“That’s just as well. I don’t like to talk much about the other girls,
you know I don’t, but that Olga is just plain loose. I’m not saying the
rest of us are any the better, I mean I know I’m not such a pure ...
well, you know, but after all I don’t take on more than one....”
“For Christ’s sake!” Bervick snapped at her. He was disgusted by this
corrupt mass of a woman saying such a thing of Olga. “That’s hard to
believe,” he added more calmly.
“What? That I don’t go with more than one? Why you know perfectly well
I don’t. My only fault is that I’m just too affectionate.” She purred
this last, and under the table her knee was pushed against his.
“I guess that’s right.” You couldn’t be angry with Angela, he thought.
He wondered if Olga would be waiting for him.
“Then of course you know about her ... Olga, I mean ... two-timing that
Frenchman off your boat. What’s his name?”
“I know about that. That’s old.” Bervick spoke with authority, and
Angela was impressed as he intended her to be.
“Well, maybe she’s through with him.” She sighed and her great breasts
rippled. Bervick wondered if Olga might marry him if he asked her. That
would certainly cut the Chief out, he thought viciously. He frowned.
“What’s the matter, darling?” asked Angela, leaning over the table, her
face close to his. Cheap perfume floated up from her in heavy waves;
it made him want to cough.
“Not a thing, Angela, not a thing.” He moved back in his chair.
“Well, don’t frown so,” she said peevishly, and then more brightly,
“What about a drink? They’ve got some good stuff here. Hey, Joe,” she
yelled at the waiter. He came over to their table.
“Two shots, Joe.”
The man went behind the counter and returned a moment later with two
jiggers of whiskey. Bervick started to pay.
“Never mind.” Angela pushed his money aside. “This is on the house,
isn’t it, Joe?”
“Sure.” Joe walked away.
“I know so many things about Joe, you see.” Angela giggled. They gulped
the whiskey. A tall blond sailor across the room caught her eye. She
smiled and winked at him. The sailor came over to their table.
“Hello, beautiful,” he said.
“Hello, handsome.” Angela made fluttering feminine movements. Bervick
stood up.
“I think I’ll go now,” he said. He noticed the sailor wore a gold
earring in one of his ears.
“Bad luck, soldier,” said the sailor, leering and putting his arm
around Angela. Bervick turned away.
“Give my best to Olga,” said Angela. He did not answer. He walked
outside into the cold air of the Arctic night. The whiskey had warmed
him and he did not feel the cold. He was glad he had taken it.
The street was crowded with sailors. They were becoming more noisy.
Bervick walked on the extreme edge of the road in the shadow of the
buildings. He wanted no trouble tonight.
The restaurant where Olga worked was called the Fall Inn. It was owned
by a man named Fall who had a great sense of humor. Olga used to
laugh a lot with Bervick when she thought of the funny name Mr Fall
had thought of. She liked to explain to customers why the name of the
restaurant was so funny.
The Fall Inn was a large, well-lighted frame house on one of the lanes
that went back from the main street. Near it was a withered evergreen
tree surrounded by a picket fence. This had been Mrs Fall’s idea.
Bervick stepped inside. He stood in the doorway, accustoming his eyes
to the light. Behind the counter, stood Olga. She was waiting on a
dozen or so customers. Olga was a tall girl with a slim figure. Her
features were rather flat and without distinction, but her eyes were
a beautiful shiny china blue. Her hair was silver-gold, long and
untidy, and her complexion was white and smooth. She had thick legs and
graceful hands.
She saw Bervick when he came in. She looked away quickly and busied
herself with the cash register.
He went over to her and sat down at the counter. “How are you?” he
asked, not knowing anything else to say.
“What do you want?” She spoke nervously.
“I just wanted to see you,” he said. “I guess it’s O.K. for me to sit
here.”
“Go ahead, it’s a public place.” Still she did not go away. A man
across the room shouted for some coffee. Slowly she went back into the
kitchen. She seemed frightened.
“Not making any headway with her, are you?” Bervick looked behind him.
Duval was standing there. He had been there for some time.
Bervick felt sick to his stomach. For a moment he said nothing. Then he
asked easily, “What are you doing here?” He was careful to control his
voice.
“Just what do you think, Sergeant?” Duval grinned. “I’m just here
having some coffee and maybe having Olga later on. I haven’t made up my
mind yet.” Duval sat down beside him.
“I thought,” Bervick spoke slowly, “that you weren’t going to see her
tonight.”
“I never said I wasn’t. Besides it’s her and my business. She don’t
want nothing to do with you anyway.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.”
