Deck Boy, page 8
“Oswald Bagot?” An official voice reached us above the hubbub.
“Oh, help!” His eyes filled with alarm. “Barbara, will you – ?”
“No, you’ve got to do it yourself. On you go, Ossie boy. You’ll be all right.”
“I hope so.” He gritted his teeth. “Meet you here after?”
“Of course.”
“Wish me luck.” He worked his way through the crowd and sat at the appointed desk.
“Will he be OK?” I said.
“Let’s hope so.” Barbara looked anxious. “He had a bad time on the Star. We all did.”
I looked to Michael for details. But gay, merry Michael wasn’t listening. He was staring across the room and the blood had drained from his face.
Curly
“WHAT IS it?” Barbara said.
Michael seemed not to hear.
“Michael!”
“Rat’bone,” he said.
“What! Where?”
He nodded.
At first I saw only the crew. Then my stomach clenched as I recognised the man who had smacked me across the head in the Eight Bells. He was sitting at one of the desks.
“Charlie,” I said.
“I see him.”
“Is he signing on?”
“Looks like it.” He touched Michael’s arm. “He the one you mean, that scrawny guy in the denim jacket? Hair hanging over his collar.”
“That’s him, nasty, vicious … I hate him!”
“Ben and me know him.”
“You know him?”
“Well, not exactly know him. He give Ben a thump.”
“That sounds about right,” Barbara said.
“I tripped over his foot,” I said. “Slopped his beer.”
“Lucky a thump’s all he give you.”
“What did you say his name was?”
“Lenny Rathbone,” Michael said. “Known to those who love him as Rat’bone.”
“What’ll he be sailing as?”
“AB, I expect. Unless he’s been made up to bosun. Not likely, no one would have him.”
“I’ll find out.” Barbara pulled a French fisherman’s cap from his pocket. Tugging the peak low, he crossed the room.
He was soon back. “AB,” he said shortly.
“I can’t stand him!” Michael said. “I never even wanted to hear his name again, never mind sail with him. He’s evil. Oh, Barbara!” He turned to his friend. “What do you think?”
“I don’t know.” Barbara was perplexed. “I’ll leave it to you, love. If you want to do a runner that’s all right with me.”
“Do you think we should?”
“Nothing to stop us, I suppose. Mind, that nice woman at the Pool said it’s the only ship on the books with a berth for the two of us. And we have let the flat.” He looked around the room. “No sign of Cyclops anyway. And we’re here now. Can’t let scum like Rat’bone rule our lives.”
“You’re right, of course. And there’s poor Ossie signing on this minute. Look at him.” Michael’s eyes brimmed with tears. “We can’t just abandon him.”
Why was he so upset? Surely not, I thought, just because this Rat’bone was signing on as AB.
“Maybe if we make it plain from the start,” Barbara said. “Get a few people behind us. Tell him we’re not going to be pushed around.”
“It’s not going to be like the Star,” Michael said.
“No way, or we’ll go straight to the old man.”
Michael looked at Charlie and me. “Here’s these two lads for a start. You’ll be on our side, won’t you?”
“I thought you were going to be my big brother,” I said.
“Oh, I will.” He rubbed his eyes. “We’ll look after each other, eh?”
“If it’s against that horrible Rat’bone,” I said.
Charlie said, “There’s something going on here we don’t know about. What happened that trip? On the Star of Bengal.”
“Trouble,” Barbara said briefly. “Big trouble. Ended with somebody dying. A friend.”
“Not somebody, Barbara!” Michael’s eyes spilled over. “Not somebody, it was Curly! Not somebody, it was Curly!”
“I’m sorry.” Barbara took his hand. “Of course it was Curly. I was trying not to upset you.”
Men were watching.
“Seen enough, have you?” Barbara said aggressively. “Happy now?”
They looked away.
“Curly was Michael’s best friend,” he explained in a softer voice. “Went to the same school. Sailed together for two years. Peas in a pod, lovely chap. Always laughing, head full of curls. Then that trip we all got caught up in some scam Rat’bone an’ his mate were pulling.”
“The guy you called Cyclops?” Charlie said.
