Sea of Poppies (65 page)

‘Come in, Reid!' Although the Captain was careful to keep his face averted from the light, Zachary could tell that he had been at some pains to freshen up, for droplets of water were glistening in the folds of his jowls and on his bushy grey eyebrows. ‘And shut the door behind you, if you please.'

Zachary had never been inside the Captain's stateroom before: stepping through the door now, he noticed the signs of a hurried straightening-up, with a spread thrown haphazardly over the bunk and a jug lying upended in the porcelain basin. The stateroom had two portholes, both of which were open, but despite a brisk cross-breeze a smoky odour lingered in the air.

The Captain was standing beside one of the open portholes, breathing deeply as if to clear his lungs. ‘You've come to give me an ear-wigging about Crowle, have you, Reid?'

‘Well, actually, sir . . .'

The Captain seemed not to hear him, for he carried on without a break: ‘I heard about the business on the jib-boom, Reid. I wouldn't make too much of it if I were you. Crowle's a knaggy devil, no doubt about it, but don't be taken in by his ballyragging. Believe me, he fears you more than you do him. And not without reason, either: we may sit at the same table while at sea, but Crowle knows full well that a man like you wouldn't have him for a groom if we were ashore. That kind of thing can eat a fellow up, you know. To fear and be feared is all he's ever known – so how do you think it sits with him, to see that you can conjure loyalty so easily, even in the lascars? In his place would it not seem equally unjust to you? And would you not be tempted to visit your grievance on somebody?'

Here the schooner rolled to leeward, and the Captain had to reach for the bulwark to steady himself. Taking advantage of the pause, Zachary said quickly: ‘Well, actually, sir, I'm not here about Mr Crowle. It's about something else.'

‘Oh!' This seemed to knock the wind out of Captain Chillingworth, for he began to scratch his balding head. ‘Are you sure it can't wait?'

‘Since I'm here, sir, maybe we should just get it done with?'

‘Very well,' said the Captain. ‘I suppose we may as well sit down then. It's too blashy to be on our feet.'

The only source of light in the stateroom was a lamp with a blackened chimney. Dim though it was, the flame seemed too bright for the Captain and he held up a hand to shield his eyes as he crossed the cabin to seat himself at his desk.

‘Go on, Reid,' he said, nodding at the armchair on the other side of the desk. ‘Sit yourself down.'

‘Yes, sir.'

Zachary was about to sit when he glimpsed a long, lacquered object lying on the upholstery. He picked it up and found it warm to the touch: it was a pipe, with a bulb the size of a man's thumbnail, sitting on a stem that was as thin as a finger and as long as an arm. It was beautifully crafted, with carved knuckles that resembled the nodes of a stalk of bamboo.

The Captain too had caught sight of the pipe: half rising to his feet, he thumped his fist on his thigh, as if to chide himself for his absent-mindedness. But when Zachary held the pipe out to him, he accepted with an unaccustomedly gracious gesture, extending both his hands and bowing, in a fashion that seemed more Chinese than European. Then, placing the pipe on the desk, he cradled his jowls in his palm and stared at it in silence, as though he were trying to think of some way of accounting for its presence in his stateroom.

At last, he stirred and cleared his throat. ‘You're not a fool on the march, Reid,' he said. ‘I'm sure you know what this is and what it's used for. I'll be bail'd if I make any apologies for it, so please don't be expecting any.'

‘I wasn't, sir,' said Zachary.

‘You were bound to find out sooner or later, so maybe it's for the best. It's scarcely a secret.'

‘None of my business, sir.'

‘On the contrary,' said the Captain, with a wry smile, ‘in these waters it's everyone's business and it'll be yours, too, if you intend to
continue as a seaman: you'll be stowing it, packing it, selling it . . . and I know of no salt who doesn't sample his cargo from time to time, especially when it's of a kind that might help him forget the blores and bottom-winds that are his masters of misrule.'