“Well, you just go ask her, sucker.” Duval played with the sugar
container.
Olga came back from the kitchen. She was frowning. Her light brows
almost met.
“What are you doing tonight? Are you going to see this guy?” Bervick
asked. Olga flushed and thought a moment. Bervick knew already what she
would answer. Olga liked money too well. But, knowing this, he still
wanted her.
Olga decided to be angry. “What makes you two think you’re so good you
can tell me what to do? I think you’re both conceited. Maybe I ain’t
interested in neither of you.”
“Maybe you’re right,” said Duval. “I guess I’ll just pay for some
coffee and get on out.” Then he opened his wallet and let her see the
thick sheaf of bills. Her eyes narrowed.
“What you in such a hurry to go for? My gracious, you’d think I was
poison or something.” A customer yelled for food and she went back into
the kitchen.
“I’d like to break your back,” said Bervick very deliberately, making
each word a curse.
“Don’t get upset, Sergeant. I just got more than you. I been keeping
Olga ever since she got tired of you. You know that, so why do you keep
hanging around? What you want to do? Marry her?”
Bervick felt sick. He watched the Chief’s wide mouth move as he
spoke. He noticed the Chief had a bright gold upper tooth. It gleamed
cheerfully as he spoke.
Duval went on talking. “There’re some other girls around here. What
about that fat girl who’s so stuck on you? What’s her name? Angela?”
“Angela!” exclaimed Olga. She came back from the kitchen in time to
hear the name “Angela.” “Why she’s just a big fat you-know-what. So
you been seeing her.” She turned on Bervick, glad at last of an excuse
to be rid of him. “Well, you got your nerve to want to do anything
with me after you been with her. Why I bet she’s got everything wrong
with her.” A customer wanted to pay for his meal. She went to the cash
register.
“Too bad,” said Duval. “You aren’t much of a lover, are you? You go see
Angela. She’s just your speed.”
Unsteadily Bervick got to his feet. He buttoned his parka. Olga did
not look at him; she pretended to be busy figuring change. The Chief
absently twirled the sugar container between his broad hands.
Bervick walked out of the Fall Inn. He did not shiver when the cold
hit him. Some men from the boats were urinating beside one of the
buildings. They did it all the time, all over the place. It was
unpleasant, he thought. Someone should put a stop to it. Thinking of
this and not of Olga, he walked back to the Anchorage Inn.
Angela was not surprised to see him. The blond sailor with the gold
earring was sound asleep in the chair beside her. On the table was a
half empty bottle of whiskey. Wearily Bervick walked over to her.
“Hello, darling,” she said brightly. “Was Olga mean to you?”
“That’s right,” he said. He sat down beside her. The sailor stirred
sleepily. His long hair fell in his face.
“Nice, isn’t he?” commented Angela, with a motherly air.
“Yeah. What are you doing tonight?”
She looked at him. The playfulness left her face. She was strictly
business now. “Sure, darling, sure,” she said. “But you know how it is.”
“I know just how it is. I only got ten dollars,” he lied.
Angela sighed. Then she smiled, her fat face creased with kindness.
“I’ll lose my reputation for this,” she said with a chuckle, “but for
an old pal, that’s a deal.” Bervick thanked her. He wondered to himself
how these wrecks of women would ever be able to adjust themselves to
peacetime when no man would look at them. “Of course you might take me
to the show first,” she added coquettishly: a female elephant trembling
at the thought of love.
“I suppose I could. What’s on tonight?”
“_Saturday Magic._ I hear it’s real good. I saw it advertised when I
was in Frisco ten years ago.”
“That sounds good to me.” Bervick helped her up. The sailor was still
asleep. Angela took the bottle of whiskey and slipped it in her coat
pocket.
“He’ll never miss it. Besides we might want some in the movie,” she
said cozily. They pushed their way through the crowd of soldiers and
sailors. Standing outside the door were two Shore Patrol men waiting
gloomily for the eventual riot.
“Nasty bunch them SP’s,” remarked Angela, and then, “Jesus but it’s
cold.” She pulled her coat tight about her neck. Quickly they walked to
the small theatre at the end of the street.
The theatre held about two hundred people. It was almost filled now
and the show had begun. They found seats at the back. A shot was being
fired on the screen and Angela, hearing it, squealed with gay terror.
Two rows in front of them a man vomited. Bervick shuddered.
“That’s all right, dear. You’ll be warm in a minute,” whispered Angela.
He put his arm around her thick shoulders. She giggled and let her hand
rest on his knee. Together they watched the figures on the screen and
thought of each other.
iii
Morning came whitely over the harbor. The water was oily calm. A small
Navy boat went through the channel and the crews of the different boats
began to stir about on the docks.
