Inland Passage Page 7

  “Where are you staying?” I asked.

  She couldn’t remember either the name of the hotel or the name of the street, but she knew the place when she saw it. Alarmed at the prospect of her giving such directions to a cab driver, I almost offered to take them downtown; but Derek would be tired. He wouldn’t want to be troubled with strangers, particularly this kind of muddle-headed child whose needs multiplied with every sentence.

  “How old is Wally?”

  “He’s twenty-one, two years older than me.” She hesitated. “He’s a sailor, but he’s not just an ordinary sailor. I mean, he’s not like a sailor. You’ll like him, Ruth. I know you will.”

  The waiting room had gradually filled with people, and through the glass doors I could see the first passengers standing at the immigration desk.

  “Here they are,” I said.

  “I’m that excited!”

  And she was. She had no real reluctance or doubt or fear. Her nervous touching of her hair, her throat, the seam in her stocking was only a taking of basic inventory which had already been approved. She was lovely. She was ready.

  I was so busy looking for her Wally that I didn’t see Derek until he stood right before us, half amused, half irritated. I kissed him with more energy than I intended, then turned away from his embarrassment to introduce him to Joy.

  “Was there an American sailor on the plane?” I asked.

  “No.”

  “He must be in civilian clothes,” I said. “Shall we just wait to say hello?”

  Derek hesitated. “You wait. I’ll take my bag to the car and meet you there. Where is it?”

  I handed him the keys, knowing I ought to go with him, but I wanted to see Joy safely in Wally’s hands before I left her. And I wanted to give them my phone number at least. I stood by her, watching the passengers claim their luggage, go through customs, and then come through the doors to be greeted or to hurry alone through the crowd to bus or taxi.

  “Maybe he’s been held up at the immigration desk,” I said, as the waiting room emptied, leaving us once more alone together. “Shall I go see?”

  All the passengers had been cleared, but the immigration officials were glad to hear that Joy was still in the waiting room. They wanted to see her.

  “He must have missed the plane,” she said.

  “Are you sure he was to be on this plane?” the immigration officer asked, not unkindly.

  “When is the next plane?” I asked.

  “At eleven.” It was only six-thirty. “Another at one, and that’s it for the night.”

  “Do you want to come home with me?” I asked. “I could bring you back to meet the late planes.”

  “She can stay here,” the officer said. “We’d rather she stayed here.”

  “But you haven’t had any dinner, have you?”

  “She can get dinner at the cafeteria.”

  “Don’t stay,” Joy said. “Derek’s waiting. I’m all right.”

  “Have you enough money?”

  “Yes, yes, I have plenty of money,” she answered nervously.

  “Well, look, take my phone number and call me if you need anything. Call me anyway. Will you call me?”

  “We’ll take care of her,” the officer said, in a tone meant to be reassuring, but I didn’t like it.

  “I’ll call,” Joy said. “You go on now.”

  I tried to make an amusing story of it. It was always better to break through Derek’s irritation by ignoring it; but his uninvolved silence, as we drove back to the city, began to irritate me. We arrived at my apartment so un-admittedly out of sorts with each other that it was only half way through the second martini that we began to be more than civil. Even then, as he told me about the problems of his trip, his whole account was designed to make me feel guilty at having kept him waiting. I wondered, as I stood in the kitchen making the salad, how it was that we had skipped both the period of romantic passion and violent quarrels and had settled into the subtle tensions of married life without either being married or seriously playing at it. Probably it’s my fault. My first marriage taught me not to expect much or at least not to ask for it, and Derek’s cautious intelligence makes it honorable to give no more than is asked.

  At dinner he settled to one of his favorite topics, the peculiar shallowness of the American character, using his business contacts and this “no-show sailor” as good examples. He didn’t include me. One of his greatest compliments has always been that I don’t seem like an American at all. But the dinner was good, and by the time we had finished the bottle of wine he was feeling genuinely fond of me. He reached into his briefcase for a small box. They were very pretty earrings. Derek has excellent taste.

  “I missed you,” he said.

  “I missed you, too.” It was true. Whenever we’re apart, I think Derek and I both spend a lot of time trying to decide whether or not we should marry. It’s exhausting. When we’re together, the question doesn’t seem to come up. It’s more peaceful.

  “Coffee?”

  I couldn’t keep my mind on him. I looked at my watch so often that he finally asked if I was tired and wanted him to go home.

  “It’s not that,” I said. “It’s Joy.”

  “Who?”

  “The Australian girl. I keep wondering if Wally is on the eleven o’clock plane.”

  “I doubt it,” Derek said. “An American sailor? I doubt it.”

  “You know, you’re wrong about Americans. They have a romantic streak.”

