The German Numbers Woman

  Better to be with her while he could, time too valuable to waste on such imagining. So many emotions beat at him. He had expected, for all his trickery – sheer bluff – to hear no more than a few casual words, either on the beach or on the boat. She would drift away, and he would be satisfied. Now she was close enough to touch, waiting for him to talk, which was all he wanted, when he should be at the radio, working on a scheme that might save them. ‘In an aeroplane. I caught it over Germany, at the end of the war. I was twenty, and haven’t seen anything since. I feel I can see you, though.’

  ‘Oh, right! You are a strange bloke.’

  ‘I might not have been, but for this. You’re a rare person yourself.’

  ‘How can you know?’

  Nights at the radio made her voice as familiar as a friend not seen for a while.

  ‘I suppose it was the way you jumped on board and said you were hitching a lift home. In no uncertain terms, when you didn’t seem wanted. You really let rip at the chief.’

  She laughed. ‘I don’t take any nonsense from men like him. He knows who I am. I was on a boat with him on the Med once, for a month’s cruise. He treated me like rubbish, until I let him have it. He wasn’t so bad after that, though I still think he’s a nasty piece of work. I don’t often swear, but sometimes you have to.’

  ‘You seem in a hurry to get to England.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ she said after a pause. ‘I have a girlfriend, and she might be there. She might not be, though. You can never be sure with her. She’s got a boyfriend, so maybe she’s still in Barcelona.’

  He didn’t want to hear about Carla., ‘Take my hand, and lead me to the wireless place. I can do it on my own, but it’ll be easier with you.’

  ‘Why not?’ Her fingers closed over his. ‘I’ve done some funny things in my time. Woof-woof! I’m a blind man’s dog! Come on, then. The thing is,’ she said as they went along, ‘I’m not sure about my girlfriend anymore. Everything’s getting too difficult for her. I sometimes think I might be wearing her out. And it’s hardly ever possible for us to get together. When she’s in Spain I can’t phone because her boyfriend might answer, so she told me not to. We used to natter over the radio, but the skipper put a stop to it.’

  She talked openly because he was blind. He was much older and not involved, so he too could be frank. ‘Do you prefer women to men?’

  ‘I don’t know. It’s just her.’

  No more talk. She found him the place, and he tuned in. The voices were no louder, because the boat was pushing along at top speed. A clipped police menace, obvious in any language, was still there. Judy stood by, thinking that if Carla wasn’t too far off she would ask to use the VHF, or perhaps even shortwave. ‘You could call her, if she’s still on the boat,’ he said, knowing her mind. ‘Except that you would blow our cover. Our lives depend on radio silence.’

  ‘How did you know what I was thinking?’

  ‘I put myself in your place. Everyone has a sixth sense, or whatever number it is, except they don’t know how to find it. Being blind, it comes more readily. I developed it over the years.’

  ‘I’ve often wondered about that. I get a whiff of it when I’m in love, and then it lets me down.’

  ‘If you’re blind you have to be in love all the time, with life, just to keep going.’

  ‘Right! I can see that. Do you want another cigarette?’

  ‘Yes, it’ll help me stay awake.’

  ‘I’m feeling dead beat.’ She drew her chest away from his shoulder. ‘But my eyes won’t close. Tensed up, I suppose. I always am.’

  Waistcoat put his head around the door. ‘Any news, Sparks?’

  ‘They’re still there, but they aren’t gaining on us.’

  ‘Tell us if they do, and we’ll dance a few zig-zags.’

  ‘I know what you picked up on the island,’ she said when Waistcoat had gone.

  ‘It might be best if you didn’t. If we get caught with this lot on board we’ll get twenty years each.’

  ‘Probably forty,’ she laughed.

  The earphones rested on the back of his neck. ‘Why did you choose to hitch a ride with us, in that case?’

  ‘It’s a free trip. And I have a date. Or might have. The trouble is I’m not sure anymore. Do you think we’ll make it?’

  ‘We’ll get away from here, but they may be waiting for us up-Channel.’

  ‘Why do you think that?’

  ‘It’s a risk we always take.’

  ‘Does Waistcoat know about the odds?’

