The Man from the 'Turkish Slave' Page 16

  Assis broke the silence with a sudden cry.

  ‘The church! Look at the church!’

  Chapter Fourteen

  They came down the street as far as the church. Water, still draining from the houses and alleyways on the higher slopes, cascaded down the side of the road. In places long, low banks of sand and silt buried the cobbles. A rowing boat had been forced half-way through a door, windows had been torn from their frames, splintered wood and debris lay everywhere. All around there were the signs of sad confusion and destruction; clothes and bedding, sucked from the houses by the waves, lay in wet, shapeless piles; a dog lay drowned across a golden bank of gravel, stretched out as though it slept, and here and there were bedraggled clumps of feathers which had once been fowls. A dying mullet flapped and arched itself in two inches of water and, as they stopped and looked across at the church, a great spiny crab moved away from a pile of burst melons and went sideways across the road with stiff, laborious dignity.

  And now the gulls and seabirds which in the first onslaught of the wave had risen, wheeled high in alarm and forsaken the harbour, came sweeping back in a great cloud. Portos Marias was suddenly noisy and clamorous with their cries as they dived to the harbour waters for the dead fish which strewed its surface. They swept across the square and between the houses like an invading army, checking and plunging earthwards wherever there was the gleam of white fish belly, and feasting on the wanton spoils of the wave; loaves, meat, dead dog, and cat or fowl, each attracted its group of fighting, quarrelling, raucous gulls. But the four men staring at the church scarcely heard them, paid them no attention, for they had eyes only for the destruction which faced them.

  ‘Santa Maria …’ Assis for a moment felt frightened and crossed himself. Then, when he would have made a movement towards the church, Lesset put out a hand and stopped him.

  The first wave had smashed across the church steps, crashing into the columns that held the heavy portico. The pillars had fallen, fracturing like chalk-sticks into a jumble of pieces, and piling on top of these had come the great roof of the porch, covering them with a mass of broken tiles and masonry, and blocking the entrance to the church. From the cliff side above the portico a great slide of earth and turf had collapsed and shot downwards until now nothing could be seen of the church’s great wooden entrance doors. Slow channels of mud and slime worked their way down the great pile from which thrust broken lengths of white pillars. Where the sludge and rubble fanned into the street, showed a gleam of gold and blue from the Madonna which had topped the portico. Reaching skyward from between two lumps of masonry was one of her arms, the hand still untouched, the long delicate fingers oddly real and disturbing.

  Lesset turned, watching the three men who were with him. He understood them only too well. He would have to be careful. There were people inside the church whom they knew. In the face of communal disaster, their immediate impulse was to go to the help of their fellows. With him no such instinct obtained. Now, and always, the only human life which had any value was his own. At the moment when he had thought all was lost, out of the blue had come the wave. He was being given a chance to retrieve himself from disaster, but without these men he was helpless. He meant them to do as he wanted.

  He began to talk, his voice touched with a convincing gravity, a persuasive common sense, ‘Listen to them. No one’s come to any harm in there.’

  Faintly from behind the pile of masonry and rubbish they could hear the muted voices of the people trapped in the church.

  ‘Every able-bodied man in the place is there. They don’t need our help. It may take them a day, perhaps longer, but they’ll get out. We shan’t do ourselves any good by helping from this side …’ His eyes were on them, watching for the first sign of a wrong word on his part. ‘We have to look after ourselves. All we have to do is to find a boat and patch it up. We disappear and there will never be any hue and cry after us. Think of it.’ He cocked his head at them, beaming. ‘You can start fresh—with all the money that’s waiting for you. And the police won’t even be looking for you …’ He saw at once that Vasco and Manöel were with him. Only Assis was staring at the great pile of rock, masonry, mud and earth.

  The whole thing was so clear to him. They had been luckier than any men had a right to be. What better cover for a disappearance could there be than to have the authorities accept you as dead? And yet here was Assis wanting to stop and dig out the islanders.

