‘Nobody,’ I said. ‘I’ve just told you, I’ve time to kill and I’ve never been to Bougainville or the Solomons. I’d like to sail with you, that’s all.’ And then, because he bore no resemblance to Perenna Holland and I wanted to make doubly sure of his identity, I asked him if he were the owner as well as the captain.
‘Yes, I own this ship.’ He was staring at me, breathing hard. ‘Didn’t you know that? Didn’t they tell you?’
‘You’re Jona Holland, then.’
‘Who told you that? My name’s Jonathan Holland. Nobody calls me Jona, ‘cept — ‘cept my sister.’ He sounded confused, fear giving way to resentment. ‘I don’t know who you are, what you’re doing here. I’ve got things to consider — decisions — must think clearly, work it out.’ He pushed his hand up through his hair, staring with glazed eyes at the bottle. ‘Tomorrow night and the nex’ night and the nex’. No sleep. Five nights and then-’ He looked up at me suddenly. ‘You know Perenna?’
‘I’ve met her.’
‘In Suffolk?’
‘Yes, at the house in Aldeburgh.’ And I started to explain the circumstances, but he wasn’t listening. Even when I told him she wasn’t there any more, he didn’t seem to take it in, muttering to himself, ‘She doesn’t understand. About money, I mean. The difficulties-’ He checked himself, staring at me with a surprised look as though suddenly conscious of my presence. ‘Sit down. Have a drink.’ He waved vaguely to a chair. ‘Strange girl, Perenna. Tough. She won’t stay there, will she? Not now she’s put him in a home. Did she tell you she’d killed a man? She was with Mother in the kitchen when they burst in, an’ she fought them off with a meat cleaver. Killed one and wounded another before they-’ His eyes were wide open, reliving the scene. ‘She was only seventeen. Blood everywhere. Always remember it. Terrible sham’les.’ I thought for a moment he was going to burst into tears, but then he pulled himself together, a conscious effort. ‘Glasses in cupboard. Wha’ d’you say your name was?’
‘Slingsby,’ I said. ‘Roy Slingsby.’ I got a glass and poured myself a drink, appalled at the scene, at his vivid recollection of it. ‘What caused the natives to behave so violently?’ I asked.
‘Cargo,’ he muttered darkly. ‘Bloo’y Cargo. They go crazy.’ He shook himself as though to get rid of the memory. ‘Why d’you wan’ to go to Bougainville anyway?’ He pronounced it Boganville.
‘I’ve always wanted to visit a Pacific island.’
‘Coral beaches, white sands, blue sea, blue sky, eh?’ He laughed, but on a high, tense note. ‘Bougainville’s not like that. Just rain and mountains and rainforests, and copper, bloo’y copper. Copper and gold. Gone to their silly heads.’ He reached for the bottle, looking round vaguely for his glass, which was lying on the floor. I got it for him, and he mumbled his thanks. Then, suddenly suspicious again: ‘Who you going to see on Bougainville?’
‘Nobody. I don’t know anybody there.’
‘Bloo’y liar.’ The bottle rattled against the glass as he poured the whisky. ‘Nobody goes to Bougainville without a reason.’ He looked up at me, his eyes focusing, his forehead creased with the effort. ‘You going to make trouble, start organising things?’
I hesitated, but his behaviour was so odd … ‘Are you expecting trouble?’ I asked. ‘Is that why you’re scared?’
‘Scared?’
‘Yes, scared. You’re scared of something.’
He shook his head vaguely. ‘Drunk too much,’ he muttered, pushing the glass away. ‘Copper an’ gold. They think it’s Cargo. You know about Cargo?’
It seemed a pointless question, but when I said, Yes, of course I did, he got very excited. ‘You’ve been briefed. They’ve briefed you, and now you want me-’
‘Look,’ I said, ‘I’m just an estate agent acting for a friend of mine in England. I know nothing about Bougainville, only that you operate out of the Buka Passage.’ I told him about Munnobungle then and having to wait until August 22 for the sale. ‘I’ve time to kill, and this seemed a good way of doing it.’
‘You mean just a tourist trip. To Bougainville!’ He said it incredulously, glaring at me, his bloodshot eyes still doubtful. ‘Why don’t you fly, then?’
