Deck Boy, page 30
That night, asleep in my bunk, I was troubled by nightmares: dreams about freezing, and blindness, and imprisonment, and men with knives, and the mate inviting me into a steaming bath, and the sea thrashing with crocodiles and sharks as I was tipped over the side.
My cries disturbed Charlie. In the middle of the night he called down to wake me.
As I crossed to the washbasin for a glass of water, I was running with sweat.
Ossie Tears his Clothes
THE NIGHTMARES continued and I stopped going out on deck at night, at least by myself, and I tried to stay close to friends. Physically I quickly recovered and two days later joined the second mate’s crew at stations as we set sail from the capital.
New Plymouth, our last port of call in New Zealand, was a short journey to the north-west: through the Cook Strait, across the bight and round the Taranaki peninsula. There was a full moon that night. Hour after hour the Cape Egmont lighthouse flashed to starboard. In the darkness between the flashes a ghostly mountain peak, capped with snow and perfect as Mount Fuji, hung in the sky.
A group of us stood watching.
“Mount Egmont,” Aaron said. “Extinct volcano. Wouldn’t mind climbing that if I can get a day off. Anyone fancy coming?”
We docked at dawn and an hour later the slings and pallets of cargo began swinging aboard: mutton and lamb, butter and cheese, beef, sheepskins and wool. I returned to my peggy routine: tidying the petty officers’ cabins, mopping the alleyway, cleaning the crew bar and washroom.
I felt fine but Charlie, for the first time since we’d met back in Westport, was complaining:
“Oohh!” He held his stomach. “Hurts like hell. That curry last night. You OK, are you?”
“Yeah.”
“Not like me this. Give us a plate of rusty nails an’ I’ll digest ‘em like baby rice.” He made a face. “Think I’m going to be sick.”
By evening it had eased off. We went to the pictures with Kevin and a few others, and the following morning his pain was no more than a distant grumbling.
This was the day that Rat’bone, who had resumed his cruel teasing of Ossie, got a taste of his own medicine.
It started at dinner time, six in the evening. Loading would continue for another three hours but for us work was finished for the day. I was standing in the queue, thinking of nothing in particular, when suddenly there was a cry of outrage:
“No! No! Aahh! Take them off!” It was Ossie, serving the meal in his white cap and apron. “You horrible, disgusting – !” He threw over a tray of food. Haddock hit us where we were standing. Next moment he was gone and we were left staring.
“Bloody nutcase!” Aaron was dressed for going ashore. Angrily he examined a grease mark on his shirt. “What was all that about?”
I looked around. The reason was not hard to find. A figure dressed in priest’s garb had joined the queue. Beneath one arm he carried Ossie’s ouija board. In his other hand was a coffee scoop, held daintily as if offering sugar. He tipped it over and dust filtered to the deck. It was Rat’bone, unshaved and smirking, the abscess faded to a purple scar. Finding Ossie’s cabin unlocked, he had gone in and rooted through the drawers. There lay his medication, his books and other personal possessions. Opening the casket containing his mother’s ashes, he had dug out a scoopful.
I left the queue and ran down the stewards’ alleyway. Ossie had shut himself in his cabin and refused to open the door.
“No, Ben. I’m all right.” His voice was choked. “Leave me alone.”
I heard rustlings and bumps. “Ossie!”
No reply.
“Come on.”
“Go away.”
“No.” I was scared he might harm himself.
Barbara joined me and rattled the handle.
“Ossie? It’s Barbara.”
Again, no reply.
“Come on, let us in. Ben and me are worried … If you don’t open up I’m going to kick the door in like the bosun. You’ll not be able to lock it again.”
There was a long silence. The key turned.
Ossie was unharmed. No knives or cords were in evidence, nor were any pills, though I had seen enough in his drawer to polish off a dozen men. But he was naked, or almost, an enormous pink grub, clutching a handful of ragged white material. More lay on the deck. He had torn his clothes to shreds.
“What are you doing? Oh, Ossie, love!” Barbara, barely up to the big man’s shoulder, hugged him tight.
Ossie was frozen then broke down in tears.