  He put a hand on Assis’ shoulder. ‘Go on, Assis. Get a shovel and pick and dig. You’ll get them out a little quicker than they could by themselves, and you’ll earn yourself a fine reward—fifteen years in prison!’ He laughed gently and saw the hesitation in Assis. ‘Money, Assis. You’ve got it waiting to spend. Anywhere you wish … Chile, Peru … And no one will bother you.’

  ‘What about the Englishman? He knows the wave didn’t get us,’ asked Vasco, his lean, hard, mahogany face thoughtful. ‘If he’s alive, the police will eventually know about us.’

  ‘You saw the wave. Who could survive that? He’s drowned, he must be drowned.’ Lesset tried to keep the impatience from his voice. ‘We can find a boat and patch it up. We’re wasting time now. Once we get to the mainland we’re safe.’

  ‘There’s the girl, too. What about her?’ It was Manöel, frowning, trying to get his thoughts sorted out.

  ‘She’s tied up in Jaeger’s kitchen. She can’t be alive, but we’ll check on that.’ His mind had raced ahead of theirs. Not only Peter and Tereza, but anyone else who was alive and saw them would have to go. A chance like this to cover their tracks must not be lost through a little squeamishness … He could bring these men to see that once he got them working. It would be difficult … Suddenly, he felt old and tired, and impatient with their slowness of wit. Why couldn’t they be as he was?

  ‘The Englishman may never show himself. How shall we ever know?’ asked Manöel stubbornly.

  ‘Does it change the position?’ Lesset was glad they were forgetting the church and concentrating on Peter. ‘We get to the mainland and we still disappear. The only difference is that the police will know we’ve disappeared. But they’ll never find us. That’s all arranged.’

  But Lesset knew that for all of them it would be better if Peter and Tereza were dead. As for Jaeger, if he were drowned and his body found … so much to the good for it would make people think they, too, were dead. If he lived … then he was lucky and would go with them.

  He kept at them, his words warming and reassuring. ‘ Once we get to the mainland we’re safe. I promise that. The people in the church don’t need your help. Then help yourselves—and don’t waste time about it. We’ll worry about the Englishman or anyone else if the moment comes. Let’s go.’

  Manöel and Vasco were with him. He saw that. They stirred, beginning to move away. They no longer wanted to see the church or be reminded of it. The sooner they got away from the island the better.

  Lesset would have followed them. But Assis stayed stubbornly. Suddenly he said angrily, ‘But Anita’s in there. We ought to try to do something.’

  Lesset hunched up his shoulders wearily against the weight of his years and Assis’ stupidity. At that moment he could have killed Assis willingly. Instead, he moved back and took the man’s arm, his touch rough and paternal and his voice was understanding and sympathetic. ‘So she is. And so is Quisto and many another good friend of ours. But they will be all right. You’ve got to accept the inevitable, Assis. Think straight. Last night you were prepared to leave the island and never see Anita again. Where’s the difference now? Once we get to the mainland you’ll forget her, anyway. There’ll be other girls. You’ll be in clover—and the police will never bother you. Come on. We have to think about ourselves.’

  Assis let himself be led away. The moment the church was behind him Lesset knew that the rest would be easy … Peter and Tereza were dead. They had to be dead. But if they weren’t and he found them … Or if anyone else was around. God help them. He was getting awa
y, and he was going to have the world think that he had died in the wave. He had waited long enough. He was going to retire and never once have a shadow of doubt or fear touch his rich and leisurely security.

  The first body he saw was that of Jaeger. It lay against a wall at the side of the street, the skull crushed, a long ribbon of green stalk from a stranded crinoid across his breast. A sea-lily for remembrance, thought Lesset. He turned on the men savagely when they would have moved the body.

  ‘Nobody touches it! When they get out of the church do you want them to suspect anyone’s been around here?’

  They moved on. Before they entered the square they turned aside to Jaeger’s house. Doors and windows were smashed. Inside it was a wreck and there was no sign of the girl. Part of the kitchen wall had collapsed outwards into a small courtyard. The girl had been bound, Lesset thought. She would have had no chance.

  He went down the street towards the square with his men, his suit crumpled, limping a little from the night’s exertions, his bones and muscles stiff, and he sucked at his pipe which had gone out. His face now was serene showing no sign of the ruthlessness which lay coiled within him, but his eyes watched every alley mouth and doorway.

