Chapter Two
“It’sseven o’clock, Mr Evans.” The man on watch looked into his room.
“O.K., be right down,” Evans mumbled. The door was slammed shut and he opened his eyes. It was another morning. His bed was warm and the room, lit grayly by the morning sun, was cold. He closed his eyes and imagined that he was out of bed and already dressed. He imagined this clearly; so clearly that he began to fall asleep again. The sound of dishes being dropped startled him awake. He sat up in bed and put on his shirt. Then, quickly, so as not to feel the cold, he sprang out of bed and finished dressing. He was brushing his teeth when Bervick came in the room.
“Morning, Skipper, nice party? I heard you come in this morning.” Evans wondered why his second mate always seemed pleased when he had a hangover.
“It was pretty good. Is the Mate up yet?”
“He’s getting up. What time we sailing?”
“Eight o’clock if everyone’s aboard. They won’t be, of course.”
Bervick disappeared. Evans straightened his tie. Thenhe went below. The Chief and his assistants were at the table when he came into the salon. The Chief seemed cheerful.
“Looks like smooth sailing weather,” he observed. He pointed at the window and at the still harbor beyond.
“I hope so.” Evans was noncommital. He had seen too many days when the sea was calm in the harbor and rough outside. They would know the weather soon enough.
Martin and Bervick walked in together.
“Did you get home all right?” Martin asked.
“It looks like it, doesn’t it?” Evans spoke sharply. He did not like to be thought a heavy drinker. He noticed Martin was scowling. Evans, deciding that he had spoken too roughly, added, “Yes, the Captain took the Chief and me home. It was some fracas.”
Duval laughed loudly. “It sure was! We almost ended up in the ditch a couple times.”
“The perils of drink,” murmured Martin, his mouth full.
“Not much else to do in these islands,” said Evans. He did not really hate the islands, though. They had been home to him before the war when he had fished in these waters. He could not admit to the others, however, that he liked the Aleutians.
“I’ve got a bad egg,” said Bervick. “I guess this was a pre-war egg.” He pushed the plate away from him. “I think I’ll go get the eight o’clock watch up.” He left.
“It takes one to know one,” said the Chief, referring back to the eggs.
They ate in silence. The two men on watch entered yawning. They sat down at the other table and started their breakfast. Evans finished his own quickly.
A few minutes before eight, a jeep drove down the dock and stopped at the ship. The three passengers and the Captain climbed out and unloaded their baggage on the dock.
Evans went out on deck. “Good morning,” he said.
“It’s a hell of a morning,” said the Captain. The passengers stood about sheep-like, waiting for guidance. Evans shouted to one of the deckhands inside. Together they got the baggage aboard. Then the passengers and the Captain climbed onto the deck.
The Chaplain hoped that he would not be sick. They all said they hoped they would not be sick. The Major remarked that he had never been seasick in his life; he added, however, that there was a first time for everything. Evans guided them to the dining salon and Martin volunteered to show them to their staterooms. Evans and the Captain went back on deck.
“What’s the new report on the outside?” Evans asked.
“According to the man over at Weather and the Navy people, you’ll have a ten-foot sea and a thirty-mile wind in gusts from the southwest. That’s as far as the Big Harbor. From there you’ll have to get another forecast.”
“Pretty good news. No planes flying yet?”
“No, no planes. Bad weather beyond the Big Harbor, too.” The Captain reached in the coat of his parka and brought out a brown envelope. “Here’s your clearance. You can take her away now. Don’t spend too much time at Arunga. I don’t go for none of that, you know.”
Evans smiled, “I know,” he said. “We’ll be back in a week.”
“Fine. Give my love to the Big Harbor girls.”
“I sure will.”
“Good sailing then.” The Captain climbed back on the dock. He stood beside his jeep and waited for them to cast off. Several longshoremen stood by their lines on the dock. The Major and the Chaplain came out to watch and Evans went to the wheelhouse. Martin and Bervick were waiting for him there.
“Cast the bow and spring lines off first. We’ll drift out, then let go the stern.” He rang the telegraph to the engine room, setting the markers at Stand By. A minute later the engine room rang back. Rather quick for the Chief, he thought. Martin and Bervick went below. Evans could see them, with two deckhands, moving about on deck.
He opened one of the wheelhouse windows. “Let her go,” he shouted. Quickly they began to pull in the lines. The bow swung out from the dock.
“Let the stern go, Bervick,” he shouted again from the window. A second later they were free of the dock. Evans rang both engines Slow Ahead. Cautiously he maneuvered the ship away from the dock. Then he rang Full Ahead. He could feel the engines vibrate as the ship shot ahead. She would do twelve knots easily.
Martin came up to the wheelhouse. His face was flushed from the wind and cold and his nose was running. He sniffed as he spoke.
“All squared away. Anything you want done?”
