“Sure,” Cassidy said, and he worked his lips into a grin. “Why shouldn't I enjoy it?”

  But the thought of it was not enjoyable. The thought of it was contrary to what he wanted to think. A moment of whizzing memory went shooting through his brain, and he saw a college campus, he saw an Army bomber, he saw La Guardia Airfield. And the flashed image, of himself in one of the finer restaurants in New York. He sat there with clean hands, clean shirt, his hair was clipped neatly. The girl across the table was sweet and slender, a Wellesley graduate, and she was telling him he was really very nice. She was looking at his immaculate hands—.

  He looked at Shealy. “No,” he said. “No, I don't believe you.”

  Shealy winced. “Jim, don't say that. Listen to me—”

  “Shut up. I'm not listening. Go look for another customer.”

  He moved past Shealy, aiming at the front door. Shealy was fast and went sliding in to block the door.

  “Damn you,” Cassidy said. “Get out of my way.”

  “I won't let you go there.”

  “I'm going there to talk to her. I'll bring her back here and sober her up. Then I'll take her with me.”

  “You fool. They'll grab you.”

  “That's the gamble. Now, get away from the door.”

  Shealy didn't move. “If you take Doris away from here, you'll be killing her.”

  Cassidy stepped back. “What the hell do you mean?”

  “Didn't I tell you? I tried to make it clear. There's nothing you can give Doris. What you would do is take away the one thing that's keeping her alive. The whisky.”

  “That's a lie. That's the kind of talk I can't stand.” He took a step toward Shealy.

  And Shealy stood there, not moving. Shealy said, “All I can do is tell you. I can't fight you.”

  He waited for Shealy to move. He told himself he mustn't hit Shealy. His face was twisted as he snarled, “You lousy rumpot. You're a walking disease. I ought to bash your brains in.”

  Shealy sighed and bent his head slowly and said, “All right, Jim.”

  “You'll see it my way?”

  Shealy nodded. His voice was toneless and very tired. “It's a pity I couldn't get the idea across. But I tried. I sure tried. All I can do is make the necessary arrangements.”

  “Like what?”

  “I'll put you on a boat. Then I'll bring Doris.”

  Cassidy looked sideways at Shealy and said, “Is this the business? It better not be.”

  Shealy was opening the door. “Come on,” he said. “There's a freighter at Pier Nine. Leaves at five in the morning. I know the captain.”

  They walked out and moved quickly down the alley toward Dock Street.

  10

  It was almost four now as they approached the piers. The night had reached the full pitch of darkness and the street lamps had been turned off and the only lights were the tiny lights here and there along the sides of the ships. As they came onto Pier Nine they could hear the dim sound of activity on the deck of the freighter. It was an orange-and-white ship, a converted Liberty. The paint was new and the ship was shining there in the darkness.

  A pier watchman came toward them. Cassidy cursed under his breath. He had seen the watchman now and then in Lundy's Place and he was sure he would be recognized. He tensed himself, started to turn away. Shealy grabbed his wrist and said, “Easy, easy.”

  The watchman said, “What are you doing here?”

  Cassidy had pulled up the collar of his jacket. He had his face averted. He heard Shealy saying, “We got business with Captain Adams.”

  “Yeah? What kind of business?”

  “Are you blind? This is Shealy. From the Quaker City Chandlery.”

  “Oh,” the watchman said. “Oh, sure. Go on up.”

  The watchman turned away and went back to his little shed and the sandwich he'd been eating in there.

  They climbed the ladder going up to the deck of the ship and climbed over the rail. Shealy told him to wait there at the rail. He leaned back against the rail and watched Shealy walking along the deck, then rounding the deck. He lit a cigarette and told himself he wasn't nervous. He stood there at the rail, smoking nervously.

  A few seamen walked past him and ignored him. He started to like the feeling of being here on the ship. It was the best place for him to be. Soon it would be leaving the port and going away and he would be on it. With Doris. On the ship and going away with Doris. That was what he wanted and he was deeply certain that Doris wanted it and soon it would be happening, just like that.

