean kept following him around without saying anything, but with a peculiar, haunted look in her eyes. Lying for five days had been something of a strain and it was a relief to have the ship to himself and Kate for a little while.

The harbor was silent, the lights out in most of the ships. He yawned, stretched, stood up. His body had gotten over feeling bruised and while he still limped, his leg had stopped feeling as though it was broken in half somewhere along the middle when he walked. He hadn’t made love to his wife since the fight and he was thinking that this might be a good night to start in again, when he saw the car without lights driving swiftly along the quay. The car stopped. It was a black DS 19. The two doors on his side opened and two men got out, then two more. The last man was Danovic, one arm in a sling.

If Kate hadn’t been aboard, he would have dived over the side and let them try to get him. But there was nothing for him to do but stand there. There was nobody on the boats on either side of him. Danovic remained on the quay, as the other three men came aboard.

“Well, gentlemen,” Thomas said, “what can I do for you?”

Then something hit him.

He came out of the coma only once. Wesley and Kate were in the hospital room with him. “No more …” he said, and then slipped back into the coma again.

Rudolph had called a brain specialist in New York and the specialist was on his way to Nice when Thomas died. The skull had been fractured, the surgeon had explained to Rudolph and there had been catastrophic bleeding.

Rudolph had moved Gretchen and Jean and Enid to a hotel. Gretchen had strict orders not to leave Jean alone for a minute.

Rudolph had told the police what he knew and they had talked to Jean, who had broken down hysterically after a half hour’s questioning. She had told them about La Porte Rose and they had picked up Danovic, but there had been no witnesses to the beating and Danovic had an alibi for the entire night that couldn’t be shaken.

VII

The morning after the cremation Rudolph and Gretchen went by taxi to the place and got the metal box with their brother’s ashes. Then they drove toward Antibes harbor, where Kate and Wesley and Dwyer were expecting them. Jean was at the hotel with Enid. It would have been too much for Kate to bear, Rudolph thought, to have to stand by Jean’s side today. And if Jean got drunk, Rudolph thought, she would finally have good reason to do so.

Gretchen now knew the true story of the wedding night, as did the others.

“Tom,” Gretchen said in the taxi, as they drove through the bustle of holiday traffic, “the one of us who finally made a life.”

“Dead for one of us who didn’t,” Rudolph said.

“The only thing you did wrong,” Gretchen said, “was not waking up one night.”

“The only thing,” Rudolph said.

After that they didn’t speak until they reached the Clothilde. Kate and Wesley and Dwyer, dressed in their working clothes, were waiting for them on the deck. Dwyer and Wesley were red eyed from crying, but Kate, although grave faced, showed no signs of tears. Rudolph came on board carrying the box and Gretchen followed him. Rudolph put the box in the pilot house and Dwyer took the wheel and started the one engine. Wesley pulled up the gangplank and then jumped ashore to throw off the two stern lines, which Kate reeled in. Wesley leaped across open water, landed catlike on the stern, and swung himself aboard, then ran forward to help Kate with the anchor.

It was all so routine, so much like every other time they had set out from a port, that Rudolph, on the after deck, had the feeling that at any moment Tom would come rolling out of the shadow of the pilot house, smoking his pipe.

The immaculate white-and-blue little ship chugged past the harbor mouth in the morning sunlight, only the two figures standing in incongruous black on the open deck making it seem any different from any other pleasure craft sailing out for a day’s sport.

Nobody spoke. They had decided what they were to do the day before. They sailed for an hour, due south, away from the mainland. Because they were only on one engine they did not go far and the coast line was clear behind them.

After exactly one hour, Dwyer turned the boat around and cut the engine. There were no other craft within sight and the sea was calm, so there wasn’t even the small sound of waves. Rudolph went into the pilot house, took out the box and opened it. Kate came up from below with a large bunch of white and red gladioli. They all stood in a line on the stern, facing the open, empty sea. Wesley took the box from Rudolph’s hands and, after a moment’s hesitation, his eyes dry now, started to strew his father’s ashes into the sea. It only took a minute. The ashes floated away, a faint sprinkling of dust on the blue glint of the Mediterranean.

The body of their father, Rudolph thought, also rolled in deep waters.

Kate threw the flowers in with a slow, housewifely gesture of her round, tanned arms.

Wesley tossed the metal box and its cover over the side, both face down. They sank immediately. Then Wesley went to the pilot house and started the engine. They were pointed toward the coast now and he held a straight course for the mouth of the harbor.

Kate went below and Dwyer went forward to stand in the prow, leaving Gretchen and Rudolph, death colored, together on the after deck.

Up in the bow, Dwyer stood in the little breeze of their passage, watching the coast line, white mansions, old walls, green pines, grow nearer in the brilliant light of the morning sun.