Sea Of Poppies Part 31

'Yes, Miss Lambert.'

Paulette went closer to the duct. 'Is there something you wish to say?'

'Only that I wish you all success for tonight: for your brother's sake and mine, and indeed for all of us.'

'I will do what I can, Mr Halder.'

'I do not doubt it for a moment, Miss Lambert. If anyone could succeed in this delicate mission it is none other than you. Your brother has told us something of your story and I confess I am amazed. You are a woman of extraordinary talent, Miss Lambert - a genius in a way. Your performance so far has been so fine, so true, as not to be an impersonation at all. I would never have thought my eye, or my ear, could have been thus deceived - and that too, by a firangin, a Frenchwoman.'

'But I am none of those things, Mr Halder,' protested Paulette. 'There is nothing untrue about the person who stands here. Is it forbidden for a human being to manifest themselves in many different aspects?'

'Evidently not. I hope very much, Miss Lambert, that we will meet again somewhere, and in happier circ.u.mstances.'

'I hope so too, Mr Halder. And when we do, I trust you will call me Paulette - or Putli, as Jodu does. But should you wish to call me Pugli, that too is not an ident.i.ty that I would disown.'

'And I, Miss Paulette, would ask you to call me Neel - except that if we do meet again, I suspect I will have had to change my name. But until then, in any event, I wish you farewell. And bon courage.'

And to you too. Bhalo thakben.

Paulette had no sooner sat down than she was summoned to the air duct by Jodu: Putli, it's time; you've got to change and get ready. Mamdootindal's going to let you out in a few minutes.

At midnight, when his watch ended, Zachary changed into a set of dry clothes and fell into his bunk fully dressed - in a blow like this one, there was no knowing when he'd be needed on deck. Apart from the single storm-sail there was not a st.i.tch aloft on the schooner's masts, but the wind was blowing so hard that the sound of this one square of cloth was like that of a ma.s.sed chorus of sail. From the violence with which his bunk was pitching under him, Zachary knew, too, that the Ibis was being buffeted by waves of a good twenty feet or more. The swells were no longer surging over the bulwarks, but cras.h.i.+ng down from above, like breakers pounding a beach, and when the water ran off the decks, it was with a sucking sound, like surf retreating down a slope of sand.

Twice, as he lay on his bunk, Zachary had heard an ominous creak, like that of a spar, or a mast, about to give way, and despite his intentions of getting a good rest, his senses were at a fine pitch of alertness, listening for further signs of damage. This was why the first hint of a knock at his door made him sit up. The cabin was dark, for Zachary had put out his lamp before he lay down; as he was tumbling out of his bunk, the schooner rolled to larboard, throwing him against the door: he would have crashed into it, face first, if he hadn't turned sideways and used his shoulder to soften the impact.

As the schooner was righting itself, he called out: 'Who is it?' Receiving no answer, he pulled the door open.

Steward Pinto had left a single lamp glowing in the cuddy, and by the light of the dim, flickering flame he saw a lascar standing at the door, with his dripping oilskins draped over his arm. He was a wiry, boyish fellow with a bandanna around his head. Zachary didn't recognize him, for his face was in shadow.

'Who're you?' he said. 'What're you doing here?'

Before Zachary could finish, the schooner listed to starboard, sending both of them stumbling into the cabin. As they were wrestling to regain their footing, the door slammed shut and the deck tilted again. All of a sudden, Zachary found himself lying on his bunk, with the lascar beside him. Then, out of the darkness, a whisper made itself heard that all but froze his blood. 'Mr Reid ... Mr Reid ... please ...'

The voice was distantly familiar, but in a way that was profoundly unnerving, in the manner of something so far removed from its proper circ.u.mstance that it could only be an unnatural version of itself. Zachary's voice died in his throat and his skin began to p.r.i.c.kle as the whispering continued. 'Mr Reid, it is I, Paulette Lambert ...'

'What was that?' Zachary would not have been in the least surprised if the presence beside him had disappeared or dematerialized - for what else could it be but a conjuration of his own imaginings? - but this possibility was quickly dismissed, for the voice now repeated its earlier claim: 'Please, Mr Reid ... believe me, it is I, Paulette Lambert.'

'Impossible!'

'Believe me, Mr Reid,' the voice continued in the darkness. 'It is true. I pray you will not be angered, but you should know I have been aboard since the commencement of the voyage - in the 'tween-deck, among the women.'

'No!' Zachary pushed himself sideways, moving as far from her as the bunk would allow. 'I was there when the coolies boarded. I'd'a known.'

