The Harmony Silk Factory (25 page)

“Christ almighty,” I heard Honey mumble under his breath.

Peter said, “This shouldn’t be too difficult to repair, should it? It’s only a primitive little thing.” He spoke the words brightly but could not hide the slight tremble in his voice.

“I hope so,” Mamoru said.

“I hope you’re equipped to deal with such vagaries of travel,” Peter said. “Seeing as you are an academic.”

“I shall do my best.”

“Can’t
you
do anything, Honey?” said Peter. “You’re in charge of tin mines, for heaven’s sake. Who repairs all those monstrous dredging machines you have?”

“Not me,” Honey said. “I look after other things. More important things.”

“Such as?” Peter said with exaggerated incredulity.

“Money. Relations with the locals,” Honey replied, snorting his derision. “Things you wouldn’t understand. Isn’t this a case of stones in glass houses, coming from a jobbing actor?”

“I told you before: I’m not an actor. Anyway, actors aren’t renowned for their prowess with Malay fishing boats.”

“Why do you always look at me when things go wrong?” said Honey. “What about your little friend there?”

“You mean Johnny?” Peter said, raising his voice. “He’s a textile merchant, not a bloody mechanic. What do you expect him to do?”

Mamoru raised his hand suddenly. “Stop,” he said quietly.

We stood in silence for a moment. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

“The wind,” he said. True, a breeze had developed steadily, though none of us was aware of it until then. “And the moon.”

As I lifted my head to look at the clouded-over night sky, Mamoru shouted, “We must drop anchor now!”

“Mamoru, what’s going on?” I said, but he was running across the deck, searching for the anchor.

It was Johnny who spoke. “We have been drifting. The wind has pushed us off course. Without the motor we have nothing to resist it. Now that the light has gone, it will be impossible to navigate.”

I looked again at the ink-black sky. It had darkened rapidly, soaking up the night like father’s watercolours on rice paper. Not a single star was visible.

Mamoru said that we had not been blown too far off course and assured everyone that we would reach the Seven Maidens as planned. I tried to tell him it was not his fault, but he paid no attention to what I said.

“I lost concentration, just for a moment,” he said as he rattled various parts of the machinery. “I should never have let this happen.”

“Please, Mamoru, do not blame yourself,” I said. “There’s nothing you could have done.”

I watched him work. His strength surprised and scared me. He pulled at a metal shaft, which seemed to break in his hands. The noise it made screamed in my ears. He said very little, in spite of my attempts to engage him in conversation. Obviously, he was still upset for falling short of his high standards.

“Mamoru, calm down, this is not your doing,” I said over the uncomfortable noise he was making with the machinery. He put his arms around a part of the machine as if constricting, suffocating it the way a python kills a pig. I thought he was making a noise too, a low howl of pain that seemed to stay within his chest. Then he took a step back and kicked the machine. Small parts came loose and fell away. I did not know what he was doing. He seemed to be tearing it apart.

He stopped and glared at me. His face and forearms were dirty; the grease cut black streaks over his white skin. A fox peering from the dark. “I think you should get some sleep,” he said.

I returned to my cabin immediately. The others appeared to be resting or sleeping. I did not pay too much attention to what they were doing. I simply went to bed.

When I woke up it was light and we were still motionless. That was two hours ago. I joined the others on deck, sheltering in the shade of the little shack. No one spoke. Mamoru sat on the floor, his back leaning against a bench, his head bowed in exhaustion. He did not look at me even when my footsteps passed in front of him. The sun had burnt the cloud away; the light spread evenly across the placid sea.

I caught Peter’s eye. He shook his head and silently mouthed a few words I could not comprehend. I went back to my cabin and sat before my diary.

Now we are lost, drifting, it seems, to nowhere.

STILL NO PROGRESS. Peter thinks something is very wrong. He says we are still being blown by the wind. He has been watching the waves all day and believes we are being swept away.

Mamoru still not speaking.