  “Well then, sailor. All sailors are alike. Even the Australians. Haven’t you ever heard of the English girl who fell in love with an Australian sailor? He promised her he’d come back and marry her. He said his name was Sidney Harbor.”

  “But Wally sent her a ticket. He wouldn’t have sent her a ticket…”

  “Ruth, why do you have to get so involved? You don’t even know these people.”

  “Because they don’t know anybody else. Joy’s all on her own, thousands of miles from home, and she’s only nineteen.”

  “More fool she,” he said, but with some sympathy.

  “I’m going to phone the airport.”

  No, the immigration officials said, the sailor had not been on the eleven o’clock plane. The young lady was still waiting. They didn’t think it was necessary for me to speak with her. She was perfectly all right. I wasn’t an old friend, was I? They’d give her any message. I said I’d call back at one.

  “I don’t like the sound of it at all,” I said. “They’re acting as if they had her in custody.”

  “They probably do. After all, if the sailor doesn’t show, she becomes a problem for Canada. She may not have any money.”

  “I think we better go back out there.”

  “To do what?”

  “To be with her. To vouch for her.”

  “Honey, you can’t just take the responsibility for a stray Australian.”

  “Why not?”

  “Oh well, why not? As you say. I suppose I’m just tired.”

  “You don’t need to come with me,” I said. “I’ll drop you off at your place on the way.”

  Wally wasn’t on the one o’clock plane either. I sat with Joy in the immigration office.

  “When’s the next plane?” I asked.

  “Nine-thirty in the morning.”

  “Why don’t we go home then?” I suggested. “You come home with me, and I’ll bring you back in the morning.”

  Joy looked up at the immigration officer. She was too tired to think what to do. She waited to be told.

  “Have you decided what you’ll do if he doesn’t come?” the immigration officer asked.

  “I won’t talk about it,” she said quietly, without any anger. “He’s coming. Something’s just gone wrong.”

  “But what if he doesn’t come at all?”

  “I won’t talk about it.”

  “Let me take her home,” I said. “It’s too late to do anything tonight.”

  “Are you willing to ta
ke full responsibility for her?”

  “Of course. What time do you want her back in the morning?”

  He looked down at Joy who seemed to have lost all interest in the conversation. “Oh, let her sleep. Just phone us when she wakes up.”

  Joy was glad to go back to my apartment with me, but she asked to stop at her hotel to pick up her things. I made her describe the street and the hotel as best she could, but I did not recognize either. I simply drove up and down the main streets of the city, but it was dark and it had begun to rain. Nothing looked familiar to her. She was cold and coughing.

  “We’ll find it tomorrow,” I said. “You have to get some sleep.”

  Tired as she was, she couldn’t rest. She had been without anyone to confide in as long as she’d been without sleep. I made up her bed, gave her a glass of sherry, then a bowl of soup, and finally a sleeping pill. It was five o’clock in the morning before she closed her eyes and slept suddenly like a child, leaving me wide awake and helplessly parental.

  Derek was quite right. Joy was a fool. She had known Wally only five days! And that was over a year ago. On the strength of them, she’d broken her engagement to a settled Australian who could have provided her with a security she’d never really known, having left her own casual home at fourteen to make room for a stepfather and more children. “Security isn’t everything,” she said hopefully. “I feel comfortable with Wally, you know. I like him that much.” Oh, her friends had tried to reason with her. Nobody trusts a sailor. And everyone knew that American sailors, even if they were as white as milk, often had black babies. Joy didn’t really believe that, she said, but, even if it were true, did it really matter? She knew he would not stand her up; it was that simple. Once, when they were supposed to meet, each waited in the wrong place all day long. By the time they did discover each other, Wally had to be back to the ship, but neither one had doubted the other for a moment.

  Five days! Yes, he had sent her a ticket, but he might have panicked then, only twenty-one years old, about to marry a girl he didn’t even know. And she had confessed that she had only eleven dollars and twenty cents. She’d spent the rest of her savings on clothes and luggage and presents for Wally’s family. What would she do? Even if he did turn up finally, what kind of a marriage was this, based on the fact that each of them had been willing to stand on the wrong street corner all day long? Fools, a couple of silly fools! Wally, if you don’t turn up to marry this girl, I’ll wring your neck. I’ll personally hang you on our mutual flag pole. If you don’t turn up…I lay in the weak light of the winter morning, watching the hands of the clock edge toward nine while Joy slept soundly, not even disturbed by the single ring of the telephone.

  “This is the Immigration Office at the airport.”

  “Yes?”

  “We have a young American sailor here who wants to know what we’ve done with his girl.”

  “We’ll be right out,” I said. “Joy! Joy! Joy!”

