The Favorite Short Stories of W. Somerset Maugham (64 page)

“I’m not afraid,” she said.

“I daresay. But if you have your throat cut I shall get into trouble, and besides, we’re so short-handed I don’t want to risk losing your help.”

“Then let Mr Wilson come with me. He knows the natives better than anyone and can speak all their dialects.”

“Ginger Ted?” The Controleur stared at her. “He’s just getting over an attack of D.T.s.”

“I know,” she answered.

“You know a great deal, Miss Jones.”

Even though the moment was so serious Mr Gruyter could not but smile. He gave her a sharp look, but she met it coolly.

“There’s nothing like responsibility for bringing out what there is in a man, and I think something like this may be the making of him.”

“Do you think it would be wise to trust yourself for days at a time to a man of such infamous character?” said the missionary.

“I put my trust in God,” she answered gravely.

“Do you think he’d be any use?” asked the Controleur. “You know what he is.”

“I’m convinced of it.” Then she blushed. “After all, no one knows better than I that he’s capable of self-control.”

The Controleur bit his lip.

“Let’s send for him.”

He gave a message to the sergeant and in a few minutes Ginger Ted stood before them. He looked ill. He had evidently been much shaken by his recent attack and his nerves were all to pieces. He was in rags and he had not shaved for a week. No one could have looked more disreputable.

“Look here, Ginger,” said the Controleur, “it’s about this cholera business. We’ve got to force the natives to take precautions and we want you to help us.”

“Why the hell should I?”

“No reason at all. Except philanthropy.”

“Nothing doing, Controleur. I’m not a philanthropist.”

“That settles that. That was all. You can go.”

But as Ginger Ted turned to the door Miss Jones stopped him.

“It was my suggestion, Mr Wilson. You see, they want me to go to Labobo and Sakunchi, and the natives there are so funny I was afraid to go alone. I thought if you came I should be safer.”

He gave her a look of extreme distaste.

“What do you suppose I care if they cut your throat?”

Miss Jones looked at him and her eyes filled with tears. She began to cry. He stood and watched her stupidly.

“There’s no reason why you should.” She pulled herself together and dried her eyes. “I’m being silly. I shall be all right. I’ll go alone.”

“It’s damned foolishness for a woman to go to Labobo.”

She gave him a little smile.

“I daresay it is, but you see, it’s my job and I can’t help myself. I’m sorry if I offended you by asking you. You must forget about it. I daresay it wasn’t quite fair to ask you to take such a risk.”

For quite a minute Ginger Ted stood and looked at her. He shifted from one foot to the other. His surly face seemed to grow black.

“Oh, hell, have it your own way,” he said at last. “I’ll come with you. When d’you want to start?”

They set out next day, with drugs and disinfectants, in the Government launch. Mr Gruyter as soon as he had put the necessary work in order was to start off in a prahu in the other direction. For four months the epidemic raged. Though everything possible was done to localize it, one island after another was attacked. The Controleur was busy from morning to night. He had no sooner got back to Baru from one or other of the islands to do what was necessary there than he had to set off again. He distributed food and medicine. He cheered the terrified people. He supervised everything. He worked like a dog. He saw nothing of Ginger Ted, but he heard from Mr Jones that the experiment was working out beyond all hopes. The scamp was behaving himself. He had a way with the natives; and by cajolery, firmness, and on occasion the use of his fist, managed to make them take the steps necessary for their own safety. Miss Jones could congratulate herself on the success of the scheme. But the Controleur was too tired to be amused. When the epidemic had run its course he rejoiced because out of a population of eight thousand only six hundred had died.

Finally he was able to give the district a clean bill of health.

One evening he was sitting in his sarong on the veranda of his house and he read a French novel with the happy consciousness that once more he could take things easy. His head boy came in and told him that Ginger Ted wished to see him. He got up from his chair and shouted to him to come in. Company was just what he wanted. It had crossed the Controleur’s mind that it would be pleasant to get drunk that night, but it is dull to get drunk alone, and he had regretfully put the thought aside. And heaven had sent Ginger Ted in the nick of time. By God, they would make a night of it. After four months they deserved a bit of fun. Ginger Ted entered. He was wearing a clean suit of white ducks. He was shaved. He looked another man.

“Why, Ginger, you look as if you’d been spending a month at a health resort instead of nursing a pack of natives dying of cholera. And look at your clothes. Have you just stepped out of a band-box?”

Ginger Ted smiled rather sheepishly. The head boy brought two bottles of beer and poured them out.

“Help yourself, Ginger,” said the Controleur as he took his glass.

“I don’t think I’ll have any, thank you.”

The Controleur put down his glass and looked at Ginger Ted with amazement.

“Why, what’s the matter? Aren’t you thirsty?”

“I don’t mind having a cup of tea.”

“A cup of what?”

“I’m on the wagon. Martha and I are going to be married.”

“Ginger!”

The Controleur’s eyes popped out of his head. He scratched his shaven pate.

“You can’t marry Miss Jones,” he said. “No one could marry Miss Jones.”

“Well, I’m going to. That’s what I’ve come to see you about. Owen’s going to marry us in chapel, but we want to be married by Dutch law as well.”

“A joke’s a joke, Ginger. What’s the idea?”

“She wanted it. She fell for me that night we spent on the island when the propeller broke. She’s not a bad old girl when you get to know her. It’s her last chance, if you understand what I mean, and I’d like to do something to oblige her. And she wants someone to take care of her, there’s no doubt about that.”

“Ginger, Ginger, before you can say knife she’ll make you into a damned missionary.”