'But it is true, Mr Reid. I came aboard with the migrants. It was because of my sari that you did not reconnaisse me.'

He knew now, from her voice, that it really was Paulette - and it occurred to him that surely he ought to be glad to have her there, beside him. But no more than any other sailor did he care to be boarded in the smoke: he had never liked to be taken by surprise, and he found himself growing embarra.s.sed as he considered how ridiculous he must have looked a minute or two ago.

'Well, Miss Lambert,' he said, stiffly. 'If it is you, you've certainly succeeded in making quite a dupe of me.'

'Such was not my intention, Mr Reid. I a.s.sure you.'

'May I ask,' he said, trying to recover his lost composure, 'which one you were - which of the women, that is?'

'Yes, for sure, Mr Reid,' she said eagerly. 'You have seen me many times, but perhaps without noticing: I was often on deck, doing the was.h.i.+ng.' The words were no sooner out of her mouth than she sensed that she'd said too much already - but a mounting nervousness made it impossible for her to stop. 'This very s.h.i.+rt you are wearing now, Mr Reid, I washed it, this and all your ...'

'... dirty linen? Is that what you were going to say?' Zachary was mortified now, and his cheeks began to burn. 'Pray tell me, Miss Lambert,' he said, 'what was it for, all this trickery and deceit? Just to show me up for a fool?'

Paulette was stung by the sharpness of his tone. 'You are much mistaken, Mr Reid,' she said, 'if you imagine that you are the cause of my presence on board. Believe me, it was solely for myself that I did what I have done. It was imperatif for me to leave Calcutta - you know full well the reasons. This was my only means of escape and what I did was no different from what my grand-aunt, Madame Commerson, would have done.'

'Your grand-aunt, Miss Lambert?' said Zachary acidly. 'Why, you have outdone her by far! Indeed you have proved yourself the equal of any chameleon. You have so perfected the arts of impersonation that I should not doubt they have become the very core of your soul.'

Paulette could not understand how this encounter, in which she had invested so much hope and emotion, had turned into such an ugly fencing match. But nor was she one to back down in the face of a challenge. Her response sprang from her lips before she could bite it back: 'Oh, Mr Reid! You allow me more credit than is my due. If I have any equal in impersonation, surely it is none other than yourself?'

Despite the howling of the wind and the crash of the waves outside, there was a strange stillness in the cabin now. Zachary swallowed once, and then cleared his throat: 'So you know?' If his imposture had been announced from the truck of the mainmast, he could not have felt more exposed, more completely a charlatan than he did then.

'Oh forgive me!' - he could hear her choking on her words - 'oh, forgive me, I did not mean ...'

'Nor did I, Miss Lambert, mean to deceive you in the matter of my race. On the few occasions when we were able to speak to each other, I tried to indicate - no, I tried to tell you, believe me.'

'What does it matter, Mr Reid?' In a belated attempt to make amends, Paulette softened her voice. 'Are not all appearances deceptive, in the end? Whatever there is within us - whether good, or bad, or neither - its existence will continue uninterrupted, will it not, no matter what the drape of our clothes, or the colour of our skin? What if it is the world that is a duperie, Mr Reid, and we the exceptions to its lies?'

Zachary shook his head in scorn at what seemed to be merely a feeble attempt at extenuation. 'I fear, Miss Lambert, that I am too plain a man to understand these subtleties. I must ask you to be more direct. Pray tell me, why have you chosen to reveal yourself now? Why at this time? Surely it was not in order to announce our fellows.h.i.+p in deceit that you sought me out?'

'No, Mr Reid,' said Paulette. 'It was for wholly another purpose. And you should know that I have come on behalf of others, our common friends ...'

'Who, may I ask?'

'Serang Ali, for one.'

At the sound of that name, Zachary covered his eyes with his hands: if there was anything at that moment that could have made him feel any more humiliated than he did already, it was this mention of the man he had once thought to be his mentor. 'It is all clear to me now, Miss Lambert,' he said. 'I see how you have gained your intelligence in regard to my origins. But tell me, Miss Lambert, was it Serang Ali's idea, or yours, to use this information for blackmail?'

'Blackmail? Oh for shame, Mr Reid! For shame!'

The wind was blowing so hard, Baboo n.o.b Kissin dared not stand upright on the rain-lashed deck: fortunate indeed that he had moved his lodgings from the mids.h.i.+ps-cabin to the deckhouse - or else the summons to the fana would have required him to cross a much greater length of deck. Even this short distance seemed impossibly long, much too far to negotiate on his feet: instead he made his way forward on all fours, cowering in the shelter of the bulwarks as he crawled slowly towards the fana.

