The Man from the 'Turkish Slave' Page 9

  ‘Senhor … There is anything you want before you go to sleep?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘A drink?’ She moved closer.

  ‘No thanks, Anita.’

  She moved an arm and the dressing-gown swung open at the neck, the bracelets on her wrists slid forward.

  ‘Good night.’ He turned quickly and went into his room. He stood inside, leaning against the door. What a girl … Then with an almost angry movement he shot the bolt across the door and began to undress. Anita was already forgotten. He was thinking of Doctor Jaeger whose voice he could hear coming softly from the night outside.

  Chapter Seven

  It did not surprise him at all that the moment he came out of Grazia’s the next morning he found Tereza waiting impatiently for him. It would not have surprised him if she had come knocking on his bedroom door before he was awake.

  She was sitting on the square wall where the small stream that ran down from Pae gushed out from a dark culvert across the sands. She waved to him and came hurrying to meet him.

  They walked slowly out along the foot of the cliffs. The tide was in and they had quite a scramble working their way out. They sat on a large flat rock and he went over the whole affair with her. He was determined to keep control of things and he spoke deliberately, smiling inwardly to himself at the solemn, small-girl seriousness into which she automatically schooled her face. It was a mood which he felt would not last long.

  Below them the sea was clear. Long fronds of rust and green seaweed streamed from the rocks. Small, coloured fish darted and played about the weeds like curious children, and overhead there was a wild screaming and cavorting of seabirds. Through the harbour mouth the first of the fishing fleet was drifting back.

  He kept until the very last his discovery of Doctor Jaeger. When he told her she turned on him, her eyes wide.

  ‘You’re surprised?’ he asked.

  It was a moment before she answered. He could guess what was going through her mind. Doctor Jaeger was her father’s friend. He had eaten under their roof many times; he knew Quisto’s pride in the island … and yet he was capable of this. On her face were marked the proud indignation and scorn she felt for the man now.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘He is an exile, a bitter man … Yes, I can see how it would be Doctor Jaeger. He has no love for this place.’

  Peter reached out and took her hand. It lay warm and small within his own.

  ‘Listen, Tereza: you’ve taken this well. But I’m worried about your father. He’s got to meet Jaeger, talk to him, go on inviting him to his house … Do you think he can do that if we tell him the truth?’

  She jumped to her feet.

  ‘Of course not!’

  ‘Then we mustn’t tell him—not until the last moment. There’s no need for it, especially as we still have more to find out yet.’

  She nodded; but he could sense that although she agreed with him it distressed her to have to keep anything from her father. He went on quickly, explaining to her what he thought happened with the cans and what they still had to do. As he talked he realised that so far they had been lucky … too lucky, he wondered? Anyway, their success made him more determined than ever now not to take any foolish risks or to make any mistakes.

  Tereza saw at once why he had not taken the cans of tuna fish from the house. That would have given alarm to the Pastori brothers. Peter explained what he thought happened. The jewels were brought in by the fishermen and then they were handed over to Doctor Jaeger who probably broke them up and then sealed them in stolen das Tegas cans. All of the men had access to the factory and could get the empty cans and labels they needed. These cans were then handed back to the Pastori brothers and the problem then was to get them away from the island. Quisto supplied various wholesalers on the mainland. One of them represented the next link in the chain. The loaded cans had to be introduced into their cases, and this could only safely be done once the packed cases were in the yard waiting shipment. Since the fortnightly boat had taken off the last consignment the yard had been empty. Soon it would be filling again and when the implicated wholesaler’s cases were out there, then the moment for substituting the Pastori cans for innocent ones would come.

  ‘Somebody’s going to do that. Either Assis or one of the Pastori brothers, and it can only be done at night.’

  ‘But at this time of year Assis and the Pastori brothers are out fishing every night. It is the same with all the fishermen.’

  ‘Well, Doctor Jaeger doesn’t do it, otherwise he wouldn’t have returned the cans to the Pastori house.’

  ‘It could be Assis. He is lazy. No one would think it odd if he did not go out one night.’

  ‘Then all I have to do is to wait until the day comes when Assis doesn’t go out fishing and it’s a safe bet that that night will be the one.’

  ‘And we shall be in the yard watching?’ Tereza said eagerly. The surprise of knowing about Doctor Jaeger was passing over.

  Peter shook his head.

  ‘I shall be in the yard. There’s risk in this. There’s no need for both of us to run it.’

  For a moment he thought she was going to argue with him. Then quietly, almost demurely she said, ‘ You are quite right, Senhor Peter. There is no need for both of us.’

  ‘I’m glad you see it that way. All we need to know is who on the mainland gets the loaded cans. We can’t afford to have anything go wrong now.’

  Later, they made their way back to Portos Marias to the cannery.

  In the long shed on the far side of the yard was now a row of large cardboard cartons stacked under cover. They walked slowly down the row. The names of the firms to whom they were consigned had been stencilled in black ink on their sides. Peter read the names of the importers. Braiz of Santos, Arnodolfo of Sao Paulo … Sturgess of Rio de Janeiro … Something English there, thought Peter. Maybe it was someone like his great-uncle who had come abroad to make a new life.