“I don’t know that I’d mind that so much if we had a little mission of our own. She says I’m a bloody marvel with the natives. She says I can do more with a native in five minutes than Owen can do in a year. She says she’s never known anyone with the magnetism I have. It seems a pity to waste a gift like that.”

The Controleur looked at him without speaking and slowly nodded his head three or four times. She’d nobbled him all right.

“I’ve converted seventeen already,” said Ginger Ted.

“You? I didn’t know you believed in Christianity.”

“Well, I don’t know that I did exactly, but when I talked to “em and they just came into the fold like a lot of blasted sheep, well, it gave me quite a turn. Blimey, I said, I daresay there’s something in it after all.”

“You should have raped her, Ginger. I wouldn’t have been hard on you. I wouldn’t have given you more than three years and three years is soon over.”

“Look here, Controleur, don’t you ever let on that the thought never entered my head. Women are touchy, you know, and she’d be as sore as hell if she knew that.”

“I guessed she’d got her eye on you, but I never thought it would come to this.” The Controleur in an agitated manner walked up and down the veranda. “Listen to me, old boy,” he said after an interval of reflection, “we’ve had some grand times together and a friend’s a friend. I’ll tell you what I’ll do, I’ll lend you the launch and you can go and hide on one of the islands till the next ship comes along and then I’ll get “em to slow down and take you on board. You’ve only got one chance now and that’s to cut and run.” Ginger Ted shook his head.

“It’s no good, Controleur, I know you mean well, but I’m going to marry the blasted woman, and that’s that. You don’t know the joy of bringing all them bleeding sinners to repentance, and Christ! that girl can make a treacle pudding. I haven’t eaten a better one since I was a kid.”

The Controleur was very much disturbed. The drunken scamp was his only companion on the islands and he did not want to lose him. He discovered that he had even a certain affection for him. Next day he went to see the missionary.

“What’s this I hear about your sister marrying Ginger Ted?” he asked him. “It’s the most extraordinary thing I’ve ever heard in my life.”

“It’s true nevertheless.”

“You must do something about it. It’s madness.”

“My sister is of full age and entitled to do as she pleases.”

“But you don’t mean to tell me you approve of it. You know Ginger Ted. He’s a bum and there are no two ways about it. Have you told her the risk she’s running? I mean, bringing sinners to repentance and all that sort of thing’s all right, but there are limits. And does the leopard ever change his spots?”

Then for the first time in his life the Controleur saw a twinkle in the missionary’s eye.

“My sister is a very determined woman, Mr Gruyter,” he replied. “From that night they spent on the island he never had a chance.”

The Controleur gasped. He was as surprised as the prophet when the Lord opened the mouth of the ass, and she said unto Balaam, What have I done unto thee, that thou hast smitten me these three times? Perhaps Mr Jones was human after all.

“Allejezus
!” muttered the Controleur.

Before anything more could be said Miss Jones swept into the room. She was radiant. She looked ten years younger. Her cheeks were flushed and her nose was hardly red at all.

“Have you come to congratulate me, Mr Gruyter?” she cried, and her manner was sprightly and girlish. “You see, I was right after all. Everyone has some good in them. You don’t know how splendid Edward has been all through this terrible time. He’s a hero. He’s a saint. Even I was surprised.”

“I hope you’ll be very happy, Miss Jones.”

“I know I shall. Oh, it would be wicked of me to doubt it. For it is the Lord who has brought us together.”

“Do you think so?”

“I know it. Don’t you see? Except for the cholera Edward would never have found himself. Except for the cholera we should never have learnt to know one another. I have never seen the hand of God more plainly manifest.”

The Controleur could not but think that it was rather a clumsy device to bring those two together that necessitated the death of six hundred innocent persons, but not being well versed in the ways of omnipotence he made no remark.

“You’ll never guess where we’re going for our honeymoon,” said Miss Jones, perhaps a trifle archly. “Java.”

“No, if you’ll lend us the launch, we’re going to that island where we were marooned. It has very tender recollections for both of us. It was there that I first guessed how fine and good Edward was. It’s there I want him to have his reward.”

The Controleur caught his breath. He left quickly, for he thought that unless he had a bottle of beer at once he would have a fit. He was never so shocked in his life.

T
HEY
got a first-class carriage to themselves. It was lucky, because they were taking a good deal in with them, Alban’s suit-case and a hold-all, Anne’s dressing-case and her hat-box. They had two trunks in the van, containing what they wanted immediately, but all the rest of their luggage Alban had put in the care of an agent who was to take it up to London and store it till they had made up their minds what to do. They had a lot, pictures and books, curios that Alban had collected in the East, his guns and saddles. They had left Sondurah for ever. Alban, as was his way, tipped the porter generously and then went to the bookstall and bought papers. He bought the
New Statesman
and the
Nation,
and the
Tatler
and the
Sketch,
and the last number of the
London Mercury.
He came back to the carriage and threw them on the seat.

“It’s only an hour’s journey,” said Anne.

“I know, but I wanted to buy them. I’ve been starved so long. Isn’t it grand to think that tomorrow morning we shall have tomorrow’s
Times
, and the
Express
and the
Mail?”

She did not answer and he turned away, for he saw coming towards them two persons, a man and his wife, who had been fellow-passengers from Singapore.

“Get through the Customs all right?” he cried to them cheerily.

The man seemed not to hear, for he walked straight on, but the woman answered.

“Yes, they never found the cigarettes.”

She saw Anne, gave her a friendly little smile, and passed on. Anne flushed.

“I was afraid they’d want to come in here,” said Alban. “Let’s have the carriage to ourselves if we can.”