  Then Shealy reappeared, accompanied by a tall, middle-aged man who wore a captain's cap and had a meerschaum pipe in his mouth. He was looking Cassidy up and down and then he was looking at Shealy and shaking his head.

  Cassidy moved away from the rail and went toward them and he heard Shealy saying, “I'm telling you he's all right. He's a friend of mine.”

  “I said no:, The captain gazed calmly across the deck and out upon the river. “I'm sorry, but that's the way it is.', He turned his head to look at Cassidy. “I'd like to help you, mister, but I just can't afford the risk.”

  “What risk?” Cassidy murmured. He scowled at Shealy. He knew that Shealy had put all the cards on the table.

  Shealy said, “Jim, this is Captain Adams. I've known him for years and he's a man to be trusted. I've told him the truth.”

  Adams smiled thinly at Shealy. “You did that because you know I can always smell a lie.”

  “The captain's a brilliant man!” Shealy told Cassidy. “He's highly educated and the thing he understands most is people.”

  Cassidy felt the captain's eyes going into him, examining him. It was as though he was being lifted with tweezers and placed under a lens, and he didn't like it. He gazed sullenly at the captain and said, “I don't have much time. If we can't do business I'll try another boat.”

  “I wouldn't advise that,” Adams said. “What I think you should do is—”

  “Save it.” Cassidy turned away and he was moving toward the ramp. He started to climb over onto the ladder and felt a hand on his shoulder. He thought it was Shealy and he jerked his shoulder away and said, “If you're coming, come on. I don't need this action.”

  But then as he looked, he saw it was the captain. He saw the smile on the face of the captain. It was an intelligent smile and it was sort of objective.

  “You're an interesting case,” Adams said. “I'm thinking maybe I'll take the risk.”

  Cassidy was halfway over the rail. He saw Shealy hurrying forward. Shealy said, “It's a good risk, Adams. You have my word on that.”

  “I don't want your word,” the captain said. “I just want a few minutes alone with this man.”

  He backed away from the rail and beckoned to Cassidy. He kept moving backward across the deck and Cassidy came toward him. Then they were standing facing each other near a hatchway.

  Adams said, “You can't blame me for being careful.”

  Cassidy said nothing.

  “After all,” Adams said, “I'm the captain of this ship. I'm held responsible.”

  Cassidy put his hands behind his back. He looked down at the dark, shining deck.

  “I lost a boat once,” Adams murmured. “In Chesapeake Bay. It was during a fog and we ran into a steamer. They said I ignored the signals.”

  “Did you?”

  “No. There weren't any signals. But they fixed that at the investigation. The steamer belonged to a big company. I heard my own men talking against me. I knew they'd been paid.”

  For a moment it seemed to Cassidy that he was alone. He said aloud to himself, “No way to prove it. Not a damn thing you can do.”

  “I did something,” Adams said. “I ran away. I ran very far away and then gradually I made a comeback.” He moved in closer to Cassidy. “Did you wreck that bus today? Was it your fault?”

  “No.”

  “All right, that's settled. I believe you. But there's something else that bothers me. The woman.”

  “I won't go without her.”

  “Shealy said you have a wife.”

  Cassidy turned away from the captain and walked across the deck and came up to Shealy. He said, “You fixed it your way, didn't you? In other words, he'll take me but he won't take Doris.”

  “You've got a chance here,” Shealy said. “Don't lose it.”

  “The hell with that.” Cassidy pushed Shealy aside. Again he was at the rail.

  And again the hand was on his shoulder. He knew it was Adams. He heard Adams saying, “You're a damn fool. And I'm a damn fool.”

  “What is this?” Shealy said.

  “It's a mistake,” the captain told Shealy. “I know it's a mistake and I think this man Cassidy knows it. But we're doing it anyway.” His hand described a slow, weary gesture away from the rail. “Go bring the woman.”

  Shealy shrugged and put his hands on the rail and started to climb over. But then Cassidy caught his wrists and held him there and said, “I want you to promise.”