The hatch that led below was fastened tight against the water, but it opened at the first tap of his knuckles. There was a lamp swinging inside, illuminating the faces of Serang Ali and the lascars, lying in their jhulis, rolling with the motion of the s.h.i.+p, watching him as he made his way to the chokey.

The gomusta had no eyes for anyone other than the man he was seeking, no thought but for the completion of his errand. Squatting beside the bars, he held the keys out to Neel: here they are, take them, take them; may they help you find your release, your mukti ...

But once he had placed the keys in Neel's palm, he would not let go of his hand. Do you see her now? In my eyes? Ma Taramony? Is she here? Within me?

When Neel's head moved, and Baboo n.o.b Kissin saw that he was nodding, his joy was beyond containment. You're sure? he said. Sure she's there now? It is time?

Yes, said Neel, looking into his eyes, nodding in confirmation. Yes, she is there. I see her - a mother incarnate: her time has come ...

The gomusta let go of Neel's hand and wrapped his arms around himself: now that the last shreds of his former being were to be discarded, he was aware of a strange affection, a tenderness for the body that had so long been his. There was no reason for him to remain here any longer: he made his way back to the main deck and took a step towards the deckhouse. His eyes fell on Kalua, and once again, he lowered himself to all fours, and crawled along the bulwarks. Pulling himself level with the drooping figure, he put an arm around him and held on as a wave surged across the deck, almost sweeping his legs out from under him.

Wait, he whispered to Kalua. Wait just a little bit longer, and you too will find your freedom; moksha is at hand for you too ...

Now that Taramony's presence was fully manifest in him, it was as if he had become the key that could unlock the cages that imprisoned everyone, all these beings who were ensnared by the illusory differences of this world. It was the fullness of this insight that carried him, drenched and battered, but ecstatic in the possession of his new self, towards the after-cabins. At Zachary's door, he paused as he so often had, to listen for a flute, and caught instead the sound of whispering voices.

It was here, he remembered, in this very place, that the start of his transfiguration had been signalled, by the sound of a flute: everything had come full circle now, everything was as foretold. His hand went to his amulet and he slipped out the piece of paper that lay inside. Hugging it to his chest, he began to turn around and around; the s.h.i.+p was dancing with him too, the deck heaving to the rhythm of his whirling footsteps. Seized by the transcendent, blissful joy of pure ananda, he closed his eyes.

This was how Mr Crowle found him: turning around and around, with arms raised in the air. 'Pander, y'f.u.c.kin c.u.n.t-pensioner ... !' He stopped the gomusta's dance with a slap across the face. Then his eyes went to the sheet of paper which the gomusta, now cowering, was clutching in his hands. 'What's this then? Let's have a look.'

Sweeping a hand across her eyes, Paulette brushed away a flurry of tears. She could never have imagined that her meeting with Zachary would take such a hostile turn, but now that it had, it was best not to make things worse than they were already. 'It is no use, Mr Reid,' she said, rising to her feet. 'It has clearly been a great meprise for us to speak with each other. I came to tell you that your friends are direly in need of you; I came to speak of my own ... but it is no use. Everything I say seems only to deepen our misunderstandings. It is best that I leave now.'

'Wait! Miss Lambert!'

The thought of losing her panicked Zachary. Leaping to his feet, he reached blindly towards the sound of her voice, forgetting, in the darkness, how small his cabin was. Almost as soon as he raised his hand, his fingers brushed against her arm; he made as if to pull away, but his palm would not move; instead, his thumb pushed back the fabric of her s.h.i.+rt. She was close enough that he could hear her breathing; he could even feel the warmth of her exhalations misting on his face. His hand went along her shoulder, to the back of her neck, pausing between her collar and bandanna, to explore the patch of bare skin that had been exposed by her upswept hair. Strange how he had once been appalled by the thought of seeing her as a lascar; strange that he had wanted to keep her forever wrapped in velveteen. For even though he could not actually see her now, the very knowledge of her guise made her seem more desirable than ever, a creature so changeable and elusive as to be impossible to resist: his mouth was suddenly fastened on hers, and her lips were pressed against his.

Even though they could see nothing in the darkness of the unlit cabin, their absorption was such that they both slowly closed their eyes. When a knock sounded on the door neither of them noticed. It was only when Mr Crowle shouted - 'Y'in there, Mannikin?' - that they sprang apart.

