“Which two – La Rocha and Samuel, or Fflytte and Hale?”
“The Englishmen are paying the bills, but do you honestly imagine they’re in charge?”
My response was delayed by our police sergeant, Vincent Paul (an Englishman with a French name and an Irish accent) who stood before me and asked if I would care to dance. A response was obviated by Holmes setting down his glass and saying, “A Major-General outranks a sergeant, my good sir,” as he seized me in his arms.
Fortunately, the tune to which the others were gyrating and leaping, although it seemed to have no tempo at all, could be interpreted as 3/4 time, making a waltz possible: A waltz permits conversation; Charleston and fox-trot do not. And due to the layout of the deck, with raised housing that forced a rotation of couples along the rails (other than those dancing atop the sky-light, who risked being swept off by the boom if we had to tack), few of the couples were in a position to overhear more than a few words at any given time.
“Tell me about this Pessoa chap,” Holmes demanded.
Distilling the character of Fernando Pessoa into the duration of one recording disk was no simple matter, but I fed him a brief synopsis, from Pessoa’s translation skills to the poetry journal; his appealing humour and dubious grasp on reality; his erotic fascination for pirates and the multiple personas he had crafted; how he had led us to La Rocha and to
“You suggest Pessoa is himself an Anarchist?”
“He’s definitely anarchic, but his politics could be anything, depending on which ‘heteronym’ is in supremacy at the moment. I’d say his ‘Ricardo Reis’ persona lacks the drive and dissatisfaction for Anarchy, although ‘Alvaro de Campos’ might perform an anarchic act if he felt it emotionally justified. I don’t know about-”
But the music ended, and before the next recording could be wound up, the police sergeant was there, awaiting his turn. And I had little choice but to permit him the closeness of the waltz, since to all intents he was less of a stranger than the Major-General was. However, I took care to tread on his toes several times, which left him more than willing to relinquish me to Holmes.
When the music started up, my husband-cum-suitor swung me onto the impromptu dance floor and continued where we had left off. “Do you know how long Pessoa has used the name ‘Ricardo Reis’?”
“Some years, I should say. Why?”
“There’s a Lisboan embezzler named Artur Reis who’s clever enough to be planning a crime that’s visible only in bits, such as transferring guns from prop cabinets into private hands, or finding a use for a bit of extra cocaine. I wondered perhaps if the name might be a poet’s homage to a criminal.”
“Reis is a common enough name in Portugal.”
“True.”
“It means ‘captain’ in Arabic.”
“And several of the Barbary pirates are called that – Murad Reis, one of the most vicious of the Sale Rovers. He started out as a Dutch merchant marine, named … Jan Jansen, that’s it. He was the one who sailed into St Michael’s Mount and seized a ship-load of captives, then later did the same on the west of Ireland. And Dragul Reis, who served with the Barbarossa brothers towards the end of the Barbary kingdoms – he died in fifteen fifty- something.” Holmes, clearly, had taken the opportunity to raid a book-store before boarding his own steamer. But the mention of Barbarossa reminded me-
“Do you think La Rocha’s new red beard is a bow to the Barbarossa brothers?”
“More likely that than an
Since my mind was still struggling to untangle itself from the morning’s terminological convolutions, and since the record would only last another minute or so, I hastened to get him up to date on what I knew about the others as well.
It’s remarkable how much a person can say in two minutes, particularly when speaking to an ear as familiar with nuance as the one that lay inches from my lips. I took care to maintain an expression of courteous disinterest on my face, but by the song’s end, I had managed to convey to Holmes the central points of my past two weeks.
When the music ceased its bawling from the metal trumpet, my husband stood away and, as the Major- General, gave me a slight bow. One of the police constables came to me next, but I claimed fatigue and stood to one side for the next few numbers, looking with care at my companions.
Bibi made a brazen approach to the quarterdeck to venture a flirtatious overture to, of all people, Samuel. The big man cast a sideways and clearly amused glance at La Rocha, then looked back at her and slowly gave a single shake of his head. The young woman voiced an unconcerned laugh, as if to say she had only been playing with him (How long was it since Bibi had been turned down, I wondered?) and flounced down the steps, chewing her gum all the while, to seize Adam away from Annie. Annie glowered as she watched them start the next dance.
Hmm: Annie and Adam.
Mrs Hatley, Edith’s mother and our Ruth-the-incompetent-piratical-nursemaid, was dancing with the police sergeant, although neither seemed particularly taken with the procedure, spending most of their time watching those around them. Daniel Marks was ignoring the glances of the girls currently unclaimed, preferring to stand beside the pirates Benjamin and Jack. Marks and Benjamin were opposite sides of the coin of masculine beauty, one fair and tall, the other dark and lithe. Marks laughed at something Jack said – here was one pirate with enough English to communicate a joke.
Edith had shaken off her mother’s urging towards the younger pirates to form a trio of the younger girls, elbows and heels flapping the air in time to the music. Will Currie had stashed his equipment and film below, since the lack of cohesive costuming here made film pointless. Now he tapped the second-smallest girl, Kate, on the shoulder, and when she turned to see, he bowed and held out a hand. She glanced uncertainly at her chaperone sister (on the sidelines talking to June’s mother) for permission. When it was given, Kate turned her back on Edith and June and began to dance with Will, tentatively at first, then with more confidence as he encouraged her with avuncular dignity.
Then the music changed, to a true waltz. Some of the couples drifted apart, but Bibi dug her fingers into Adam, Will adopted a formal posture with Kate (who came up to his shoulder), and Edith, after a glance towards the waiting pirates, stepped forward and set her hands on June’s waist and shoulder. Why not?
Holmes had been trapped by Isabel’s mother. She was a woman of forty whose stays were well exercised by a figure best described as “lush.” From her coy attitude towards my husband, I saw that she had caught word of the Major-General’s purported lechery and intended to make the most of it.
Holmes’ face was priceless, keen with interest on the surface, alive with apprehension underneath. The crowded shipboard conditions proved a distinct advantage for those desirous of chaperones, but the crowding brought disadvantages as well, making it impossible to get away from a determined female. As they circled about, I took pity on Holmes and made a quick jerk of the chin. His eyes registered a flash of relief, but he continued the dance without interruption.
Moving around the edges of the merry-makers, I glanced upward, and with a cold sensation realised that Samuel was watching me. Had he seen my gesture to Holmes? Would it have betrayed us as being too familiar for the communication between strangers?
I could not risk giving myself away: This was one tight place Holmes would have to get out of on his own.
Before the Major-General could shed his admirer and work himself around to me, I shifted past some bouncing couples to boost myself onto the railings beside the one pirate who seemed perennially shy and retiring, the one who rarely took off his hat even below decks, the one who looked out of place in that crew.
The one who resembled a Swedish accountant.
I swung my legs and nodded to the music and said without looking at him, “Don’t pretend that you don’t speak English.”
It took him a while to decide what to do. Then he said, “Very well.”
“What is your name?”
“Grohe.”
“Why did you come back, after Mr Fflytte had said he didn’t want you?”
