The Narrow Corner (5 page)

Presently the boy looked up, a rapid, charming smile suddenly lighting up his features, and asked his master if he was ready. The doctor nodded. Ah Kay put down his lute and relit the little lamp. He prepared another pipe. The doctor smoked it and two more besides. This was his limit. He smoked regularly, but with moderation. Then he lay back and surrendered himself to his thoughts. Ah Kay now made himself a couple of pipes, and having smoked them put out the lamp. He lay down on a mat with a wooden rest under his neck and presently fell asleep.

But the doctor, exquisitely at peace, considered the riddle of existence. His body rested in the long chair so comfortably that he was not conscious of it except in so far as an obscure sense of well-being in it added to his spiritual relief. In this condition of freedom his soul could look down upon his flesh with the affectionate tolerance with which you might regard a friend who bored you but whose love was grateful to you. His mind was extraordinarily alert, but in its activity there was no restlessness and no anxiety; it moved with an assurance
of power, as you might imagine a great physicist would move among his symbols, and his lucidity had the absolute delight of pure beauty. It was an end in itself. He was lord of space and time. There was no problem that he could not solve if he chose; everything was clear, everything was exquisitely simple; but it seemed foolish to resolve the difficulties of being when there was so delicate a pleasure in knowing that you could completely do so whenever you chose.

D
R. SAUNDERS
was an early riser. The dawn had but just broken when he went out on his verandah and called Ah Kay. The boy brought his breakfast, the little delicate bananas known as lady’s fingers, the inevitable fried eggs, toast and tea. The doctor ate with good appetite. There was little packing to do. Ah Kay’s scanty wardrobe went into a brown-paper parcel and the doctor’s into a Chinese portmanteau of pale pigskin. The medical stores and the surgical appliances were kept in a tin box of moderate size. Three or four natives were waiting at the foot of the steps that led up to the verandah, patients who wanted to consult the doctor, and he had them up one by one while he ate his breakfast.
He told them he was leaving that morning. Then he walked over to Kim Ching’s house. It stood in a plantation of coconut trees. It was an imposing bungalow, the largest on the island, with bits and pieces of architecture to give it style, but its pretentiousness contrasted oddly with a sordid environment. It had no garden and the ground round about it, littered with empty tins of preserved foodstuff and fragments of packing cases, was untended. Chickens, ducks, dogs and pigs wandered about trying to find something to eat among the refuse. It was furnished in the European style, with sideboards of fumed oak, American rockers of the kind you used to see in Middle-Western hotels and occasional tables upholstered in plush. On the walls were enlarged photographs in massive gold frames of Kim Ching and the many members of his family.

Kim Ching was tall and stout, of a dignified presence, and he wore white ducks and a watch-chain of massive gold. He was much pleased with the result of his operation; he could see as he had never expected to, but all the same he would have liked to keep Dr. Saunders on the island a little longer.

“You damn fool to go on that lugger,” he said when the doctor told him he was sailing with Captain Nichols. “You velly comfortable here. Why you no wait? Take it easy an’ enjoy yourself. Much more better you wait for Dutch boat. Nichols velly bad man.”

“You’re not a velly good man yourself, Kim Ching.”

The trader, showing a row of expensive gold teeth, greeted this sally with a slow, fat smile in which there was no hint of disagreement. He liked the doctor and was grateful to him. When he saw that there was no persuading him to stay, he ceased to urge it. Dr. Saunders gave him his final instructions and took leave of him. Kim Ching accompanied him to the door and they parted. The doctor went down to the village and bought provisions for the journey, a bag of rice, a bunch of bananas, canned goods, whisky and beer; he told the coolie to take them down to the beach and wait for him, and returned to the rest-house. Ah Kay was ready and one of that morning’s patients, willing to earn a trifle, was waiting to carry the luggage. When they came to the beach one of Kim Ching’s sons was there to see him off, and he had brought at his father’s instructions a roll of Chinese silk as a parting present and a little square packet wrapped in white paper with Chinese characters on it, the contents of which Dr. Saunders guessed.

“Chandu?”

“My father say velly good stuff. P’laps you not have plenty for journey.”