HOW DID WE GET HERE? I can scarcely believe it. Nor do I recall exactly what happened. I do not know which came first, or which is stronger: the failure of my memory to record events accurately or the failure of my belief in what is true. All I know is that we are here and we are alive. I know, too, that we have no idea where
here
is.

We drifted all night, rocking gently on the waves that licked against the hull. Johnny lay in bed, sweating under a blanket. I went to him once, but he turned away from me.

I said to Peter, “Johnny is ill. He has a fever.”

Peter’s face was contorted in a deep frown. He had not stopped searching the darkness around us in the hope that some clue, some sliver of light, might suddenly appear. He looked at me and said, “I know.”

Mamoru sat quietly with his maps, examining them and making calculations. He had not cleaned his face or arms; the light from the lamp danced on his grease-streaked features, illuminating his troubled countenance (“He looks like a civet cat,” Peter said, attempting a joke). He remained this way for hours, isolated from everyone, including me. He looked so alone, so cast adrift and in need of comfort, yet I did not know what I could do. I did not dare approach him.

Honey had, with the help of the rest of the whisky, fallen asleep on deck. His body jerked violently now and then, and he mumbled loudly in a language neither Peter nor I could understand. When Peter laughed at this, it felt as though it was the first time anyone had laughed since we got on the boat, and I began to laugh too. We tried to suppress our laughter so as not to disturb Mamoru from what he was doing; the effort of doing this reduced us to tears. It was only when Peter stopped laughing that I realised I was still crying. I could not stop. Peter stood watching me awkwardly; I thought he was startled, even contemptuous of me. I suddenly felt ashamed and tired and disgusted with myself for this display but still I could not stop. Peter put his hand on my head, attempting to soothe me, but I drew away. I would stop crying and prove that I did not need his help.

“I’m sorry,” I said, but still the hot tears burnt my cheeks. I turned to go back to the cabin. “You just keep watching for lights, Peter.”

“I will,” he said, seeming to smile. “What I’d give to see a passing ship. Even a pirate boat, for heaven’s sake!”

I fell asleep with my eyes and throat feeling sore.

The next morning I found Mamoru in better spirits. I saw him as soon as I climbed up the steps from the cabin. He had washed and changed into a fresh shirt and was standing over the broken machinery looking exactly like a schoolteacher: hands on hips, patient, a quizzical expression on his face. He greeted me with a silent “good morning,” which seemed to serve as an apology for everything that had happened the previous night. It was only then, when I stepped properly onto the deck, that I saw Johnny crouched over, kneeling at the base of the machine. He did not look up as I approached.

“Mamoru,” I whispered, “do you think this is wise? Johnny is ill, and besides, I have never seen him operate a machine in his life.”

He lifted his eyebrows in an enquiring manner.

“He dislikes all types of machines,” I continued. “Even the simplest mechanical task has to be delegated to a servant—changing the tyre on a bicycle, for example. He looks away whenever we go past a dredging machine. Honestly, sometimes I think he has a medical aversion to all things mechanical.”

“That is very strange, given his humble background—relatively speaking, of course. You would have thought that machines were essential to village life.”

“Apparently not.”

“Well, it was he who volunteered,” Mamoru explained as we watched Johnny at work. “I would not have dreamt of disturbing him. He simply came up on deck and said he had an idea; he felt luck was on his side. I was on the verge of despair, so I agreed.”

“Do you think he knows what he’s doing?”

“I’d say so, by the looks of things. As I said before, Snow, your husband is a surprising person.”

Johnny did not seem to expend any effort. At first I thought he might be weakened by his fever, but then I saw that he was simply and perfectly at ease where he was, kneeling next to the machine, easing various parts away from it and cradling them in his hands with the gentlest of touches. I noticed that because his hands had never appeared softer or more pliable. Those hands—
those
hands—had never before touched me in that way. Nor did he appear to use the tools that Mamoru had given him. He had no use for them; his fingers were sufficient.

