I Am Lazarus (Peter Owen Modern Classic) (14 page)

The party went on gaily. Everybody was friendly towards A; the captain in particular never stopped joking with her and saying how glad he would be of her company on the voyage. A had no idea of the time, though it seemed to her that it must be getting late. As soon as she emptied her glass it was at once filled up again. Perhaps this was why she hardly noticed the others drifting away one by one until she suddenly realized that she was alone with the captain whose mouth was just opening in a gigantic yawn. Ashamed of having stayed for so long, A jumped to her feet. Presumably it was the liquor that made her feel all at once stupid and dazed so that she hardly knew what she was doing there with the yawning, alcoholic captain in the stuffy cabin full of smoke and cigarette ends and dirty glasses. She did not know the time; she did not know whether the boat had started to move; she did not even know the way to her own berth. Standing there stupidly like that she must
have wondered what in the world had come over her to make her forget her precarious position and behave in such an imprudent way: at the very start of the voyage, too, when heaven knows what serious consequences might follow.

This was the moment at which the door started to open and someone came into the cabin. In her stupefied state A could not at first remember where she had seen that round face and light moustache. All at once it dawned on her that they belonged to the official whom she had first interviewed, the one who had been so helpful and friendly. But how could it be he? What could he be doing here when all the officials had left the different departments long ago and were at home with their families? It seemed to be the same man and yet A was not absolutely certain. The official – if it really was the official – had altered his appearance by putting on a heavy, shapeless sort of a raincoat that almost reached to the ground, and he was wearing besides a hat with a soft brim pulled well over his face. He did not take off his hat although it was sodden with rain, but looked silently, and as A thought, critically, from A herself to the captain who seemed to be falling asleep on a narrow settee fixed against the wall. For her part, A was too flabbergasted to do anything but gape foolishly until the newcomer abruptly stepped over to her and said, I'm afraid you won't be able to sail after all. There has been a hitch.

What sort of a hitch? Can't anything be done to put it right? A wanted to know. But the other, instead of answering, merely told her that she would have to collect her luggage and get off the ship at once. At once: Do you understand? was the last thing he said, looking keenly at A from the shadow of the dark hat brim, just before he went out of the door.

If one is to analyse the affair it is extremely important to get an exact picture of the official's behaviour, to know the precise tone in which he spoke, and so on. But unfortunately A's impressions are inadequate. All she repeats in response to questioning is that the man did not seem angry or hostile and that he didn't take up a condemnatory attitude. His voice, apparently, was rather cold and emphatic; quite different from his cordial way of talking earlier in
the day. But this might be expected from anyone called out late at night, in the rain, on a disagreeable errand. The question arises in one's mind, naturally, as to why the official – if indeed that was who it was – should take this task on himself instead of delegating it to one of his subordinates. At once, and with the added support of A's own uncertainty, one begins to doubt the identity of the messenger. On the other hand, we know that the authorities do often act in astonishing and incomprehensible ways, attaching the highest importance to matters which we think trivial, and vice versa. It appears to me injudicious to draw any conclusion from the data available.

The official's departure seems to have roused the captain, for as soon as the other man was out of the cabin he started up from his doze and asked what had been going on. A began to explain, but before she'd spoken more than a few words the captain impatiently interrupted her, just as if he'd really heard everything for himself, and in a boasting, blustering sort of way told her to pay no attention to what had happened but to stay where she was. Even in the midst of her dismay and confusion A thought this conduct very odd, and it made an unfavourable impression on her so that she wondered if the old man could have been shamming drowsiness for his own ends. With this suspicion added to everything else she was in a great hurry to get away. It seemed to her that after her original ill-advised behaviour every minute she spent on the ship now must be jeopardizing her position with the authorities still further. Without really listening to the other's noisy arguments she unceremoniously wished him good-bye and hurried out into a passage which was quite dark except for the tiny gleam of a blue bulb further along. A hadn't the faintest idea which way to go so it was lucky for her that the cabin door behind her opened again, lighting up the companion-way and her suitcase lying at the bottom of it just as she had left it when she first came on board. Her one idea now was to get ashore as quickly as possible. She did not even glance at the captain who, blocking up most of the doorway with his bulk, was bombastically advising her to do as he said, and repeating, with a queer mixture of aggressiveness and persuasion, that A had better
sail while she had the chance. A did not answer him, but simply snatched up her suitcase and ran for the steps. The old man's voice followed her for a few seconds; it sounded either threatening or derisive, she wasn't sure which. As she reached the deck she heard a door bang and then everything became silent.

