The station was busy with a life that was foreign to him. This was a boundary where diversities melted, Hindus, white men, Chinese, negroes, as if Gallions served as a common denominator of men; turbans, woolly knobs, silk hats, and caps. No wonder the clock was abandoned to nesting-time. A rough and dusty enclosure at the back of a shed was cumbered with vans that were loaded with packages port-marked for coasts that were only names in London. Even the vans here had more faith than the far thought had a reality. What you had to do was to follow it up. Only custom and timidity prevent us from stepping over the last row of the cabbage plot.
A newsboy offered him a paper. Had he better take it? It was certain that paper did not belong to the day he hoped he had reached. Cowardly to step back. That boy was handing him a line of return to Billiter Avenue. But perhaps there was no choice. The boy was destiny right enough, though destiny ought to wipe its nose. He took the paper, opened it.
Nothing was in it. Not a name he knew, not a name which concerned him. No big type for such as he. Useless for the unenterprising to kill anybody. He looked at the date. He had lost a day. This was tomorrow morning. He would have to keep to his own time. The night before last was with the Kings of Memphis. He dropped the paper, returned to the hotel, and went into the coffee-room with a spurious confidence which was almost complete that he knew where he was, and when. Jimmy took a seat beside the master of the Altair.
At that moment, on the other side of the captain, the diffident doctor was contemplating the master furtively, for the doctor wished to speak to him, and this bearded stranger who was just sitting down had changed the atmosphere a trifle, and he had not yet spoken to the captain. The Altair was to make an interesting voyage. The doctor sighed. It was years since he himself coasted in the China Sea. Out there were the coasts of youth. Probably he would never sit again in the verandah of that place he knew in Singapore, and watch the various and unaccountable East go by, at sunset. Never smell tropical overgrowth again. He would like another chance to visit the ruins of Angkor. The Altair’s captain was staring absently across the table to the window light, which was broad from the river. That light gave him away. The elderly and experienced doctor wondered, for a moment, while he judged his neighbour, what the merchant service was coming to, when a man like that could have command of a ship. A negative figure; thin hair, an insignificant mouth and nose; even his moustache was trifling. A lot of interest Bangkok, or the ruins of a forgotten civilisation, would be to him. No character. The doctor had long ago decided that England was decadent, for an unassailable reason; he had found it impossible to get an appointment ashore better than the quackery of humouring the willing victims of bad habits and unoccupied minds, and as a ship’s surgeon he was sent on uninteresting routes.
“You know Bangkok, Cambodia, those places, sir?” he asked.
The skipper started nervously. “Eh? No, well, I haven’t been that way since I was a junior.”
“An interesting coast.”
“Yes? You know it? Any coast has to be that, though, when one is there.”
Captain Bennett laughed rudely. “Interesting! That’s it. That’s the way my surgeon talks. You ought to sail with him.” He shook a rebuking fork at the doctor in pride. “I tell you he’s even interested in the cockroaches. Keeps ’em in bottles. He’d measure the head of any bumboatman who came alongside. The interest of a coast is to keep off it. It’s a fine coast when you’re clear of it.”
“It’s only a point of view, captain.”
“Point of view! Five fathoms, and a draught of twenty-six feet. There’s a point of view. You always talk as if a ship were a peepshow or Noah’s Ark. You ought to know by now it’s more like a pawnshop owned by a Welshman. No Cardiff man here? Every damned rivet is tallied. Doctor, you are too late. You should have signed articles with Noah.”
“Well, captain, don’t you think Noah would be more interested in your ship than you would be in his old ark?”
Captain Bennett was entangled for a moment. He frowned at the doctor while getting this notion free. Jimmy took a look at him. A rosy but truculent old dog. This was one of his favourite pastimes, to quarrel in play. The sly doctor enjoyed pulling his leg. Bennett grunted.
“That ark, dirtier than a cattle-ship, what with monkeys and elephants. Didn’t her old man have to beat about because the only port was under water? Weather as thick as hell. All the same, no trouble with soundings. Yes, doctor, I guess old Noah would have been glad of a gin and bitters on the Harlow. But you knew all right what I meant. Our world isn’t new, but Noah’s was the first voyage, wasn’t it? You’d have seen everything for the first time with him.”
The doctor was offensively quiet and kind. “Do you think we ever see anything at all? There’s nothing but names in the world, captain. Most of the names are old. They hide the things. We look at the names and see nothing.”
“Now what’s he getting at? That’s the way he goes on, quietly pushing the soup off the table to start a nice little conversation with me. Him and our engineer. If you could hear the pair of them at it, you’d think the earth was only a fog, as near as
