‘I’m still not quite clear,’ G. H. Bondy said uncertainly, ‘… how you’re envisaging the thing, captain.’
‘By shipping those tapa-boys to other pearl islands,’ the captain finally let it out. ‘I’ve found out that those lizards cannot get across the open sea under their own steam. They can swim for a while, and waddle on the seabed for a while, but at great depth the pressure’s too much for them. They’re rather soft, you see? But if I had the kind of ship where one could install a tank, a sort of water container, then I could ferry them about wherever I wanted to. Get it? And they’d be finding pearls there and I’d be sailing out to them, supplying them with knives and harpoons and whatever other stuff they might need. Those poor little buggers so multi-pigged themselves in Devil Bay - ’
‘Multiplied.’
‘Sure, multiplied, so they can’t get enough food there any more. They live on small fish and molluscs and some kind of water slugs - but they’ll also eat potatoes and biscuits and ordinary things. So it would be possible to feed them in the tanks on the ship. And at suitable spots, where there aren’t many people about, I’d release them into the water again and set up some kind of… sort of farms for my lizards. I’d like to make sure they can feed themselves, those little creatures. They’re very fetching and clever, Mr Bondy. Soon as you see them, old boy, you’ll be saying: Hello, Captain, you’ve got some very useful creatures there. Sure. People just now are crazy about pearls, Mr Bondy. So that’s the big business I’ve thought up.’
G. H. Bondy was embarrassed. ‘I’m frightfully sorry, captain,’ he began hesitantly, ‘but - I really don’t know – ’
Captain van Toch’s sky-blue eyes filled with tears. ‘That’s too bad, old boy. I’d leave you all these pearls here as … as a surety for that ship, but I can’t buy her myself. And I know of a very handy ship over there in Rotterdam … runs on diesel - ’
‘Why haven’t you proposed this business to somebody in Holland?’
The captain shook his head. ‘I know those people, old boy. I can’t talk to them about it. Well, I could perhaps carry some other cargo on that ship as well, general merchandise, sir, and sell it on those islands. Sure, I could do that. I know a lot of people out there, Mr Bondy. And then at the same time I could have tanks on that ship, for my lizards -
‘Now that’s something one might consider,’ G. H. Bondy reflected. ‘It so happens … Well, we’ve got to find new markets for our industry. And it so happens I spoke to a few people a little while ago - I’d like to buy a ship or two, one for South America and the other for eastern parts – ’
The captain revived. ‘I like that idea, Mr Bondy, sir. Ships are terribly cheap just now, you can buy a whole harbour full of them - ‘Captain van Toch launched out on a technical exposition on where and at what price certain vessels and boats and tank steamers were on sale. G. H. Bondy was not listening but was merely studying him: G. H. Bondy was a judge of men. He did not for one moment take Captain van Toch’s lizards seriously, but he thought the captain was worth considering. Honest, yes. And he knew conditions out there. He was mad, of course. But damned likable. In G. H. Bondy’s heart some fantastic chord was touched. Ships carrying pearls and coffee, ships with spices and all the perfumes of Arabia, G. H. Bondy felt distracted - a sensation which seized him before every major and successful decision, a sensation that might be put into words like this: I don’t know why, but I’ll probably go for it. Captain van Toch’s massive hands were meanwhile mapping out in the air some ships with awning-decks or quarter-decks, superb ships, old boy -
‘Tell you what, Captain Vantoch,’ G. H. Bondy said suddenly. ‘You come and see me in a fortnight. We’ll have another talk about that ship.’
Captain van Toch understood the full import of those words. He flushed with pleasure and stammered: ‘And those lizards - shall I be able to take them along on my ship as well?’
‘But certainly. Except that you should not mention them to anyone, if you please. People might think that you’ve gone off your rocker - and me too.’
‘And I may leave these pearls here?’
‘You certainly may.’
‘Only I’ve got to pick out two rather nice ones to send to somebody.’
‘To whom?’
‘To two journalists, old boy. Oh shit, wait a minute.’
‘What is it?’
‘Shit! I’ve forgotten their names.’ Captain van Toch thoughtfully blinked his sky-blue eyes. ‘I’ve got such a stupid head, old boy. Can’t remember those two boys’ names.’
5
Captain J. van Toch’s Trained Lizards
‘Blow me down,’ said a man in Marseilles, ‘if it isn’t Jensen.’
The Swede, Jensen, raised his eyes. ‘Wait,’ he said, ‘and don’t say anything till I’ve placed you.’ He put his hand on his forehead. Seagull, no. Empress of India, no. Pernambuco, no. Got it: Vancouver. Five years ago in Vancouver, Osaka Line, Frisco. And your name’s Dingle, you old villain, and you’re Irish.’
