The Surfacing (4 page)

Rink welcomed them like old friends. Morgan let the other men talk. They told him
about Giorgio. Rink seemed to think it was to be expected, almost fair. This was
how the man kept himself safe, Morgan supposed. There was no post for them, Rink
said. The only whalers who'd called had all been going home. Morgan was glad. There
was rarely anything good for any of them in any letter they received. Nor was there
any word of the missing ships.

There was a cameo of a young woman on a stand on the mantel, that resembled the sister
strangely. My wife, Rink said. She had shipped from Copenhagen at the end of May
to come out, he said.

On what ship? Myer asked. The name of the ship meant nothing. Very quickly, Morgan
counted up the weeks.

I expect her any day now, Rink said.

There were dirty faces at the window, looking in. Rink shouted at them, but they
would not go away. They were shouting back at him, the words incomprehensible. Rink
turned to the officers and shrugged. One of the native women was in labour, he said.
Apparently it was not going very well. In the end DeHaven agreed to go and the others
followed, all but Morgan, who said he had no stomach for that kind of thing.

He stood in the doorway of her parlour, at the back of the
house. Her hair was in
a long plait, right to her waist. The thing looked like it was carved from a soft
white wood.

I thought you might offer me a cup of coffee, he said.

Disdainfully, she dropped her knitting-needles onto her lap.

Is he gone? she said. Have we time to row out and cast off?

We can cast off, or we can have a cup of coffee. One or the other. There's not time
for both.

It's a long time, I suppose, since you've seen a proper set of china, she said.

Unchipped?

Unchipped.

It is.

He waited for her to bring it to him. He heard her close the kitchen door. He'd let
his hand settle on the back of her armchair. Now he fanned his fingers over the cloth,
that still bore something of her shape. He brushed his hand back and forth, as though
to smooth the fabric down. The cloth was worn shiny, and warm. A thousand winter
evenings she'd been sitting there, waiting. He stepped around to the front of the
chair and lowered himself to his knees. He looked up, to check there was no direct
line of sight into the room. There was not. There was time. He would hear her coming
out of the kitchen, and back along the corridor. A desperate glance again at the
door. Then, with great formality, he bowed his face to the seat of the chair. He
did not lift it up again. He was breathing deeply, with great relief. From the moment
he stepped into the house, he'd been wading through her perfume. Now, with every
deep breath, he was sifting through the layers beneath. Beyond the hint of powder,
polite but righteous, and beyond the slightly charred smell of cloth, and the manly
smell of soap. He was searching beyond flesh and even sweat, for something more earthy,
beyond the animal – something more than the merely uncivilized.

I wouldn't even like to describe what it is I've been drinking these past few weeks,
he told her, as she handed him the cup.
What that Frenchman does to it, I don't know
and I don't want to know.

She caught him glancing at the cold grate.

A waste of coal he says. I occasionally get a little sun here in the afternoon. There
now. You see.

They stood together in the narrow square of sunlight, listened to the petty quarrelling
outside. She called the children to come and sing him the latest song she'd taught
them. It was in Danish.

I didn't know your brother was married, Morgan said.

He's not.

Who is she then, the picture?

Some poor girl with pretensions. It was arranged. To keep him here. To let me go
home.

It was a definite arrangement?

In his mind, yes.

And in hers?

Who's to know? Since the whole thing started he's had one short letter, though he
himself wrote quite a few. Or rather, I did, on his behalf. She never answered.

An uncomplicated courtship.

The best kind, they say.

They say, Morgan said.

If you ask me, she has no intention of coming, she said. The one letter was last
summer, when she wrote and promised to come, and never appeared.

This year too, for the past two months, Rink had been waiting for her ship. But the
days were filing past patiently, politely, and he no longer took his walks on the
high ground, to stare offshore.

You must have been in a rush, Morgan said.

