* * *
The captain and his mates were already at the table the next day when Mr .Letterman bustled in. He seemed even more talkative than usual, but halfway through the meal he paused and said, thoughtfully, “I had a strange experience last evening.”
For a change the others at the table hung on his words, waiting breathlessly for him to go on.
“I was just about to get into bed when someone knocked at my door. ‘Who is it?’ I asked. ‘It’s the radio operator,’ came the reply. ‘What do you want?’ I asked, and he said, ‘Could I speak to you for a moment?’”
“Well, I was puzzled, but I slipped on my bathrobe and opened the door, and the young man said, ‘Excuse me, sir, but would you like to send any radio messages?’ Which struck me as very amusing. I’d have laughed in his face, but I didn’t want to hurt the poor boy’s feelings, so I simply said, ‘Thank you so much for thinking of me, but I don’t care to send any messages.’ I must say, he looked at me quite oddly, as if he were embarrassed, so I simply said ‘Good night,’ and shut the door.”
“That damned fool,” the captain cried.
“He’s young, Mister Letterman,” the doctor said. “I suspect he thought that with Christmas approaching you might want to send someone holiday greetings.”
“Oh, I took no offense,” Randolph said with a little laugh, and launched into one of his more interminable stories.
* * *
When Randolph had gone, the captain sent for the radio operator. “You fool,” he berated him. “What on earth made you ask Mister Letterman if he wanted to send any messages?”
“But you told me to act naturally. That’s what I do, is send messages. I didn’t’ know what else to say.”
“Idiot. The man is homosexual, and you are young and handsome. I put it to you, the honor of Germany is in your hands. Now, try again tonight, and do think of something a little more appropriate to say.”
That night there was again a knock at Randolph’s door. “It’s Peter, the radio operator,” came the reply when Randolph asked who it was. “I have a message for you.”
“For me?” Randolph was astonished. He could think of no reason for anyone to be sending him a message—unless the worst had happened and his shop had burned to the ground.
“Slip it under the door,” he said, “and I’ll write an answer and slip it back to you.”
When he read the message that was slipped under the door, however, his head swam and he had to fetch his spectacles and read it again to be certain he wasn’t mistaken.
“Merry Christmas. Stop. I am in love with you. Stop. I want to be with you. Stop. Please, let me come in. Stop.”
For the longest time Randolph could only stare at the slip of paper in his hands. He was aware of a tumultuous silence from the other side of the door. Finally, he took off his glasses and laid them on the dresser, and reached for the knob.
“Come in, please,” he said.
* * *
The next day was Christmas Eve. The stewards had decorated the dining room and the Christmas tree stood lighted on a table against the wall. The officers were in a festive mood when Mr. Letterman came in, a little later than was his custom. When the others greeted him, he merely nodded in return. He ate well, but said hardly a word the whole time.
Finally, the captain said, “You’re very quiet today, Mister Letterman.”
“I have things on my mind,” was all he would say. “Could I have a bit more of that gravy, Doctor? And some more potatoes, I think.”
The captain inwardly breathed a sigh of relief and congratulated himself on what he now saw as his cleverness in discovering a solution to their problem.
After dinner the entire crew gathered to sing Christmas carols. Randolph sang with them in a pleasant tenor. Once or twice the doctor caught him looking at the radio operator with an expression that the doctor could only think was bewilderment.
The captain had produced a very nice champagne. Everyone drank a little more than might have been wise, and they were all a little tipsy by the time they said good night, but Randolph, who had matched them drink for drink, managed to walk quite steadily to his own cabin.
When the officers sat down to lunch the following day, they found that Mr. Letterman was already seated. At each place he had left a small parcel. The men gave Randolph questioning glances.
“You have all been so kind,” he said, “I wanted to give each of you a present. I’m afraid they aren’t very much.”
The captain found some fine Cuban cigars in his package. The doctor got a half-dozen silk handkerchiefs, the mate a bottle of cologne, and the engineer a pair of ties. When Randolph had retired to his cabin after the meal was ended, the officers looked a bit uncomfortably at one another while they fingered their gifts.
“I feel a little guilty for playing that trick on Mister Letterman,” the mate said at last.
“He is a good old soul,” the captain said. “I doubt he could afford these presents. I wish now we’d left him alone.”
“It wouldn’t have hurt us any to listen to his chatter for another couple of weeks,” the engineer said. Randolph had spoken hardly at all throughout the meal.
“Maybe he’s ill,” the captain said.
The doctor scoffed. “He’s eating like a she-bear. I think on the contrary the man’s been cured of what was ailing him. But,” he raised an eyebrow in the captain’s direction, “you could always speak to the radio operator.”
The captain turned red. “I think that would be indelicate.” The truth was, he was a little ashamed now of forcing the radio operator to do something that had clearly been against his nature.
* * *
For the rest of the trip, the crew treated Mr. Letterman with the utmost consideration. He might have been convalescing after a lengthy illness, and they the nursing staff, charged with looking after him. They competed with one another to see who could be the most charming, the most entertaining.
Despite their efforts, Randolph did not revert to his former loquacity. To the doctor it appeared as if Mr. Letterman treated them all with a sort of polite disdain. He seemed to find them and their efforts amiable, but the doctor couldn’t help feeling he also found them a trifle ridiculous.
At last they chugged into Los Angeles harbor. The captain came to bid his lone passenger farewell. “I hope we’ve made you comfortable,” he said, shaking Randolph’s hand and thinking that a peck on the cheek might have served better, if he could have summoned the courage to do so.
“You’ve all been so very kind to me,” Randolph said. “I shall never forget this time spent with you. I think it’s changed my life for me.”
It was with an undeniable regret that the officers saw their Mr. Letterman disembark from the
Princess of the Andes.
They were neither loading nor unloading cargo at this port on this occasion, however, and no sooner had their passenger left the ship than the captain turned her around and started for the open sea again. They had a load of timber to pick up along the Oregon coast, and they were already a little behind schedule.
They were no more than half an hour out of port when the mate rushed into the captain’s quarters.
“We’ll have to turn around and go back,” he said without preamble. “That damned radio operator has jumped ship. He’ll have to be replaced.”