  ‘I could be wrong.’

  ‘I hope so.’

  ‘I usually am, so don’t worry.’

  She felt safer with such a man on board, who wasn’t the usual hyped-up yuppie or jailbird hysteric. He might be blind, but at least he was more interesting. ‘Oh, I never worry.’

  ‘I know how to put you to sleep,’ he said. ‘I have a technique.’

  ‘You’re not a dirty old man, are you?’

  He was glad of her laugh. ‘Of course I am.’ While sleeping she could no longer talk to him, but with four or five days still to go there would be enough time. He followed her to her bunk.

  ‘Lie on your stomach, and I’ll massage the back of your neck. I do it for my wife when I’m on shore. You’ll be off in no time.’

  ‘I’d like that.’

  ‘I must do another stint at the radio first, but I’ll be back.’

  ‘You work hard.’

  ‘Only at times like this.’

  The wavelengths were clear, all voices gone, so everyone was happy. Even Cleaver at the wheel was humming a tune. He hurried as safely as he could back to Judy.

  His hand, touching her hair, rested gently on her neck, fingers opening along the flesh then coming together, firm without pinching. He pondered on the nature of a miracle. No such thing. He made it happen. His mind was beamed onto making her relinquish all connections with her troubled world, threads snapping one by one to let her float into the clear space of nothingness so that he could have peace for a while and take in her apparition.

  ‘I’ve heard of blind healers,’ she murmured. ‘There used to be one in Boston.’

  ‘Tell me about it tomorrow. You need sleep.’ He wanted oblivion for her even more than she wanted it for herself, needed her to be unconscious so that space for her own thoughts would come back. Kneeling, and leaning forward, both hands worked a rhythm, thumbs coming in from the sides of her neck and pushing a short way upwards, a forceful semicircular motion over and over to the beating of engines carrying them for the moment out of danger.

  A changed rate of breathing told him she was asleep, a faint whistle, the slightest snore, but he kept on a few minutes beyond the usual number so that she wouldn’t wake at the drawing back of his touch. The insomniac put in such a way to rest either woke up in half an hour, assuming they had been under for days, or they didn’t come to until the clock had gone round, thinking they’d slept only a few minutes.

  The treatment exhausted him, so he fumbled his way to the bridge, where he sensed people standing around in silence, nothing left to say. The blacked out boat was on one of Cleaver’s courses taking them out of trouble, but they might have been dead, turned to stone as the boat drove under its own will, taking the crew on a straight line till there was no more fuel, the timbers went rotten, and it quietly sank. He and Judy, the last people alive, would go under together.

  He went back to the comfort of the radio, tuning into morse on shortwave as if to connect himself again to the world beyond this ghostly boat. At the same time as finding Judy it had turned into the Flying Dutchman, and he a fully paid-up but soon-to-be-superannuated member of the crew, because everything had its price and there was only one lump sum for that.

  A telegram rippled to a Philippines’ coastal station, a member of the crew requesting his brother to take two kilos of the best ice-cream to his wife on her birthday. A tanker wanted anchorage at Antwerp in two days’ time, giving its position in the eastern
Atlantic. Normal life went on, traffic passing to and fro beyond the limbo of their boat speeding God knew where.

  Laughter came from the bridge, the touch of glass against glass as he got close. Voices on VHF had faded, leaving them free and beyond range of interception, he said.

  ‘Come in, Howard,’ Waistcoat said. ‘We’re through the worst. The bags are on board, and all’s well with the world. Have a drink, and a smoke if you like. We’ve got enough of it. Or you can have a shoot-up – in the arm though, not the arse!’

  ‘You want it, we have it,’ Scud cackled.

  ‘Except it’s teetotal with the powdered stuff,’ Waistcoat said. ‘It’s too top quality for the likes o’ you lot. Just plain whisky’s good enough.’

  ‘Start meddling with the cargo,’ Cleaver said, ‘and we’ll end up chasing skuas in Spitzbergen. It’s not the stuff to indulge in at sea. Thank you, Chief, I will have another, but that’s my limit. Then I’ll go out and get a fix. There are stars about at the moment. You can take her in a tad, Richard. Make it zero-five-zero, and we’ll be all set for hearth and home.’

