I thought that Shura guessed my slight depression. He took to inviting me to parties (private houses tended to be the meeting places in winter) and to introducing me to different girls. It became harder to see Katya. At first I did not realise that I was seeing her only two or three times a week when before I had seen her every day. I became suspicious of her. I missed her comforting warmheartedness. I became increasingly homesick.
There was a little light snow in November. It seemed to me that the whole of Odessa had been covered with cocaine. By early December I was using about two grams a day, most of it supplied by Shura. My mother had written to me to say that she thought I should return. I had written to say that the news had been sensationalised and that I was safe. I would go home ‘at about Christmas-time’. She did not write to Uncle Semya and I was able to tell him my mother was reassured. Then, on the morning that the first real snow came I received a letter from Esmé telling me my mother had influenza and that Esmé had moved in with her, since her father’s pension had stopped with his death and she could not, anyway, afford the rent on his apartment. This seemed an ideal solution. I was glad that my mother had companionship and someone as competent to look after her as Esmé. I wrote back to say that I would visit Kiev ‘some time after Christmas’, that studies and so on were keeping me in Odessa and Uncle Semya was anxious that I should get the maximum benefit from my stay. None of this was a lie, but the prospect of poverty and simple food over the holiday was too much to contemplate. I could have done very little for my mother in Kiev. Indeed, with myself and my mother to look after, Esmé would have been hard-pressed. Of course, I did not know that the influenza was a very bad attack or I should have returned home at once.
A day or so later Shura asked me if I would like to go aboard an English steamer. I said that the idea was very attractive. Shura needed an interpreter in some business he was transacting with the mate of the ship. The captain was not aboard. He had gone sick and been put ashore in Yalta. I assumed that because of this the mate was interested in off-loading whatever his cargo was and taking on something else. There were fewer and fewer foreign merchant ships in Odessa, due to the winter and Turkish control of the Straits. I believe, too, they were taking different routes, to avoid German submarines. There were, from time to time, Australian warships in the harbour, but we rarely had any contact with their crews. I was glad of the rare chance to try out my English. That night we went down to Quarantine Harbour and showed passes Shura had obtained. Then we were met by two seamen with a ship’s boat and rowed to where the S.S. Kathleen Sisson was anchored, beyond the mole. She was not much of a ship; typical of the tramps trading along the coasts from the Aegean to the Sea of Azov. After Turkey entered the War, these began to disappear so rapidly that as a mercantile city Odessa went from riches to rags almost overnight. I think the Kathleen Sisson had been recalled to her home port of Piraeus and possibly her officers, who were the only Britons aboard, wanted to get out of the theatre of war. The rest of the crew consisted of Greeks and Armenians who would have made a company of laskars seem savoury.
We went below the bridge, to the captain’s quarters, and met Mr Finch, the mate. At the time I found him a pleasant, quietly spoken Irish gentleman, but I suspect I would see him differently now. He was tall and dressed in a grubby white uniform. He offered us a drink of what must have been arak, but which I foolishly thought would be Scotch whisky. It tightened the muscles of my throat, making it hard for me to speak properly for several days. We sat down around a chart table and Mr Finch began the conversation, asking Shura if he had brought the money. Shura told me to tell Mr Finch that the money was on deposit and would be paid over at a mutually-agreed time and place. Mr Finch seemed displeased by this but became reconciled, giving us some more ‘whisky’ (I have never drunk much real whisky since that day). Shura asked to see a sample and Mr Finch took him away while I waited, impressed by the cabin with its wealth of instruments, charts and general seafaring paraphernalia. It was my first experience aboard a ship and even a run-down tramp was absolutely enchanting.
Shura and Mr Finch returned. Mr Finch told me that if Shura were satisfied we should agree a time and place to meet ‘on neutral ground’. Shura suggested a seamen’s club near the harbour. This was a favourite of English and American sailors. Mr Finch would feel at ease. The mate agreed and he and Shura shook hands. Mr Finch said to me that it had been ‘a long haul from Malacca’ and that he would be ‘glad to be back in Dublin’. I expressed surprise that he had sailed all that way and he laughed. ‘I joined this old kettle at Trebizond. I’ve been in damned native trains since Basrah, worrying myself sick every minute I was on land. I started the whole deal before the war, see. Now I wish I never had.’
It was not clear what the deal had involved. I began to suspect it must be illegal. Shura was inclined to sail a little close to the wind, but this was something which could land us in trouble with the police. We got back to the harbour and I said goodbye to my cousin. I was glad the venture was over for me. Shura came to the house two days later and gave me ‘enough cocaine to last you through the season’. He seemed even better disposed towards me than usual. I guessed he must be feeling guilty for involving me in something dangerous. The cocaine was of prime quality. This was probably what Mr Finch had been carrying all the way from Malacca.
FIVE
THE FOG IN ODESSA grew thicker and colder, muting the slow moans of the last ships in the harbour. People occupied the streets less frequently. They put on their long coats, their mufflers, their fur caps. Christmas approached and the better shops were filled with light and wonderful displays; posters started to appear for Winter Balls and entertainments, many of them to raise funds for the war-effort; ice-cream sellers gave way to chestnut sellers under the hissing gas-lamps, and the stevedores on the docks put on quilted jackets and gloves, their breath mingling with the thick, low-lying steam from the ships. My mood grew steadily worse. In winter Odessa became a fairly ordinary city. I was scarcely seeing Katya at all (she was tired, she said) and I was using cocaine in stronger and stronger doses to relieve an almost suicidal depression. I had overdone my adventures. I had packed years of experience into a few months. I had neglected my work at the very time I should have been concentrating on it. I tried to stay with my books and forget about Katya. It was impossible. I decided to get up early one morning and go to see her, to offer her anything if she would forsake her profession and see more of me. She was an intelligent, beautiful girl and could easily have got a job in an office, or in a shop. Uncle Semya would probably help.
I bought her a present. A few days before Christmas Eve I wrapped it in silver paper, tied it with green ribbon (it was an ornamental clown of the best Ukrainian ceramic, bought at Magasin Wagner) and set off for Slobodka. In my dark suit, white shirt, bow-tie, dark-brown bowler and matching English top-coat, with the present under my arm, I must have looked the picture of a young man on his way to ‘pop-the-question’ (although I was not yet fifteen). I bought an expensive imported flower (already becoming scarce) to complete the effect. I also carried a white ivory stick with a carved head. This had been a present from Shura about a week before.
I arrived at the broken-down house in the alley where Katya lived. The front, used by the ironmonger, had not yet opened, but I knew a trick of jerking the door open, even when it was locked. I entered the dark, cluttered interior of the shop and tip-toed through to the narrow stair leading to Katya’s room. She would have got rid of any customer by this time, but I did not want to risk embarrassing her. Determined to go away if a man was with her, I crept up the stairs and opened the door a fraction. I saw a form huddled in the bed with its arms around my Katya. I suppressed my jealousy. Then I realised I recognised the shoulder. It was young. A boy’s shoulder. It was, of course, Shura’s shoulder.