“Nothing I can think of.” Evans kept his eyes fixed on the nets that guarded the narrow neck of the harbor a mile away. He steered with the small electrical steering gear. He preferred it to the larger wooden wheel which he insisted that his crew use: it was more seaman-like.
“Guess I’ll go to bed then,” said Martin, and he went into his cabin. His watch did not begin until noon.
The door opened again and one of the men on Evans’ watch entered. He took the wheel and Evans gave him the course from memory. He knew the courses to the Big Harbor by heart.
Ahead he could see the entrance to the nets. He rang Slow Speed as they went through them. The Navy detachment on the near-by point always watched the boats as they passed through, making sure that they were at least at half speed.
Five minutes later they were abeam Andrefski point. The sky was still gray and he could feel the swell of the waves increase beneath them. In a few minutes he would be able to tell how rough the trip would be. He rang Full Speed again.
Bervick came into the wheelhouse. “How’s it look to you?” he asked.
“Fair so far,” answered Evans. They both looked through the windows at the waves crashing whitely on the black rocks of the point. A haze hung in the air and the wind was not strong or direct. Then they swung around the point and into the open sea. The ship rocked back and forth as she dipped between the swells.
“Just about a ten-foot sea,” remarked Bervick.
Evans nodded. “Looks like the forecast is going to be right. Sea striking on the port bow but it doesn’t seem so bad. In fact it’s pretty good.”
“It’ll be a good trip.” Bervick went into his cabin. Evans stood by the window and watched the bare sharp mountains of the island move slowly by.
“Rather rough, isn’t it?”
Evans looked around and saw the Major standing beside him. The Major was holding onto the wooden railing beneath the window.
“A little bit. We’ll make good time, though.”
“That’s important.” The Major looked old this morning, Evans thought. His sallow face showed the signs of heavy drinking. He would probably be sick and say that he had indigestion.
The Major squinted at the mountains. “How far off shore are we?” he asked.
“About two miles. That’s our usual running distance.”
“It looks closer than that.” He contemplated the shifting water and the stone hills and the steel color of the birdless sky. “It looks very close.”
“It does,” said Evans. The ship was dipping now from sea-valley to sea-mountain with monotonous regularity. Evans was exhilarated by the ship’s motion. He felt at home now. This was where he belonged. He began to whistle.
The Major laughed. “I thought that was bad luck—for old mariners to whistle in the wheelhouse.”
Evans smiled. “I’m not superstitious.”
“Just an old custom, I suppose. Let’s hope there’s nothing to it.”
“There isn’t.”
They were approaching another cape and Evans gave the man at the wheel a new course.
“Have you been in this business long, Mr Evans?”
“Been at sea long? Well, most of my life, since I was sixteen.”
“Really? It must be fascinating.” The Major spoke without conviction.
“Yes, it’s been a pretty good deal. Sometimes, though, I wish I’d gone to West Point.” On an impulse he added this, knowing that it would interest the older man. It did.
“Did you have the opportunity?” he asked.
“In a way. You see the Congressman from our district was a good friend of my uncle who was married to my mother’s sister, and I think he could have swung it. I know I used to think about it, but I went to sea instead.”
“You made a great mistake,” said the Major sadly, “a very great mistake.” He looked out the window as if to behold the proof of the mistake in the rolling sea. Mechanically he made his profile appear hawk-like and military ... like Wellington. Evans smiled to himself. He had seen a little of the regular army people and he thought them all alike. To parade around in uniform and live on an uncomfortable army post, to play poker and gossip; that was all of the world to them, he thought. The life wasn’t bad, of course, but one was not one’s own boss and there was not, naturally, the sea. The life seemed dull to him.
“I suppose it was a mistake,” said Evans, knowing it was not.
The Major sighed, “I can’t say that I care very much for the water.” His face was drawn and tired and there were grayish pouches under his eyes.
“It’s something you have to have in you, I guess. With me it was being a sailor or a farmer. Farming was hard work and so I got to be a sailor.”
“Sometimes one shouldn’t run away from the hardthings,” said Major Barkison tightly. “The easy way is not always the best way,” he added with infinite wisdom.
“I guess you’re right at that.”
“Well, I think I shall go downstairs now.” The Major walked unsteadily across the rocking wheelhouse deck. He opened the door and went below.
“Quite a guy, the Major,” the man at the wheel remarked.
“Yes, he seems to be O.K. At least he’s not chicken like some of the ones we’ve carried.”
“No, he seems to be a good guy.”
Evans looked out the window. The weather was consistent. The wind was blowing around twenty miles an hour. There was a thick snow flurry a few miles ahead. He would go by the clock through the snow.
The wheelhouse was quiet. From other parts of the ship he could hear voices, and from the galley came the occasional sounds of breaking china.
The clock struck three bells. Snow began to splatter on the window glass and whiten the decks. He could see only a few yards ahead. The sea had gotten no rougher, though, and the wind was dying down. He looked out into the whiteness and thought of nothing.
Martin came out of his cabin. “How’s it going?” he asked.