The Captain's chin had sunk into his jowls now, but his voice had grown steadier and stronger. ‘A man's not a sailor, Reid, if he doesn't know what it's like to be becalmed in a dead-lown, and there's this to be said for opium that it works a strange magic with time. To go from one day to another, or even one week to the next, becomes as easy as stepping between decks. You may not credit it – I didn't myself until I had the misfortune of having my vessel detained for many months in a ghastly little port. It was somewhere on the Sula Sea – as ugly a town as I've ever seen; the kind of place where all the giglets are travesties, and you can't step ashore for fear of being becketed by the forelift. Never had I felt as flat aback as I did in those months, and when the steward, a Manila-man, offered me a pipe, I confess I took it with a will. No doubt you expect me to blame myself for my weakness – but no sir, I do not regret what I did. It was a gift like none I've ever known. And like all the gifts that Nature gives us – fire, water and the rest – it demands to be used with the greatest care and caution.'

The Captain looked up to fix his glowing eyes briefly on Zachary. ‘There were many years, believe me, when I smoked no more than a single pipe each month – and if you should happen to think that such moderation is not possible, then I would have you know that not only is it possible, it is even the rule. They are fools, sir, who imagine that everyone who touches a pipe is condemned instantly to wither away in a smoke-filled den. The great majority of those who chase the dragon, I'll wager, do so only once or twice a month – not for nip-cheesing reasons at that, but because it is that very restraint that produces the most exquisite, the most refined pleasure. There are some, of course, who know with their first taste that they will never leave that smoky paradise – those are the true addicts and they are born, not made. But for the common run of men – and I include myself in that number – to come unballasted over the black mud takes something else, some turn of fate, some vulnerability of fortune . . . or perhaps, as was the case with me, reverses of a
personal nature, that happened to coincide with a debilitating illness. Certainly, at the time when it happened, I could not have had a better remedy for my ills . . .'

The Captain broke off to glance at Zachary. ‘Tell me, Reid: do you know what the most miraculous property of this substance is?'

‘No, sir.'

‘I will tell you then: it kills a man's desires. That is what makes it manna for a sailor, balm for the worst of his afflictions. It calms the unceasing torment of the flesh that pursues us across the seas, drives us to sin against Nature . . .'

The Captain looked down at his hands, which had begun to shake. ‘Come, Reid,' he said suddenly. ‘We've wasted enough breath. Since we are launched on this tack, let me ask: would you not like to try a whiff? You will not be able to avoid this experiment forever, I assure you – curiosity alone will drive you to it. You would be amazed . . .' – he broke off with a laugh – ‘oh you'd be amazed by the passengers I've known who've wanted to hoist the smoke-sail: Bible-thumping devil-scolders; earnest Empire-builders; corseted matrons, impregnable in their primness. If you're to sail the opium route, there will come a day when you, too, will bleed the monkey. So why not now? Is it not as good a time as any?'

Zachary stared, as if hypnotized, at the pipe and its delicate, polished stem. ‘Why yes, sir,' he said. ‘I should like that.'

‘Good.'

Reaching into a drawer, the Captain brought out a box which was, in the lacquered sheen of its gloss, every bit a match for his pipe. When he opened the lid, several objects were revealed to be lying inside, on a lining of red silk, nested ingeniously together. One by one, like an apothecary at a counter, the Captain picked the objects apart and placed them on the table in front of him: a needle with a metal tip and a bamboo stem; a long-handled spoon of similar design; a tiny silver knife; a small round container, made of ivory and so ornately carved that Zachary would not have been surprised to see a ruby or diamond lying inside. But instead there was a lump of opium, dull in appearance, muddy in colour and texture. Arming himself with the knife, Captain Chillingworth cut off a minuscule piece and placed it in the bowl of the long-handled spoon. Then,
removing the chimney from the lamp, he held the spoon directly over the flame, keeping it there until the gum changed consistency and turned liquid. Now, with the ceremonious air of a priest performing a ritual of communion, he handed Zachary the pipe: ‘Be sure to work your bellows hard when I put the droplet in: a gulp or two is all you'll get before it's gone.' Now, moving with the greatest care, the Captain dipped the needle's tip into the opium and held it over the flame. As soon as the drop began to sizzle, he thrust it into the pipe's bulb. ‘Yes! Now! let not a wisp escape!'