He was looking at her chest. Her tunic had some two dozen buttons, solid little balls
of bone. She'd slipped the right button but one into the bottom eye, and worked her
mistake all the way up. With both hands he reached across the open space between
them, took the thick thread of the eye between finger and thumb, and popped the first
button out. The cloth was thick, held its shape well, and even with the second button
free he could see no more of her neck.

He pressed the top button into the top eye. It was a nice, tight fit. One by one,
he began to undo and redo every button on her tunic, in the right order, lining them
up the way they ought to be.

You'll be an expert by the time you get to the bottom, she said.

He was almost halfway down. The fit was snug, and he could feel the warmth against
his hands.

Maybe I'm an expert already, he said.

In any case, you're doing quite well. I'm impressed. I would have thought sailors
a little less . . . habile.

Sailor?

Seaman?

He shook his head. Seaman was even worse.

I've offended you? she said.

Greatly.

Can you ever forgive me?

He was not sure if he could. He would consider the matter. He returned to his work.

We must have caught you unawares, he said. And here's me thinking you'd be on the
lookout for us, night and day.

I admit, I didn't expect you back so soon.

Yet here we are, Morgan said.

They've found them, and are now returning home to glory. That's what I said to myself
as soon as I saw you round the cape. They've found the missing ships.

Alas, no.

They drank their coffee, calmly held each other's gaze. She asked him about The Pack,
the efforts and obstacles, the accident, the return. She knew better than to ask
if they now intended to go home. She knew well they wanted to start all over again.

Do you realize how many square miles it is, that we must search? he said.

I said nothing, she said. She looked at him curiously. He was harassing himself.

Get out the map, Morgan said. Even the best of them are half blank. Land or sea or
ice, what's up there no one knows.

With a reckless flourish she drained her cup to the last drop. They were in the kitchen
together, she was rinsing the cups, when the others arrived.

DeHaven ambushed him alone in the hall. Did she ask to come with us? he asked. The
words were a hiss.

No, Morgan said. Saying it, he felt a rush of relief, and a rush of dismay. He was
at DeHaven's mercy now, until DeHaven told him what he'd heard from her brother.

6th July

They began to refit the rudder as best they could, and to take on whatever they could
find in the way of stores. Rink signed the bills without reading them, DeHaven looked
at the worst of the natives, and that Sunday MacDonald held a service for the whole
island in the tiny wooden church.

Afterwards, Rink set up a table of food for the officers, in front of the house.
They stood and stared at the view, the ship. Myer had volunteered to take the watch
alone, so that everyone else could attend.

In his arms, DeHaven held the infant he'd delivered – saved – the day they'd arrived,
who now bore doctor's name. As though to celebrate, DeHaven had been drinking. On
his head was Rink's hat, and now every time he opened his mouth, it was the governor's
buckled English that emerged. He pointed his chin at the sailors down by the shore.

See these men! he ordered Morgan. I turn my back three minutes, they are pulling
her off with her hair!

Down by the shore, the sailors were haggling and clowning with the native girls.

Not enough you are taking our furs, our dogs, our meat, DeHaven told Morgan, you
want all the lock, stock and caboodle. So here – And he thrust the bundle straight
at him, forcing him to fall in with the joke, quick, before he let go.

In Morgan's arms, right away, the thing began to squirm. Kitty studied him with a
sour look. DeHaven, too, stood back to admire. Already he was sporting a lavish grin.

Richard, she said, but Morgan didn't answer.

A very pretty picture, if I may say so. This was Brooks, determined to enjoy the
scene. I believe one of your plates, Doctor, might capture the moment.

Kitty took a step closer, peered into the bundle, offered it a finger. The eyes were
screwed tight, with what looked like tremendous effort.

Fifty yards away, the sailors were chasing the girls into the sea. By now there was
pushing, shoving, screams. The water was too much of a temptation. Morgan was watching
them in silence, one in particular, and it wasn't long before she went in.

Elle n'aura pas résisté longtemps, DeHaven said. She didn't put up much of a fight.