  He glanced at Tereza as they went into the cannery. She had been very quiet all the morning, and he understood her and Quisto enough now to realise their deep concern in this affair. It was their island and they felt responsible for everything that affected its good name. It was more than an attachment to the place of one’s birth, a feeling he could understand since he had it for his own village. It was an identification of their lives with this place. They were Portos Marias … It was something he was only beginning to appreciate.

  He had seen how the islanders loved and respected the das Tegas family. The way the men and women spoke to Quisto and Tereza made it plain. In this cannery, for instance, Peter could see that if Quisto had not needlessly employed practically everyone who was not out fishing he might well made a fair profit. He took everything that was going: tuna, albacore, pescado—a small hake-like fish which Tereza pointed out to him as they walked down the cleaning tables—tainha, a mullet, and a fish, the bagare, which Quisto pretended was salmon and sold as such. But he welcomed anything, shark, turtle or octopus, and something was done with it. He carried the whole economy of the island on his shoulders and he wanted it no other way. The island was his life and his pride. And Tereza was his daughter.

  Quisto came forward with a shout to greet them. The petrol engine had broken down and he wanted Peter to have a look at it. Stolen jewels meant nothing to Quisto just now. He had forgotten them. He lived in the rich, exciting moment and his one concern was to have his engine working again.

  Peter rolled up his sleeves and got to work.

  In the days that followed, Peter made a habit of wandering down to the jetty in the late afternoon to watch the fishing fleet go out. He got to know most of the men and, his Portuguese improving rapidly, he found it pleasant to sit and talk to them. Sometimes Tereza came with him.

  When the fleet had gone out he would wander up to Quisto’s villa and find Tereza. They spent a lot of time together.

  Tereza was puzzled by Peter. They knew one another well; she liked him, and their secret drew t
hem close together; but there were times when he seemed far away from her. This remoteness excited her curiosity and her sympathy, for she was sure that in his abstraction lay a past distress. Simple and frank herself, she wanted him to be the same. Although he was friendly and cheerful with her she noticed that these days he never touched her and that the moments of light-heartedness which had made him kiss her on their first meeting and had provoked her into kissing him after his first evening at the villa were never repeated. There were times when she was, out of pride, indignant within herself about this. She was beautiful. Men liked to kiss her. Why did Peter never try? Her curiosity made her frank. One day she asked him, ‘Sometimes your thoughts are far away—are you thinking of your sweetheart in England?’

  Peter laughed. She was so simple and direct that there was no embarrassment in her question. ‘ I haven’t a girl in England—or anywhere else.’

  ‘All sailors have sweethearts.’

  ‘Not me.’ And then, surprising himself that he could tell her so easily, he went on, ‘ I was married once. It didn’t last. We were divorced.’

  Tereza said nothing, but she understood more now. Peter glanced at her and smiled as he saw her face so serious.

  ‘I suppose it made me a bit suspicious of women. It’s silly, I know, but it takes a little time to grow out of it.’

  ‘It is very silly. You should grow out of it quickly,’ Tereza said firmly.

  Peter put out a hand and touched her arm. ‘ You know, I think I am. On this island I’m growing out of a lot of things.’

  And he was. He knew now that in Plymouth he had touched bottom. There was a strengthening hope and confidence in himself which he was determined not to lose, no matter what happened. The days on this island were so peaceful that the immediate past seemed like a bad dream. It was hard even to realise that he was not here on holiday. There was evil here which he and Quisto and Tereza had to overcome; evil that was represented by Jaeger. Nowadays he avoided Jaeger as much as he could, for he found that the sight of the man made him angry. He was glad that he and Tereza had decided not to tell Quisto about him. Quisto could never have concealed his true feelings from Jaeger.

  The rows of cases in the cannery yard grew. The petrol engine now worked perfectly and Peter turned his hand to other jobs about the cannery and Quisto’s house.

  He was sitting one afternoon on a pile of crates, watching the boats prepare to leave when Assis passed him and jumped aboard the Miragem to join the Pastori brothers. One by one the boats drew away from the jetty and headed for the harbour entrance. The sea was calm. Behind him the long crest of Pae was dark and hard against a paling blue sky. Some boys were diving from the end of the jetty. Across the square the tall white and pink houses had their shutters drawn against the sun and under the palms he could see Quisto on El Bobo riding home from the cannery, the red umbrella sloping over his shoulder.

  The Miragem edged away from the jetty. As it did so Assis moved up into the bows and jumped ashore. He gave a wave of the hand to the Pastori brothers and then came slowly down the jetty.

  As he reached Peter he nodded and smiled. Peter smiled back. There was something about Assis which made it difficult to dislike him. He was friendly and simple and good-natured, no matter what else he was.

  ‘You’re not fishing to-day, Assis?’

  Assis shook his head. He stood there and stretched his arms wide lazily, flexing his shoulders so that the hard brown chest showed through the ragged opening of his shirt.