“Off you go and get your dinner, Ben,” Barbara said. “You’ll be all right now, won’t you, darling.”
Ossie nodded and rubbed snot from under his nose.
“Tell Kevin to put something in the hot plate for me,” Barbara said.
I was getting more used to this high emotion but still found it a bit embarrassing. “See you, Ossie.” I rested a hand on his arm.
He covered it with his bear-like paw and sniffed soggily. “Thaks, Bed.”
Serving was almost finished. I took over from Aaron whose shirt was now spattered with beans and gravy. “All right, is he?” he asked unsympathetically. “Going to live?”
Rat’bone sat alone, ostracised by the rest of the crew and sneering to show he didn’t care. He wiped his lips with Ossie’s robe and mopped the dew from a can of lager.
And that, I thought, apart from the memory, was that – until about eleven the same evening when I lay reading in my bunk. Charlie lay overhead. The ship was at peace. Feet padded past, voices murmured, a few cabins away someone was playing Elton John. Comfortable sounds.
The peace was shattered by a bellow of rage. I let the book fall. Angry shouts.
I pulled on shorts and ran up the alleyway to see what was happening.
The disturbance came from Rat’bone’s cabin. Others were before me. The story went round: he had been ashore for a few beers and returned to find his clothes and possessions heaped on the deck. A tin of condensed milk, a jar of coffee, Rat’bone’s own whisky, a six-pack of Foster’s and the contents of several ashtrays had been tipped over the top. His bunk, drawers and the bulkheads were similarly fouled. It was a thorough job.
A scrap of paper was being passed round. I read the scrawled message:
Rat’bone the sadist!
This is for Ossie Bagot.
He is not responsible.
“Not responsible?” Rat’bone was murderous. “Who else would do it? I’ll kill the bastard! Get out the way.”
But Ossie had friends, lots of them. I could think of several people who might have done it: Michael, Barbara, the chef, Kevin, me. I was delighted someone had given Rat’bone a taste of his own medicine.
Savagely he stormed down the alleyway. “Maggot! Maggot!” He beat on Ossie’s door. “I know you’re in there. Open up!”
There was silence then a high tremulous voice: “Go away. What do you want?”
“I want to break your fat neck, that’s what I want. I’m going to murder you. Open this sodding door.”
“What’s all this noise?” A calm voice at the back made us turn. Captain Bell, in flowery shorts and a jersey, had come up unnoticed. “I go for a stroll round the deck and it’s mayhem down here. Like a damned prize fight.”
Men stood aside to let him through.
“Now what’s going on?”
Rat’bone is Put on a Charge
“IT’S THAT mad bloody messman!” Rat’bone was raging. “He should be locked – ”
“Not you, Rathbone. And don’t swear in my presence.” Captain Bell looked around. “Jones, you tell me.”
Samuel, in boxer shorts and a white singlet, explained what had happened. I passed Samuel the note and the captain read it.
“And what makes you think Bagot did this,” he asked Rat’bone, “when the note specifically states he did not?”
“’Cause he’s a nutter!” Rat’bone said. “Who else would be bloody mad enough to pull a stunt like that?”
“I told you, watch your language. And why should Bagot, this night of all nights, suddenly decide to make a heap of your clothes and cover them with condensed milk?”
Rat’bone shrugged.
“You didn’t, for example, ransack his cabin before dinner? Dress in his personal clothes to make a fool of him in front of the others?”
“Well … yeah.” Rat’bone was taken aback – how did he know? “But not to make a fool of him, just as a joke like.”
“Rathbone, what do you take me for? Do you think I don’t know what’s going on aboard my own ship?” He tried the handle on Ossie’s door then knocked. “Bagot? This is the captain. Open your door.”
“That right? An’ I’m the Queen of Sheba. Go away!”
The hint of a smile showed on Captain Bell’s face. He knocked again. “It is the captain, Bagot.”
“Leave me alone. I’m telling you, if you kick the door in, I’ve got a big knife.”
“Excuse me, sir.” Barbara was having a night aboard. He wore red matador pants and a white angora sweater. Captain Bell, a little surprised but unfazed, stood back. “Ossie, love. You know who this is.”