“That’s him. He was at the heart of it. Worse than Rat’bone even.”
“Much worse,” Michael said.
“Why Cyclops?”
“Why d’you think? Ugly great brute, one eye.”
“One eye?”
“Well not in the middle of his forehead. He’s got two eyes, need two eyes to be on deck. But one’s all twisted, covered by a birthmark.”
My heart gave a jump.
“What happened?” Charlie said. “To Curly, I mean.”
“No one knows really. At least everyone knows but nobody saw anything, no one could prove anything.” He glanced at Michael. “Things on board had been getting worse and worse. Cyclops was at the heart of it but there were others as well. I was threatened with a knife. Michael here got knocked down and given a kicking. Curly told them if anything else happened he was going to shop them, they’d end up in an Indian jail. Never had the chance. That night we were having a bit of a party, anchored off Calcutta. Hot as hell. He went along to the galley for some grub and – well, he never came back. Just disappeared.”
“Over the side?” I said.
“Into the Hooghly?” Charlie added.
Michael sniffed back his tears. “How do you know that?”
“Something a guy told us when Ben was buying some gear. He said the – ”
But Michael wasn’t listening. “You don’t think they could – ”
“What?” Barbara said.
“Still be together.”
“Cyclops and Rat’bone? How would I know? Surprising they’re not both in jail, if you ask me.” He stood on tiptoe to scan the crowd. “No sign of him.”
“I couldn’t bear it. I just couldn’t bear it if they were both joining.”
I remembered the three in the Eight Bells: Cyclops, as Michael called him, Rat’bone and the young bodybuilder. I remembered what we’d been told about the bosun’s violent temper, and the ‘nice young fella’ torn apart by crocodiles.
At the far side of the room Rat’bone gathered his papers together and rose. Blinking in his own cigarette smoke, he elbowed a way through the crowd.
“Hey, you have no manners?” The voice was deep. “Watch who you’re pushing.” A middle-aged black man protested. He was the biggest man in the room, even bigger than Ossie, a dignified figure, his hair touched with grey. One tooth, I saw, had been capped with gold. He wore a suit for signing on, much worn but neatly pressed.
Rat’bone glanced at him contemptuously and ignored him. From the hostile looks he received, it was apparent that Rat’bone was known to some of the others. With a surly nod he acknowledged a couple on his way to the door. If he recognised Michael and Barbara, he gave no indication of it. But he saw me.
“Oh, my word.” He removed the cigarette. “Small world. Not signing on the Trader are you? Not deck boy?” His eyes slipped to Charlie. “You too? Well, that’s brightened a dull morning.” He smiled nastily, revealing a set of over-large false teeth. “I’ll see you later.” A rank smell hung in the air as he headed from the room.
“Oh, Ben!” Michael was shaken. “What a beast! Do you think you’ll be all right? I’ve got such bad vibes about this trip.”
The Fight on the Landing
THE CROWD cleared slowly. As men signed on and departed, others arrived.
“Looks like we’re going to be here for some time.” Michael blew his nose on a crumpled tissue. “Got any plans for lunch?”
“We thought we’d go back to Betty’s,” Charlie said.
“Sweaty Betty!” Michael exclaimed. “She of the bouncing boobs. All those dockers stuffing themselves with pie and peas? You don’t want to go there. Come on up town with us. We’ll go to Chez Marilyn. They do these Italian dishes. Fabulous!”
Charlie looked at me. “Sounds a bit pricy,” he said. “We’ll think about it.”
“And talking about fabulous Italian dishes,” Michael was looking across the room. “What about him over there, Barbara?”
A young sailor with olive skin and dark eyes was combing his hair. Seeing us watching, he gave a shy smile.
“Isn’t he gorgeous!” Michael said.
I was embarrassed. A hundred times I had heard boys say, Cor, look at her, I wouldn’t mind … But I’d never heard a boy say, Cor, look at him!”
Charlie grinned.
Barbara said, “Michael, behave yourself.”
There was time to hear no more because right then my name was called: “Joseph Bennett?”
A bald official in spectacles looked up from one of the tables. I took a deep breath and went forward.