  ‘No, senhor. Not to-day.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because, senhor.’ Assis smiled again and scratched his thick tangle of curls. ‘Just because! Every night I fish. I am tired of fish. Every day it is the same. I am tired of it being the same. It is not good for a man to go on doing the same things too long.’ He spat over his shoulder into the water and then, with a wink at Peter as he went off, he added, ‘The night, too, senhor, is made for other things than fishing …’ He strode, burly and thrusting, towards the square, laughing and shaking his great head.

  As he took his dinner that evening at Grazia’s Peter could hear Assis in the kitchen with Anita. Later, while he sat on the platform drinking by himself, he saw Assis come out and join the group of men who were playing cards. After a time Peter got up and strolled out into the square. If Assis were going to visit the cannery that night, he had to be in place before the man arrived. He had decided not to tell Tereza that Assis had not gone fishing. He knew that, despite her acceptance that this was a job for one, she would still want to come.

  A new moon was rising and a thin mist was drifting over the harbour. He moved under the palms thinking of Tereza.

  She was quite unlike any other girl he had ever known, a mixture of simplicity, impetuosity, pride and—this from Quisto—moments of culture and sophistication. This island was her world. All that lay beyond it was a fantasy that she knew only from Quisto. He wondered what she would make of life in England or America? Would she change so much under different conditions? Women did change. He knew that only too well. Or was it not so much that they changed as more fully revealed themselves? He could think now of his wife without the usual bitterness. She was no longer of importance; the past seemed to have swallowed her at last and robbed her memory of pain. He could see now that he had been the wrong man for her, could acknowledge that she had been less to blame than he had previously believed … And the reason for this new tolerance in him? He wasn’t clear. All he could say was that it was like turning out of some broad, featureless high road into a curving, pleasant by-lane, where each corner opened up fresh joys and excitements, the bend ahead concealing maybe some hopeful prospect.

  Everything seemed set fair. He was now running a steady course. He felt in himself a growing affection for Portos Marias. Although Quisto had told him that it was not the place it used to be, that the world was reaching out to it, making its young men restless, dressing its young women in modern, mass-produced clothes … yet it was still remote, a little piece detached from the rest of the world. He liked it and felt happy here …

  In some of the open doorways women sat knitting and talking. They looked up and smiled as he passed, and from the houses came a warm, rich odour of food. He walked up as far as the church and then back to the square, keeping now to the far side in the shadow under the cliff. Before him was the cannery, a great parallelogram of shadow cast out from its feet by the moonlight. Looking back, he could see the cluster of lights around Grazia’s and hear the thin fret of the bodega piano. Behind the town, clear and cold-looking in the moonlight, was the great sweep of mountainside running up to the broken crest of Pae.

  As he reached the thick shadow of the yard gate a hand reached out and held him by the arm—a warm, soft hand. It rested firmly on his bare flesh below his rolled-up sleeves.

  A voice he recognised at once said quietly, but with the snap of anger in it: ‘You think I didn’t know Assis has not gone out? You don’t want me with you. You treat me like a child!’ Her voice rose. ‘Oh, I am so angry—’

  ‘For Pete’s sake, keep your voice down.’

  ‘You will apologise. Now, this minute.’

  He chuckled. ‘Sure, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to cut you out of any fun. If that’s the word. I thought it would be safer.’

  He felt her fingers relax their tightness on his arm. He moved closer into the darkness, his own hands reaching out. In that moment a curious excitement rose in him and he had one of those rare flashes which come at times of feeling that all this had happened before: the darkness, the uneasy sense of danger not far away, of a secret life working around him which he could not touch and of a sudden need for comfort, some contact with someone he knew and understood. The pale face before him, the slim shoulders under his hands were there as they had been before and, gently, carried along by something he could not fathom, he said, ‘Tereza’, and put his lips to hers and kissed her. Her mouth was cool and soft against his for a second. Then she drew back an
d he heard her breath drawn in sharply, marking her surprise. There was a silence between them and then she said quietly, ‘I have the key of the yard.’

  He heard the noise of the key in the gate. It slid back a little and he slipped through with her. She locked it and then crossed the yard, reaching back a hand to take his and guide him. He followed her, realising she knew the ground better than he and had worked out a safe hiding-place.

  A few moments later they were lying together twelve feet above the ground in an open bay at the end of the shed. In the moonlight they could see the whole run of stacked cases.

  They lay there, waiting, not daring to speak. He reached out quietly and took her hand, holding it, not caressing it. She made no movement to withdraw it.

  They waited a long time. Then, without any warning, without sound or sight of anyone climbing the yard fence, a torch flickered for a moment at the far end of the shed. There were the sounds of a case being shifted, and later the clink of a can. Now and again the torch flickered for a moment. They lay there, and, his hand on her arm, he could feel the excitement in Tereza.

  They saw the man go. For a moment he crossed an open patch of moonlight to the fence and Peter recognised the thrusting, forward lurching movement of Assis. Tereza would have moved the moment Assis’ figure had swung up over the fence and disappeared, but Peter held her. They waited ten minutes and then they went down and along the row of cases. There was a double row now and at the very end were the three that had come out of the cannery that day. There was no difficulty in picking the one which had been tampered with. The wide strip of gummed brown paper tape across the top was still moist where the original strip had been cut to open the case and a fresh piece stuck back over it. While Tereza held his torch, Peter lifted the case down.