  A patch of sunlight fell athwart the door and lit the hallway. There was a long pool of water down one side of the wall, and the sunlight striking this made the green and red tiles underneath glow. For a while Peter had the hazy impression that it was coral and seaweed.

  He stared at the water and the tiles, huddled up against the foot of the stairs, one hand still stiff and clamped around the lowest post of the handrail. Water dripped down the stairs. A large curtain that had draped the end of the hall had collapsed in a wet, heavy mass upon his body. Near the door a sandalwood dowry chest had been washed half across the threshold and lay, canted across the step, partly supported by its smashed lid.

  And then he saw himself. But for a while he did not know it was himself. It was a stranger who lay there, reflected in a heavy mirror which had fallen from the wall and sloped between the stair foot and the frame of an open door at the side of the stairs.

  He moved, trying to shake off the clinging weight of the curtain and saw that the stranger was himself. His cheek was cut and torn and dark line of stubble made his face heavy and pugnacious. His feet were bare and there was a pounding pain in his left side where something had been smashed against him in the maelstrom of waters. He sat forward, drawing his hand stiffly away from the post and began to massage it absently while his thoughts came back to balance and memory slowly returned. For a while all he could do was to work at his stiff hand and breathe gently to ease the pain against his ribs. He leaned forward, shutting his eyes. God, what a mess. What a mess. It came back to him; the pounding, smashing horror of green and white water, the sense of being lifted, thrown about and sucked down, the weakness and the despair and finally the great gulf of blackness. Half-sitting, half-lying there, he had a sudden overwhelming sense of desolation and loneliness.

  Then he heard the voices. They spoke Portuguese and they were clear, coming towards him. He struggled up, filled with a swift gladness, his mind stupid with the content of knowing there were other people about. They came nearer. He saw the figures pass the open door and they stood out sharply against the bright morning sunlight. He saw them and as they passed each one was like a blow, punching into him and waking his memory painfully and urgently; forcing recollection back on him. The urge to struggle up and shout to them was killed in him before the movement began. The Pastori brothers and then Lesset and Assis. They went by the door, talking and moving purposefully. He saw Lesset glance aside, look, it seemed, straight at him, where he sat, draped still in the curtain and hidden in the shadows at the foot of the stairs. Then they were gone.

  He sat there. Remembering everything and with one thought in his mind. Tereza. He pulled himself up, throwing off the curtain, and he staggered, splashing through the water in the hall, towards the door. Tereza … His bare feet slipped on the wet tiles and he fell. He saved himself by grabbing at the chest blocking the door. Slowly he hauled himself up and stood, breathing hard, feeling the ache and strain in his body, but feeling now a stubborn, angry logic coming back to him, and knowing only one anxiety. Tereza.

  He climbed over the chest into the street. Fifty yards below him were the four men just turning into the square. He had no time for them. He had to find Tereza. Where would she be? Lesset had said she had been taken. But what had they done with her? Grimly he forced his brain to thought. There were three places: the blockhouse, the Pastoria house and Jaeger’s house. He had to try them all.

  Jaeger’s house was just down the street. He made for it. He saw Jaeger’s body lying by the wall. The sight raised no feeling in him.

  He went over Jaeger’s house. There was no sign of Tereza. He went back, up the street, frantic, possessed by a wild urgency.

  He came to the church, saw the destruction and heard the faint voices coming from within. He looked at the blocked doorway. He turned and stared down the street, his face set taut and angry, and his fists clenched with a violent furty. Lesset and his men had seen this. And they had walked by …

  He ran across the street, scrambled up the side of the pile and dropped down three feet to where masonry was lodged in a great mound high above the peak of the doorway arch. He began to lift and sling the stones and rocks back, working with a feverish, unthinking energy, and as fast as he removed the wreckage, earth and slime and silt poured back. Suddenly he stopped, overwhelmed by his frantic anxiety for Tereza and the urge to find her. He straightened up, knowing he had to take hold of himself, force himself to reason. It had to be worked out. To do any good here, he had to have a pick and shovel. But first he had to find Tereza. Also—this thought struck home hard—he had to keep clear of Lesset.

