The Onion Eaters (20 page)

‘Gail I really think there is something wrong. And to save my own skin I’ve got to investigate. I’d like to come back and talk about my financial predicament with you.’

‘That’s all very well. But if I am giving you money. I ought to come first.’

‘You will, honestly. But a little later.’

‘Do you mean that.’

‘Yes.’

‘I feel I’ve failed.’

‘Good heavens you’re beautiful and rich.’

‘You don’t understand. Veronica has no money. And for seventeen years she’s never had less than forty different men a year. Don’t you understand. That’s six hundred and eighty men. I’ve only had my cousin when I was six and he was seven and we didn’t know what we were doing. And then Jeffrey was next. That’s at best one and a half men.’

‘I wish I could help. I really do, Gail. Someone saved my life once. I know what defeat feels like. Here let me wipe your eyes. You’re crying.’

‘I’m sorry. I have no right to trouble you with my
complaints.
It’s most inconsiderate of me. I thought the
morning
you came into the Porcelain Room caught in the
morning
light that you had a most beautiful profile. I realized I could give myself to you. And break my vows to Jeffrey. He’s quite literally trampled his own to me. I still worship him though. But he’s gone up other women and I don’t see why other men should not go up me.’

‘I must go. Not up. But out. Each second could be vital. Someone’s steps sound very military. Could be Jeffrey.’

‘O God I’ll wait. What else can I do.’

‘Everything’s going to be all right.’

‘Kiss me. Please.’

Tiptoeing into the hall. A carpet out here underfoot. Stay centre away from the creeping weakness along the walls. Shouts rise up the stairwells. Just stop and take a peek from this room. Where there must be a window. Or a slit for spears and arrows. A lantern down below on the gravel
entrance. Shadows of folk. Cold hand encircles the heart. Numb chill of disaster.

Clementine running the length of the corridor. Opening a door and feeling his way down a tightly curving stone stair. Past three floors. Try this door and make way in the direction of the chapel. Nip in for some agreement with God. And then down by the grand staircase. Good lord, what’s this. In the vague moonlight. It’s vast. Biggest bloody room in the castle. Three chandeliers, a painted ceiling. A ballroom. Could accommodate casual explosions. And make echoes of all the shouts I’m hearing from Macfugger.

‘Clementine. For God’s sake man. Where the fuck are you.’

At the top of the grand staircase. Over the great hall. Watching a throng of inmates whispering down there. Who might have it planned to all attack at once. And kick the living shit not already curdled right out of me. Lift this sword and shield off the wall. Better to look ridiculous and live than be calm and have fifty boots thudding
odoriferously
in under the armpits implanting fatal contusions.

Macfugger strutting in the door. Clicking across the tiles of the great hall. It looks like his eyebrows are close
together.
They say a forty five has the kick of a mule. The stopping power knocks you flying on your back. Much worse than those bullets which go right through. And kills
someone
else behind. And you can stand there with fingers over the leaks. Macfugger will see his wife’s hand prints all over me.

‘My God Clementine, there you are. Began to think you were out there too. Gail for God’s sake is with them. I can’t find her anywhere.’

‘What’s wrong.’

‘They’re out there. We’ve got to save them. Last sign was a waving light. Five minutes ago. Completely vanished. That bull fighting bugger called Bligh out there with my ruddy wife and a boat load of children. On an ebb tide. Every second counts. At five knots it won’t be long before they’ll be swamped in the open sea.’

Clementine’s shield clanking to the floor, one hand
grabbing
the balustrade. Macfugger catching him by the arm.

‘What’s wrong.’

‘I think it’s my heart.’

‘Pull yourself together man. This is no ruddy time for your heart to pack up. We’ve got to save Gail.’

‘Yes of course.’

‘I may have trod a little on the matrimonial codes in my time but I love the old cow’s arse dearly.’

‘Yes of course.’

‘Don’t stand there saying yes of course, we’ve got to put out after them. We need a boat.’