  Howard felt the glass at his hand, then a slice of bread and salami from Ted’s tray, as half starved as the rest of them, after more excitement for him, he thought, than anybody else.

  ‘You run a good ship,’ Cleaver’s jaws munched. ‘Can’t fault the food, Mr Killisick.’

  ‘Cut yer throat if yer did,’ Ted said.

  ‘Cucumber’s a bit off, though.’

  ‘It’s been more than a week, Mr Cleaver,’ Scud put in. ‘Ted ain’t God.’

  ‘No, he’s not.’

  ‘More than my life’s worth, not to provide a good cook with all the trimmings.’ Waistcoat was relaxed and in humour. ‘That, and a shit-hot navigator, and we can go anywhere.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Cleaver said.

  Refills were handed out, the tray passed around. ‘How’s that tart who came on board?’ Waistcoat said.

  ‘She’s sleeping,’ Howard told him.

  ‘I know her. She bumped in to the big gaffer a long time ago, so he gets her a job now and again. Otherwise she’d be serving in a chippy, or creating hell somewhere. Family man, the gaffer is, though I’d like to sling her overboard. She’s got too much lip.’

  ‘I don’t think anybody would like that,’ Richard said.

  ‘I know they wouldn’t. But she was on the radio, the one who flapped her mouth off. She should be taken to task.’

  ‘Better you than me, Chief,’ Scud said.

  ‘At least we’ve got pineapples for a day or two,’ Ted remarked. ‘Which was thoughtful of her. I can use ’em.’ He laughed so merrily that Howard heard his teeth rattle. ‘They’ll keep scurvy out, and that can’t be bad.’

  ‘It’s two o’clock, so we’d better get some shut-eye,’ Waistcoat said. ‘Except for Mr Cleaver, and you, Cannister. Richard and Scud can take over at six. I’m knackered, so nobody wake me. You can sort out the watches among yourselves. I want to see dolphins in the morning. Polish my sea glasses, Ted, when you’ve got a minute.’ He was on his way out. ‘There’s fog all over ’em.’

  THIRTY

  Nobody was willing in their work, certainly not with a smile, as if landing and loading, and getting away from the island, had worn them to the bone. Whatever was done had a sullen air about it, no banter, not even grumbling – the worst sign of all. Only Cleaver didn’t seem unusual, obsessionally occupied in obtaining astronomical fixes of the highest possible accuracy. Cannister and Scuddilaw, when not on watch, sat behind Howard at the radio and played brag, swearing when on hands and knees to find the rolling ten pee pieces. Ted Killisick’s prowess at the stove had gone a step down in dexterity compared to the first week out. On the second day north Waistcoat was seen to lope from his quarters and throw both plate and food into the drink, without even the spirit to berate his cook.

  The sea was churlish, grey and uncooperative, so had no say in cheering them up, though the boat drove neatly on. A gull came from no one could guess where, but after an hour or so took off, as if unwilling to stay with such a mournful crew.

  Each did his job, as he had to, but whatever joy had been there before had now dissolved. They lived only to reach home, not even that at times, merely to stay alive from one minute to the next.

  ‘We’re such a glum lot,’ Richard said, ‘you’d think the bottom had fallen out of the glass.’

  Cleaver grunted, unsympathetic to what he regarded as a drop in morale. ‘It’s always the same after a big pick-up, though this is a bit worse. I don’t like it. You’d think everyone was locked in his own thoughts because they can’t decide what they would do with the stuff on board if they had it to themselves. The mood will lift, I’ve never known it not to.’

  ‘What if it doesn’t?’

  ‘I’d rather not think about that. But if it doesn’t, you and I might have a job on our hands.’

  ‘Who would you be wary of,’ – he didn’t say afraid – ‘if it came down to that?’

