S.O.S. (20 page)

David was grasping the bar quite firmly, his eyes like alarmed and fleeing goldfish (his mouth poised quite like that as well). Suki looked at him with, who knows? Amusement? Anyway waiting for the next delivery of dumb and stupid; Sammy looked at him with pretty much dread – please, oh God
please
don't let him be sick. After this whole damn evening, I just couldn't face – not sick, not this late. Stacy was looking at Suki and thinking how pretty, how very
pretty
the way just that one long finger is idling gently on the rim of her glass (reminds me quite a lot of a girl I was at school with – Janet, who I don't think of now).

And then it came from David's mouth:

‘Have a
drink
…!'

‘Maybe,' said Sammy softly (thank you, God – all he came out with was crap), ‘time for bed, sir?'

‘You, er … could be right. Do you want to buy my jacket? No. No. Forget I said that. Stupid. Bed. Bed. I think you could be right.'

Yes, I think you could. I just have now to take my leave of all these good people and with some sort of dignity negotiate this runway, here, and the fields beyond it and get myself back to, um … get myself off to cabin number, er … got it written down, somewhere … and ease myself quietly into that big soft bed and say goodnight fondly to my dear wife, er … to my dear wife, um …

‘You OK, sir?' checked Sammy, as David barrelled away.

‘
Perfectly
,' David assured him. Nicole. Yes of course.

And Suki said to him You know what? You're real
neat
.

David remembered it, of course he did. It took him barely two hours to find his cabin (the corridors were good, though – one wall cannoned you right into the other, and the gently shuddering carpet kept your big and spongey feet both afloat and alive) and then there was all the car park stuff to be gone through when he fetched up at the door and then when he'd finally got the bloody thing to
open
(what's actually
wrong
with it, at all? It's all they're meant to do, doors, isn't it? Fucking
open
) David was thinking this and this only: mustn't wake, er … oh Christ:
Nicole
. Needn't have bothered. I don't even think it was my falling over the bloody raised-up doorstep thing and then careering into the wardrobe that did it: she was shouting and spitting at me before I'd even got the door ajar. She did the usual: shot her venom for ten or so years, demanded an explanation – and when I opened my mouth to say nothing (well look: what sort of explanation, one might reasonably ask, could she ever be seriously expecting? I
drank
too much, God's sake – how difficult is that?) then she screams at me to shut the hell
up
and let her get some
sleep
and we'll talk again in the bloody
morning
.

God, though. It's maybe that Suki I could properly do with. That would give Nicole something to shout about. And Trish. Good God – Trish: forgotten about her. Yes – as I say: pretty little American girl … my age, could be the last bloody time. And talking of age:
young
 – oh God yeh: really fresh and young. My friend Dwight could really go for Suki, big time. Green with envy, he'd be. You know – I signed the tab for all those drinks (well, scrawled some sort of mess right across the bill). It's not that I think Dwight's mean, oh no – I know mean men, and Dwight's not one. But he's
rich
, you see – and they don't think of it, do they? Spending money. Not the rich. They forget things
cost
. But I don't, no. Because I haven't really got any money at all, not to speak of. And after tonight, one helluva lot less, I suppose. Ah well. Sod it.

Hey but listen (God I'm so tired – thank God, thank God) – wasn't it odd that she thought me
neat
? yes it's odd, that, very – because to be perfectly frank, all I feel is a bloody shambles.

*

Jennifer's face was wet and cold, and the surrounding blackness thrilled and scared her. She went on fiddling with a thick and clanking padlocked gate (I do not need this: it is stopping me going to where I need to be) and Earl, Jesus – he could actually be maybe helping me
out
, here, instead of just tugging at my arms and whining his whine.

‘Look, Jen, like – let's just split to my cabin, huh? What say? Christ it's so
goddam freezing
out here … and the sign says – '

‘Oh Christ – the sign
says
, the sign
says
!' snapped back Jennifer – feeling the rush of wind in her frizzed-up hair as the muted crash of waves seemed at once to pitch down the nose of the ship while sending up into their faces not so much gentle spray as stinging hard gobbets of heavy slapping water.