The beach alive with lights. A bonfire blazing orange on the sand. The lapping of waves ahead. Macfugger,
Bloodmourn,
Franz and the Baron behind. Down over this path between shadowy trees towards the boathouse. Leaves
rustling
with a breeze. Gentle. For the time being anyway. On this sheltered hillside. Macfugger your wife’s safe back where I left her half undressed on mouldy eiderdowns
waiting
patiently for me to get back and put it up her. Aren’t you too overjoyed by that news to shoot me. And she can chalk up two and a half men. Raise her score while a whole gang of silver voiced kiddies are out in a leaky rowboat. Bloodmourn’s stomach at least I know is at ease in heavy seas. Good lord, the Baron is in yachting cap, blazer and white ducks. Instant protocol for all occasions.

The group making their way to the boathouse door.
Macfugger
unleashing his forty five, blasting off the padlock and rushing down the steps and up the gangway with a lantern. Scrabbling at the lashing across the lifeboats abaft of the funnel. He’s military. And at the moment desperately
impassioned.
Best take matters naval into my hands. While he seems to be peeling back the keel of that small craft.

‘Clementine God damn it. You couldn’t float a turd across a toilet bowl with these boats.’

‘All right Macfugger you mustn’t panic.’

‘Panic. By God my own flesh and blood is out there. I may have married for money but she’s a damn good wife with stacks yet to be inherited.’

‘Do you mind if I take over command. It’s rather my field. I’ve had naval training.’

‘Don’t talk rubbish man, what the hell good’s your
training.
We need a boat.’

‘We’ll see if this one will go.’

‘What. Impossible for God’s sake.’

Macfugger’s reddened cheeks in the lantern light. Maybe now’s the time to tell him. If he’d get rid of that gun. Your wife is set to lay for me and steam shovel loads of bullion my way in return. Ah Franz. Exiting from the wheelhouse, lips pursed, hair scattered over his head. Those dark steamy sad eyes.

‘Mr Clementine I will go to the engine room. It is possible that I may be of assistance to you.’

‘Yes certainly. Go. And Baron please, do you know how to fire a cannon. Are you shaking your head yes or no.’

Macfugger one hand on hip, the other tightly in a fist waving in front of his face. Calm on one side, hysterical on the other.

‘To hell with the cannon. We’ve got to get airborne out of here.’

‘Macfugger will you please control yourself. The first
principle
of naval procedure is to get squared away. Bloodmourn you were in the Navy. What was your rank.’

‘Lieutenant commander.’

‘I see. I’m outranked. You must assume command.’

Bloodmourn rubbing hands together. A strange smile on his face. He lifts up his chin where one suddenly imagines a stiff white collar and a small knotted tie and two black sleeves sporting two and a half stripes. His voice calm. Here on the quarter deck. Stand back a little. Let the skipper speak.

‘Thank you Mr Clementine. I know how you all feel here tonight. You want to get out there as soon as possible. But putting to sea with one’s jib dangling is imprudent. Pull together, keep on the ball, noses clean, and our mission will be accomplished. Lieutenant Clementine will be my
executive
and chart course. Baron, please take over as officer of the deck. And Mr Macfugger you’re boatswain. Franz below will be engineer. Dismissed.’

‘Will you stop this bloody charade.’

‘I’ll thank you to keep your trap shut boatswain. And take orders.’

Lapping water against the granite quay and ship side. Franz banging on the pipes below. Captain Bloodmourn
calling
for azimuth and compass. The sound of an engine. Light flickering on in the wheelhouse. Go down and cry at Franz’s feet. Ask forgiveness. For all the mean
uncharitable
thoughts one has had during the digging of his
excavation.
He’s got the generator. Humming.

‘All right Lieutenant. See that we’re clear astern.’

‘Aye aye Captain.’

Boatswain Macfugger muttering. As the two of us wind a winch handle round and round. The great door of the boathouse rising. Smell of sea and rippling blackness out there. Red glow of the fire on the beach. My hands
trembling.
Whisper the truth to Macfugger while his are
occupied.
And get a boot in the jewels.

The deck aflood with light. The Baron rigidly at
attention.
More clanks and tinkerings on the pipes. A splutter and twin black clouds of smoke bubbling up under the stern. A monstrous trembling shaking the ship. Waters boiling out and heaving in the blackness. A voice over the intercom.

‘Now hear this, this is your captain speaking. We have succeeded starting engines. We will be proceeding astern into the bay and when sufficiently into deep water shall make for sea. Cast off all lines. Good luck.’