Bervick walked down the deserted street of the village. The houses
looked unlived in. There was no sign of life away from the docks. His
footsteps sounded sharp and clear in the emptiness of the morning.
He thought of Angela and felt sick at the memory of her making love in
a torn silk dressing gown, her frizzled red hair hanging stiffly down
her back. Olga was so much cleaner. He would not think of Olga, though.
The ship was already awake. The crew was straggling up out of the
focs’le. He could see Evans moving around in the wheelhouse. Martin was
out on the forward deck.
“Have a good time?” yelled Martin when he saw him.
“Sure. Don’t I always?”
“Sure.”
Bervick climbed aboard and stood beside Martin who was adjusting the
hatch cover.
“Who were you with last night? Olga?”
“No. I was with Angela.”
“That pig?”
“I know it.” Bervick sighed and began, for the first time, to recall
Angela’s large torso. “She’s got a nice personality,” he said absently.
“Don’t they all?” said Martin. He kicked the edge of the canvas into
place. “Let’s have chow.”
Evans was sitting alone at the table when they came in. He muttered a
good morning. They sat down.
Bervick was hungry. He ate even the cold-storage eggs, which Smitty
invariably served them and which they seldom ate.
Martin looked up. “Say, Evans,” he said, “what’s this story I hear
about John Jones? You know, the Indian guy from Seldovia.”
“He killed himself.” Evans pushed himself back from the table and
teetered his chair on the deck.
“What went wrong?” Bervick was interested. He had been on a power barge
with Jones.
“He drank a bottle of methyl alcohol last night.” Evans made himself
appear bored. He always did when anyone they knew died.
“Well, what did he do that for?” Evans irritated Bervick sometimes.
Evans always wanted to be asked things, as if he were an authority.
“The girl he had back in Seldovia, an Indian girl, she left him and
gets married. She writes him about it and he locks himself up in the
head and drinks this stuff. They found him around midnight. He looked
pretty awful they said. I guess he took the girl too seriously.”
Bervick knew the last remark was intended for him and he did not like
it. He would not kill himself for a woman, not himself, that was
certain.
“That’s life,” said Martin helpfully. The Chaplain and the Major
entered the salon. Both were cheerful and both looked rested. They
announced that young Hodges was still asleep.
“We played poker for a little while last night. Where were you,
Sergeant? We needed an extra man.” The Major spoke genially to show
that aboard ship he was not conscious of rank.
“I was visiting friends in the village, sir.” Bervick shifted uneasily
in his chair.
“They have a fine old Russian church there, don’t they?” asked the
Chaplain.
“Yes, they do.”
“Very interesting, these old churches. I suppose one can’t go in the
church here.”
“I think it’s locked until the war’s over,” said Evans. “The priest was
evacuated.”
“Such a pity,” the Chaplain complained. “I should like to have seen it.”
Duval and his assistants came up from the engine room. The first
assistant, a short heavy man, was splattered with grease.
“What’s the matter?” Evans asked.
“Just a little trouble with the auxiliary again. It’ll be O.K. I think.
Just go easy on them winches. I been up since five working on this
damned thing.” Duval gestured with his hands. Bervick wondered when he
had left Olga.
“Good morning, Bervick,” said Duval genially. “Did you sleep well last
night?”
Without answering Bervick left the salon and went in the galley. He
could hear the Major murmur words of surprise and he could hear Evans
change the subject.
Martin joined Bervick in the wheelhouse. “What’s bothering you?” He
asked. “You aren’t still sore at the Chief because of that Norwegian
animal?”
“Maybe I am. That’s my business.”
“You’re acting like a half-wit. Before you know it, the Chief’ll get
Evans to throw you off the boat.”
“That’s fine by me. I don’t know if I want to be around that guy.”
Bervick gave the bulkhead a vicious poke.
“You’re getting a little crazy in the head.”
Bervick shrugged. “I’m not the only one, I guess.”
“Well, you better not bother the Chief very much or there’ll be some
real trouble one of these days. Anyway I can’t see how you managed to
get so hot and bothered over Olga.”
“That’s my business.”
Martin looked at Bervick and saw that there were harsh lines about his
mouth. He was fingering his long hair.
“I guess it is,” said Martin finally.
Evans came whistling into the wheelhouse. He was followed by a Captain,
the Assistant Superintendent of the harbor.
“Are we sailing?” asked Martin.
Evans nodded. “Just as soon as the Captain here gives us clearance.”