“Pretty good. Some snow just came up. We’ll be off Point Kada in five minutes.”
“That’s good time. Want me to take over for a while?”
Evans was surprised. Martin usually slept until his watch began at noon. It was unusual for him to be helpful. “Sure. Fine. Thanks,” he said, and he went below.
The cook was swearing at the stove. The pots slid dangerously back and forth over the stove. Evans passed quickly through the galley.
In the salon the Chaplain and the young Lieutenant sat. There was an open book on the Chaplain’s lap, but he did not seem to have been reading. He appeared ill. Lieutenant Hodges on the other hand was enjoying himself. He was watching the waves hit against the stern.
The salon was lighted by one electric bulb. Everything looked shapeless in the sickly light: the rack where the tattered library of the ship was kept, the wooden chairs piled on the two tables, the two men sitting in one corner, all this looked gloomy and strange to him. He flipped on another light and the place became cheerful.
“Quite unpleasant, isn’t this?” Chaplain O’Mahoney remarked. He closed the book on his lap.
“Beginning to feel it?”
“Oh my no, certainly not. I’ve been sitting here reading. I feel very well.”
“Where’s the Major?”
Lieutenant Hodges answered, “He’s asleep in his stateroom. I think he’s pretty tired after last night.”
“So I gather. You went home early, didn’t you, Chaplain?”
“Yes, yes, I had to get my eight hours, you know,” he said lightly. “I had so many things to do before our departure.”
Evans turned toward the galley. “Hey, Smitty!” he shouted. “When you going to have chow?”
“In about a hour.”
“See you then.” Evans nodded to the two men and wentback to the wheelhouse. Martin was looking out the window and singing softly to himself. Evans stood beside him. They watched the snow swirling over the water; they watched for signs of change. That’s all this business was, thought Evans. Watching the sea and guessing what it might do next. The mist was thinning, he noticed. He could make out a familiar cape ahead of them. They were on course.
“How’s your buddy, the Major?” asked Martin.
“He’s in his sack.”
“I thought he was up here for a while.”
“He was.”
“I guess you’ll make Chief Warrant now.”
Evans flushed, “That’s your department, polishing the brass.”
“You do it so much better.” Martin chuckled. Evans bit his lip. He knew that Martin often tried to irritate him and he did not like it when he succeeded. He turned away from him. The man at the wheel had been listening and was grinning.
Evans looked at the compass without seeing the numbers. “Keep to your course.”
“But I am on course,” the man said righteously.
Evans grunted. Martin walked away from the window and back into his cabin. Evans cursed slightly. Then, relieved, he stood, looking out the port window, his arms and legs braced as the ship plunged from wave to wave, slanting the wheelhouse deck.
At five bells Smitty shouted that chow was ready.
Evans went into the mates’ cabin. Both were asleep. He shook Bervick, who was in the top bunk.
“Lunch. You’d better get up.” Bervick groaned and Martin rolled out of the lower bunk.
“You take over,” Evans said, speaking to Martin. “You can eat when I get back. I’ll take part of your watch for you.” He went below.
The crew was using the galley table. The officers and passengers used one of the salon tables. The three passengers were walking about aimlessly.
“All ready for some of our wonderful hash?” Evans spoke the words gaily, but even to his own ears they sounded flat. He did not have Martin’s light touch with words.
“I feel quite hungry,” said the Major, rubbing his hands together briskly.
“I seem to have no appetite,” said the Chaplain sadly. They sat down at the table. The Major on Evans’ right, the Chaplain on his left. Hodges sat next to Duval, who had come up from the engine room.
“Engines running smoothly, Chief?” Evans asked.
Duval beamed, “They’ve never been better. Were making good time.”
“Good.” Evans helped himself to the hash. It looked pale and unnourishing. The Major frowned.
“This is that new canned ration, isn’t it?”
“Yes. We have this when were traveling. It’s usually too rough to have anything else fixed.”
“I see.” The Major took some. The Chaplain decided that he was not hungry at all.
“You had better have some crackers,” Evans remarked. The Chaplain refused with a weary smile.
There was little conversation. Bervick and the Chief disagreedon the expected time of arrival. For a moment Evans was afraid they would begin an involved argument. Luckily they had enough sense not to. Evans wondered why people could never get along with each other. Of course living in too close quarters for a long time had a lot to do with it. On these boats people saw too much of one another.
After lunch Evans went back to the wheelhouse. Silently he relieved Martin who went below. There was another snow flurry ahead. It looked as if the rest of the trip would be by the clock. Evans watched the water and waited for the snow to come.
At noon Martin returned.
“Where are we?” he asked.
Evans studied the pale snow-blurred coast. “Almost abeam Crown rock. We’ll be in the Big Harbor in about two hours. Don’t get any closer to shore than we are and wake me up when you think you’re near the nets.”