There were no lights showing anywhere on the ship, but a faint luminosity came from the sky so that it was just possible for A to see where she was going. A few lonely looking lamps were spaced at long intervals down the quay and near them various dark surfaces could be seen glistening with the fine rain that was persistently falling. The tall policeman had gone although the gangway was still in position: the whole place was deserted. Standing on the quay, A looked back at the black silent hulk she had just left. She was struck by the complete absence of movement or light: a ship on the point of sailing ought surely to be a scene of bustle, but here there was no sign of life. It seems that a notion came to her then that perhaps the ship had never been really intended to sail that night; perhaps it would not sail at all; perhaps it was not even a real ship, but one of those dummy ships which one sometimes sees used as waterside restaurants at holiday resorts. When the official had pointed it out from his window it had looked real enough. But how could A be sure that it was not some other ship she had seen from the window?

Preoccupied with these thoughts she walked the whole length of the quay without meeting a single soul. High solid gates barred the exit, and, as she approached, a policeman came out of a sort of guardroom on the left, flashing a torch which lighted up the falling raindrops like sparks. A recognized him as one of the men who had admitted her earlier on, and for an instant this seemed a good omen; but then she thought it might be unfortunate.

A had been through a wearing time and she has described the sense of deep exhaustion that came over her as she began to tell the policeman what had occurred. Now it seemed to her that whole days must have passed since she had been to bed; she felt as if she were almost falling asleep on her feet; and her voice, too, sounded, she thought, like someone talking in his sleep. She didn't look in the
man's face as she was speaking, but past him, at the door of the guardroom which was ajar and beyond which firelight flickered and several people seemed to be moving about.

So you must open the gate and let me go out again into the town, she finished up: but she wasn't at all surprised when the other refused to do anything of the kind. Indeed, she would have been more surprised if the man had agreed, her own voice sounded so sleepy and unconvincing.

You can't go out, the policeman said in rather a truculent way. Your papers have been stamped and officially you've left the country.

But you see, that's really absurd, A replied mildly.

Without any impatience she repeated everything she had said before. This time her words seemed to make more impression because the policeman, instead of giving a flat refusal, muttered something about consulting some officer and stumped back into the guardroom again.

A did not in the least resent being left standing there in the rain. She felt quite apathetic, resigned to everything, even to her own weariness. With rain dripping off her hat she stood staring at the guardroom door which was now so nearly shut that only a thin golden streak outlined three sides of it. It must be nice and snug inside there, she thought (just as if some peaceful domestic haven were behind the door), just as a child thinks, without taking the thought any further.

Voices rose and fell indistinguishably inside the guardroom. A began to imagine that time must have stopped and that she was fated to stand for ever, with her suitcase beside her on the wet paving stones, exactly as she stood now. Then the door was pushed wide open. This time it was not the policeman who came out but a man wearing a soft hat pulled well over his face. A started out of her lethargy for a second. But after all, she thought, anybody would pull his hat down on such a wet night – she had done so herself— and besides this man was of much slighter build than the other.

She stepped forward, prepared to recite her piece for the third time, but the stranger lifted his hand in a silencing gesture. She could not see his face at all but she felt herself being scrutinized closely.
Apparently the man was satisfied with what he saw, for he presently turned round and re-entered the guardroom without having said a word; and in a minute or two the policeman came out, scowling into the rain, and hastily unfastened the gate. Too tired to speak, A picked up her suitcase and stumbled outside. Just as the gate was closing she took one last look along the quay towards the ship she had left. Perhaps even now at the last minute she expected to see the vessel ablaze with light, with sailors shouting to one another and running about: but it was all dark and still as the grave. To-morrow everything will be straightened out, was her final thought as she fell like a log on to the bed in a cheap travellers’ hotel which luckily was still open near by. But probably she didn't believe this even then.