Earl looked about and licked away at some of the salt; he wrapped around him this dumb and damp stupid lightweight jacket and yeh, he looked about. And all he saw was dark and fucking scary. This is crazy. This is, Jesus, just so
goddam
crazy
, you know? Been getting along real fine, this foxy English babe and me – put away how many, back in the lit-up warmth (yeh –
tell
me bout it) of the Regatta Club, down there. Then she's going –
Earl
, come on, let's go, Earl, yeh? And I'm like Yeh
sure
, baby – going is good: let's do it. OK – one level I'm thinking
Jesus
, I drank so much I ain't too sure we got lift-off – know what I'm sane? But I'm figuring too, Hey – what the hell? This honey's so hot, she could set fire to the ocean. Yeh – and talking ocean, I'm getting beat up bad here by that very goddam thing. All the munce I been on this tub, I ain't never – not one time – come out on deck at night. I mean to tell you – what, like,
for
, you know? Inside we got heat, we got light, we got booze – and tonight, Earl baby, we got one long-legged chick who I tell ya is hot to trot. So how come suddenly I'm freezing my ass off in the middle of a night that is black like you ain't never in your goddam life even
seen
black, baby – and my feet like doing a skating act over this fucking slimy deck and here in front of me I got the English crazy who's trying to, what – pick a
lock
? And go up what looks to me like no more'n a ladder that leads to
where
, in Jesus Christ's name? And the
sign
 – what's with her, you know? Ain't the sign plain enough to her, or what? ‘Strictly no passengers beyond this point at any time' – red on white and swinging from the chain. Simple, huh? She don't speak English, the English crazy? I mean,
I'm
thinking – they gotta put up a
sign
? Who in their right mind wants to go trapezing and slithering around and climbing up ladders at any time at
all
, let alone in the middle of the fucking night? You wanna know who? Tell you who. Little Miss Fruitcake, newly escaped from the Ewe-Knighted Kingdom.

‘Maybe,' is what Jennifer is thinking aloud now (and why don't I let this kid Earl in on it, where's the harm? It's not as if he's going to come up with anything sensible, is it? They're exciting, very young men – but they don't seem ever, do they, capable of actually
doing
anything – well
do
they? Except, of course, for the obvious – which is, if only he could see it, the stupid little boy, the whole bloody
point
, here). ‘Maybe, yes – we could get
under
it, could we?'

‘Oh yeah
sure
!' came back Earl (and he really had to shout it out, now: wind was booming, and his feet were having to be splayed out ever wider, just to keep him upright). ‘
Under
is neat. What – like make like a limbo dancer, huh Jennifer? We got what here? Six inches? Look – let's get
outta
here, man! Why you
doing
this?'

‘OK, then –
over it
. We'll go over it. Give me a leg up, Earl. Oh come
on
, God's sake – just
do
it, can't you? Here – kneel … not
there
 – oh Jesus, not there – there! There! yes – just there. Now put your hand – '

‘
Soaked
, Jennifer – I'm like
soaked
, you know? My knee – it's on some kinda metal plate and I'm
hurting
, Jennifer and – '

‘Oh shut
up
, God's sake, Earl. OK, now – I'm going to grab hold of this pole thing, right? And when I say so – '

‘And my
balls
 – my balls are freezing right off, I tell you Jennifer – !'

‘When I
say
so, you
push
 – OK? Push me up, right? But not till I say so.'

Earl just caught a hold of her goddam foot and wagged his head in a black despair – and with such force that he clipped the side of it on some other wet and hard bit of fucking metal
boat
sticking out at him, and this made him feel, Jesus, just
great
. OK, Jennifer – you got it your way: I'm holding this foot of yours, and I'm waiting for instructions – I'll push it, pull it, swing it around like a lariat or serve it sunny side up with southern fried onion rings on a sesame bun: any which way, you fucking crazy bitch – you
got
it.

Jennifer's hands were cold (OK yes sure: it's cold, I'm not denying – but so
what
, actually? It's not the bloody end of the
world
, is it? These young people – they make such a fuss); but the real problem here was the slippery wetness of everything she tried to brace herself against or even get a
hold of. This sort of gatepost thing had looked fine from a purchase point of view, but I'm getting absolutely nowhere, frankly.