‘I like the sea.’
‘An old bucket like this? If we got another southerly buster, you’d be sick as a dog and so bloo’y frightened-’
‘I know what these ships are like in a blow.’
He didn’t seem to hear me. ‘She rolls and rattles and flops around like a limp sheet of tin. One day she’ll break her bloo’y back.’
‘You don’t have to tell me. I’ve sailed on LCTs before.’ And I added, ‘Maybe on this one. I served in three of them.’
That got through to him at least. ‘Three? You’ve been on three?’ He put his glass down carefully, leaning forward, the frown deepening as he tried to concentrate. ‘This one came from Singapore. There was a number on her. Can’t remember now. I’ve got it somewhere. The British were pulling out, and they were going to scrap her. She was so old they wouldn’t risk sailing her back. Were you in Singapore on LCTs?’
I nodded. ‘I had almost a year there. Before that I was on the St Kilda run. The Outer Hebrides and the North Atlantic. I wouldn’t think you could throw anything worse at me down here than we had on that run.’
He smiled then. ‘You were Army, were you? These ships weren’t Navy ships. They were run by a Maritime Detachment of the Army.’ His uneasiness returned. ‘What was your outfit?’
‘RASC Water Transport. I was doing my National Service.’
He hesitated, then nodded. ‘Yes, of course. They changed the name. Were you an officer?’ And when I told him I had been newly commissioned as a 2nd lieutenant, he said almost eagerly as though now, suddenly, he wanted to believe me, ‘A deck officer?’
‘Yes. A very junior one.’
‘How much do you remember about running these ships?’ His voice was no longer slurred, his manner almost urgent. ‘You say you like the sea. Have you done any navigating since?’ And when I told him I owned a sailing boat and occasionally raced her in the East Anglian offshore races, he leaned back, laughing quietly to himself. ‘And you just walk on board, like manna from bloo’y heaven. You know these buckets, you sail your own boat — Jesus Christ, there must be a catch in it somewhere.’ He paused, staring at me hard. ‘If I gave you a berth, would you be prepared to work your passage, take a watch? Not officially, of course. Officially my first officer is Pat McAvoy. But unofficially?’
‘What’s wrong with McAvoy?’ I asked.
‘He’s an alcoholic. He’s ashore now. He’s been ashore all during the engine overhaul. I know where he is, an’ his condition. But he’s on the list, and I’ll get him on board before we sail so they can’t stop me.’
‘What about the second officer?’
‘Luke? Luke is from New Britain. Inshore he’s fine, but not on this run. A fisherman’s son, passed his exams, but can’t be left to navigate an ocean passage. He knows the theory, but panics when he’s out of sight of land.’
‘So you’re on your own.’
‘For the run to Bougainville, yes. Coming over, I was five nights on the bridge. Five bloo’y nights with no sleep.’ He straightened up, leaning forward, his voice urgent again as he said, ‘Well, is it a deal? You sign on as a deckie, as one of the crew; then once we’re at sea I make you an acting ship’s officer, okay? There’s no union where I come from, so no problem, and that way, if anything goes wrong, I’m covered.’
‘Nothing I’d like better.’
He laughed then, suddenly relaxed as he reached for the bottle and poured me a stiff drink, slopping some of it on to the table in his excitement. He tipped the rest of the bottle into his own glass, then raised it. ‘Welcome aboard, Mr Slingsby. If you’re what you seem, then for once I’ll have had a slice of luck.’ He gulped down most of his whisky. ‘Bit of a change, that. Luck and I don’t seem to have been on speaking terms for a long while.’
We finished the whisky, and as I was about to leave, I asked him whether he had ever come across an aborigine half-caste named Lewis. But the name meant nothing to him, and he had never heard of Black Holland. ‘Red Holland, yes — but no’ Black Holland. No blacks, only mixeds in my fam’ly.’ And he gave a drunken titter. He tried to get up to see me off, but by then he was almost out on his feet. Slumped back on the settle again, he pulled himself together sufficiently to say, ‘See you Friday morning.’ And then with a great effort, ‘You meant it, didn’t you? ’Bout standing watch.’