There was no sign of life on the lugger, and the dinghy was not to be seen on the beach. Dr. Saunders shouted, but his voice was thin and throaty and did not carry.
Ah Kay and Kim Ching’s son tried to make someone hear, but in vain, so they put the luggage and the stores into a dug-out and a native paddled the doctor and Ah Kay out. When they came up Dr. Saunders shouted again:

“Captain Nichols.”

Fred Blake appeared.

“Oh, it’s you. Nichols has gone ashore to get water.”

“I didn’t see him.”

Blake said nothing more. The doctor climbed on board, followed by Ah Kay and the native handed them up their kit and the provisions.

“Where shall I put my stuff?”

“There’s the cabin,” said Blake, pointing.

The doctor went down the companion. The cabin was aft. It was so low that you could not stand upright in it, far from spacious, and the main mast went through it. The ceiling was blackened where a smoking lamp hung. There were small portholes with wooden shutters. The mattresses of Nichols and Fred Blake were lengthways, and the only place for himself that the doctor could see was at the foot of the companion. He went on deck again and told Ah Kay to take down his sleeping mat and his portmanteau.

“The stores had better go in the hold,” he said to Fred.

“Fat chance there is for them there. We keep ours in the cabin. Tell your boy he’ll find a place under the boards. They’re loose.”

The doctor looked about him. He knew nothing of the sea. Except on occasion on the Min River, he had never been on anything but a steamer. The lugger looked very small for so long a voyage. It was a little more than fifty feet long. He would have liked to ask Blake several things, but he had gone forward. It was plain that though he had consented to the doctor’s coming it was against his will. He was sulking. There were a couple of old canvas chairs on deck, and in one of them the doctor sat down.

In a little while a blackfellow, wearing nothing but a dingy pareo, came along. He was of solid build, and his crisp curly hair was very grey.

“Captain coming,” he said.

Dr. Saunders looked in the direction in which he pointed, and saw the dinghy advancing towards them. Captain Nichols was steering and two blackfellows were rowing. They came alongside and the skipper called out:

“Utan, Tom, give a hand with the casks.”

Another blackfellow came up from the hold. The crew consisted of these four, Torres Straits islanders, tall, strong men with fine figures. Captain Nichols climbed on board and shook hands with the doctor.

“Settled in all right, doc? Not much of the ocean
grey’ound about the
Fenton
, but as good a sea-boat as anyone can want. She’ll stand anything.”

He gave the dirty, unkempt little craft a sweeping glance in which there was the satisfaction of the workman with the tools he knew how to handle.

“Well, we’ll be gettin’ off.”

He gave his orders sharply. Mainsail and foresail were hoisted, the anchor weighed, and they slipped out of the lagoon. There was not a cloud in the sky, and the sun beat down on the shining sea. The monsoon was blowing, but with no great force, and there was a slight swell. Two or three gulls flew round them in wide circles. Now and then a flying-fish pierced the surface of the water, made a long dart over it and dived down with a tiny splash. Dr. Saunders read, smoked cigarettes, and when he was tired of reading looked at the sea and the green islands they passed. After a while the skipper handed over the wheel to one of the crew and came and sat down by him.

“We’ll anchor at Badu to-night,” he said. “That’s about forty-five miles. It looks all right in the Sailing Directions. There’s an anchorage there.”

“What is it?”

“Oh, just an uninhabited island. We generally anchor for the night.”

“Blake doesn’t seem any more pleased to have me on board,” said the doctor.

“We ’ad a bit of an argument last night.”

“What’s the trouble?”

“He’s only a kid.”

Dr. Saunders knew that he must earn his passage, and he knew also that when a man has told you all his symptoms he will have gained confidence and will tell you a great deal more besides. He began to ask the skipper questions about his health. There was nothing on which he was prepared to talk at greater length. The doctor took him down into the cabin, made him lie down and carefully examined him. When they went on deck again the grey-haired blackfellow, Tom Obu by name, who was cook and steward, was bringing aft their dinner.

“Come on, Fred,” called the skipper.

They sat down.

“This smells good,” said Nichols, as Tom Obu took the lid off the saucepan. “Somethin’ new, Tom?”

“I shouldn’t be surprised if my boy hadn’t lent a hand,” said the doctor.