The man flashed his teeth and sat down. ‘Right, Jensen. And I drink any hard stuff that comes out of a bottle. Where’ve you sprung from?’
Jensen motioned with his head. ‘I’m now sailing Marseilles-Saigon. And you?’
‘I’m on leave,’ boasted Dingle. ‘So I’m on my way home to see how many more kids I’ve got.’
Jensen nodded earnestly. ‘So they’ve given you the boot again, right? Drunk on duty and that sort of thing. If you went to the YMCA like me, man, you’d - ’
Dingle grinned with pleasure. ‘There’s a YMCA here?’
‘Never mind, it’s Saturday today,’Jensen growled. ‘And what route did you work?’
‘On some tramp,’ Dingle said evasively. ‘All sorts of islands down under.’
‘Captain?’
‘Man called van Toch. Dutchman or something.’
Jensen the Swede grew thoughtful. ‘Captain van Toch. Sailed under him myself, years ago, brother. Ship: Kandong Bandoeng. Line: from devil to Satan. Fat chap, bald head, can even swear in Malay, so there’s more of it. Know him well.’
‘Was he potty in your time too?’
The Swede shook his head. ‘Old Toch’s all right, man.’
‘Did he ship those lizards around with him then?’
‘No.’ Jensen hesitated for a moment. ‘I did hear something … in Singapore. Some blabbermouth was drivelling on about it.’
The Irishman seemed rather offended. ‘That’s no drivel, Jensen. That’s gospel truth about the lizards.’
‘Man in Singapore also said it was the truth,’ the Swede muttered. ‘Still got his face pushed in,’ he added triumphantly.
‘Well, let me tell you then,’ Dingle said defensively, ‘what it’s all about. After all, I ought to know, chum. I saw the brutes with my own eyes.’
‘Me too,’ muttered Jensen. ‘Nearly black, about four foot six with their tail, and walk on two legs. I know.’
‘Hideous,’ Dingle shuddered. ‘All warts, man. Holy Mother of God, I wouldn’t touch them. Bound to be poisonous!’
‘Why?’ grumbled the Swede. ‘Man, I’ve served on ships packed with people. Upper and lower deck, all crammed full, nothing but people, nothing but women and suchlike, and there they were dancing and playing cards - I was a stoker then, you know. And now tell me, you dummy, which is more poisonous.’
Dingle spat. ‘If they were caymans, man, I wouldn’t say anything. Once I even carried snakes for a zoo, from Bandjermassin down there, and boy, did they stink! But these lizards - Jensen, they are mighty queer animals. OK, during the day they’re in their water tanks, but at night they creep out, tap-tap, tap-tap … The whole ship was swarming with them. Standing on their hindlegs and turning their heads after you …’ The Irishman crossed himself. ‘They go ts-ts-ts at you, just like those whores in Hong Kong. May God not punish me, but I think they’re not quite right. If jobs weren’t so hard to come by I wouldn’t stay there another minute, Jensy. Not a minute.’
&
nbsp; ‘So that’s it,’ said Jensen. ‘That’s why you’re running home to mummy, right?’
‘Partly. Chap had to drink heavily to put up with it all, you know, and the captain’s a real bastard about that. Terrible fuss because they said I’d kicked one of those brutes. OK, so I kicked it, and with gusto at that - so much so I broke its back. You should have seen the old man going on about it: turned blue he did, picked me up by the scruff of my neck and would have thrown me overboard if Gregory the mate hadn’t been around. Know him?’
The Swede merely nodded.
‘He’s had enough sir, the mate said, and poured a bucket of water over my head. And in Kokopo I went ashore.’ Mr Dingle spat in a long flat trajectory. ‘The old man cared more for those brutes than for his crew. Did you know he taught them to speak? Cross my heart, he’d lock himself up with them for hours on end and talk to them. I think he’s training them like for a circus. But the oddest thing is that afterwards he lets them out into the water. He’ll heave to off some silly little island, sail the boat along the shore, taking depth soundings, then he’ll lock himself up near those tanks, open the broadside hatch and let the brutes into the water. Man, they dive in through that little window, one after another, just like trained seals - always some ten or twelve. And then old Toch rows to the shore at night, with some little crates. No one’s allowed to know what he’s got in them. And then the ship sails on. That’s how things are with old Toch, Jensy. Odd. Very odd.’ Mr Dingle’s eyes became fixed. ‘God Almighty, Jensy, I was getting the wind up! I drank, man; I drank like a fish; and when there was this tapping at night and this waddling on hindlegs all over the ship … and that ts-ts-ts … well, sometimes I thought: Aha, Dingle, my boyo, that comes from drink. It happened to me once before, in Frisco, as you well know, Jensy: only then I was seeing nothing but spiders. De-li-rium, that’s what the doctors at the Sailors’ Hospital called it. So I don’t know. But then I asked Big Bing if he’d seen anything at night, and he said he had. Said he saw with his own eyes how one of those lizards turned the door handle and went into the captain’s cabin. So I don’t know. Joe’s a terrible soak too. D’you think, Jensy, that Bing had delirium? What do you think?’