“The weather...?”
“According to the Navy,” said the Captain, examining some papers in
his hand, “according to the Navy you will encounter heavy weather near
the Agan cape. Twenty-foot sea at the worst. Fair visibility and not
too much wind. Of course you realize at this time of year anything can
happen.”
“There are no planes leaving, are there?” asked Evans.
The Captain shook his head. “Not for a week anyway. This is about the
quickest trip for the Major.” He handed Evans an envelope. “Here’s your
clearance and the weather report in detail. See you on your way back.”
The Captain left.
“Were off,” said Martin. He looked out over the still harbor. “I guess
it will be a good trip. Hope so, anyway.”
Evans looked at the gray sky. “There’s a lot of snow up there. Go tell
the Major that he can’t fly. He wanted to know.”
Martin and Bervick went below together. They found the Major in the
salon, filing his nails. He looked inquiringly at them.
“No planes leaving, sir,” said Martin. “They’re still weathered in.”
“Well, that _is_ too bad.” The Major seemed cheerful. Bervick decided
that Major Barkison liked the idea of a three-day trip. “Will we leave
soon?”
“Right away.”
“Good.”
Bervick and Martin met the Chaplain in the companionway. The Chaplain
was not particularly pleased at the idea of a boat trip, but he decided
to be hearty and take it like a good sport. “Well, that will be nice.
I have always wanted to do this sort of thing. We never were near the
ocean in Maryland. That is, Maryland was near, or rather on, the ocean,
but we weren’t. This’ll be quite an experience for a landsman.”
“It will,” said Martin.
“I hope I shan’t have a repeat performance....”
“Not if you eat plenty of crackers. Will you excuse us, Chaplain?”
“Of course.”
They could hear Evans ringing Stand By. Together they went out on deck.
The men on watch were already there.
“How do you want to go?” Martin shouted to Evans in the wheelhouse.
Evans put his head out the window.
“Let everything go at once!”
Two seamen from one of the power barges stood by their lines on the
dock.
“O.K.,” said Martin. “Cast off.” The crew began to pull in the lines.
Bervick went aft and helped handle the stern. Martin waited while the
men coiled the lines. Then he yelled to Evans, “All free!” He could
see Evans nod and go to the telegraph.
The ship swung slowly away from the dock. The wind blew damply and
gently in their faces. The sea gulls circled high overhead.
Bervick joined Martin on the forward deck. They watched the bow of the
ship cut with increasing speed through the dark and rippled water.
“It looks awful quiet, don’t it, Martin?”
“Does look quiet. I hope it stays that way. The weather didn’t look too
good in the report.”
“Didn’t look bad?”
“No.”
“I wish to hell I’d stayed in the Merchant Marine.”
“It’s tough all over.”
“Yeah.”
“We better see what Evans wants. He’ll probably want to hose down the
decks.”
“Yeah.”
As they turned to go, Bervick reached in his pocket and brought out a
bundle which he tossed quickly overboard.
“What was that?” asked Martin curiously.
“Some old rags.”
“Oh.” They went below.
The bow of the ship cut more and more swiftly through the harbor and
toward the nets. The gulls wheeled higher and higher in the sky, and on
the crest of one wave floated a pink piece of cloth, decorated with the
words _To My Sweetheart_ ... and a map of Alaska.
_Chapter Three_
i
Major Barkison contemplated the sea and was pleased by it. Today the
water was smooth and only occasionally disturbed by gusts of wind. The
Major stood alone on the forward deck. A few miles to his left was the
vanishing entrance to the Big Harbor; before him was the Bering Sea.
Dreamily the Major thought of the sea: of the great masses of
moon-guided water, constantly shifting: of sunken ships; of all the
centuries that people had gone out on the water, and of all those,
like Evans, to whom the sea was a part of living. He enjoyed thinking
of these large vague things as the ship moved steadily ahead, causing
sharp small waves of its own, waves which shattered themselves into the
larger ones.
The water of the Bering Sea was a deep blue-black, thought the Major,
and he watched carefully the ship-made waves: black when with the sea
mass, then varying shades of clear blue as they swept up into the large
waves, exploding at last in sudden whiteness. When he had the time,
Major Barkison appreciated beauty. He had three days now in which to be
appreciative.
Several sea lions wallowed fearlessly near the ship. Their black coats
glistened in the pale morning light. For a moment they dove and
splashed near the ship, and then, quickly they went away.