“Barbara?”
“That’s right, dear. It is the old man, honestly. He’s standing right here beside me.”
Something from inside.
“Yes, really. And he’s ever so nice, you know that. A real sweetie. So open up, love, and let’s get all this cleared up. … Yes, Michael’s here as well. And Ben, and Samuel, a whole lot of people. It’s quite safe.” He stood aside. “I think he’ll come out now.”
“A real sweetie?” The captain’s twinkle had become a smile. “I’ll show you, Tanner.”
There was movement in the cabin, the scrape of a key.
Captain Bell turned. “All right, back to your cabins, the lot of you.” His eye sought out Michael, the officers’ steward. “Goldie, ask the duty officer to step down for a moment please. I’ll either be here or in Rathbone’s cabin.”
We dispersed, though in my case only two doors along to Michael’s cabin. Barbara joined me. We listened at the curtain.
“Bagot, just wait inside, I’ll speak to you in a moment. Shut the door.” We heard the click. “Now, Rathbone. Do you remember what I said after that little incident in Fiji?” There was silence. “Straighten up when I’m talking to you. Off the bulkhead! Do you remember? You do? Well, let me remind you anyway. I told you to leave Bagot alone. He’s been ill but he’s doing a good job. No complaints from anyone about his work. He’s got good friends on this ship and if it wasn’t for the likes of you picking on him he’d be fine. Now I don’t know if you’re stupid, sick or just plain evil, but I’ll tell you one last time: leave Bagot alone! Do you understand? Leave him alone and he’ll leave you alone, or if he doesn’t, let me know and I shall deal with it.”
“But he’s a loonie. Do you know about his mother’s ashes, the way he dresses up, his queer voice an’ – ?”
“Yes, I do know. But none of that affects you, not since that voodoo business – which you brought on yourselves as I seem to remember, and I spoke to him then. Now, shall we go and see this mess you’re complaining about?” He tapped on Ossie’s door. “All right, Bagot, let’s have you out now.”
The second mate arrived and Michael joined Barbara and me in his cabin. “Dressed like this up there, I nearly died.” He wore mascara and lipstick, a shirt knotted across his ribs, chopped-off jeans and flip-flops.
Ossie emerged from his cabin.
Captain Bell spoke more gently. “There’s no need to distress yourself, Bagot, but I have to know. The absolute truth mind. Did you go into Rathbone’s cabin and make a mess of his clothes?”
“I d-don’t know what you’re t-talking …”
“Dump them on the floor and pour beer over them.”
“Over his c-clothes? I’m sorry, I d-don’t understand.”
“You lying bastard!” There was a scuffle and raised voices.
“Enough! That’s enough!” Captain Bell’s voice rose above the rest. “Right, Rathbone, that’s it. I’m putting you on a charge. Make a note in the log, Second. I want you in my cabin tomorrow morning, Rathbone, properly dressed, half past nine. Have a shave and get yourself cleaned up, you’re a scruff.”
“I’ll see the union about this!” Rat’bone’s voice was a snarl. “Hardly needs open his mouth an’ you believe his side of the story.”
“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll be quiet. Speak to me like that again and I’ll have you locked up.”
Figures emerged into the alleyway, Michael, Barbara and me among them.
“This ship!” Captain Bell shook his head. “I never knew anything like it.”
The second mate, in full uniform with his white cap, took Rat’bone’s arm.
“Take your ’and off of me!” He jerked his arm away and looked down the alleyway. “Had a good look, have you? Bastards! An’ you three,” he jabbed a finger, “if it wasn’t ’im it was one o’ you. Bloody poofs! I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Come on!” Tim Nettles urged him along.
“Touch me again an’ I’ll land you one. You’re not allowed to lay a finger on me, officer or no.”
“I am when you’re on a charge. And when I write it up I’ll add these little threats. Right now you’re on a loser, Rathbone, so do yourself a favour. The rest of you,” he looked back, “into your cabins. Now.”