Jensen the Swede merely shrugged.
‘And that German, Peters, said that on Manihiki Islands, when he had rowed the captain ashore, he’d hidden behind some rocks to watch what old Toch was up to with those little packing cases. Man, he said those lizards opened them themselves if the old man gave them a chisel. And do you know what was inside? Knives, he said. Knives this long, and harpoons, and such stuff. Man alive, I don’t really trust Peters because he wears glasses - but it’s odd all the same. What do you think?’
The veins on Jens Jensen’s temples began to stand out. ‘Well, I’m telling you that this German of yours is poking his nose into something that’s no business of his, understand? And I’m telling you that I wouldn’t advise him to do that.’
‘Why don’t you write him a letter?’, the Irishman mocked. ‘Surest address will be Hell; he’s bound to get it there. But do you know what seems strange to me? That old Toch goes and visits those lizards of his from time to time, at the spots where he dropped them. Cross my heart, Jensy. He has himself taken ashore at night and doesn’t come back till morning. So you tell me, Jensen, who he’s visiting there. And you tell me what’s inside those packages he sends to Europe. Look, a package about this big, and he insures it for maybe £3,000.’
‘How do you know that?’ the Swede frowned, turning darker still.
‘There are ways of finding out,’ Mr Dingle said evasively. ‘And do you know where old Toch is shipping those lizards from? Devil Bay, Jensy! I’ve got a friend there, he’s an agent and an educated man, and he said to me: Man, those aren’t trained lizards. Far from it! Don’t be fooled, he said.’ Mr Dingle winked meaningfully. ‘That’s how things are, Jensen - just so you know. And you’re telling me Captain van Toch is all right!’
‘Say that again,’ the big Swede growled menacingly.
‘If old Toch was all right he wouldn’t be shipping devils all over the place … and he wouldn’t be dropping them off all over those islands like fleas in a fur. Jensy, during the time that I was with him he shipped a good few thousand around. Old Toch’s sold his soul, man. And I know what those devils give him in return. Rubies, pearls and suchlike. Stands to reason; he wouldn’t have done it for nothing.’
Jens Jensen turned puce. ‘And what business is it of yours?’ he roared and banged the table. ‘You mind your own bloody business!’
Little Dingle jumped with fright. ‘Please …’ he stammered in confusion; ‘why are you all of a sudden … I’m only saying what I saw. And if you like I only dreamt it. That’s because it’s you. If you like I’ll say I was delirious. Don’t be angry with me, Jensen. You know quite well I had this before, in Frisco. A bad case, the doctors at the Sailors’ Hospital said. But man, I could have sworn by my immortal soul that I did see those lizards or devils or whatever. But they weren’t real.’
‘They were, Pat,’ the Swede said gloomily. ‘I saw them myself.’
‘No, Jensy,’ argued Dingle. ‘You were only delirious. Old Toch is all right, but he shouldn’t ship those devils all over the place. Know what? When I’m home I’ll have a Mass said for his soul. May I be struck dead if I don’t.’
‘We don’t do that,’ Jensen boomed melancholically, ‘in my religion. And what do you think, Pat, does it do any good if a Mass is said for somebody?’
‘A powerful deal of good, man,’ the Irishman burst out. ‘I’ve heard of cases back home where it did a deal of good … why, even in the most difficult cases. Especially against devils and suchlike, you know!’
‘Then I shall have a Catholic Mass said too,’ Jens Jensen decided. ‘For Captain van Toch. But I’ll have it said right here, in Marseilles. I suppose they do it cheaper in that big church - at wholesale price, like.’
‘Could be. But an Irish Mass is better. Back home, man, we have devil priests who are downright wizards. Just like fakirs or witch doctors.’
‘Look, Pat, I’d like to give you twelve francs for that Mass. But you’re a rascal and’11 spend it on booze.’
‘Jensy, I wouldn’t lay such a sin upon myself. But hold it, so you can trust me I’ll give you an IOU for those twelve francs. OK?’
‘That would do,’ said the methodical Swede. Mr Dingle borrowed a piece of paper and a pencil and spread himself broadly over the table. ‘What am I to write, then?’
Jens Jensen was looking over his shoulder. ‘OK, at the top you put that it’s a kind of receipt.’
And Mr Dingle, sticking out his tongue with the effort and licking his pencil, wrote down slowly:
Receet
I hereby sirtify that I have receevd from Jens Jensen 12 franks for a Mass for the sole of Capn Toch.