Morgan was listening, nodding at whatever was said, but his eyes were still on the
girl down at the water's edge. There she stood, arms wide, twirling, pagan. Under
her shrivelled clothes, everything looked perfect. Everywhere you looked, something
was straining to break out.

Can't you do something, Doctor? Kitty said. I'm afraid the poor girl will catch cold.

I'm afraid I couldn't possibly interfere with a sailor's entertainment, DeHaven
said. He nodded at Morgan. Apparently it's an unwritten rule. There seem to be so
many of them. Of course not being a Navy man myself, on these matters I must defer
to a higher authority.

They deserve it, Morgan said. And no man more than Cabot. He's done Trojan work this
past week.

I thought he was the cook, not the carpenter, Kitty said.

Cook
and
carpenter. Almost every one of us is doubling up.

Down at the shore, the girl's court began to clap. The performance was over, she
told them, with a pompous bow.

What I'd like to know is where she got the drink, MacDonald said. I'd understood
it was strictly forbidden the natives.

What makes you think she's drunk? Rink said, ready to be offended.

She's doing it out of the goodness of her heart, I suppose? Brooks said.

Of course, said DeHaven. Pep up the boys. You know how it is. The hard summer behind
us, the long hard winter ahead.

Rink shuffled off stiffly towards the shore, to see what could be salvaged.

I can take him, if you like, Kitty said, stepping closer to Morgan.

But the baby was still asleep, and Morgan was afraid to shift it. The look on its
face was one of total concentration. A mind in deep conspiracy with itself. Waiting
to be disturbed, to be outraged. So that even the act of sleeping was just prolonging
that possibility, that power.

I expressly forbid it, DeHaven said. The man must learn to assume his responsibilities.

Rink had set out a buffet for the officers, and in his presence they'd savaged it
as politely as they could. Now he was gone, they were helping themselves again. But
Morgan had his arms full and was missing out. She'd seen where he was looking, allowed
herself to presume, and within seconds she was guiding a spoon towards his mouth.
Perched on the edge was a lump of jam. That jam was the deep, quiet colour of blood.
Her hand was trembling slightly, and he stretched his neck forward to meet it.

That night he sat alone on his bunk. The rest were all up on deck, and he did not
bother to light the lamp. Sooner or later,
he supposed, someone would open the door
and jeer at him for sitting in the dark. The next day, he walked inland with her
over the hills. In three hours of walking they did not see so much as a hare. The
day after, Myer and Brooks announced they were taking a boat round the far side of
the island, into the Waigat Strait. The cliffs there showed open seams of coal, and
Myer wanted to know more of their quality, and the prospects for mining. DeHaven
said he would accompany them, it would give him a chance to tend the sick. Rink,
of course, insisted on going along to guide and translate, and MacDonald went to
baptize. It all worked out perfectly.

10th July

He was standing at the upstairs window, watching the men below on the beach, at the
tubs. The curtains were drawn, but he held them open a sliver, just enough to see.
He could feel it stirring inside him, the wish to be down there with them, splashing
and shoving and fooling about. He could have gone down, certainly. No one would turn
him away. But he liked them wild and unruly, and in his presence they were tame.

It was all horseplay, naturally. The first man who rinsed himself off got a pat
on the back from everyone, praising his frame, his strength. It was Cabot, Morgan
saw. They let him go off to the towels, and waited for him to discover the crime.
What they wanted, of course, was a blaze of curses, a mad wail.

Morgan watched him traipse mournfully back to the tubs. He'd thought he was done,
but now had to get back in the water, to rinse off the soap. They welcomed him back
like a long-lost son – hugged him and ruffled his hair, shook his hand heartily,
begged him to leave them never more. Once he'd rinsed himself off, he stood up again
to leave, but the others had already formed a guard of honour, that he had to pass
through.

Cake! someone cried, and instantly every man was rubbing a hand up his own backside.
Cabot tried to thrash his way free. He was too slow, too weak. There was a long howl
of outrage as the hands were smeared all over him.