And that was it. We never discovered who had carried out that act of revenge on Ossie’s behalf. Although his friends in the catering department were the most likely, my guess is that it was Smoky, who couldn’t stand Rat’bone. Somewhere between his scraggy exterior and his alcohol and nicotine-fuelled interior, Smoky Crisp was one of the kindest men on the ship. There was a recklessness about him, something about the way he said, “Me? Why pick on me?” that marked him out as my chief suspect.
But soon, dramatic as these events had been, they were swallowed up in the greater drama that was to follow.
Mount Egmont
BUT NOT just yet.
Two days after the events I’ve just described, there was a local holiday. The mate saw it as a chance to get some much-needed maintenance work done, but Captain Bell announced that we were to have the day off too.
Aaron got a group of us together to climb Mount Egmont, the beautiful snow-capped volcano which rose from the surrounding plain.
“I’ve been reading up about it.” He produced a leaflet. “I thought it was extinct but it’s not, blows off every few hundred years. Come on, it’ll be great. Bit of bad luck we get our arses singed tomorrow. Ben can go first, just in case.”
Brian, who was about the same age as my dad, hired a minibus. We planned to take it as far as a lodge, four thousand feet up a twisting track through rhododendron forests, and climb the remainder of the way.
Charlie was looking forward to it but his bellyache had returned. “I shouldn’t have had that pizza,” he said as we came back from town the same evening. “Giving me gyp.”
He spent a disturbed night and in the morning was no better. “Sorry, Ben, mate. Don’t want to let you down. But there’s absolutely no – aahh! – no way I’d be able to climb a mountain today. Sorry, I think I’m going to be – ” He lurched towards the washroom but didn’t make it and threw up in the alleyway. I said I would clear it up but he wouldn’t let me.
“Will you be OK?”
“Yeah.” He mopped his mouth with a wrist. “I’ll go to the sick bay. Mate’ll give me something.”
I was disappointed but Kevin joined us at the last minute, so in the end there were six of us: Brian, Aaron, Philip, who met us round the corner, Kevin, Michael and me. I was surprised that Michael wanted to come.
“I didn’t think it would be your sort of thing.”
“Just because I’m gay doesn’t mean I’m a limp-wristed Mary-Ann,” he said reprovingly, and I remembered how he had attacked the brawny Ryland in the dock office.
It was a great day. At half past nine we reached the lodge, a large wooden chalet, and ate a packed breakfast. Then, tightening laces and in high spirits, we set off climbing. It was a beautiful morning, the summer sun high in the north-east, but not too hot for there was a steady sea-breeze and we were high above the surrounding plain. Far above us the twin peaks were white with snow.
It was a hard slog. For two hours we struggled uphill. Aaron, to my surprise, was the first to drop out.
“Too many women,” Michael said sagely. “That’s your trouble. Sapped your strength.”
“You’re just jealous.” He sat on the scree. “It’s my feet.”
I wore my heavy work shoes but Aaron had borrowed boots. He unlaced one and tugged it off. An enormous blister covered his heel. There was a smaller, vicious-looking one on the knuckle of his big toe. The nail of his little toe was bleeding. He turned to his second foot and looked up at the summit. We were barely halfway. “Damn,” he said, “and I was looking forward to it. I’ll go back to the chalet, wait for you there.”
“Will it be open?”
“Yeah, opens at eleven.”
“I’ll go with him” Kevin had been wheezing from the start. Climbing Mount Egmont was harder than he had expected. “Too much fags and booze.”
“You said it.” Michael hooked his thumbs under the straps of his borrowed rucksack.
“You need talk. Never see you without a gin in one hand an’ a fag in the other.”
“Ah, but gin’s mother’s milk to me. And I smoke,” he dropped his voice, “Macho Fags, made from the dung of mountain lions. Macho Fags, for macho men!”
“Go on, you great fairy,” Kevin said.
We set off again, leaving Kevin and Aaron to make their way back down.
I thought I wasn’t going to reach the top myself. The grey slopes of volcanic rock, sparse with vegetation, went up and up, up and up and up. My knees strained, my muscles ached. Philip halted, panting, to wait for me. Michael, who was in the lead and by all the rules should have been back with Kevin, saw that I was struggling and sat on a rock until we caught up with him. He unwrapped a few squares of chocolate and passed them across.