“Sit down.” The man held out his hand. “Got your Discharge Book?”
I passed it across.
He entered the number. Carefully he turned one page, then another and studied the entries. “Second trip?”
“Yes.”
“Looking forward to it?” He stamped the ship’s details in the first column.
I read it upside down. “Very much.”
“Quite right too.” He stamped the second column. I read that too: Westport and the date. “Fine life for a young lad like yourself.” He wrote the words Deck Boy and set the Discharge Book aside. “I wish it was me going away again at your age. Vaccination Certificate?”
I handed it to him. We had been given jabs at school though I wasn’t sure what for. And I’d been given loads when I went away with dad. Hopefully they were still working.
“That’s fine.” The man passed it back. “No problems where you’re going.”
“Where is that?”
“Didn’t they tell you at the Pool?” He was surprised. “Out through Panama, call in at Fiji, discharge New Zealand. Miss the winter.” He mused a moment. “Right, Union Card?”
The formalities were quickly concluded. A long and official-looking document lay at his side. He swung it towards me and pointed to the bottom line. “Sign there.” The words Deck Boy had been typed in readiness. Trying to steady my hand, I signed Joseph A Bennett with Joey’s flourish, and added the date.
“Good.” The man glanced at it briefly, checked the signature against my Discharge Book and dropped the Discharge Book into a wire tray at his side. “That’s it then. Report on board eleven a.m. Wednesday. Any questions?”
Charlie had told me what to say. “Can I have a sub?”
“Not my department.” He pointed with the biro. “Desk over there.”
“Thank you very much.”
The man seemed surprised. “You’re welcome. Have a good trip.”
There was a queue by the sub desk and by the time I was finished – another signature, sixty pounds in my pocket – only a scatter of men remained. The officials stood drinking coffee, waiting for stragglers. Charlie and Michael, who had signed on more quickly, were standing by the door. Barbara joined us a moment later.
“It’s all decided,” Michael greeted me. “We’re grabbing a quick sin and frolic at the Eight Bells then going up town to Chez Marilyn for lunch. You’ll love it.”
“Sin and frolic?”
“Gin and tonic,” Barbara translated. “Nothing to be alarmed about, she always calls it that.”
“Ossie and Luigi are meeting us there.”
“Who’s Luigi?”
“That young Italian.” Michael rolled his eyes. “Talk about drop-dead gorgeous! Met him on his way out.”
“Oh,” I said.
“Ossie’s got to pick up a few things at the chemist,” Barbara said. “Says he’ll not be long.”
We drifted down the corridor.
Charlie held me back for a moment. “All OK?”
“Like clockwork.” I couldn’t believe it. “Deck boy.”
“Yeah!” He punched the air. “Fantastic!”
“What’s fantastic?” Michael turned.
“Nothing,” I said.
“Oh, secrets.” He tossed his head. “Well, I’m sure Barbara and I don’t want to know anyway.”
The fire doors had been wedged open to clear the air. Voices drifted up the well of the stairs. They were quite narrow and we waited on the landing. I was at the back but Michael gave a cry as the late arrivals turned a corner and started up the final flight. There were two: the bosun with a twisted eye – Jumbo Ryland, or ‘Cyclops’, as Michael called him – and his companion, the young bodybuilder.
“Well, well.” Ryland smiled as he reached the top. “A welcoming party. Isn’t that nice, Steve?”
“Yeah.” Steve’s hair seemed blonder than ever. Wearing another tight black T-shirt, jacket over his arm, he took in Charlie and me. “We seen these two yes’day, down the Eight Bells. Who’s the others?”
“Oh, I know them. Both on the – what ship was it? India, anyway. This one’s called Barbara. Get that, Barbara! Look at the state of him. An’ the other one – can’t remember his name, steward of some kind. One of the poofs. Mate of that guy I told you about, Curly something.”
“The one was going to put the finger?”
“That’s the one.” Ryland’s eye glittered. “These others aren’t stewards though. Haven’t got the look. Must be on deck.”
I smelled whisky or beer.
He gripped me by the jaw. “What are you? Deck boy?”
I tried to pull free but he was strong and pushed me against the wall.
