The Dark Crusader

opening that hatch and feeling the lash of that cannonading rain should have been to dig some of the left-over clothes out of our suitcases and wrap them round our heads, bandanna-fashion. But too late for tears now. I reached for the plastic bag attached to my drum, ripped it open and spread the blanket over our heads. We could still feel the impact of that rain like a shower of huge hailstones but at least our skins were no longer exposed. It was better than nothing.

When I'd finished arranging it Marie said: 'What do we do now? Stay here in our tent or start swimming?'

I passed up all the obvious remarks about wondering whether we should swim for Australia or South America, they didn't even begin to seem funny in the circumstances, and said: 'I think we should try to move away from here. If this rain keeps up Fleck will never find us. But there's no guarantee that it will last. We might as well swim west, that's the way the wind and the swell are running, it's roughly the direction in which the island would lie if Fleck hasn't altered course too much, and it's easiest for us.'

'Isn't that the way Fleck would think, and move to the west looking for us?'

'If he thinks we're only half as twisted as he is himself, he'll probably figure we've gone in the other direction. Heads you win, tails you lose. Come on.'

We made poor speed. As she'd said, she was no shakes as a swimmer, and those two drums and the soggy heavy blanket didn't help us much, but we did cover a fair bit of ground in the first hour, swimming for ten minutes, resting for five. If it hadn't been for the thought that we could do this sort of thing for the next month and still not arrive anywhere, it would have been quite pleasant: the sea was still warm, the rain was beginning to ease and the sharks stayed to home.

After an hour and a half or what I guessed to be approximately that, during which Marie became very quiet, rarely speaking, not even answering when I spoke to her, I said: 'Enough. This'll do us. Any energy we have left we'll use for survival. If Fleck swings this far off course it's just bad luck and not much that we can do about it.'

I let my legs sink down into the sea, then let out an involuntary exclamation as if I had been bitten or stung. Something large and solid had brushed by my leg, and although there are a lot of large and solid things in the sea all I could think of was of something about fifteen feet long with a triangular fin and a mouth like an unsprung bear- trap. And then it came to me that I'd felt no swirl or disturbance in the water and I cautiously lowered my legs again just as Marie said: 'What is it? What's the matter?'

'I wish old Fleck would bring his schooner by here,' I said yearningly. 'That would be the end of both of them.' It wasn't that something large and solid had brushed by my leg, it had been my leg brushing by something large and solid, which was a different thing altogether. 'I'm standing in about four feet of water.'

There was a momentary 'pause, then she said: 'Me, too.' It was the slow dazed answer of one who cannot believe something: more accurately, of one who can't understand something, and I found it vaguely puzzling. 'What do you think-'

'Land, dear girl,' I said expansively. I felt a bit lightheaded with relief, I hadn't given tuppence for our chances of survival. 'Must be that island we thought we saw. The way the sea-bed is sloping up it can be nothing else. Now's our chance to see those dazzling sands and waving palms and the brown-skinned beauties we've heard so much about. Give me your hand.'

There was no answering levity or even gladness from her, she just took my hand in silence as I transferred the blanket to my other hand and started feeling my cautious way up the rapidly shelving sea-floor. In less than a minute we were standing on rock, and on any other night we would have been high and dry. In that rain, we were high and wet. But we were high. Nothing else mattered.

We lifted both water drums on to the shore and I draped the blanket over Marie's head: the rain had slackened, but slackening on that night was a comparative thing only, it was still fierce enough to be hurtful. I said: 'I'm just going to take a brief look round. Back in five minutes.'

'All right,' she said dully. It didn't seem to matter whether I came or went.

I was back in two minutes; not five. I'd taken eight steps

and fallen into the sea on the other side and it didn't take me long to discover that our tiny island was only about four times as long as it was broad and consisted of nothing but rock. I would have liked to see Robinson Crusoe making out on that little lot. Marie hadn't moved from where I had left her.

'It's just a little rock in the middle of the sea,' I reported. 'But at least we're safe. For the present anyway.'

