The Captain and the Enemy (2 page)

‘Where to?’

‘There’s the High Street or the Common or the Castle.’

‘I seem to remember on the way from the station that I saw a pub called the Swiss Cottage.’

‘Yes. By the canal.’

‘You could be trusted, I suppose, to stay outside while I swallowed a gin and tonic. I shan’t be long doing that.’

All the same he was away for nearly half an hour and I think now with the wisdom of the years that he must have swallowed at least three.

I loitered by a timber yard close by and stared at the green weeds of the canal. I felt very happy. I was not
puzzled
at all by the Captain’s arrival, I accepted it. It had just happened like a fine day between two weeks of rain. It was there because it was there. I wondered whether it would be possible to build a raft out of the planks in the yard and float it down towards the sea. A canal of course was not a river, but yet surely a canal would have to end in a river, for we lived – so I understood from my geography classes – on an island and a river always came eventually to the sea. A sail might be made out of my shirt, but there was also the question of provisions for a long journey …

I was deep in thought when the Captain came out of the Swiss Cottage and asked me abruptly, ‘Have you any money?’

I counted out what was left of my last week’s pocket-money which was always paid by my housemaster on Sundays – perhaps because on that day the shops were all closed and out of the range of temptation; even the school tuckshop was not open on Sunday. He little realized what an opportunity Sunday gave for complicated financial operations, for the payment of debts, for the arrangement of forced loans, the calculations of interest, and for the marketing of unwanted possessions.

‘Three and threepence halfpenny,’ I told the Captain. It was not so small a sum in those days before the metric system when money was still relatively stable. The Captain went back into the pub and I began to consider what foreign coinage I would need to take with me on my voyage. I came to the conclusion that pieces of eight would probably prove the most practical.

‘The landlord had no change,’ the Captain explained when he returned.

It did occur to me then that he might himself have run short of money, but when he said, ‘And now for a good lunch at The Swan,’ I knew I must be wrong. Even my aunt had never taken me to The Swan: she would always arrive at the school with home-made sandwiches wrapped in greaseproof paper and with a thermos full of hot milk. ‘I don’t trust meals cooked by strangers,’ she had often told me, and she would add, ‘and from the prices they charge in restaurants, you can tell that they are not honest meals.’

The bar of The Swan was crowded when we arrived and the Captain installed me at a table in an annexe which apparently counted as a restaurant so that the law allowed me to sit there. I could watch him exchanging a few words with the landlord and his precise and authoritative voice carried through all the rumble-tumble of the bar. ‘Two single rooms for the night,’ I heard him say. For a moment I wondered who was going to join him, but my mind drifted off to more interesting things, for never before had I even been in sight of a bar and I was fascinated. Everyone standing there had so much to say and everyone seemed to be in a good humour. I thought of the raft and the long voyage I had planned, and it seemed to me that I had arrived at the other end of the world, in the romantic city of Valparaiso, and that I was carousing with foreign sailors who had sailed the Seven Seas – true, they all wore collars and ties, but perhaps one had to dress up a little if one went ashore in Valparaiso. My imagination was aided by a small barrel on the bar which I supposed must contain rum, and a sword without a scabbard – undoubtedly a cutlass – which was hanging as a decoration above the landlord’s head.

‘A double gin and tonic at the table,’ the Captain was saying, ‘and something fizzy for the boy.’

I thought with admiration how he was completely at home in a place like this, he was at ease in Valparaiso. The tobacco smoke, driven by a draught from an open door, blew around my head and I sniffed up the fumes with pleasure. The Captain told the landlord, ‘You’ll remember, won’t you, that you’ve got my suitcase behind the bar? If you would just send it up to my room. I and the boy will take a walk after lunch. Or tell me – is there a suitable movie?’

‘The only film that’s on,’ the landlord said, ‘is a pretty old one.
The Daughter of Tarzan
it’s called, and I wouldn’t know if it’s suitable or not. There’s a girl who makes love with an ape I believe …’

‘Is there a matinée?’

‘Yes, today’s Saturday, so there’ll be one at two-thirty.’