“O.K.” Martin checked the compass and the logbook and then he stood by the window and looked out. Evans went into his cabin and stretched out on his bunk. The rocking of the boat he found soothing. He slept.
“We’re about two miles from the nets,” said Martin, when Evans came back into the wheelhouse. Outside the snow was thick and they could see nothing but a blinding whiteness. The outline of the shore was gone. Evans checked the time and the chart. He figured that they were less than two miles from the entrance buoy. In another ten minutes they should be able to see the nets. He rangStand By. Martin went below and Evans waited for a thinning of the snow.
At last it came. Dimly he could see the great black mass of mountain that marked the entrance to the Big Harbor. He felt much better seeing this. He had never lost a ship in the fog or snow, but he knew that far better sailors than he had gone on the rocks in similar weather.
He directed the man at the wheel to pull in closer to shore. Just ahead of him, only somewhat hazed by the thinning snow, he could make out a red buoy off his starboard bow. Beyond this buoy were the nets. He rang for Half Speed. On the deck below he could see the Major standing in the wind. The Major thought Evans looked quite nautical, as he gazed sternly into the snow. Spray splashing over the bow sent him quickly to cover.
At Slow Speed, Evans glided the ship between the nets. For five minutes they vibrated slowly ahead. Then, in the near distance, he suddenly saw the spires of the old Russian church, rising above the native village.
To the right of the village were the docks. Evans took the wheel himself and the ship moved slowly around the harbor’s only reef. With a quick spin of the wheel Evans took the ship in closer to shore. The water was deep up to within a few feet of the black abbreviated beach. A hundred yards ahead of them were the docks.
Two deckhands stood on the bow and attached heaving lines to the bow and spring lines. Martin stood by the anchor winch, his eyes on the dock where they would tie up. No other ships were on the face of this dock. They would have it to themselves.
Evans stopped both engines. They drifted ahead. Thewind was off their port bow, which was good. He pointed the bow toward the center of the dock and then he waited.
Ten feet from the dock he began to swing the bow away from shore. He swore loudly as the ship turned too slowly. He had mistimed the speed. Quickly he gave the off shore engine Slow Astern. The bow pulled out more quickly, while the stern swung in. They hit lightly against the pilings. A man on shore had already taken their spring line. Evans stopped the off shore engine and waited to see if the lines were under control. They were and he rang off the engine room. The landing had been good. His heart was fluttering, he noticed, and the sweat trickled down his left side. These landings were a strain.
Martin was in his bunk; handling the lines had tired him. His eyes were shut but he was not asleep. He listened to Bervick moving about the cabin. “Going up town?” he asked.
“That’s right.” Bervick adjusted his cap.
“You going to see Olga?”
“I might. Haven’t had much to do with her lately.”
“That’s right, you haven’t.”
Bervick pulled on his parka. Thinking of Olga excited him. He still liked her, and the thought of the Chief with her, bothered him. The Chief would not be with her tonight; for some reason he was sure of that. Tonight was his night.
“I’ll be seeing you,” he said to Martin, and he went out onto the forward deck.
The tide was going out and the wheelhouse was now level with the dock. With an effort he pulled himself up to the dock. To his left was the native village and to his right were more docks and warehouses. Men from the various boats walked about on shore, dim figures in the twilight. Pale blue smoke circled up from the galley smokestacks. There was a smell of cooking, of supper, in the cool air. Bervick turned and walked into the village.
The main street of the settlement curved parallel with the beach for half a mile. Most of the houses were on this street. Bars and restaurants and one theater, all wooden, also lined the street. The buildings had been painted white originally; they were many weathered shades of gray, now. On a small hill, behind two bars and a former brothel, the old Russian Orthodox church rose straightly against the evening. Its two onion-shaped cupolas were painted green; the rest of the church was an almost new white.
On several lanes, running inland from the main street, were the homes of the two hundred odd pre-war residents. Most of the houses had been vacated at the beginning of the war. The windows were boarded up and the privies leaned crazily in the back yards. Seven trees, which had been imported, were withered now, and their limbs had been made grotesque by the constant wind.
A mile inland from the shore and the village was the army camp. It had been erected early in the war and its many barracks and offices duplicated the military life of the distant United States.
Soldiers from the post and sailors from the Navy shipsin the harbor wandered about the crooked lanes and along the main street. They were looking for liquor and women. There was much of one and little of the other in the Big Harbor. Prices were high for both.
Bervick walked very slowly down the main street, proving to himself that he was in no hurry to see Olga. He would see her later in the evening.
He stopped at a building somewhat larger than the rest. It was the Arctic Commercial Store, the main store in the village. Almost anything could be bought here. It was said that the store had made over a million dollars since the war.
Bervick went inside. It was warm and crowded and cheerful. Sailors with beards in various stages of development walked about. Some wore gold earrings in their ears. Bervick grimaced. Earrings were an old sea custom recently revived. He did not like them.