  “You see me going, don't you?”

  “That ain't enough. I want to be sure about this.”

  “I'll do the best I can.”

  “Now look, Shealy, I'm in no position to make demands. You've gone to bat for me tonight and I want to thank you for it. But a favor ain't a favor unless it goes all the way. If you don't bring Doris it'll ruin everything for me. Promise me you'll bring her.”

  “Jim, I can't promise that. I can't make decisions for Doris.”

  “It won't need a decision. You know as well as I what condition she's in. This time of night she's sitting there in Lundy's dead drunk. Just take her home and pack her clothes in a bag. Then bring her here.”

  “Drunk?”

  “Drunk or sober, I want her here.”

  Shealy tightened his mouth to a thin line. He swallowed hard and said, “All right, Jim. I promise.”

  Cassidy stood at the rail and watched Shealy going down the ladder.

  It was a few minutes later and Adams was opening a door for him and saying, “Here's your cabin.”

  The room was small but he saw it had a double bed and there was a rug on the floor and a chair near the porthole. There was a dresser and a washstand. He told himself Doris would be comfortable here.

  Adams was lighting the meerschaum. He held the lighted match away from the bowl, studied the glowing tobacco, took a speculative puff and blew out the match. He said, “When the lady comes aboard, shall I send her here?”

  Cassidy smiled. “Where else?”

  The captain wasn't smiling. “I didn't want to take anything for granted. If you wanted separate cabins—”

  “She stays with me,” Cassidy said. “She's my woman.”

  Adams shrugged. He turned to face the door. He moved toward the door, started to open it, then changed his mind and came back to Cassidy. His eyes were solemn.

  “It's a long cruise.”

  “Where to?”

  “South Africa.”

  Cassidy widened his smile. “That's fine. I like that.” Then abruptly he remembered something and he said, “What'll it cost?”

  Adams waved it aside. “It's all arranged.”

  “Shealy?”

  The captain nodded. “You can pay him back when you have it. He'll be in no hurry.”

  Cassidy sat on the bed. “When I have it,” he said aloud to himself. He looked up at the captain. His smile was slightly twisted. “How are things in South Africa?”

  “They get along.” The captain knew it was going to be a conversation and he came around past Cassidy and took the chair near the porthole. He glanced at a pocket watch and murmured, “Forty minutes. Plenty of time.” Then his eyes were calm and old and wise, looking at Cassidy, and he said, “No matter where it is, South Africa or anyplace else, it's never easy when you have a woman on your hands.”

  Cassidy said nothing.

  “If you were going alone,” the captain said, “you wouldn't be worrying about the finances.”

  Cassidy looked at the captain and decided to say nothing.

  “She's a healthy girl?” the captain asked. “You sure she can stand the trip?”

  Cassidy told himself to let the captain keep talking.

  Adams took a long drag at the meerschaum. “It's a rough trip. This is no pleasure boat. My crew does a job, but you know how it is. They get bored now and then. Restless. Sometimes they get mean. And when there's a woman aboard—”

  “I'll worry about that.”

  “Mainly it's my worry,” Adams said. “I'm responsible for my passengers.”

  Cassidy stared at the floor. “Just run the boat, Adams. Get the boat across the ocean.”

  “Yes,” Adams said. “That's the main thing. To take the boat across and bring it into port. But then there's all the other things. That's the way it is with the captain of the ship. The captain is responsible for the crew, for the passengers. If anything happens—”

  “It won't.”

  Adams puffed slowly at the meerschaum. “I wish that was a guarantee.”

  “I'll make it a guarantee,” Cassidy said. He stood up. He was getting angry and worried and unhappy. He told himself it was all right to be angry, but he had better get away from the worry and the unhappiness. That wasn't the way to start this trip. This trip was very important and it had great meaning and he mustn't think of it in terms of hazard.

  Captain Adams was saying, “After all, when there's a woman aboard—”

  “That's enough.”