Paulette flattened herself against the bulwark as Zachary cleared his throat. 'Yes, Mr Crowle: what is it?'

'Could y'step out?'

Prising the door apart a few inches, Zachary saw that Mr Crowle was standing outside. Cowering beside him was Baboo n.o.b Kissin, whose neck was firmly in the first mate's grip.

'What's going on, Mr Crowle?'

'I've got something y'need to see, Mannikin,' said the first mate, with a grim smile. 'Something I got from our friend Baboon here.'

Zachary stepped quickly outside, pulling his door shut behind him. 'What is it?'

'I'll show yer, but not here. And not while I've got this Baboon on my hands. Best he cools off in yer cabin.' Before Zachary could say anything, Mr Crowle pushed the door open and kneed the gomusta in the small of his back, propelling him past Zachary, into his cabin. Without looking inside, the first mate pulled the door shut. Then he lifted an oar out of a wall-bracket and thrust the shaft through the looped handles. 'That should hold him while we're sorting this out.'

'And where are we going to do that?'

'My cabin's as good a place as any.'

As with a bear in its den, the rea.s.surance of being in his own s.p.a.ce lent an extra heft to the first mate's already formidable physique: once he and Zachary were inside, with the door closed behind them, he seemed to swell and expand, leaving Zachary very little room. The vessel was swaying wildly and they had to stretch out their arms to steady themselves against the sides of the cabin. But even then, standing spreadeagled and chest to chest, b.u.mping against each other with the schooner's every lurch, Mr Crowle seemed intent on using his height and bulk to crowd Zachary into sitting down on his bunk. But this, Zachary would not do: there was something in the first mate's demeanour that spoke of an excess of emotion that was even more disturbing than the overt aggression of the past. In order not to yield any ground to the larger man, Zachary forced himself to stay on his feet.

'Well then, Mr Crowle? What did you want to see me about?'

'Somethin ye'll thank me for, Reid.' The first mate reached into his vest and pulled out a yellowing sheet of paper. 'Got this off that gooby - Pander, innit? He was takin it t'the skipper. Ye're lucky I got a-hold o' it, Reid. Thing like this could do a cove a lot o'damage. Could'appen he'd never work on a s.h.i.+p again.'

'What is it?'

'It's the crew-list - for the Ibis, on'er run out from Baltimore.'

'And what of it?' said Zachary, frowning.

'Take a dekko, Reid.' Holding up the lamp, the mate handed him the tattered slip of paper. 'Go on - see fer y'self.'

Back when he first signed on to the Ibis, Zachary had known nothing of s.h.i.+ps' papers or crew manifests, or how the filling-in of them might vary from vessel to vessel. He had walked on board the Ibis with his ditty-bag, shouted his name, age and birthplace to the second mate, and that was that. But he saw now that along with a few other members of the crew, there was an extra notation next to his name: he narrowed his eyes, squinting, and suddenly he froze.

'Y'see, Reid?' said Mr Crowle. 'See what I mean?'

Zachary answered by nodding mechanically, without raising his eyes, and the first mate continued. 'Lookat, Reid,' he said, hoa.r.s.ely, 'it don't mean anythin to me. Don't give a d.a.m.n, I don't, if ye're a m'latter or not.'

Zachary answered, as if by rote: 'I'm not a mulatto, Mr Crowle. My mother was a quadroon and my father white. That makes me a metif.'

'Don't change nothing, Reid.' Mr Crowle's hand reached up and he brushed a knuckle against Zachary's unshaven cheek. 'Metif or m'latter, it don't change the colour o'this ...'

Zachary, still mesmerized by the paper, made no movement, and the hand rose higher still, to flick back a curly forelock with a fingertip. '... And it don't change this neither. Y'are what y'are, Reid, and it don't make no difference to me. If y'ask me, it makes us two of a kind.'

Zachary looked up now, and his eyes narrowed in puzzlement. 'Don't get the gist, Mr Crowle?'

The first mate's voice sank to a low growl. 'Look'ere, Reid, we di'n't get off to a good start, there's no denyin'it. Y'made a fool o'me with yer tofficky trolly-wags and yer buncomising tongue: thought y'was way above my touch. But this'ere paper, it changes everything - I'd never'a thought I could've been so far off course.'

'What do you mean, Mr Crowle?'

