Old Filth - Jane Gardam [74]
Eddie clambered with his case down three metal ladders into smelly darkness and walked along a narrow passage that dipped towards the middle. It was way below the water line. Les Girls had not been interested in classes of cabin on the Breath o’Dunoon.
Nobody was to be seen. The sound of the sea slopped about. There was a dry, clicking noise coming from behind a cabin door.
He opened the door and found two bunks at right angles to each other, so narrow that they looked like shelves, each covered with a grey blanket. On the better bunk, seated cross-legged, was a boy, busy with a pack of cards. One of his very small hands he held high in the air above his head, the other cupped in his lap, and between the two, arrested in mid-air, hung an arc of coloured playing cards, held beautifully in space. As Eddie watched, the arc collapsed with lovely precision and became a solid pack again in the cupped hand.
“OK, how’s that?” said the boy. “Find the lady.”
He was an Oriental and appeared to be about ten-years old. His body, however, seemed to have been borrowed to fit the cabin and was that of a child of six. The crossed legs looked very short, the feet dainty. The features, when you looked carefully, were interesting for they were not Chinese though the eyes were narrow and tilted. He was not Indian and certainly not Malay. After thirteen years, Eddie still knew a Malay. The boy’s skin was not ivory or the so-called “yellow” but robust and ruddy red.
“OK then,” said the boy, “don’t find the lady. Just pick a card. Any card. OK?”
“I have to settle in.”
“You’ll have months for that. We’re in this rat hole for twelve weeks.”
“What! I hope not. I’m only going to Singapore.”
“Me too. Via Sierra Leone. Didn’t you know? We change ship at Freetown, if one turns up. Choose a card.”
Eddie sat on the other end of the bunk.
“Go on. Pick a card. No, don’t show me. Very good. Nine of diamonds. Right?”
It was the nine of diamonds.
“Are you some sort of professional?”
“Professional what?”
“Card-sharp.”
“Yes,” said the boy. “You could look at it that way. I’m Albert Loss. I’d be Albert Ross—I have Scottish blood—but I can’t say my Rs, being also Hakka Chinese. Right?”
“Why can’t other people call you Albert Ross?”
“You can, if you want. They did at school. And they called me Coleridge. ‘Albat Ross.’ Right? Ancient Mariner. They like having me on board ships, sailors. Albatrosses bring them luck.”
“Are you a professional sailor, too?”
“I’ve been around,” said Loss. “D’you play Crib?”
“No.”
“I’ll teach you Crib.”
“Are there going to be some more of us on the ship?”
“More what?”
“Well—” (with shame) “—evacuees.”
“No idea. I think it’s just the pair of us. OK? Pick another card.”
“I’m going back on deck,” said Eddie.
“OK. I’ll come with you. Watch them loading. It’s corned beef. We unload at Freetown and she’ll sail full of bananas.”
“Bananas? To the Far East?”
“Don’t be stupid. We change ship at Freetown, hang about. The bananas get taken Home by the Breath o’Dunoon for the Black Market and the Commandos.”
“I’ve not seen any bananas in three years.”
“Well, you’re not in the know. You can eat plenty in Freetown. Flat on your back. Nothing moves in Freetown. There’s RAF there, and they’ve all gone mad. Talking to monkeys. Mating with monkeys.”
“How do you know all this?”
“Common knowledge. I’ve done this trip before. Often.”
“How old are you?”
The boy looked outraged. Eddie saw the long eyes go cold. Then soft and sad. “That’s a question I don’t often answer, but I’ll tell you. I’m fourteen,” and he took from his pocket a black cigarette with a gold tip, and lit it.
Thirty-six hours later there were signs that the huge herd of ships might be thinking of sailing. Eddie asked again if they were the only passengers.
“Four months. Just you and I.”
“I suppose so.” Loss spat black shag at the seagulls. “Shag to shags,” he said. “I am also rather witty. I’m a master of languages as well. I could teach you Malay.”
“I speak Malay,” said Eddie. “I was born there.”
“Mandarin, then? Hindi.