‘Clementine who does he think he is. Only that Gail’s life is at stake I’d give him a ruddy piece of my mind. Can you imagine an ex infantry captain through six campaigns, a boatswain. I mean to say I was brevet major. It’s simply not on.’

The night clear. Voices coming over the water. We’re moving. One port but no starboard light. Whoops. A swell. Distinctly sweeping in from sea. To rock this nice little ship load of friends. Made closer by days of accumulated bitter stratagems playing chess. All put afloat together.
Shipmates.
Anchors aweigh. Out over the blue black glistening deeps where lay lobster and crab and lurks the great conger.

‘Now hear this, this is your captain. We are underweigh
at six knots. Will Lieutenant Clementine please come to the quarterdeck.’

Awfully nice the way things are being run. The Baron taking the breeze head on standing there useless in the bows. Wind whistling in the rigging. Mahogany decks. Little slippery moss here and there. One lonely light across on a black shadowy headland. Sound of waves washing up cliffs on the port side. Walk by the portholes of the saloon. A whole new life opening up. One could just keep going in this thing. If fuel lasts and no leaks are sprung.

‘Lieutenant Clementine reporting sir.’

‘Take the wheel Lieutenant. Some crests beginning to break about. We’re heading into a moderate breeze. I’ve marked a search area six miles square. It’ll be moderate to fresh in open sea. Our speed’s cut by the headwind. But by my reckoning we should come upon them at any moment.’

Bloodmourn with a pair of eyeglasses slipped down on his nose. Hands spread out over the chart. Sea spray on the windscreen. A knock on the porthole. The Baron sticking his head in the hatchway.

‘Dat’s dem. I hear der voices.’

Clementine rushing out to the bow rails. Listening into the dark ahead. Sound of Bligh coming over the water.

‘Everyone loosen collars, take anything sharp out of your pockets.’

Macfugger looming up close out of shadows. Huffing and puffing. A life jacket belt draped over each arm.

‘Good God Clementine any sign of Gail. That chap thinks he’s in an airliner crashlanding. Listen to him.’

‘Everyone overboard with all shoes and other personal accessories not of a religious nature. Now catch holt each of you to your oar. Feather the props.’

‘Clementine, your man thinks he’s airborne. I suggest we approach with caution. He’s out of his mind.’

‘Now hear this, this is your captain speaking. The boat in distress is forty five degrees on our starboard bow. Stop
engines.
Will Boatswain Macfugger go below and check the rudder steering. It appears to be jammed.’

‘Unless I am addressed by my proper rank I’m not moving.’

A silhouette standing up in the small boat out on the tossing waves. Bligh’s shouts echoing across the waters and back from the headlands.

‘The occupants of this boat are to submit to my absolute command. Keep your mouths shut. I will, do all the talking. All women get forward with the little children. Now the rest of you row. Row you dogs row.’

‘Clementine that stupid bastard doesn’t even see us. He’ll fall out of the boat. And by God he’d better address my wife in a civil fashion.’

‘Macfugger tell the captain we’re heading past them.’

The yacht sliding through the waters. The wind rising to a fresh breeze. The big diesel pistons thrashing down below. The drive shaft churning. A white wake spreading in the faint moonlight. Swells of ocean rising. As we leave the great dark high headlands of shore. Ahead the new world. Only three thousand miles away.

Bligh’s voice fading. Getting louder as the shadow of his little craft rises up on the swells, teeters and goes down out of sight. Leaving his impassioned vowels bouncing on the waves.

‘Girls get down on your knees. Anyone with rosaries get them out. And by God pray. Pray.’

‘Ah Mr Clementine, dat ist awful out dere. Humanity ist adrift in an open boat.’

‘Yes Baron.’

‘Permit me, I have not before spoken very much to you. It is only because I see the stark realities you face in your castle which must make you sad. But tonight I would like you to know I am with you in this the greatest sadness of all.’

Clementine stepping back on the bridge. Where
Bloodmourn
pounds his fist on the binnacle. Shouting down the speaking tube to the engine room.

‘Engineer did you hear me, stop engines.’

‘I heard you, I cannot stop them.’

‘Clementine did you hear that. Our rudder’s jammed. We’re doing eight knots. On a tide of five we’re heading for disaster at thirteen. We’re beginning to heel over badly.
The fresh breeze has turned to strong. Check for icebergs.’