'Don't y'see, Mannikin?' The first mate put his hand on Zachary's shoulder. 'We could be a team, the two o'us.' He tapped the paper and took it out of Zachary's hand. 'This thing - n.o.bbut needs be in the know of it. Not the Captain nor anyone else. It'll stay here.' Folding the manifest, he slipped it under his vest. 'Think about it, Reid, me as skipper, and y'self as mate. Tie for tye; no lies for y'self and none for me neither: we'd have the jin o'each other, both o'us. What more could two coves like us hope for? No need for gulling, no need for lies: ton for ton and man for man. I'd be easy on yer too, Mannikin; I'm one who knows what o'clock it is and which way the bull runs. When we're in port ye'd be on the loose, free for whatever takes yer fancy: don't make no difference to me, not ash.o.r.e.'

'And at sea?'

'All ye'd have to do is cross the cuddy from time to time. That in't so long a walk, is it? And if it in't t'yer taste, y'can shut yer eyes and think y'self in Jericho for all I care. Comes a day, Mannikin, when every Tar has t'learn t'work s.h.i.+p in headwinds and bad weather. Y'think life owes y'any different from others just cause ye're a m'latter?'

Despite the brutal roughness of the first mate's tone, Zachary could sense that he was on the verge of an inner disintegration, and he was aware of an unexpected stirring of sympathy. His eyes sought out the piece of paper that he was holding between his fingers, and he was amazed to think that something so slight, so innocuous, could be invested with so much authority: that it should be able to melt away the fear, the apparent invulnerability that he, Zachary, had possessed in his guise as a 'gentleman'; that it should so change his aspect as to make him appeal to a man who could desire, evidently, only that which he held in his power; that the essence of this transformation should inhere in a single word - all of this spoke more to the delirium of the world than to the perversity of those who had to make their way in it.

He could sense the first mate's mounting impatience for an answer, and when he spoke it was not unkindly, but with a quiet firmness. 'Look, Mr Crowle,' he said. 'I'm sorry, but this deal o'yours won't work for me. It may look to you that this piece of paper has turned me inside out, but in truth it's changed nothing. I was born with my freedom and I ain't looking to give any o'it away.'

Zachary took a step towards the door but the first mate moved in front of him, blocking his way. 'Boat yer oars, Mannikin,' he said, on a note of warning. 'Won't do yer no good to walk yer chalks now.'

'Listen, Mr Crowle,' said Zachary, quietly. 'Neither of us needs to remember this conversation. Once I step out this door, it's over and done with - didn't happen.'

'Too late to toss up the bunt now, Mannikin,' said the first mate. 'What's said is said and can't be forgotten.'

Zachary looked him up and down and squared his shoulders. 'What do you plan to do then, Mr Crowle? Keep me in here till I knock the door down?'

'Aren't y'forgetting something, Mannikin?' The first mate tapped his finger on the paper that was tucked into his vest. 'Wouldn't take me more'n a couple o'minutes to run this over to the skipper.'

There was a desperation, almost a pathos, in this threat of blackmail, and it made Zachary smile. 'Go ahead, Mr Crowle,' he said. 'Whatever that paper is, it's not a letter of indenture. Take it to the Captain - believe me, I'd be glad of it. And I'll wager that when he hears about the bargain you were of a mind to make, it's not because of me that he's going to be all cut up inside.'

'Stow yer magging, Reid!' The first mate's hand came flying out of the shadows to strike Zachary across the face. Then a blade flashed in the lamplight and its point came to rest on Zachary's upper lip. 'I'se done my time, Mannikin, and ye'll do it too. Ye're just a broth of a boy: I'll bring y'to yer bearings soon enough.'

'With your knife, Mr Crowle?' Now the blade began to descend, travelling downwards in a straight line, from Zachary's nose, past his chin to the base of his throat.

'I tell yer, Mannikin, ye're not n.i.g.g.e.r enough to leave Jack Crowle hangin a-c.o.c.kbill; not when he's all catted and fished. I'll corpse yer before I let yer gi'me the slip.'

'Better do it then, Mr Crowle. Better do it now.'

'Oh, I'd kill yer without a thought, Mannikin,' said Mr Crowle, through his teeth. 'Don't y'doubt it. I'se done it before and I'll do it again. Wouldn't make a penn'orth o'difference to me.'

Now Zachary could feel the cold metal point pus.h.i.+ng against his throat. 'Go on, Mr Crowle,' he said, steeling himself. 'Do it. I'm ready.'

With the tip of the knife biting into his skin, Zachary kept his eyes fixed upon the first mate's, even as he was preparing himself for the thrust. But it was Mr Crowle's gaze that wavered first, and then the knife faltered and fell away.