Peter joined us, rubbing his eyes of sleep. He said nothing but merely stood with us, watching Johnny and the machine. The rhythm of his hands on the machine lulled us into silence. We could do nothing but bear witness.

Only once did Johnny look up at us. He caught my eye but quickly returned to the machine. His glance lasted only half a second, but in that look I saw everything I have come to realise. He possesses a world that is locked away from me. That world may, I sense, be rich in secrets, but even if it is not, the fact remains: I simply do not know my husband. The man I married was not the same man who was now saving our lives. Standing on that deck in the clear sunlight, I could not even remember the man I married.

The repair did not take long. Johnny himself went to the helm, and after a shuddering bellow of black smoke and a screeching whine, the boat began to move. Mamoru insisted that we had not drifted far off course, and that the journey would not take long. Peter glanced at me and shook his head, but I did not respond. Now that the boat was moving again and Mamoru was in charge, I knew we would find what we were searching for.

All day we cut across the smooth green sea, steadily following the course Mamoru had set for us. We saw no other boats, no islands, no clouds, nothing; only the sun, white and hazy above us.

“Where are the bloody gulls?” Peter said. “Where there are gulls there is land. Isn’t that right?”

No one answered. The glare hurt my eyes and made my head swirl. I tried to stand next to Mamoru as he steered the boat, but I could not keep my balance. I heard Peter’s voice call my name and then felt Mamoru’s arm around my back, supporting me. I blinked and found myself seated on Mamoru’s soft travelling bag with a wet cloth draped on my brow.

Hour upon hour passed. We stopped looking at our watches. They seemed silly, useless. I drifted in and out of sleep. The others did too, I think. Only Mamoru remained alert. Every time I opened my eyes I saw him outlined against the painful white light. I should not have allowed myself to believe the journey would be a short one. I should have been like Johnny, who had resolutely and silently returned to the darkened cabin, or like Honey, who sat speaking quietly to himself before falling into alcohol-kissed slumber. I should not have allowed myself to believe the unbelievable, I said, turning to Peter. His eyes were closed in a thin sleep. He nodded, but I think he did not hear or understand what I meant.

And it was this thought that stayed with me as we glided into the still, shallow waters of this island. I would not let myself believe we were saved. We floated closer and closer to the beach until finally we felt the sand on the hull.

The sudden sight of land after days at sea does strange things to men. Honey jumped clean off the boat, mumbling as he did so, and splashed his way to shore. Mamoru dived into the water headfirst, and when he surfaced he turned his face skyward, eyes closed, mouth open, as if tasting fresh air for the very first time. He declared the water shallow and calm, and stood with his arms aloft, calling for me. I stepped onto the rough wooden steps on the side of the boat, Peter insisting on holding my hand until I was within Mamoru’s reach. When I reached the bottom step I simply let my body drop into his; he carried me to shore, lifting me so that only my feet brushed the water.

Peter helped Johnny off the boat and walked with him until they too reached the beach.

Beyond the wash of the waves the sand was hot and coarse under our toes—too hot to stand on—and we headed quickly into the deep shade cast by a huge sea almond. We lay here whilst Mamoru swam out to the boat to collect some of our things. He made several trips, and on the final one brought me this diary, still tightly wrapped in its wax cloth.

I cannot say exactly how long we remained there. The hours were meaningless: all night and into the morning, we lay sleeping or merely staring at the rust-coloured leaves of the tree above us. Its boughs pointed like crooked fingers out to sea, curling at the ends as if to indicate the boundary of our makeshift world. Not once did anyone venture beyond its shelter.

We are not dead, and for that I should be thankful. But I do not want to believe that we are properly, completely alive. Not yet.

THE COOLNESS OF THE EARLY EVENING began to lure us from our refuge. Peter was the first to venture forth, stretching his long limbs uncertainly as he descended the gentle slope of the beach to where the wavelets washed ashore, fading into the sand. He paused before tentatively stepping into the sea, putting one foot slowly in front of the other, as if remembering how to walk. Suddenly, he collapsed, falling into the water in a thrashing, pulsating ball.