‘François.’ I began to stand up.
‘Yeah.’
Aloft once more I fell into a troubled sleep, dreaming of Brodmann disguising himself as Hernikof and summoning vengeful Cossacks to torture and kill me. Waking from this I deliberately recalled the strong thighs, the red, eager lips of my Leda, her magnificent Slavic breasts, her hair, the sweep of her spine, the curve of her backside. Sex has always helped me to soothe away my fears. I became increasingly willing to risk a night or two in the Baroness’s company. The consequences, after all, would not be considerable, even if she did turn against me. And would it be any more than I deserved? I was guilty of dreadful greed in my desire to possess Mrs Cornelius as well as Leda Nicolayevna. How could I forget the bargain I had made with my one friend in all the world; the person who had saved my life more than once: my Guardian Angel? Sometimes, even now, when Mrs Cornelius and I have known carnal love, I recall that incident with shame. I am not a monster. But I suppose it is in all of us to behave like a monster occasionally. Looking back, I blame Hernikof. When those about you are cynical and assume your motives to be as cynical as theirs, sometimes you behave as they do. We are all social creatures, unconsciously moved by the desires and expectations of our fellows. I am no different to anyone else. I have never claimed to be.
Now I understand my behaviour a little better. Unquestionably I was still within the nightmare. It takes more than a week or two at sea to dissipate the reaction to years of familiar terror. Terror truly becomes an old friend. One misses him. The sudden absence of threat can be almost as traumatic as the loss of security. For the same reasons, small wars frequently follow hard on the conclusion of larger wars. Any habit, no matter how self-destructive, is hard to lose, particularly when it is never fully acknowledged. Perhaps, too, something happens to the body-chemistry when so much adrenalin is frequently summoned. We have all seen the small dog rescued from the fangs of the larger beast; frequently he will turn and fasten his teeth in the wrist of his benefactor. My love for Mrs Cornelius was far more spiritual than it was physical, though of course she was extraordinarily sensual. I was equally special to her, I know. She did not at that time wish to risk the destruction of our relationship by introducing common lust into it. She told me this many, many years later. I understand that perfectly now, of course. On the Rio Cruz. however, I found myself frequently baffled.
Next morning I got up as usual and went on deck. The air was considerably warmer and the light spray refreshed me. Two or three seamen were at work polishing our brass and scrubbing our decks almost as if they prepared for a special event. The sun shone through patchy, fast-moving cloud. I fancied I could smell the coasts of Asia, though I knew it would be some time before we sighted Batoum. The wounded English officer nodded to me as he limped past, leaning on his walking stick, his face pale with pain, his Indian batman a pace or two behind him, showing poorly-disguised concern for his master. The woman with the cards, my own personal Moira, played on, her black shawl rising and falling on her shoulders like the wings of a lazy scavenger. And the Jew Hernikof was there, offering a feeble grin, as if our contact of last night had made us boon friends. There was something about his features which still reminded me of the pathetic Brodmann. I did not want trouble. I nodded to him distantly and tried to walk on. But he followed. He was eager. ‘I hope you weren’t offended by anything I said last night. I can’t remember too clearly. I suppose I’m not completely recovered. I’m normally not much of a drinker, anyway.’
‘It’s of no importance.’ To escape, I began to climb the metal ladder to the forecastle. He clucked like a sick chicken and his feet moved involuntarily as if scratching gravel. Evidently he was frustrated at not being able to follow me.
‘I think I might have lost my usual sense of decorum. The experiences were painful, you know.’ His voice was hoarse, even desperate, as he craned his neck.
‘We have all had them.’ I reached the forecastle and peered down at him. There was nowhere else to go. At my back was the sea, parting in white foam before the bow.
‘Oh, of course.’ Again the hesitant grimace of a smile. ‘They will never end, I suppose, for the likes of us.’
I was offended by his presumptive claim to be Russian. As I turned away I heard him say: ‘Der Krieg ist endlos. Das Beste, was wir erhoffen können, sind gelegenliche Augenblicke der Ruhe inmitten des Kampfes.’
I understood him perfectly but chose to tell him coldly and in Russian, ‘I do not speak Yiddish.’
He protested. ‘It is German. I gathered you’re a linguist.’ He blinked, too short-sighted to see me properly yet trying to read my expression.
I became furious, ‘Is this a test, M. Hernikof? Do you think I am not what I say I am? Do you suspect I’m an agent provocateur? A Boche? A Red?’
He pretended innocence. ‘Of course not!’
‘Then please do not pursue me about this ship shouting at me in foreign languages.’
As he turned away his lips were trembling. Had I not guessed his intentions I might have felt pity for him. But he meant me no good. Also it was not in my interest to be seen hobnobbing with someone of his persuasion. Later it occurred to me that because of my dark hair and brown eyes he believed me a co-religionist; not the first time such a mistake had been made. The same looks were once likened to those of the Tsarevitch himself! Were the Tsar and his family Jewish? Friends have told me all my life I should not take such misunderstandings to heart. But it is a cruel thing, and sometimes dangerous, to be the victim of that particular error. On occasions it almost cost me my life. I was able to escape only by means of sharp wits, excellent credentials and a little good fortune.
After breakfast I joined Leda as usual. She was sitting outside the dining-saloon beneath the shadow of a lifeboat which swung gently in its davits. The sun was beginning to shine quite strongly and she held up her face as if a pale ray or two could warm her. She smiled at me. She pushed back her heavy hair so that the sun might touch as much of her flesh as possible. ‘Good morning. Maxim Arturovitch.’ We were always formal on such occasions. I lifted my hat and asked if I might bring a deckchair to sit next to her. I think she could see I was disturbed. ‘Did you sleep badly?’ Her strong hand moved a fraction towards me. She straightened herself a little. ‘Only for want of you,’ I whispered. Kitty came running up. She wore a maroon coat with matching hat and gloves. ‘Will you play with me today, Maxim Arturovitch? I’m beginning to think you don’t love me any more!’ I was frequently struck, as now, by her remarkable resemblance to her mother. For a moment I was filled with enormous lust.
Leda laughed. ‘You’re a bad girl, Kitty. A flirt! What will become of you?’ Yet I was forced to be her donkey, galloping round the deck two or three times with her warm little thighs pressed into my waist before I feigned exhaustion. When I returned to my chair I found Hernikof balanced against the bulkhead. He was chatting to the Baroness who, well-mannered as always, seemed perfectly happy to give him the time of day. I seated myself without a word and pretended total concentration upon a paper aeroplane for the little girl, delighting in the sensation of her lovely, delicate flesh leaning against my own. I was so enraptured that I hardly noticed Hernikof leave.
‘That poor man,’ said Leda. ‘You have heard his story I suppose.’
‘I’ve heard a thousand like it. That poor man is, at best, an opportunist. I’ve been trying to shake him off since last night.’
‘He’s lonely.’ She had that streak of philosemitism so familiar in romantic German women of the same generation and since I had no wish to upset her I remained silent. It was not impossible, I thought, that her own husband’s origins had a touch or two of the Levant in them. ‘He’s a bore.’ I finished the aeroplane and handed it to Kitty. The child immediately launched it into the wind. It disappeared on the other side of the bridge and she ran off in pursuit. Leda was laughing. ‘You’re certainly out of sorts today. Have I offended you?’