'Yes.' She rubbed the rock with the toe of her sandal. 'It's coral, isn't it?'

'I suppose so.' As with many others, the sun-drenched coral islands of the Pacific had formed a staple part of my earlier reading diet, but when I incautiously sat down to take the weight off my feet and stock of the situation my youthful enthusiasms vanished pretty rapidly. If this was coral it felt like the sort of thing an Indian fakir might graduate to after he'd mastered the easier stuff, like sleeping on a bed of red-hot nails. The rock was hard, broken, jagged and with frequent spiny razor-sharp edges. I pushed myself quickly to my feet, careful not to cut my hand on the coral, picked up the two drums and set them down on the highest part of the reef. I went back for Marie, took her arm and we sat down side by side on the drums with our backs to the wind and the rain. She offered me part of the blanket as protection, and I wasn't too proud to take it. It at least gave the illusion of shelter.

I talked to her for some time, but she had only monosyllables to offer in return. Then I dug a couple of cigarettes out from the packet I'd stowed in my water drum and offered her one, which she took, but that wasn't very successful either for the blanket leaked like a sieve and inside a minute both cigarettes were completely sodden. After ten minutes or so I said: 'What's the matter, Marie? I agree that this is not the Grand Pacific Hotel, but at least we're alive.'

'Yes.' A pause, then matter of factly: 'I thought I was going to die out there tonight. I expected to die. I was so sure I would that this-well, it's a sort of anti-climax. It's not real. Not yet. You understand?'

'No. What made you sure you were going to-' I broke off for a moment. 'Don't tell me that you're still thinking along the same daft lines as you were last night?'

She nodded in the darkness. I felt the movement of the blanket rather than saw that of her head.

'I'm sorry, I really am. I can't help it. Maybe I'm not well, it's never been like this before,' she said helplessly. 'You look into the future but almost all the time there isn't any but if you do catch glimpses of it you're not there yourself. It's a kind of curtain drawn between you and tomorrow, and because you can't see past it you feel that there is none. No tomorrow, I mean.'

'Superstitious rubbish,' I said shortly. 'Just because you're tired and out of sorts and soaked and shivering, you start having recourse to those morbid fancies. You're no help to me, just no help at all. Half the time I think Colonel Raine was right and that you would make a first-class partner in this godforsaken racket of ours: and half the time I'm convinced that you're going to be a deadweight round my neck and drag me under.' It was cruel, but I meant to be kind. 'God knows how you've managed to survive in this business until now.'

'I told you it's new, something completely new for me. It is superstitious nonsense and I'll not mention it again.' She reached out and touched my hand. 'It's so terribly unfair to you. I'm sorry.'

I didn't feel proud of myself at all. I let the subject go and returned to the consideration of the South Pacific. I was coming to the conclusion that I didn't much care for the South Pacific. The rain was the worst I'd ever known: coral was nasty sharp dangerous stuff: it was inhabited by a bunch of homicidally-minded characters: and, another shattered illusion, the nights could be very cold indeed. I felt clammy and chilled under the clinging wetness of that blanket and both of us were shaken by uncontrollable bouts of shivering which grew more frequent as the night wore on. At one stage it seemed to me that the sensible and logical thing for us to do would be to lie down in the very much warmer sea water and spend the night like that, but when I went, briefly, to test this theory, I changed my mind. The water was warm enough, what changed my mind was a tentacle that appeared from a cleft in the coral and wrapped itself round my left ankle: the octopus to which it belonged couldn't have weighed more than a few pounds but it still took most of my sock with it as I wrenched my leg away, which gave me some idea of what to expect if its big brother happened by.

It was the longest, the most miserable night I have ever known. It must have been about midnight when the rain eased off, but it continued in a steady drizzle until shortly before dawn. Sometimes I dozed off, sometimes Marie did, but when she did it was a restless troubled sleep, her breathing too shallow and quick, her hands too cold, her forehead too warm. Sometimes we both rose and stumbled around precariously on the rough slippery rock