The shelves of the store were stocked with canned goods and souvenirs; upstairs was a clothing store. Bervick looked around at the counters. In the corner where souvenirs were sold, he saw several bright pink and blue silk pillow covers. On them were printed, in gay colors, maps of Alaska and various endearments.
“How much is that one there?” Bervick asked the bearded man behind the counter.
“What one?”
“That one over there.” Bervick flushed and pointed to a pink one, inscribedTo My Sweetheart.
“You mean the Sweetheart one?” Bervick wondered if the man were deaf. For some reason he felt a little foolish. He nodded and said, “Yes, that’s the one.”
The bearded man chuckled and handed it to him. Bervick paid him. The price was too high but that was not unusual here.
He stuffed the fake silk cover in his pocket. When he saw Olga he would give it to her casually. The Chief had more money, but sometimes sentiment was much more important. His breath came shorter when he thought of Olga. He controlled himself. He would not go to her yet. She had probably already heard that his ship was in. He would make her wait for him. Bervick hoped the Chief would not try to see her tonight. The Chief had said that he planned to work on the engines. Bervick hoped that he would. The Chief wasn’t really much competition, though, thought Bervick.
He walked down the street. Drunken sailors in groups went grimly from bar to bar. The Shore Patrol men stood warily on the wooden sidewalk, waiting for trouble. Fights would begin later in the evening.
The Anchorage Inn was a popular bar. It rambled for a hundred feet or less on the main street, a few buildings from the Arctic Commercial Store. Bervick decided to have a drink.
A blast of heat and light engulfed him as he entered. The smell of liquor, food, and too many people was strong in the room. It took him several minutes to get used to the light and heat.
A long counter extended across one end of the building. Through the open kitchen door, behind the counter, he could see a fat woman cooking at a greasy stove; clouds of smoke and steam sizzled up from the stove. Two women and one man were serving at the counter and tables. Soldiersand sailors crowded the place. A half-dozen women were unevenly distributed. They worked in the shops and restaurants and bars. They made a lot of money.
Sitting at a table with two sailors was a large woman who immediately recognized Bervick. “Hey, Joe,” she yelled. “You come over here.”
“Hello, Angela. How’re you doing?” Bervick sat down at the table. The two sailors were young and seemed frightened by Angela. They looked relieved to see him.
Angela was a huge and heavy breasted woman. She wore a green dress of thick cloth. Her eyes were narrow puffy slits and her face was painted carelessly. There was no reason for her to take pains up here, thought Bervick. Any woman was a beauty to men who had been without women for many months and occasionally years. Her hair was a bright brass red, dark at the roots. Angela was several years older than the forty she claimed to be.
“What’s new, Joe?” she asked when he had made himself comfortable.
“Not a thing. We just got in a little while ago.”
“Yeah. I heard.”
“News travels fast, I guess.”
“It sure does.”
The two young sailors mumbled something and moved away. Angela winked, “There they go ... my admirers.”
“I guess you still got a lot of them.”
“Oh, I don’t do so bad. When you going to visit me? I live over the store now, you know.”
“So I heard.”
“News travels fast.” They laughed.
“How’s little Olga?” Angela asked.
“I suppose she’s O.K. I don’t see her so much any more.”
“That’s just as well. I don’t like to talk much about the other girls, you know I don’t, but that Olga is just plain loose. I’m not saying the rest of us are any the better, I mean I know I’m not such a pure ... well, you know, but after all I don’t take on more than one....”
“For Christ’s sake!” Bervick snapped at her. He was disgusted by this corrupt mass of a woman saying such a thing of Olga. “That’s hard to believe,” he added more calmly.
“What? That I don’t go with more than one? Why you know perfectly well I don’t. My only fault is that I’m just too affectionate.” She purred this last, and under the table her knee was pushed against his.
“I guess that’s right.” You couldn’t be angry with Angela, he thought. He wondered if Olga would be waiting for him.
“Then of course you know about her ... Olga, I mean ... two-timing that Frenchman off your boat. What’s his name?”
“I know about that. That’s old.” Bervick spoke with authority, and Angela was impressed as he intended her to be.
“Well, maybe she’s through with him.” She sighed and her great breasts rippled. Bervick wondered if Olga might marry him if he asked her. That would certainly cut the Chief out, he thought viciously. He frowned.
“What’s the matter, darling?” asked Angela, leaning over the table, her face close to his. Cheap perfume floatedup from her in heavy waves; it made him want to cough.
“Not a thing, Angela, not a thing.” He moved back in his chair.
“Well, don’t frown so,” she said peevishly, and then more brightly, “What about a drink? They’ve got some good stuff here. Hey, Joe,” she yelled at the waiter. He came over to their table.
“Two shots, Joe.”
The man went behind the counter and returned a moment later with two jiggers of whiskey. Bervick started to pay.
“Never mind.” Angela pushed his money aside. “This is on the house, isn’t it, Joe?”
“Sure.” Joe walked away.