  And now, as he scrambled down the heap of rubble and splashed across the street through the runnels of water, the things which had seemed important, his desire to carry this job off and prove to Marston he was worth a new chance, the challenge to his true self presented by the past, were dwarfed and crushed. His one concern was Tereza, his whole anxiety centred on her; and his anger and strength were dedicated to one end—to fight and annihilate the evil personified by Lesset. Nothing else mattered … all thought of self-vindication was dead.

  Turning into the square Lesset and the others saw that it was a shambles, a mass of wreckage and every kind of debris. Against some of the houses the sea had swept up great banks of sand and piles of seaweed. Not a window was intact. A few of the palm trees still stood. The others had been uprooted or snapped off. Here and there a house wall had gone, and between the canning factory and the corner of the street leading up to the church were piled six or eight large fishing vessels from the Portos Marias fleet. They lay there on their sides, upturned, masts gone, great holes driven through their planking and one glance told Vasco and Manöel that none of them could be made ready for sea. It would take twenty men to shift one of them down to the harbour slip.

  They turned away, moving across the square. The gulls still called and wheeled through the town, but their noise now seemed to have become a fitting part of the desolation which was everywhere. Nothing moved or lived except them and the birds. The sun was higher now and the heat increasing. In places the bare stones were drying off and little trails of vapour rose from the piles of rubbish and wet planks. Silently the four moved across the square, going from one stranded boat to another. The Borrisco, her fresh paint scarred, the pathetic remnants of her garlands still clinging to her decks in places, lay tilted in a great pool of water midway between Commere Grazia’s bodega and the sea wall of the square. Close to the Borrisco they found what they were looking for.

  It was a sturdy motor-boat, about twenty feet long, which stepped a small mast and had a powerful petrol engine. It lay against a fallen palm, on an even keel. There was a foot of water inside it and a couple of strakes torn from its bows.

  ‘Have to fix the bows,�
� said Manöel. ‘Water would come in as soon as we met any sea. But that can be done.’

  ‘The engine?’ Lesset glanced at Vasco.

  ‘Full of water. That can be fixed, too. We can dry out the plugs and the fuel tank. With luck the magneto and distributor head will be all right. They’re water-tight.’

  ‘Will she take us?’

  Assis, feeling better now that he was away from the church and they were about to do something, laughed. ‘You could cross the Atlantic in her.’

  ‘How long will it take?’ Lesset asked Vasco.

  ‘Can’t say. We can get the water out easily enough. Manöel can fix the bows and we can run her down to the slip on rollers between us. That’s easy. But the engine … that depends. We may be lucky. Perhaps six hours, perhaps two.’

  They started work on her right away. They heeled her over and drained the water out. Then Vasco and Assis began to work on the engine, stripping down the fuel and carburettor system and unshipping the magneto to dry it. There were tools in the locker under the stern thwart. Manöel scouted around and found planking to patch the bows, but he had no carpentering tools.

  ‘I’ll have to go up to the house.’

  Lesset handed him Vasco’s shotgun.

  ‘Take this with you. And keep your eyes open.’ He watched Manöel move off and felt the automatic in his own pocket.

  There was no hesitation in him, no wavering. He was following his luck with the faith of a fanatic, convinced that if he once faltered, once gave way to any pity or softness then his luck would go. The earth and the sea don’t stir themselves for ordinary men … They had moved for him and he meant to use their power, to take their gift … In that moment he was exalted, the strain and the nerve-toll of the night forcing him to a high pitch of awareness and resolution … God help anyone who showed any sign of life now. While Vasco and Assis worked away, he began to quarter the square, moving a little way up into the streets and alleys, his revolver ready, looking … looking … and listening. And he knew what he wanted to see more than anything in the world. He even said to himself, invoking his luck with a sacrifice, ‘If I find their bodies, I’ll take the pearl collar, but I won’t keep it. The sea shall have it. Let me have their bodies and the pearls shall go back from whence they came …’