The Garden Party and Other Stories - Katherine Mansfield [63]
‘And now, child,’ she said, fingering the bow of her bonnet-strings, ‘I think we ought to see about our cabins. Keep close to me, and mind you don’t slip.’
‘Yes, grandma!’
‘And be careful the umbrellas aren’t caught in the stair rail. I saw a beautiful umbrella broken in half like that on my way over.’
Yes, grandma.’
Dark figures of men lounged against the rails. In the glow of their pipes a nose shone out, or the peak of a cap, or a pair of surprised-looking eyebrows. Fenella glanced up. High in the air, a little figuare, his hands thrust in his short jacket pockets, stood staring out to sea. The ship rocked ever so little, and she thought the stars rocked too. And now a pale steward in a linen coat, holding a tray high in the palm of his hand, stepped out of a lighted doorway and skimmed past them. They went through that doorway. Carefully over the high brass-bound step on to the rubber mat and then down such a terribly steep flight of stairs that grandma had to put both feet on each step, and Fenella clutched the clammy brass rail and forgot all about the swan-necked umbrella.
At the bottom grandma stopped; Fenella was rather afraid she was going to pray again. But no, it was only to get out the cabin tickets. They were in the saloon. It was glaring bright and stifling; the air smelled of paint and burnt chop-bones and indiarubber. Fenella wished her grandma would go on, but the old woman was not to be hurried. An immense basket of ham sandwiches caught her eye. She went up to them and touched the top one delicately with her finger.
‘How much are the sandwiches?’ she asked.
‘Tuppence ‘ bawled a rude steward, slamming down a knife and fork.
Grandma could hardly believe it.
‘Twopence each?’ she asked.
‘That’s right.’ said the steward, and he winked at his companion.
Grandma made a small, astonished face. Then she whispered primly to Fenella. ‘What wickedness!’ And they sailed out at the further door and along a passage that had cabins on either side. Such a very nice stewardess came to meet them. She was dressed all in blue, and her collar and cuffs were fastened with large brass buttons. She seemed to know grandma well.
‘Well, Mrs Crane,’ said she, unlocking their washstand. ‘We’ve got you back again. It’s not often you give yourself a cabin.’
‘No,’ said grandma. ‘But this time my dear son’s thoughtfulness – ’
‘I hope – ’ began the stewardess. Then she turned round and took a long mournful look at grandma’s blackness and at Fenella’s black coat and skirt, black blouse, and hat with a crepe rose.
Grandma nodded. ‘It was God’s will,’ said she.
The stewardess shut her lips and, taking a deep breath, she seemed to expand.
‘What I alwsys sav is,’ she said, as though it was her own discovery, ‘sooner or later each of us has to go, and that’s a certingty.’ She paused. ‘Now, can I bring you anything, Mrs Crane? A cup of tea? I know it’s no good offering you a little something to keep the cold out.’
Grandma shook her head. ‘Nothing, thank you. We’ve got a few wine biscuits, and Fenella has a very nice banana.’
‘Then I’ll give you a look later on,’ said the stewardess, and she went out, shutting the door.
What a very small cabin it was! It was like being shut up in a box with grandma. The dark round eye above the washstand gleamed at them dully. Fenella felt shy. She stood against the door, still clasping her luggage and the umbrella. Were they going to get undressed in here? Already her grandma had taken off her bonnet, and, rolling up the strings, she fixed each with a pin to the lining before she hung the bonnet up. Her white hair shone like silk; the little bun at the back was covered with a black net. Fenella hardly ever saw her grandma with her head uncovered; she looked strange.
‘I shall put on the woollen fascinator3 your