“I know so many things about Joe, you see.” Angela giggled. They gulped the whiskey. A tall blond sailor across the room caught her eye. She smiled and winked at him. The sailor came over to their table.
“Hello, beautiful,” he said.
“Hello, handsome.” Angela made fluttering feminine movements. Bervick stood up.
“I think I’ll go now,” he said. He noticed the sailor wore a gold earring in one of his ears.
“Bad luck, soldier,” said the sailor, leering and putting his arm around Angela. Bervick turned away.
“Give my best to Olga,” said Angela. He did not answer. He walked outside into the cold air of the Arctic night. The whiskey had warmed him and he did not feel the cold. He was glad he had taken it.
The street was crowded with sailors. They were becoming more noisy. Bervick walked on the extreme edge ofthe road in the shadow of the buildings. He wanted no trouble tonight.
The restaurant where Olga worked was called the Fall Inn. It was owned by a man named Fall who had a great sense of humor. Olga used to laugh a lot with Bervick when she thought of the funny name Mr Fall had thought of. She liked to explain to customers why the name of the restaurant was so funny.
The Fall Inn was a large, well-lighted frame house on one of the lanes that went back from the main street. Near it was a withered evergreen tree surrounded by a picket fence. This had been Mrs Fall’s idea.
Bervick stepped inside. He stood in the doorway, accustoming his eyes to the light. Behind the counter, stood Olga. She was waiting on a dozen or so customers. Olga was a tall girl with a slim figure. Her features were rather flat and without distinction, but her eyes were a beautiful shiny china blue. Her hair was silver-gold, long and untidy, and her complexion was white and smooth. She had thick legs and graceful hands.
She saw Bervick when he came in. She looked away quickly and busied herself with the cash register.
He went over to her and sat down at the counter. “How are you?” he asked, not knowing anything else to say.
“What do you want?” She spoke nervously.
“I just wanted to see you,” he said. “I guess it’s O.K. for me to sit here.”
“Go ahead, it’s a public place.” Still she did not go away. A man across the room shouted for some coffee. Slowly she went back into the kitchen. She seemed frightened.
“Not making any headway with her, are you?” Bervick looked behind him. Duval was standing there. He had been there for some time.
Bervick felt sick to his stomach. For a moment he said nothing. Then he asked easily, “What are you doing here?” He was careful to control his voice.
“Just what do you think, Sergeant?” Duval grinned. “I’m just here having some coffee and maybe having Olga later on. I haven’t made up my mind yet.” Duval sat down beside him.
“I thought,” Bervick spoke slowly, “that you weren’t going to see her tonight.”
“I never said I wasn’t. Besides it’s her and my business. She don’t want nothing to do with you anyway.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.”
“Well, you just go ask her, sucker.” Duval played with the sugar container.
Olga came back from the kitchen. She was frowning. Her light brows almost met.
“What are you doing tonight? Are you going to see this guy?” Bervick asked. Olga flushed and thought a moment. Bervick knew already what she would answer. Olga liked money too well. But, knowing this, he still wanted her.
Olga decided to be angry. “What makes you two think you’re so good you can tell me what to do? I think you’re both conceited. Maybe I ain’t interested in neither of you.”
“Maybe you’re right,” said Duval. “I guess I’ll just pay for some coffee and get on out.” Then he opened his wallet and let her see the thick sheaf of bills. Her eyes narrowed.
“What you in such a hurry to go for? My gracious,you’d think I was poison or something.” A customer yelled for food and she went back into the kitchen.
“I’d like to break your back,” said Bervick very deliberately, making each word a curse.
“Don’t get upset, Sergeant. I just got more than you. I been keeping Olga ever since she got tired of you. You know that, so why do you keep hanging around? What you want to do? Marry her?”
Bervick felt sick. He watched the Chief’s wide mouth move as he spoke. He noticed the Chief had a bright gold upper tooth. It gleamed cheerfully as he spoke.
Duval went on talking. “There’re some other girls around here. What about that fat girl who’s so stuck on you? What’s her name? Angela?”
“Angela!” exclaimed Olga. She came back from the kitchen in time to hear the name “Angela.” “Why she’s just a big fat you-know-what. So you been seeing her.” She turned on Bervick, glad at last of an excuse to be rid of him. “Well, you got your nerve to want to do anything with me after you been with her. Why I bet she’s got everything wrong with her.” A customer wanted to pay for his meal. She went to the cash register.
“Too bad,” said Duval. “You aren’t much of a lover, are you? You go see Angela. She’s just your speed.”
Unsteadily Bervick got to his feet. He buttoned his parka. Olga did not look at him; she pretended to be busy figuring change. The Chief absently twirled the sugar container between his broad hands.
Bervick walked out of the Fall Inn. He did not shiver when the cold hit him. Some men from the boats were urinating beside one of the buildings. They did it all thetime, all over the place. It was unpleasant, he thought. Someone should put a stop to it. Thinking of this and not of Olga, he walked back to the Anchorage Inn.
