It was a happy girl who arrived the following day at the gangway to
Philippe’s ship. Ursula had carefully polished the buttons of her
uniform, put on her best khaki silk tie and the silk stockings forbidden
in the regulations, and brushed her chestnut-colored hair, which hung
thick and straight at both sides of her face, like the hair of little
girls on their way to school.
It was twelve-thirty and the sun burned the length of the quay. The
warship seemed so spotlessly clean, and its flag was so blue, so white,
so red! At the gangway the sentry came to attention for her, and for a
second Ursula felt like an admiral. Philippe was already advancing
toward her, followed by a group of midshipmen, all young, all smiling,
all overjoyed at seeing a French girl.
Ursula, with her hair mussed by the wind, was surrounded by all the blue
uniforms and taken to the commander’s cabin. The commander offered her
sherry and showed her his Chinese engravings. Then they went in to
dinner. There was an immense table, and around it sat twelve officers.
Ursula was the only woman. She laughed ceaselessly and Philippe poured
out white wine for her, and then red wine, and this made her laugh and
chatter even more. A dark sailor, a native from the colonies, served
chicken with rice while smiling at the nice young lady.
She had never drunk so much or eaten so much. The pastries were perfect,
and the black coffee made her heart beat faster. After that there was
brandy in lovely stemless glasses, altogether round like little bowls.
Ursula was seated on the couch, the radio played, the uniforms
chattered, and Philippe sat down next to her and began to ask her
questions. Ursula talked about Down Street. It had been the limit of her
horizon for many months; but she said nothing of Claude.
Philippe asked her if she had a boy friend. She said no, blushing, and
she saw that Philippe didn’t believe her. Suddenly it was as though a
light had dawned on her. She comprehended, though vaguely, that all
these nice officers, seeing her in uniform, told themselves that she was
certainly used to drinking, used to freedom, to men, and to life. To
them, she was a little girl in appearance only, for everybody knew
perfectly well that women in the Army were no babies. The whole idea
barely crossed her mind; her head whirled, the radio played, and the
midshipmen began to sing, and Ursula took up the refrain with them, “_En
allant glaner des joncs._”
Most of the afternoon went by like this, in laughter and song. The
commander had gone back to his cabin. The slant-eyed sailor had brought
in tea and cookies, and some of the officers left to go ashore. Philippe
explained to her that most of them came to sleep in their cabins only on
their day of guard duty. During the three months of waiting for their
motor to be repaired, they had rented apartments in the city, and they
spent their free hours and their nights in town.
Then Philippe suggested that he take her around the ship. They left the
dining room. Ursula climbed up ladders, went down ladders, crossed over
narrow passageways, and stepped into the broiling galley, where sailors
were at work half naked. Afterward she leaned against the railing on the
bridge while Philippe showed her all the directions on the compass. That
way was America, and that way was Iceland, and down there was Brazil.
They sat down on a coil of rope, and Philippe showed her how to make
sailor’s knots and Ursula tried to make them the way he did. She wished
that she were a man so that she could be a sailor.
As they rose, Ursula looked at her hands. After climbing all the
ladders, leaning against smokestacks, and hanging onto ropes and rails,
her hands were completely black. “I must wash my hands,” she said to
Philippe.
Philippe led her down more ladders and through long corridors, and
finally stopped before a closed door. He opened it and gestured her
inside. “This is my cabin,” he said.