  “I'm only saying—”

  “You're saying too much.” He glared at the captain. “You made a deal, didn't you? You trying to crawl out of it?”

  Adams sat there comfortably, his arms crossed, his shoulders relaxed against the cabin wall. “I made a deal and you can hold me to it. That is, of course, unless you change your mind.”

  Cassidy breathed hard. “You want me to change my mind? Why do you want me to do that?” He threw his arms out in a confused, somewhat frantic gesture. “Christ Almighty, man, you don't even know me. What's all the brotherly interest?”

  “Fatherly interest.”

  “Ah, screw that.” He turned away. He was breathing very hard and a lot of thoughts were going through his mind and he tried to snatch at them to see what they were. But they were running too fast.

  He heard Adams saying, “I'm trying to steer you right.”

  “It ain't getting across. I don't even hear you.”

  “You hear me and you know I'm making good sense. It's getting on your nerves because you have no way to answer me. You have no argument. It's just like Shealy said. Like he told me. He said this girl Doris is a drinker, a far-gone alcoholic, really in bad shape. He said—”

  “The hell with what he said.”

  “Can't we talk about it?”

  “No.” Cassidy made a gesture toward the door. “It's my problem.”

  Adams stood up and moved toward the door. “Yes,” he said, and he had hold of the door-handle. “I guess you're right about that.” He was turning the handle and opening the door. “It's your problem. And I can tell you it's a damn shame, it's a real heartbreaker. But if you want it that much, you'll sure have it.”

  Cassidy turned to say something, but Adams had walked out and the door was closed. He stood there looking at the door. It was an ordinary door made of wood but he was telling himself it was the door of a cabin on a ship going to South Africa. That made it a special kind of door. It was a very important door because soon it would open again and Doris would come walking in and then they would be here together in the cabin of this ship going out across the Atlantic Ocean, going southeast down across the Atlantic, going all the way down there down south to South Africa. With himself. With Doris. Going away together.

  That was true. That would happen. And it was bound to happen, it was right and Shealy was wrong, the captain was wrong. They were wrong because they were weak. Just a pair of weak, washed-out old men who had long ago lost the vigor and the spine and the spark.

  But he, Cassidy, he hadn't lost it. He still had it, packed solid and wedged in tightly and letting him know it was there. It was there in his mind and in his heart and he told himself he hadn't lost it, he would never lose it. It was the marvelous substance and fire and surging and as long as it was there, as long as it revolved and throbbed, there was chance, there was hope.

  He moved across the cabin to stand at the porthole, and he looked out upon the dark water. The river pulled gently at his eyes, to show him the wider stretch of water beyond the river. And he knew soon it would be the ocean, he would be here with Doris in the cabin, looking out together through the porthole and seeing the ocean.

  And crossing the ocean. With his woman, Doris. Going to South Africa. Eight or nine days on this ship on the ocean and then South Africa. Probably Capetown, and he'd go out and find some kind of work, maybe on the docks there. He wouldn't have trouble finding work on the docks. They'd take one look at the bulk of him, his muscles, and he'd have a job. It wouldn't be much but it would pay the rent and bring in the food and then later he'd look for a better job; After all, South Africa was a big place and people traveled from city to city. They had busses—.

  He was shaking his head, telling himself he mustn't think of it. But there it was, he saw it happening, the bus rolling down off the road and then on two wheels and then on no wheels and crashing against the rocks and burning there. On the screen of his mind the flames were bright green and gradually there was silver in the green and it was the silver color of something that wasn't a bus. It was a fuselage. It was part of the big four-engined plane that had crashed at the far end of La Guardia Field, near the small bay, burning there in the swampland.

  And yet, even as the searing and scorching and brightness of the flame were causing him to groan without sound, he told himself to get past it, to climb over it, to hurry and get away from it and think about South Africa.

  Then again he was thinking about Doris and himself in South Africa. Now he was able to think about the fact that they had busses there and eventually he would have a good job driving a bus. But wait, hold it, be calm and very steady and just consider for a moment that in South Africa there were airfields, there were airlines—