If A had ever seriously imagined that her affairs would be quickly arranged, her hopes must have vanished next day as soon as she entered the department on the third floor. The clerks who yesterday had received her so courteously, this morning seemed to have been waiting with quite different feelings for her to appear, and her arrival was the signal for a general outburst of suppressed giggling and choking and grimacing and leg-slapping. No sooner had she shut the door after her than the chief clerk got up from his desk and came up with a half mincing, half strutting gait that was intentionally provocative. He was a dark, frizzy haired, fancily dressed young man who looked as though he had native blood in him.

So you didn't get away after all, he said, leaning on the wooden barrier and staring at A insolently out of his prominent brown eyes. The two of them were so close together that A had an excellent view of his white shantung tie printed with a palm-leaf design. The opening phrase had evidently been prearranged, for the other clerks stopped their antics and sat silently goggling.

I want to see the head of the department as soon as possible, A said. She knew that to show any sign of irritation would simply delay matters so she forced herself to speak peaceably. Please let him know that I'm here. It's urgent.

You're in a great hurry all at once, aren't you? the chief clerk remarked. He pulled a pencil out of the bush of black hair over his ear and tapped it against his front teeth in a specially annoying way,
never taking his eyes off A's face. Now that you've condescended to turn up, he added.

The fact was that A had overslept after her exhausting experiences on the previous day; nobody had called her, and it was now getting on towards noon. However, she didn't see any need to explain this to the chief clerk, so she merely replied that she had come as soon as she could.

What made you change your mind at the last moment about sailing? asked the young man. He made no attempt to move, but, as A didn't answer, suddenly adopted an openly sneering attitude. I suppose you lost your nerve and couldn't take it when it came to the point.

Luckily A had enough restraint to control herself. She knew that to start bandying words with the clerks was the worst mistake she could make, and that if she once allowed herself to be drawn into an altercation she might never get beyond the outer office at all. As she came in she had happened to notice an old newspaper lying on the bench provided for people waiting for interviews. Turning away now in disgust, she sat down, unfolded the crumpled paper, and held it wide open in front of her. The paper screened her from the clerks’ impudent faces even though it couldn't shut out the noises they made. The whole office had begun to indulge in puerile jeering and joking at her expense. Seeing that A didn't show fight but remained inscrutable behind her newspaper the taunts grew louder and ruder. She's yellow; Got cold feet; Hasn't got what it takes; Quitter; Rat, were some of the gibes she was forced to listen to, accompanied by subdued catcalls, boos, hisses and other offensive sounds.

This was just the sort of situation that the clerks in our official departments always delight in, and of course they were determined to make the most of it. Like the rest of their kind, they derived the keenest amusement from mocking a poor victim who happened to be at their mercy. They're all the same, the clerks in these offices, an irresponsible, spiteful, childish, scatterbrained crew. One wonders why on earth the authorities put up with them. But not only is their mischievous conduct countenanced by their superiors, but it's as if they were actually encouraged in it: in fact, it almost seems to be one
of the official requirements. I've often noticed how, when a well behaved lad enters such a department, his whole character changes immediately; he loses his good manners, neglects his family, becomes flighty, quarrelsome and malicious, and spends all his spare time swaggering about with his fellows. Perhaps the clerks aren't really bad at heart but simply spoilt, thoughtless and conceited. No doubt they do work very hard at times – the enormous mass of official documentation witnesses to that – and the sedentary indoor life impairs their health to a certain extent. But when one has made allowance for these facts it's still difficult to see why they should be privileged to abuse their position as they do and to torment unfortunate people who have quite enough troubles to bear already.