“Deck boy, yeah? Can’t be much more, your age.”
“Leave him alone!” Michael began shouting. “Take your hands off him, you ugly great – ” He tugged at the bosun’s sleeve.
“Oops!” Ryland laughed and let me go. With a thick arm he pushed Michael aside. “Going to hit me with your handbag, dearie?”
Michael gave a cry and flung himself at the powerful bosun, punching and scratching. I was astonished. So was Ryland. It was a gazelle attacking a lion – or a rhinoceros. But although Michael was slim and not much taller than myself, he was sinewy and several of his blows got through.
“Oh! Ow! Get off, you little – ! Are you mad!” Ryland grabbed an arm but Michael wrenched it free and struck him again. A long scratch appeared down the bosun’s cheek
Steve tried to pull Michael off. Barbara stepped forward and gave him a savage kick on the back of his leg. With a cry of anguish, the bodybuilder fell to the floor. Clutching his thigh, he rolled to and fro. “You stay there,” Barbara said.
Despite Michael’s reckless courage, the fight could not last long. Ryland grasped him by the neck and shoulder and flung him aside. He put a hand to his face and saw the blood.
“You’re a bloody maniac! You should be put away!” He started forward, murder in his eyes, but Barbara stepped between them and at the same moment two officials, alerted by the shouting, emerged from the office.
One was a uniformed officer with gold braid on his sleeve. The other was the bald, bespectacled man who had signed me on.
“What in God’s name’s going on?” the officer demanded.
“Fighting!” said his companion. “We’ll have none of that here.”
Michael picked himself from the floor. Steve, his leg locked and leather jeans split, dragged himself to one knee.
“We’ll finish this on Wednesday.” Ryland dabbed his cheek with a handkerchief.
Michael was shaking. “Cyclops!” he hissed and thrust his head forward. “Patch!”
“What!” Ryland started towards him. Chunky Barbara pushed him back.
“Stop it, you hear!” The officer placed himself between them. “That’s enough. You’ll finish nothing on Wednesday. I’m reporting this to Captain Bell. Any sign of trouble, he’ll have you on a charge and off that ship before you can blink.” He turned to the rest of us. “Now, you four. Finished signing on, yes?”
We nodded.
“Right then, on your bikes.”
But the bald official was enjoying the situation. “Ryland, isn’t it? You’ve been in trouble before. And,” he tried to remember the name of his friend, “don’t tell me – Petersen. Mr Westport back in the summer weren’t you, Petersen? Flashing your muscles around the swimming pool, natty pair of trunks? Saw your picture in the Argus.” His eyes twinkled. “The editor’s a friend of mine, maybe I should give him a ring, always on the lookout for a story.” He sketched a headline in the air: “Brawling bosun and local beefcake duffed up by gay stewards.” Laughing, he returned to the office. “Come in when you’ve recovered and we’ll see about getting you signed on. That’s if Captain Bell doesn’t mind having a couple of marshmallows like you on board.”
Glad of his support but scared what it might mean for the future, I headed downstairs with the others. At the first landing we jostled to a halt for Michael had gone limp and seemed hardly able to stand. Helpless with tears, he clung to Charlie for support.
“Don’t worry,” Barbara reassured me. “She’ll be all right. It’s just the shock.”
I also was shaken. I had never been threatened in my life, certainly not by a grown-up who gripped me by the face and shoved me against a wall.
Michael showed no sign of letting go. Charlie began to work himself free.
What sort of people were these, I wondered as we set off a minute later. What on earth was I doing there? What had I got myself into?
Letters from the Flying Angel
I COULD see that our new-found friends might like Chez Marilyn but it wasn’t the sort of place dad used to take me at all: big swags on the curtains, waiters in black trousers and coloured shirts, and right in the middle a life-size statue of Marilyn Monroe with a fountain playing in front of her. The food was tasty enough but only tiny helpings on big plates with a slice of lime on one side, a strand of watercress on the other, and a scribble of brown sauce to fill the gaps. When I told Michael it cost a pound a bite he told me not to be so bourgeois and anyway he and Barbara were paying so just enjoy!