He heard the sound of wings behind him. He turned and saw the Indian
cook throwing garbage overboard. The air was filled with sea gulls,
fighting for scraps on the water. He watched them as they glided in the
air, their wings motionless, their heads rigidly pointed. They seemed
reptilian to him. For the first time, noticing their unblinking black
beady eyes, he saw the snake in these smooth gray birds. The Major did
not like snakes.
Visibility was good. They seemed even closer than two miles to shore.
In the distance, toward the end of the island, he could see one of the
active volcanos. At regular intervals a column of smoke and fire came
up out of it. The island was a cluster of volcanos, tall and sharp,
their peaks covered with snow. Clouds hung over the peaks and the stone
of the mountains was black and gray.
Overhead the sun made an effort to shine through the clouded sky; the
sun seldom did, though. This was the place where the bad weather was
made, according to the Indians, and the Major agreed. He yawned and was
glad that he had not flown. He did not like flying over hidden peaks.
He hoped this trip would be uneventful.
Major Barkison had a sure method of foretelling weather, or anything
else for that matter. He would, for instance, select a certain patch of
sky and then count slowly to three; if, during that time, no sea gull
crossed the patch of sky, the thing he wanted would come true. This
method could be applied to everything and the Major had great faith in
it.
He looked at a section of sky above a distant volcano. Slowly he
counted. At the count of two a gull flew across his patch of sky.
The Major frowned. He had a way, however, of dealing with this sort
of thing. He would use the best two counts out of three. Quickly he
counted. No gull appeared. The trip would not be bad. In his mind,
though, he wondered if it might not be cheating to take the best two
out of three. One had to play fair. Not that he was superstitious, of
course.
The Major began to feel the cold of the wind. The cold came gradually.
He did not realize it until he found himself shivering. Carefully,
holding onto the railing, he walked aft to the galley.
Inside he stood by the range and warmed himself. He shivered as the
cold left. Steam came up from his hands.
Hodges and the Chaplain were sitting at the galley table drinking
coffee. The Indian cook was arranging some canned rations in a
cupboard. Major Barkison took off his parka and sat down at the galley
table.
“Pretty cold, isn’t it?” remarked the Chaplain.
“Yes, it is. Very penetrating, this cold. Goes right through to the
bone.”
“I suppose so. Actually this isn’t half so cold as Anchorage or Nome.
The Chain isn’t much worse than Seattle.”
“I’ll take Seattle,” said Hodges. “Who was it who said this place was
the chamber pot of the gods?” The Major laughed.
“I hear,” said the Chaplain, “that you are going to be promoted, Major.”
“How did you hear that?”
The Chaplain giggled. “Through the grapevine. You hear all sorts of
things that way, you know.”
Barkison nodded. “It looks like it’ll be coming through any time now.”
“That’ll be nice for you. Your career and all that.”
“Yes, it will be nice.” The Major poured himself a cup of coffee from
the pot on the stove. Then he sat down again. He poured some canned
milk into the coffee.
“They say that the natives think that’s where milk comes from, out of a
can,” Hodges remarked.
“You can get to like condensed milk,” said the Major. “I never used to
like it before I came up here.” He stirred his coffee and thought of
Fort Lewis where he had been stationed for many years before the war.
As he remembered, he missed the trees and green fields the most; large
leafy trees and green smooth clover pastures. He wondered how long it
would be before he went back.
“Where is your home?” asked the Chaplain, turning to Hodges.
“Virginia, the northern part.”
“Oh, really. That’s quite near to me. You know the monastery of
Saint Oliver?” Hodges shook his head. “Well that’s where I was, near
Baltimore, you know. When I was a child I used to visit relatives in
Pikefield County. You didn’t know anyone in Pikefield, did you?”
“I’m afraid I never did. I was never in the southern part of the state
much. I was mostly in Fairfax.”
“Great country,” commented the Major. “I’ve been in many horse shows
around there, around Warrenton. Beautiful country, I’ve always liked
it.”
“I never knew you rode, sir,” said Hodges.
“Why yes. I was in the cavalry when I first got out of the Point.
Changed over later. Cavalry was a little bit too much wear and tear
for me. You see,” and he lowered his voice and spoke rather wearily,
“you see, I have a heart murmur.”
“Really?” The Chaplain became interested. “Isn’t that odd, but you know
I’ve got the same thing. As a matter of fact the doctor up at Anchorage
told me I might drop dead at any moment. You can imagine how surprised
I was to hear that.”
“I can imagine.” The Major spoke drily. The Chaplain’s heart did not
interest him. He was a little annoyed that the Chaplain should have
mentioned it.
“Yes, I might drop dead at any moment.” Chaplain O’Mahoney seemed to
enjoy saying those words.