Angela was not surprised to see him. The blond sailor with the gold earring was sound asleep in the chair beside her. On the table was a half empty bottle of whiskey. Wearily Bervick walked over to her.
“Hello, darling,” she said brightly. “Was Olga mean to you?”
“That’s right,” he said. He sat down beside her. The sailor stirred sleepily. His long hair fell in his face.
“Nice, isn’t he?” commented Angela, with a motherly air.
“Yeah. What are you doing tonight?”
She looked at him. The playfulness left her face. She was strictly business now. “Sure, darling, sure,” she said. “But you know how it is.”
“I know just how it is. I only got ten dollars,” he lied.
Angela sighed. Then she smiled, her fat face creased with kindness. “I’ll lose my reputation for this,” she said with a chuckle, “but for an old pal, that’s a deal.” Bervick thanked her. He wondered to himself how these wrecks of women would ever be able to adjust themselves to peacetime when no man would look at them. “Of course you might take me to the show first,” she added coquettishly: a female elephant trembling at the thought of love.
“I suppose I could. What’s on tonight?”
“Saturday Magic.I hear it’s real good. I saw it advertised when I was in Frisco ten years ago.”
“That sounds good to me.” Bervick helped her up. Thesailor was still asleep. Angela took the bottle of whiskey and slipped it in her coat pocket.
“He’ll never miss it. Besides we might want some in the movie,” she said cozily. They pushed their way through the crowd of soldiers and sailors. Standing outside the door were two Shore Patrol men waiting gloomily for the eventual riot.
“Nasty bunch them SP’s,” remarked Angela, and then, “Jesus but it’s cold.” She pulled her coat tight about her neck. Quickly they walked to the small theatre at the end of the street.
The theatre held about two hundred people. It was almost filled now and the show had begun. They found seats at the back. A shot was being fired on the screen and Angela, hearing it, squealed with gay terror. Two rows in front of them a man vomited. Bervick shuddered.
“That’s all right, dear. You’ll be warm in a minute,” whispered Angela. He put his arm around her thick shoulders. She giggled and let her hand rest on his knee. Together they watched the figures on the screen and thought of each other.
Morning came whitely over the harbor. The water was oily calm. A small Navy boat went through the channel and the crews of the different boats began to stir about on the docks.
Bervick walked down the deserted street of the village. The houses looked unlived in. There was no sign of life away from the docks. His footsteps sounded sharp and clear in the emptiness of the morning.
He thought of Angela and felt sick at the memory of her making love in a torn silk dressing gown, her frizzled red hair hanging stiffly down her back. Olga was so much cleaner. He would not think of Olga, though.
The ship was already awake. The crew was straggling up out of the focs’le. He could see Evans moving around in the wheelhouse. Martin was out on the forward deck.
“Have a good time?” yelled Martin when he saw him.
“Sure. Don’t I always?”
“Sure.”
Bervick climbed aboard and stood beside Martin who was adjusting the hatch cover.
“Who were you with last night? Olga?”
“No. I was with Angela.”
“That pig?”
“I know it.” Bervick sighed and began, for the first time, to recall Angela’s large torso. “She’s got a nice personality,” he said absently.
“Don’t they all?” said Martin. He kicked the edge of the canvas into place. “Let’s have chow.”
Evans was sitting alone at the table when they came in. He muttered a good morning. They sat down.
Bervick was hungry. He ate even the cold-storage eggs, which Smitty invariably served them and which they seldom ate.
Martin looked up. “Say, Evans,” he said, “what’s this story I hear about John Jones? You know, the Indian guy from Seldovia.”
“He killed himself.” Evans pushed himself back from the table and teetered his chair on the deck.
“What went wrong?” Bervick was interested. He had been on a power barge with Jones.
“He drank a bottle of methyl alcohol last night.” Evans made himself appear bored. He always did when anyone they knew died.
“Well, what did he do that for?” Evans irritated Bervick sometimes. Evans always wanted to be asked things, as if he were an authority.
“The girl he had back in Seldovia, an Indian girl, she left him and gets married. She writes him about it and he locks himself up in the head and drinks this stuff. They found him around midnight. He looked pretty awful they said. I guess he took the girl too seriously.” Bervick knew the last remark was intended for him and he did not like it. He would not kill himself for a woman, not himself, that was certain.
“That’s life,” said Martin helpfully. The Chaplain and the Major entered the salon. Both were cheerful and both looked rested. They announced that young Hodges was still asleep.
“We played poker for a little while last night. Where were you, Sergeant? We needed an extra man.” The Major spoke genially to show that aboard ship he was not conscious of rank.
“I was visiting friends in the village, sir.” Bervick shifted uneasily in his chair.
“They have a fine old Russian church there, don’t they?” asked the Chaplain.
“Yes, they do.”
“Very interesting, these old churches. I suppose one can’t go in the church here.”