Pat Dingle
‘OK like this?’ Mr Dingle asked uncertainly. ‘And which of us should keep this document?’
‘You, of course, you idiot,’ the Swede said without hesitation. ‘That’s so you don’t forget that you’ve received the money.’
Mr Dingle spent those twelve francs on drink at Le Havre, and instead of sailing to Ireland he sailed to Djibouti. In short, the Mass has not yet been said, and in consequence no higher power has intervened in the natural course of events.
6
The Yacht in the Lagoon
Mr Abe Loeb screwed up his eyes into the setting sun; he would have liked to put into words how beautiful it all was but his Sweetiepie Li, alias Miss Lily Valley, more properly Miss Lilian Nowak, in short golden-haired Li, White Lily, long-limbed Lilian or whatever other names she had been given before she had reached seventeen, was sleeping on the warm sand, snuggled into a fleecy bath-robe and curled up like a sleeping dog. That’s why Abe didn’t say anything about the beauty of the world but merely heaved a sigh and wriggled the toes of his bare feet because there were grains of sand between them. Out there on the sea rode his yacht
, the Gloria Pickford this yacht had been given to Abe as a present by Papa Loeb for passing his finals. Papa Loeb was quite a guy. Jesse Loeb, film tycoon and suchlike. Abe, boy, why don’t you invite a few pals and some girl friends and see something of the world, the old man had said. Papa Jesse was really quite a guy. There then, on the mother-of-pearl sea, rode the Gloria Pickford and here on the warm sand slept Sweetiepie Li. Sleeps like a little child, poor kid. Abe felt an immense yearning to protect her somehow. I suppose I really ought to marry her, young Mr Loeb was thinking; in his heart he experienced a beautiful and tormenting pressure, compounded of firm determination and fear. Ma Loeb probably wouldn’t approve, and Papa Loeb would throw up his hands: You’re crazy, Abe. Well, parents simply didn’t understand, that was it. And Abe, sighing with tenderness, drew the corner of the bath-robe over the slender white ankle of Sweetiepie Li. A nuisance, he thought with embarrassment, that I’ve got such hairy legs!
God, how beautiful it is here, how beautiful it is! Pity Li doesn’t see it. Abe gazed at the splendid curve of her hip and by some indistinct association began to think about art. After all, Sweetiepie Li is an artist. A film actress. She hasn’t had a part yet but she has made up her mind that she’ll be the greatest screen actress there ever was; and if Li makes up her mind about something she sure gets it. That’s just what Ma Loeb won’t understand; an artist is simply an artist, and can’t be like other girls. Besides, other girls were no better, Abe decided. Take for instance that Judy on board the yacht: such a rich girl - and I know perfectly well that Fred visits her in her cabin. Every night, I ask you, whereas I and Li … Well, Li just isn’t like that. I don’t begrudge it to baseball Freddie, Abe thought magnanimously, he’s a college friend; but every night - a girl as rich as that oughtn’t to do that. I mean, a girl from a family such as Judy’s. And Judy isn’t even an artist. (The things those girls whisper about amongst each other, it occurred to Abe; how their eyes shine and how they giggle - / never talk about such things to Fred.) (Li shouldn’t drink so many cocktails, she doesn’t know what she’s saying afterwards.) (Like this afternoon, that was unnecessary - ) (I mean how she and Judy quarrelled about which of them had the prettier legs. Stands to reason that Li has. I should know.) (And Fred needn’t have had that idiotic idea of holding a leg competition. You can do that some place on Palm Beach but not at a private party. And surely the girls needn’t have lifted their skirts that high. And it wasn’t just legs. At least Li shouldn’t have done so. Especially in front of Fred! And a girl as rich as Judy shouldn’t have done it either.) (And I guess I shouldn’t have asked the captain to judge. That was dumb of me. The way the captain blushed and his moustache bristled and with You’ll excuse me, sir, had slammed the door. Embarrassing. Terribly embarrassing. But the captain needn’t have been that rude. After all, it’s my yacht, ain’t it?) (True enough, the captain’s got no sweetiepie of his own with him, so why should the poor guy be made to look at such things? I mean if he’s got to be on his own.) (And why did Li cry when Fred said that Judy’s legs were prettier? And then she said Fred was so ill-mannered he was spoiling the whole cruise for her … Poor kid, poor Li!) (And now the two girls aren’t on speaking terms. And when I tried to speak to Fred, Judy called him over to her like a little dog. After all, Fred’s my best friend. Of course, if he’s Judy’s lover he’s got to say she has the prettier legs! But he needn’t have been so emphatic about it. That wasn’t tactful towards poor Li; Li’s right, Fred is a conceited lout. A frightful lout.) (Matter of fact, I’d visualised this voyage rather differently. I need that Fred like I need a hole in my head!)