The Captain came to me at the table. He picked up the menu and told me, ‘Some smoked salmon, I think, for a start. Afterwards would you rather have a pork chop or a lamb cutlet?’ The landlord himself brought us what I supposed was the gin and tonic and a fizzy drink which proved to be orangeade. After he had gone the Captain gave me a short lecture. ‘Remember that it’s never too late to learn from a man like myself who has been around. If you are a bit short of cash – which will often happen when you are my age – never drink at the bar, unless you’ve booked a room first, for otherwise they want their money straightaway. That orange fizz and my gin go on the price of the meal and the cost of that goes on the price of the room.’ What he said meant nothing at all to me
then
. It was only later that I appreciated the Captain’s foresight and saw that he was trying in his own way to prepare me for a new life.

It was a very good meal we had, though the salmon made me thirsty, and the Captain, seeing me look a little wistfully at my empty glass, ordered me another orangeade. ‘We’ll have to take a walk,’ he said, ‘if only to let the gas escape.’ I was beginning to lose some of the awe I had felt for him and I ventured on a question. ‘Are you a sea captain?’ But no, he said, he didn’t care for the sea, he was an army man. Remembering his loan from me at the Swiss Cottage I waited with some anxiety to see if he would have trouble in paying, but all he did was to take the bill and write his name on it with a number which he explained to me was the number of his room. I noticed that he wrote ‘J. Victor (Capt.)’. It struck me as an odd coincidence that his surname was the same as my Christian one, but at the same time it gave me a comfortable feeling, a feeling that at last I had found a relative whom I could like – one who was neither an angel nor a devil nor an aunt.

After our very good lunch the Captain began to talk to the landlord about the dinner which we would be taking next. ‘We’ll want it early,’ he said. ‘A boy of his age ought to be in bed by eight.’

‘I can see you know how to bring up a child.’

‘I’ve had to learn the hard way. You see, his mother’s dead.’

‘Ah! Have a brandy, sir, on the house. It’s not an easy thing for a man to play the mother’s part.’

‘I never refuse a good offer,’ the Captain said, and a minute later they were clicking glasses together over the
bar
. It did occur to me that I had never seen anyone less like a mother than the Captain.

‘Time, gentlemen, time,’ the landlord called and added in a confidential tone to the Captain, ‘Of course it doesn’t apply to you, sir, you being a guest in the hotel. Can I give your nipper another orangeade?’

‘Better not,’ the Captain said. ‘Too much gas you know.’ I was to discover as time went on that the Captain had a strong disinclination for gas – a sentiment which I shared, for in the dormitory at night there were too many of my companions who liked to show off the vigour of their farts.

‘About that early dinner,’ the Captain said.

‘We don’t usually serve a hot meal before eight. But if you wouldn’t mind something tasty and cold …’

‘I prefer it.’

‘Shall we say a bit of cold chicken and a slice of ham …?’

‘And perhaps a little green salad?’ the Captain suggested. ‘A growing boy needs a bit of green – or so his mother used to say. For me – well, I’ve lived too long in the tropics where a salad can mean dysentery and death … However if you have a bit of that apple tart left …’

‘And a bit of cheese to go with it?’ the landlord suggested with a sort of enthusiasm for good works.

‘Not for me, not at night,’ the Captain said, ‘gassy again. Well, we’ll be getting along now. I’ll take a look at the pictures outside the cinema.
Tarzan’s Daughter
you said, didn’t you? One can generally judge from the pictures outside if a film’s suitable for a child. If it’s not, we’ll just go for a walk, and I might slip in myself
for
the evening performance when the boy’s safe in bed.’

‘You turn left out of the door, and then it’s just across the road a hundred yards down.’

‘We’ll be seeing you,’ the Captain replied and we went out, but to my surprise we turned sharp right.

‘The cinema’s the other way,’ I said.

‘We are not going to the cinema.’

I was disappointed, and I tried to reassure him. ‘Lots of the day boys have been to
Tarzan’s Daughter
.’

The Captain halted. He said, ‘I’ll give you a free choice. We’ll go and see
Tarzan’s Daughter
if you insist and then back you must go to – what did that pompous old ass call it? – your “house”, or else we don’t go to the film and you don’t go to your house.’

‘Where do I go?’

‘There’s a good train to London at three o’clock.’

‘You mean we can go all the way to London. But when do we come back?’

‘We don’t come back – unless of course you want to see
Tarzan’s Daughter
.’

‘I don’t want to see
Tarzan’s Daughter
that much.’

‘Well then … Is this the way to the station, boy?’

‘Yes, but you ought to know.’

‘Why the hell should I know? I took a different route this morning.’

‘But you’re an old boy, the headmaster said.’