“I think it’s locked until the war’s over,” said Evans. “The priest was evacuated.”
“Such a pity,” the Chaplain complained. “I should like to have seen it.”
Duval and his assistants came up from the engine room. The first assistant, a short heavy man, was splattered with grease.
“What’s the matter?” Evans asked.
“Just a little trouble with the auxiliary again. It’ll be O.K. I think. Just go easy on them winches. I been up since five working on this damned thing.” Duval gestured with his hands. Bervick wondered when he had left Olga.
“Good morning, Bervick,” said Duval genially. “Did you sleep well last night?”
Without answering Bervick left the salon and went in the galley. He could hear the Major murmur words of surprise and he could hear Evans change the subject.
Martin joined Bervick in the wheelhouse. “What’s bothering you?” He asked. “You aren’t still sore at the Chief because of that Norwegian animal?”
“Maybe I am. That’s my business.”
“You’re acting like a half-wit. Before you know it, the Chief’ll get Evans to throw you off the boat.”
“That’s fine by me. I don’t know if I want to be around that guy.” Bervick gave the bulkhead a vicious poke.
“You’re getting a little crazy in the head.”
Bervick shrugged. “I’m not the only one, I guess.”
“Well, you better not bother the Chief very much or there’ll be some real trouble one of these days. Anyway I can’t see how you managed to get so hot and bothered over Olga.”
“That’s my business.”
Martin looked at Bervick and saw that there were harsh lines about his mouth. He was fingering his long hair.
“I guess it is,” said Martin finally.
Evans came whistling into the wheelhouse. He was followed by a Captain, the Assistant Superintendent of the harbor.
“Are we sailing?” asked Martin.
Evans nodded. “Just as soon as the Captain here gives us clearance.”
“The weather...?”
“According to the Navy,” said the Captain, examining some papers in his hand, “according to the Navy you will encounter heavy weather near the Agan cape. Twenty-foot sea at the worst. Fair visibility and not too much wind. Of course you realize at this time of year anything can happen.”
“There are no planes leaving, are there?” asked Evans.
The Captain shook his head. “Not for a week anyway. This is about the quickest trip for the Major.” He handed Evans an envelope. “Here’s your clearance and the weather report in detail. See you on your way back.” The Captain left.
“Were off,” said Martin. He looked out over the still harbor. “I guess it will be a good trip. Hope so, anyway.”
Evans looked at the gray sky. “There’s a lot of snow up there. Go tell the Major that he can’t fly. He wanted to know.”
Martin and Bervick went below together. They found the Major in the salon, filing his nails. He looked inquiringly at them.
“No planes leaving, sir,” said Martin. “They’re still weathered in.”
“Well, thatistoo bad.” The Major seemed cheerful. Bervick decided that Major Barkison liked the idea of a three-day trip. “Will we leave soon?”
“Right away.”
“Good.”
Bervick and Martin met the Chaplain in the companionway. The Chaplain was not particularly pleased at the idea of a boat trip, but he decided to be hearty and take it like a good sport. “Well, that will be nice. I have always wanted to do this sort of thing. We never were near the ocean in Maryland. That is, Maryland was near, or rather on, the ocean, but we weren’t. This’ll be quite an experience for a landsman.”
“It will,” said Martin.
“I hope I shan’t have a repeat performance....”
“Not if you eat plenty of crackers. Will you excuse us, Chaplain?”
“Of course.”
They could hear Evans ringing Stand By. Together they went out on deck. The men on watch were already there.
“How do you want to go?” Martin shouted to Evans in the wheelhouse. Evans put his head out the window.
“Let everything go at once!”
Two seamen from one of the power barges stood by their lines on the dock.
“O.K.,” said Martin. “Cast off.” The crew began to pull in the lines. Bervick went aft and helped handle the stern. Martin waited while the men coiled the lines. Then heyelled to Evans, “All free!” He could see Evans nod and go to the telegraph.
The ship swung slowly away from the dock. The wind blew damply and gently in their faces. The sea gulls circled high overhead.
Bervick joined Martin on the forward deck. They watched the bow of the ship cut with increasing speed through the dark and rippled water.
“It looks awful quiet, don’t it, Martin?”
“Does look quiet. I hope it stays that way. The weather didn’t look too good in the report.”
“Didn’t look bad?”
“No.”
“I wish to hell I’d stayed in the Merchant Marine.”
“It’s tough all over.”
“Yeah.”
“We better see what Evans wants. He’ll probably want to hose down the decks.”
“Yeah.”
As they turned to go, Bervick reached in his pocket and brought out a bundle which he tossed quickly overboard.
“What was that?” asked Martin curiously.
“Some old rags.”
“Oh.” They went below.
The bow of the ship cut more and more swiftly through the harbor and toward the nets. The gulls wheeled higher and higher in the sky, and on the crest of one wave floated a pink piece of cloth, decorated with the wordsTo My Sweetheart... and a map of Alaska.