There was another armchair, a threadbare rug, and a desk with a swivel chair in front of it. On the bulkhead above the deck were two framed photographs, one of a small, neat house set in the awesome beauty of a Norwegian fjord, and the other of a woman and two young girls. At the rear of the office another door opened into the stateroom. Captain Steen sat in the swivel chair and took notes as Goddard told him the story. It was obvious he disapproved of the whole thing.
‘You realize you were very foolish,’ he said. ‘It’s a wonder to me your coastguard allows it.’
Goddard pointed out that single-handed passages in small boats were commonplace by sailors of all maritime nations and sanctioned by yacht clubs, and that there had been a number of single-handed races across the Atlantic. There was a difference between a competent seaman going to sea in a sound boat and some nut going over Niagara Falls in a barrel. He stopped when he realized he was wasting his breath.
‘But you did lose your boat,’ Steen said. ‘And it’s just the Lord’s infinite mercy you’re alive. Your passport was lost too, I suppose?’
‘Yes,’ Goddard replied. ‘Somehow it didn’t seem important at the time.’
‘Very unfortunate.’ Steen frowned and tapped on the pad with his pencil. ‘There will be complications, you realize, and a great deal of red tape.’
Goddard sighed. ‘Captain, every maritime nation on earth has machinery for processing shipwrecked and castaway seamen.’
‘Yes, I know that. But you are not a seaman, legally signed on the articles of a merchant vessel. To the Philippine authorities you will be simply an alien without identification visa or money. This places the company in the position of having to post bond.’
I’ll be a sad sonofabitch, Goddard thought. ‘I am sorry, Captain. I guess it was selfish and inconsiderate of me to swim over here and hail you that way.’
Captain Steen was pained, but forgiving. ‘I think you’ll agree that was uncalled for, Mr. Goddard. We are very happy to have been the instruments of Providence, but the formalities and red tape are something we have to take into account. Now, about your arrangements on here; you can continue in the hospital where you are now and eat with the deck crew’s mess, but you won’t be required to work your passage—’
‘Thank you.’
‘—unless you feel you’d rather, of course. The bos’n can always use an extra hand, and I am sure you wouldn’t want them to carry you for cigarettes and toilet articles you will need.’
‘But I understand you carry passengers.’ Goddard’s voice was still quiet, but there was a hard edge to it. ‘And the cabins are not all sold. I’ll take one, at the full rate from Callao to Manila.’
This earned him a pale but condescending smile. ‘Passage has to be paid in advance. And I’m afraid I have no authority to change the company rule.’
‘Is your wireless operator on duty now?’
‘He is subject to call at any time. Why?’
‘Would you ask him to come up and bring a message blank? I’d like to send a radiogram.’ Goddard slipped off the watch and set it on the desk. He felt like the type of overbearing, exhibitionist jerk he detested above everything, but he was too angry to care. ‘Lock this in your safe as security for the message charges; it’s a Rolex chronometer that sells for around six hundred dollars in this type of case. If you’ll tell me the name of your agents in Los Angeles, my attorneys will deposit with them this afternoon the money to cover my passage and other expenses from here to Manila, the bond you will have to post, and my fare back to the United States if the Philippine authorities hold you responsible for it.’
‘Uh—yes. Of course.’ Steen appeared to hesitate for a moment, and then calmly handed back the watch, immune to insult. ‘I guess it will be all right.’ He stepped out into the wheelhouse and spoke into the telephone, and in a minute the wireless operator appeared, a young Latin with a slender, inscrutable face still bearing traces of some ancient bout with smallpox.
‘Sparks, this is Mr. Goddard. He wants to send a message,’ Steen said.
Goddard stood up and said, ‘How do you do.’ Sparks nodded, neither volunteering his name nor offering to shake hands, and Goddard caught the little flicker of hatred in the jet depths of the eyes before they became impassive again. Yanqui go home. Could be Cuban, Goddard thought, or Panamanian. Or from anywhere south of San Diego, with our record.
‘You can get the States all right?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ Sparks said, but it was Steen who volunteered the information they had shortwave. Sparks handed him the pad of blanks and went out into the wheelhouse to wait. Captain Steen looked in his files for the line’s agents in San Pedro, and said the fare from Callao to Manila was five hundred and thirty dollars.
‘Then two thousand should cover everything,’ Goddard said. ‘Any balance, you can refund in Manila.’ He wrote out the message, addressed to his attorneys in Beverly Hills.SHOSHONE DOWNWENT STOP PICKED UP BY SS LEANDER BOUND MANILA STOP PLEASE DEPOSIT TODAY WITH LINE’S AGENTS BARWICK AND KLINE SAN PEDRO TWO THOUSAND DOLLARS TO COVER PASSAGE, MANILA EXPENSES, AND RETURN FARE TO STATES STOP REQUEST AGENTS VERIFY RECEIPT SOONEST CAPTAIN STEEN LEANDER—GODDARD
Sparks made the word count and computed the charges. ‘That will be eleven thirteen.’ There was a barely perceptible pause, and he added. ‘In real money.’
‘You don’t have to lean on it,’ Goddard said softly. ‘I heard you the first time.’
Steen told the operator the company guaranteed payment, and the young Latin went out. ‘I’ll notify the steward,’ Steen said to Goddard. ‘He will take care of you.’
‘Aren’t you going to wait for the verification?’ Goddard asked. Steen indicated it wouldn’t be necessary. Maybe the watch had impressed him. Goddard went out, a little ashamed and regretting the whole thing; he didn’t care in the slightest where he was quartered, and working on deck would have been fun. He was surprised, too, that the sanctimonious fraud could have made him lose his cool; he’d thought he was impervious to the Steens of the world.
Lind was just coming in. He was bareheaded, in khakis and moccasins, and apparently never wore shoulder boards. He grinned at Goddard. ‘Stick around a minute. I’ve got some things in my room you may be able to use.’
‘Sure,’ Goddard said. ‘Thanks.’ He went out and leaned on the rail on the starboard wing of the bridge. It would be a different ship, he thought, if Lind were master of it.
4
‘Appendectomy?’ Lind asked. ‘Spinal tap? Bothered with impacted teeth? Lover’s catarrh? I’m always looking for a live one.’
Goddard grinned and indicated the skull jammed behind some books on the desk. ‘Not if that’s a former patient.’
‘Bought it from a Moro down in the Celebes,’ Lind said. ‘You can still see where somebody got him with a bolo; probably the guy who sold it to me. Drink? Short one before lunch?’
‘Sure, if it’s that or surgery,’ Goddard said.
Lind yanked open a drawer and brought out a bottle of Canadian Club and two glasses. ‘Did you know that the references to wine in the New Testament really meant Welch’s grape juice? It was a faulty translation from the Greek.’
‘Yeah, I’ve heard that,’ Goddard said. He looked around the cabin again. While at first glance it would appear it could only have been assembled by a pack rat, a madman, or the vortex of a tornado, a more subjective appraisal revealed the blazing and restless mind that complemented the vast male exuberance of its tenant. More outpatient clinic or dispensary than living quarters, it also bore some resemblance to a library after an earthquake, with traces here and there of a museum. Anchored to the deck was a sterilizer containing scalpels, tooth forceps, hemostats, and hypodermic syringes. Boxes and specially built shelves held the contents of a small pharmacy—bottles, vials, tubes, splints, packaged sutures, and rolls of gauze and tape. There were several ebony carvings and a bolo, and