Zachary put the stem to his lips and drew in a breath of rich, oily smoke.

‘Work the pump! Hold it in!'

After Zachary had drawn on the stem twice more, the pipe was exhausted of its smoke.

‘Sit back in your chair,' said Captain Chillingworth. ‘Do you feel it? Has the earth lost its hold on your body yet?'

Zachary nodded: it was true that somehow the pull of gravity seemed to have eased; his body had become as light as a cloud; every trace of tension had drained out of his muscles; they had become so relaxed, so yielding that he could not be sure that his limbs still existed. To sit in a chair now was the last thing he wanted to do; he wanted to be prone, to lie down. He put out a hand to steady himself, and watched his fingers travel, like slow-worms, to the edge of the table. Then he pushed himself up, half expecting his feet to be unusable – but they were perfectly steady and well capable of supporting his weight.

He heard the Captain speaking, as if from a great distance: ‘Are you too be-dundered to walk? You are welcome to the use of my cot.'

‘My cabin's just a step away, sir.'

‘As you please, as you please. The effects will pass in an hour or two and you will wake refreshed.'

‘Thank you, sir.' Zachary felt himself to be floating as he moved to the door.

He was almost there when the Captain said: ‘Wait a minute, Reid – what was it that you wanted to see me about?'

Zachary came to a stop with his hand on the door; to his surprise he found that the loosening of his muscles and the clouding of his
senses had not led to any loss of memory. His mind was, if anything, unnaturally clear: not only did he recall that he had come to speak to the Captain about Serang Ali, he also understood that the opium had saved him from choosing a coward's course. For it was clear to him now that whatever had happened between himself and the serang had to be resolved between the two of them, and them alone. Was it because the fumes had given him a clearer vision of the world? Or was it because they had allowed him to look into parts of himself where he had never ventured before? Whatever the case, he saw now that it was a rare, difficult and improbable thing for two people from worlds apart to find themselves linked by a tie of pure sympathy, a feeling that owed nothing to the rules and expectations of others. He understood also that when such a bond comes into being, its truths and falsehoods, its obligations and privileges, exist only for the people who are linked by it, and then in such a way that only they can judge the honour and dishonour of how they conduct themselves in relation to each other. It was for him, Zachary, to find an honourable resolution to his dealings with Serang Ali; in this would lie his manumission into adulthood, his knowledge of the steadiness of his helm.

‘Yes, Reid? What did you want to talk about?'

‘It was about our position, sir,' said Zachary. ‘When I looked at the charts today, I had the feeling that we had strayed quite a long way eastwards.'

The Captain shook his head. ‘No, Reid – we're exactly where we should be. In this season there's a southerly current off the Andamans and I thought to take advantage of it; we'll stay on this tack for a while yet.'

‘I see, sir, I'm sorry. If you'll forgive me . . .'

‘Yes go, go.'

Crossing the cuddy, Zachary felt none of the unsteadiness that accompanies inebriation; his movements were slow, but in no wise irregular. Once inside his cabin, he took off his banyan and trowsers and stretched out on his bunk in his underclothing. On closing his eyes he lapsed into a state of rest that was far deeper than sleep, and yet also more awake, for his mind was filled with shapes and colours: although these visions were extraordinarily
vivid they were utterly tranquil, being untroubled by sensuality or desire. How long this state lasted he did not know, but his awareness of its waning started when faces and figures entered his visions again. He fell into a state of dreaming, in which a woman kept approaching and receding, keeping her face hidden, eluding him even though he knew her to be tantalizingly close. Just as he was becoming conscious of a distant ringing sound, the veil fell away from her face and he saw that she was Paulette; she was coming towards him, walking into his arms, offering him her lips. He woke to find himself drenched in sweat, dimly conscious that the last chime of the eighth bell had just sounded and that it was his watch next.