  ‘Everybody. But whoever tried anything would be very misguided. Nobody could do it on his own, and if we keep a lookout you and I should be able to spot whoever tries to form a combination. It’s a small boat. The conversation between those two cardsharpers is pathetic. Worse than the chief’s, every word a swear word, though at least they’re opening their mouths again. I don’t think they have a moral thought between them. They’ve got lots of immoral notions, but none so strong as would lead them to doing what we fear. Then there’s Paul Cinnakle, who’s too much in love with his engines to burn his fingers on a stunt like that. Ted’s harmless. And Howard is blind, so we can count him out. He’s your loyal ex-serviceman type, and in any case he’s besotted with that girl. Follows her round like a dog. Or she follows him, I’m not sure which. As for her, she’s useful about the boat. She cleaned up my bunk this morning, told me she didn’t mind earning her keep on the trip. So neither of them’s plotting anything. Wouldn’t know how. He’s our radio officer, anyway, and he’ll be more than useful when we go up Channel.’

  ‘What about me?’ Richard said, by way of humour.

  Cleaver polished his sextant mirrors one by one with a spotless yellow cloth and slotted them into place. ‘We’re the backbone of the ship, and you know it. Both of us know Waistcoat would be useless in the face of adversity. Oh, I know he’s got a nose like a shit-house rat, but at bottom he’s poor stuff. Never had the Nelson touch. So it’s up to us to keep the firm afloat. It’s always a fraught situation, going back with stuff on board. Too tempting to expect peace. But if you and I understand each other we can make sure peace is kept. The least sign of hanky-panky, and everyone loses, especially any greedy snipe-nosed tyke who imagines he’ll get away with the jackpot.’ He slotted his beloved sextant into its box. ‘No, we won’t have any of that.’

  ‘I thought I’d mention it so that we at least could get things straight between us.’

  Cleaver leaned over the chart to mark in the position. ‘I’m glad you did. I was wondering if you would. Take her five degrees to port. We’re getting bumped around a bit this morning. Damned rice pudding flying about.’ Spray came over the windscreen, as if an angry housewife was behind it with a cloth. ‘You’d better call the lovers inside.’

  The aerials got little vision above the tops of the waves, but Portishead came in strong and crisp so that he could take down the weather. Judy looked over his shoulder, and he kept the earphones off for her to hear the singing morse, on top volume so as not to be drowned by the noise of his typing. Waistcoat, bilious and cantankerous, passed on his way to the bridge, telling him to put the earphones back on. ‘That noise gives me the fucking heebie-jeebies. How’s it going, though?’

  ‘Fine. Not too rough,’ Richard said, when he came in, trying levity. ‘We’ll keep our powder dry.’

  Waistcoat laughed. ‘That’s all we need. But a few smiles on this pig-boat wouldn’t come amiss.’

  Richard wondered how he passed the time in his state room. Pr
obably played with his little pocket calculator to see how rich he’d be on getting home. Or he gave his teddy bear a good hiding. This morning he was on a high, eyes more button like even than those of the pigeon Howard had looked after. Or maybe Waistcoat had been at the powder. A few doses all round wouldn’t do any harm. ‘We’ll be getting another forecast from Howard soon.’

  ‘If it’s bad ask him to shop around and try to get a better one.’

  ‘I’m sure he’s doing his best.’

  ‘Funny bloke, though.’ Waistcoat looked over the chart to check the latest position. ‘I know he’s good at the radio, but I just don’t have it in my heart to trust him. There’s something about him, and I can’t throw it off.’

  ‘Is it because he’s blind, yet manages so well?’

  ‘I’m not that fucking stupid.’

  ‘He’s all right. I’ll vouch for him.’

  ‘I’m sure he is, since you say so. You’re like a parrot, though. You say it over and over again. Still, I’ll be more than happy when the trip’s over.’

  ‘Won’t we all?’

  He went to his quarters, walking as if the boat was on the smoothest of seas, and Richard at least admired his slick sense of balance, glad all the same to see the back of him. The unstable weather was enough to deal with, though there was no sense not trusting a bloke just because you didn’t like him. He handed the wheel to Scud and Cannister. Let them earn their keep. On the way to his bunk he met Howard zig-zagging along with the weather forecast.

  ‘A low in south Finnisterre. We might just clip it. Rougher in Biscay, but we’ll cut across that. It’s south-east four to five in Sole as well.’

  ‘Doesn’t sound too bad,’ Richard said. ‘I expect we’ll hit Blighty in one piece.’