The moon stayed covered and I could not see his face in the dark.
"England," he said. "Yes, I'll take you."
I followed him to a little backwater, where was beached a rowboat. Even
by feel, in the blackness, it seemed to me a very small and frail craft
to chance the voyage across the choppy sea, but I had no choice. I
seated myself in the stern while he took the oars, cast off and rowed us
down the river toward the estuary.
I decided he must be one of that company of smugglers who were ferrying
refugees into Britain despite the strictest watch. No doubt he thinks to
make a pretty penny for tonight's work, I thought, but no coastguard
would turn back Albert Weener. I would pay him well for his help, but he
could not blackmail me for fabulous ransom.
Still the moon did not come out. My eyes, accustoming themselves to the
dark, vaguely discerned the shape opposite me and I saw he was a short
man, but beyond this I could not distinguish his features. The river
broadened, the air became salty, the wind rose and soon the little boat
was bobbing up and down in a manner to give discomfort to my stomach.
The water, building terraces and battlements, reflected enough light to
impress me with the diminutiveness of the boat, set in the vastness on
which it floated.
Behind us the French coast was a looming mass, then a thick blob,
finally a thin blur hardly perceptible to strained eyes. I was
thoroughly seasick, retching and vomiting over the narrow freeboard.
Steadily and rhythmically the man rowed with tireless arms, apparently
unaffected by the boat's leaping and dropping in response to the impulse
of the waves and in my intervals of relief from nausea I reflected that
he must have gained plenty of practice, that he was an old hand in
making this trip. It was a peculiar way to gain wealth, I thought,
caught in another spasm of sickness, enriching oneself on the misery of
others.
I vomited and dozed, dozed and vomited. The night was endless, the wind
was bitter. What riches, I wondered, could compensate a man for such
hardships? By the time the wanderers got to the Channel they could not
very well have much left and unless my smuggler were gifted with
secondsight he could not know, judging by the way he had accosted me,
whether he was carrying a man who could pay £10, £100 or £500 for the
accommodation. Well, I philosophized, it takes all kinds to make a
world, and who am I to say this illicit trafficker isnt doing as much
good in his way as I in mine?
I don't know when my nausea finally left me, unless it was after nothing
whatever remained in my stomach. I sat limp and cold, conscious only of
the erratic bobbing of the little vessel and the ceaseless rhythm of the
oars. At last, unbelievably, the sky turned from black to gray. I could
not believe it anything but an optical illusion in the endless night and
I strained to dissipate whatever biliousness was affecting my vision.
But it was dawn, sure enough, and soon it revealed the pettish,
wallowing Channel and the fragile outline of our boat, even tinier than
I had conceived. I shuddered with more than cold--had I known what a
cockleshell it was I might have paused before trusting my life so
readily to it.
Line by line the increasing light drew the countenance of my guide. At
first he was nothing but a shape, well muffled, with some kind of flat
cap upon his head. A little more light revealed a glittering eye, more,
a great, hooked nose with wide nostrils. He was a man of uncertain age,
bordering upon the elderly, with a black skullcap under which curled
outward two silverygray horns of hair. The lower part of his face was
covered with a grizzled beard.
He must have been studying me as intently, for he now broke the silence
which had prevailed all night. "You are not a poor man," he announced
accusingly. "How is it you have waited so long?"
"I'm afraid youve made a mistake in me, my friend," I told him jovially,
"we shan't be making an illegal entry. I am resident in England and can
come home at any time."
He was silent; from disappointment, I concluded. "Never mind, I'll pay
you as much as a refugee--within reason."
"You are a follower of reason, sir?"
I tried hard to make out more of his still obscured face for there was a
note of irony in his voice. "I believe we'd all be better off if
everyone were to accept things philosophically. Responsible people will
find a way to end our troubles eventually and in the meantime madness
and violence--" I waved my hand to the French coast behind--"don't help
at all."
"Ah," he said without pausing in his rowing, "men alone, then, will
solve Man's problem."
"Who else?"
"Who Else, indeed?"
The smuggler's answer or confirmation or whatever the equivocal echo was
irritated me. "You think our problems can be solved from the outside?"
He managed to shrug his shoulders without breaking the rhythm of his
arms. "Perhaps my English is unequal to understanding what you mean by
outside. All the forces I know are represented within."
I was baffled and switched the subject to more immediate themes. "Are we
about halfway, do you think?"
The light now exposed him fully. His hands were small and I doubted if
the arms extending from them were muscular, but he radiated an air of
great vitality. His face was lined, his eyes fierce under outthrust
eyebrows, his lips--where the crisp waves of his beard permitted them to
show--stern, but his whole demeanor was not unkindly.
"It is easy to measure how far we have come, but who can say how far we
have to go?"
This metaphysical doubletalk annoyed me. "I don't know what is happening
to people," I said. "Either they act like those over there," I gestured
toward the Republic One and Indivisible, "or else they become mystics."
"You find questions without immediate answers mystical, sir?"
"I like my questions to be susceptible to an answer of some kind."
"You are a man of thought."
It amused me to speak intimately to this stranger. "I have lived inside
myself a great many years. Naturally my mind has not been idle all the
while."
"You have not married?"
"I never had the time."
"Ah." He rowed quietly for some moments. "'Never had the time,'" he
repeated thoughtfully.
"You think marriage is important?"
"A man without children disowns his parents."
"Sounds like a proverb."
"It is not. Just an observation. I suppose since you have not had the
time to marry you have devoted your life to good works."
"I have given employment to many, and help to the pauperized."
"It is commanded to be charitable."
"I have given millions of dollars--hundreds of thousands of pounds to
philanthropies."