‘This is the first time I’ve ever seen the bloody town.’

He put a hand on my shoulder and I could feel kindness in the touch. He said, ‘When you get to know me better, boy, you’ll realize that I don’t always tell the exact truth. Any more than you do, I expect.’

‘But I always get found out.’

‘Ah, you’ll have to learn to tell a lie properly. What’s the good of a lie if it’s seen through? When I tell a lie no one can tell it from the gospel truth. Sometimes I can’t even tell it myself.’

We walked down what was called Castle Street, which led us past the school, and I dreaded to think that he might prove to be wrong in his choice and that the headmaster would come sailing out of the quad with his gown spread like the sail of a pinnace and catch both me and the Captain out, but all was as quiet as quiet.

Outside the Swiss Cottage the Captain hesitated for a moment, but the door was shut – the bar had closed. A child screamed at us from one of the painted barges on the canal – the barge children always screamed at the schoolchildren. It was like cat and dog – the enmity was noisy but never came as far as a bite. I said, ‘What about your bag at the hotel?’

‘There’s nothing in it but a couple of bricks.’

‘Bricks?’

‘Yes, bricks.’

‘You are going to leave them behind?’

‘Why not? One can always lay one’s hand on a few bricks when required and the bag’s an old one. Old bags with a few labels stuck on inspire confidence. Especially labels from foreign parts. A new bag looks stolen.’

I was still puzzled. After all I knew enough about life to realize that, even if he possessed a return ticket, he would have to pay for mine. All my money had gone at the Swiss Cottage to help pay for his gin and tonics. And then there
was
the lunch we had eaten – a feast, there was no meal in my memory that I could compare with it. We had nearly reached the station when I said, ‘But you haven’t paid for our lunch, have you?’

‘Bless you, boy. I signed for it. What more do you expect me to do?’

‘Is your name really Victor?’

‘Oh, sometimes it’s one thing and sometimes it’s another. It wouldn’t be much fun, would it, always carrying the same name from birth till death. Baxter now. It’s not what I’d call a beautiful name. You’ve had it a good many years now, haven’t you?’

‘Twelve.’

‘Too long. We’ll think of a better name for you on the train. I don’t like Victor either if it comes to that.’

‘But what shall I call
you
?’

‘Just call me Captain unless I tell you different. There might come a time when I’d like to be addressed as Colonel – or Dad too might prove convenient – in certain situations. Though I’d rather avoid it. I’ll let you know when a certain situation does arise, but I think you’ll soon pick things up for yourself. I can see that you are an intelligent boy.’

We entered the station and he had no difficulty at all in producing the cash for my ticket – ‘Third class half single to Euston.’ We had a compartment to ourselves and that gave me the courage to ask him, ‘I thought you had no money.’

‘What gave you that idea?’

‘Well, there’s all that lunch we had and you just signed a paper and you did seem to need some money too at the Swiss Cottage.’

‘Ah,’ he said, ‘that’s another point you’ll have to learn. It isn’t that I’m without money, but I like to preserve it for essentials.’

The Captain settled in a corner and began to smoke a cigarette. Twice he looked at his watch. It was a very slow train, and whenever we stopped at a station, I could feel a certain tension stretching from the window seat opposite me. The lean dark Captain reminded me of a coiled spring which had once snapped on my fingers when I was taking an old clock to pieces. At Willesden I asked him, ‘Are you afraid?’

‘Afraid?’ he asked in a puzzled way as though I had employed a word that he would have to look up in a dictionary.

‘Scared,’ I translated for him.

‘Boy,’ he said, ‘I’m never scared. I’m on my guard – that’s different.’

‘Yes.’

As an Amalekite I understood the distinction, and I felt that perhaps I was getting to know the Captain a little bit better.

(2)

At Euston we took a taxi for what seemed to me a very long ride – I couldn’t tell in those days whether we were travelling east or west or north or south. I could only suppose that this taxi ride was one of the essentials for which the Captain had kept his money. All the same I was surprised that when we arrived at our destination – a certain number in a dusty crescent where the dustbins
had
not been emptied – he waited for the taxi to go, following it with his eyes until it was out of sight, and then began to walk a long way back on the route we had come. He must have felt a question in my silence and my obedience because he answered it, though unsatisfactorily. ‘Exercise is good for the two of us,’ he told me. He added, ‘I take a bit of exercise whenever I get the chance.’