“I think I can eat this,” said the skipper as he took a mouthful of a mess of rice and meat that he ladled on to his plate. “What do you think of this, Fred? Seems to me we’re goin’ to do ourselves O.K. with the doc on board.”

“It’s better than Tom’s cooking, I’ll say that for it.”

They ate with hearty appetite. The captain lit his pipe.

“If I don’t ’ave a pain after this I’ll say you’re a wonder, doc.”

“You won’t have a pain.”

“What beats me is ’ow a fellow like you come to settle in a place like Fu-chou. You could make a fortune in Sydney.”

“I’m all right in Fu-chou. I like China.”

“Yep? Studied in England, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve ’eard tell you was a specialist, ’ad a big practice in London, and I don’t know what all.”

“You mustn’t believe all you hear.”

“Seems funny your chuckin’ everything and settlin’ in a lousy Chinese city. You must ’ave been makin’ a packet in London.”

The skipper looked at him with his little shifty blue eyes and his grinning face was quick with malice. But the doctor bore his scrutiny blandly. He smiled, showing those large discoloured teeth of his, his eyes shrewd and alert, but gave no sign of embarrassment.

“Ever go back to England?”

“No. Why should I? My home’s in Fu-chou.”

“I don’t blame you. England’s finished if you ask me. Too many rules and regulations for my taste. Why can’t they leave a fellow alone, that’s what I’d like to know. Not on the register, are you?”

He shot the question out suddenly as though he
wished to take the doctor by surprise. But he had met someone who was a match for him.

“Don’t say you haven’t confidence in me, Captain. You must believe in your doctor. He can’t do much for you if you don’t.”

“Believe in you? Why, if I didn’t believe in you you wouldn’t be ’ere.” Captain Nichols grew deadly serious; this was something that concerned himself. “I know there’s no one as is a patch on you anywheres between Bombay and Sydney, and if the truth was only told I shouldn’t be surprised if you’d ’ave to go a long way in London before you could find anyone as could ’old a candle to you. I know you’ve taken every degree a fellow can take. I’ve ’eard tell as ’ow if you’d stayed in London you’d be a baronet by now.”

“I don’t mind telling you that I’ve got more degrees than are any use to me,” the doctor laughed.

“Funny you shouldn’t be in the book. What’s it called? The Medical Directory.”

“What makes you think I’m not?” murmured the doctor, smiling but wary.

“Fellow I knew in Sydney looked you up. Talkin’ about you, ’e was, to another doctor, pal of ’is, and sayin’ you was such a marvel and all that, and out of curiosity they ’ad a look-see.”

“Perhaps your friend looked in the wrong edition.”

Captain Nichols chuckled slyly.

“Perhaps he did. I never thought of that.”

“Anyhow, I’ve never seen the inside of a gaol, Captain.”

The skipper gave a little start. He repressed it at once, but he changed colour. Dr. Saunders had made a shot in the dark and his eyes twinkled. The skipper laughed.

“That’s a good one. No more ’ave I, doc, but don’t you forget there’s many a man’s gone to gaol for no fault of ’is own and there’s many a man as might ’ave gone there if he ’adn’t thought a change of air would suit him.”

They looked at one another and chuckled.

“What’s there to laugh about?” said Fred Blake.

T
OWARDS
evening they sighted the island, where Captain Nichols designed to pass the night, a cone covered to its summit with trees so that it looked like a hill in a picture by Piero della Francesca, and sailing round it they came to the anchorage they had read of in the Sailing Directions. It was a well-sheltered cove and the water was so clear that as you looked over the side you saw on the ocean floor the fantastic efflorescence of
the coral. You saw the fish swimming, like natives of the forest threading their familiar way through the jungle. Not a little to their surprise they found a schooner anchored there.

“What’s that?” asked Fred Blake.

His eyes were anxious, and indeed it was strange to enter upon that silent cove, protected by the green hill, in the still cool of the evening and see there a sailing vessel. She lay, sails furled, and because the spot was so solitary her presence was vaguely sinister. Captain Nichols looked at her through his glasses.

“She’s a pearler. Port Darwin. I don’t know what she’s doin’ ’ere. There’s a lot of ’em round by the Aru Islands.”

They saw the crew, a white man among them, watching them, and presently a boat was lowered.

“They’re comin’ over,” said the skipper.