"Anonymously, of course. You must be a godly man, sir."
"I am an agnostic. I do not know if there is such a thing."
He shook his head. "Beneath us there are fish who do not know it is the
sea in which they swim; above us there are birds unaware of the reaches
of the sky. The fish have no conception of sky; the birds know nothing
of the deep. They are agnostics also."
"Well, it doesnt seem to do them any harm. Fishes continue to spawn and
birds to nest without the benefits of esoteric knowledge."
"Exactly. Fish remain fish in happy ignorance; doubt does not cause a
bird to falter in its flight."
The sun was pushed into the air from the waters as a ball is pushed by
the thumb and forefinger. The chalkcliffs were outlined ahead of me and
I calculated we had little more than an hour to go. "You have chosen a
strange way of earning a living, my friend," I ventured at last.
"Upon some is laid the yoke of the Law, others depend upon the sun for
light," he said. "Perhaps, like yourself, I have committed some great
sin and am expiating it in this manner."
"I don't know what you mean. I am conscious of no sin--if I understand
the meaning of the theological term."
"'We have trespassed,'" he murmured dreamily, "'we have been faithless,
we have robbed, we have spoken basely, we have committed iniquity, we
have wrought unrighteousness----'"
"Since the rational world discarded the superstitions of religion
halfacentury ago," I said, "we have learned that good and evil are
relative terms; without meaning, actually."
For the first time he suspended his oars and the boat wallowed crazily.
"Excuse me," he resumed his exertions. "Good is evil sometimes and evil
is good upon occasion?"
"It depends on circumstances and the point of view. What is beneficial
at one time and place may be detrimental under other circumstances."
"Ah. Green is green today, but it was yellow yesterday and will be blue
tomorrow."
"Even such an exaggeration could be defended; however, that was not my
meaning."
"'We have wrought unrighteousness, we have been presumptuous, we have
done violence, we have forged lies, we have counseled evil, we have
lied, we have scoffed, we have revolted, we have blasphemed, we have
been rebellious, we have acted perversely, we have transgressed, we have
persecuted----'"
"Perhaps you have," I interrupted with some asperity, "but I don't
belong in that category. Far from persecuting, I have always believed in
tolerance. Live and let live, I always say. People can't help the color
of their skins or the race they were born into."
"And if they could they would naturally choose to be white northEuropean
gentiles."
"Why should anyone voluntarily embrace a status of inconvenience?"
"Why, indeed? 'We have persecuted, we have been stiffnecked, we have
done wickedly, we have corrupted ourselves, we have committed
abominations, we have gone astray and we have led astray....'"
We both fell silent after this catalogue, quite inapplicable to the
situation, and it was with heartfelt thanks I distinguished each fault
and seam in the Dover Cliffs as well as the breaking line of surf below.
I presumed because of what I'd said about legal entry he was not
avoiding the coastguard, but with a practiced oar he suddenly veered and
drove us onto a minute sandy beach at the foot of the cliffs, obviously
unfrequented and probably unknown to officialdom. A narrow yet clearly
defined path led upward; this was evidently his customary haven. Were I
an emotional man I would have kissed the little strip of shingle, as it
was I contented myself with a deep sigh of thanksgiving.
My guide stood on the sand, smoothing the long, shapeless garment he
wore against his spare body. He had taken a small book from his pocket
and was mumbling some unintelligible words aloud. I was struck again by
the nervous vigor of the man which had given him the strength to row
all night against a harsh sea--and presumably would generate the energy
necessary for the return trip.
I pulled out my wallet and extracted two £100 banknotes. No one could
say Albert Weener didnt reward service handsomely. "Here you are, my
friend," I said, "and thank you."
"I accept your thanks." He bowed slightly, putting his hands behind him
and moving toward his boat.
Perversely, since he seemed bent on rejecting my reward, I became
anxious to press it upon him. "Don't be foolish," I argued. "This is a
perilous game, this running in of refugees. You can't do it for
pleasure."
"It is a work of charity."
I don't know how this shabby fellow conceived charity, but I had never
understood that virtue to conflict with the law. "You mean you ferry all
these strays for nothing?"
"My payment is predetermined and exact."
"You are foolish. Anyone using your boat for illegal entry would be glad
to give everything he possessed for the trip."
"There are many penniless ones."
"Need that be your concern--to the extent of risking your life and
devoting all your time?"
"I can speak for no one but myself. It need be my concern."
"One man can't do much. Oh, don't think I don't sympathize with your
attitude. I too pity these poor people deeply; I have given thousands of
pounds to relieve them."
"Their plight touches your heart?"
"Indeed it does. Never in all history have so many been so wretched
through no fault of their own."
"Ah," he agreed thoughtfully. "For you it is something strange and
pathetic."
"Tragic would be a better word."
"But for us it is an old story."
He pushed his boat into the water. "An old story," he repeated.
"Wait, wait--the money!"
He jumped in and began rowing. I waved the banknotes ridiculously in
the air. His body bent backward and forward, urging the boat away from
me with each pull. "Your money!" I yelled.
He moved steadily toward the French shore. I watched him recede into the
Channel mists and thought, another madman. I turned away at last and
began to ascend the path up the cliff.
_91._ When I finally got back to Hampshire, worn out by my ordeal and
feeling as though I'd aged ten years, there was a message from Miss
Francis on my desk. Even her bumptious rudeness could not conceal the
jubilation with which she'd penned it.
"To assuage your natural fear for the continued safety of Albert
Weener's invaluable person, I hasten to inform you that I believe I have
a workable compound. It may be a mere matter of weeks now before we
shall begin to roll back _Cynodon dactylon_."