‘OK, Earl – hear me, Earl? Yeh? OK – now push up as hard as you can when I say so – I think I'll have to make a sort of a jump for it.'

Yeh yeh, thought Earl – jump for it. We could be in bed, right? Fucking our brains out. Stead of that, we're turning to ice on the deck of a ship in the middle of the fucking ocean and Jennifer, she's gonna jump up and grab the steps, is she? And I'm pushing her up and over a gate and then what? I'm gonna
follow
, right? Jeez. How in hell I get into this?

‘OK, Earl:
now
!'

And he pushed – he pushed, hoisted, got kicked in the face – put his other hand up to her hips as he slowly rose to take the full weight of her … and then the weight was gone from him and all he could see was nothing. So what is this? Somehow I don't know my own strength and I flipped her up into the sky and down into the Atlantic? While not great nooze, at least it would mean I could quit right now and recall what it is to be warm and dry and back with people who ain't gone mad.

‘I'm
over
, Earl – I'm over. There's this staircase thing – I've just been up it. It goes down the other side and then we're there! The whole of the pointy bit is just
waiting
for us, Earl! It's all there and empty and waiting just for
us
!'

Earl was already, at Jennifer's urging, clambering up and over the gate. How happy does this make me? I get over this thing and guess what? There's a whole lot more wet and cold and empty boat, and I slip and slide on up there with the ditz they call Jennifer on account of she's told me to: I'm this side of crazy about it.

OK so I'm pretty much over and she's holding me up, pulling loose that final ankle. I cracked a couple bones along the way, and once I crashed right down over the top of the
gate and right hard on into my crotch: I don't got one ice pack up there, it maybe couldda hurt. Up this steep and real
oily
, feels to me, pretty much ladder – and now, sweet Jesus, I'm scared: this new shiver and real bad taste is fear, baby – believe it. There's hardly a rail I can cling on to – and all I can see is one dim light, seems like miles off, and then these hissing ripples of foaming grey to the left and right of me, they remind me I'm teetering just over thousands of miles of deep black ocean – and the wind, the wind, it's sucking me off, sedoocing me into it. She's pulling me down the other side (her hand is like a small dead fish – or maybe, I dunno, that's mine) and now I'm skittering about on a like outta here and empty, slick-wet deck. Her eyes, though, I see – her eyes are alive, and hot is back there. Well OK – if going nuts turns her on, sure: I'm cool with that.

And it seemed like, now, Jennifer was dancing. This whole mess of black and oiled and gleaming deck, it sure is kinda like some nightmare and satanic ballroom (Jeez – how'd I thinka that?) so I guess sure, OK, why not? Her arms – way out again and straight to each side of her, you know? Eyes seem pretty much closed, and now she's going around and around – real slow and loving it, seems to me; almost like she's swimming, or just about to swim no more. And hey, man – I thought I, you know, knew this ship like
backward
? But I ain't never seen no expanse like this one here – it's just like, kinda
vast
? So wide – just so plain open. But she's moving too like I ain't never known before; not Jennifer – she's still spinning in her spaced-out thing, oh yeh sure, but it's the ship I'm talking, here. I'm used to she goes just side to side, yeah? But oh, this baby, she's pitching now – I'm real aware of the slow, slow rise of that sheer great nose on her, and now here's the heavy dive back down again, leaving a part of your stomach flying above (and while it's still floating, you kinda swallow it back?). Jennifer, she's – Jeez, where in hell she now? Ah there, there she is – I see her now, yeah; well what I see is that long and feathery
neckscarf just catching what little gleam of light there is, so I guess I'll just follow that, will I? Yeah? Follow it right on up to the – Jesus Christ, she's really going for it: she's going all the way forward to the very pointed switchblade end of this great and heaving monster. And I'm coming, I'm coming (sure I'm coming – here I don't wanna be left all
alone
), but every step I'm taking I'm, like, slipsliding two, three backward and I'm not doing too good, you know? We are talking ice rink, here, and the further I go, the nearer to catching up with that flickering and just faint yellow lick of her neckscarf, the more we're going up, way up – rearing right up into this black mother of a sky – and now like a rollercoaster, we're coming down
fast
: diving not just into the blacker sea, but maybe right under it and endlessly further on down into hell (and I ain't never before even
thought
like this).