  She dressed slowly and then wanted something to eat. I tried to hurry her, but it did no good. Was she finally having second thoughts of her own? Dressed in the same clothes, but wearing a sweater of mine under her coat, she sat next to me in the car with nothing to say. As I pulled into the parking place opposite the customs shed, I saw her sailor standing on the sidewalk.

  “There he is,” I said.

  “Yes,” she agreed, but she made no move to get out of the car. “Let’s have a cigarette.”

  “Joy, what would he think if he saw you just sitting here?”

  “But I don’t know what to say to him, Ruth. What shall I say to him?”

  “Just get out of the car, walk over there, and say anything you want. Say ‘hello.’”

  “But then what?”

  “That’ll take care of itself. Just try it…now, go on.”

  She opened the car door, but then she turned to me again. “I’m that scared. What if he doesn’t recognize me?”

  “You can’t sit here all day,” I said, exasperated.

  She started across the street very slowly. Wally was busy brushing lint off his uniform but suddenly he looked up and saw her. I don’t think she ever did say hello. There in the middle of the street, holding up traffic, she was lifted into his arms and whirled round and round. Then he set her down again, kissed her, stared at her, kissed her again. It took both horns and shouting drivers to make them at last aware that they were standing in the middle of the street.

  I put them both in the back seat. Wally had begun to explain what had happened. His three week leave had been canceled at the last minute. He’d gone to his superior officer, to the chaplain, finally to the captain. He was given mercy leave, only ten days, and by that time he’d missed three planes. He didn’t know where she was, of course. He didn’t know how to reach her, but he knew she’d be here when he arrived. The story came in sentence fragments interrupted by long silences in which they did nothing but drown in each other’s eyes.

  It was like that all day long. Both of them, at my insistence, would try to concentrate on the practical problems that confronted them: finding Joy’s hotel and her belongings, getting a license, checking with American Immigration to see how soon Joy could enter the United States. It was clear that Wally had had all these things in mind before he arrived, but, just as he was about to make a normal and intelligent decision, he would look at Joy again, and that would be that for another half hour. In the end, I gave up and simply told them what they were going to do. I found Joy’s hotel, installed Wally in her room, and brought her things back to my apartment. I called a minister. I called a friend in Victoria who knew how to get them a license in three days. I called myself a romantic fool because I knew they were going to have a wedding, a church wedding, with a reception afterwards, wedding cake, champagne and all.

  Derek thought I was absolutely out of my mind. No, he would not be best man. No, he certainly could not persuade people in his office to take time off to help fill the church, but on Tuesday night he arrived with a case of champagne, and on Wednesday afternoon he was at the wedding himself with his camera. I’d persuaded my landlord, who was growing a beard to support a centennial and to irritate his wife, to stand as best man. His wife helped me shame the local baker into making what he called wryly a “last minute, well seasoned fruit cake,” which is the sort of wedding cake anybody in the Commonwealth expects. He never did send me a bill, and he and his wife and all their children came to the wedding. The stain had come out of Joy’s wedding dress, which she had made herself of white satin with a short skirt and fitted bodice onto which she’d sewn sprays of seed pearls. The landlord, with manly embarrassment but no prompting, helped Wally choose flowers for both Joy and me, and they had white carnations in the buttonholes of their blue suits. The minister’s wife had put flowers on the altar. Thirty people stood as Joy and I moved from the front pew to take our places before the altar and as Wally, the bearded landlord, and the minister came in from the vestry.

  The minister began: “As we gather here today to join these two young people in holy matrimony, we are mindful of all those friends and family across seas and continents who are also with us now in spirit.”

  It was the happiest wedding I’ve ever been to, and the reception afterwards had a natural gaiety, inspired by the enthusiasm of the bride and groom. They had never seen a prettier church. The wedding cake was delicious, and the champagne, which they had never tasted before, was much better than beer or gingerale. Wally kept saying, “Gee, this is great! Man, the fellas back at the ship will never believe this!” Joy could not bear to take off her wedding dress; it was that beautiful. She decided to wear it back to the hotel. Derek and I drove them downtown.

  “Now, Wally, you give this girl a good dinner,” Derek said firmly. “You both need real food after all that champagne.”

  “Man, wasn’t that a great wedding?” Wally demanded.

  “It’s the prettiest wedding I’ve ever been to,” Joy agreed. “It’s the only one I’ve ever be
en to.”

  “I went once before.” Wally said. “To my brother’s. But that was so serious. My mother was crying, and, you know, for a while I thought my dad was crying, too; he wasn’t. It was a real hot day and it was just his Vitalis melting and running down his face. It wasn’t anywhere near as good as this. Hey, I like champagne.”

  We let them out in front of their hotel and watched them go up the steps hand in hand.

  “Man,” Derek said, imitating Wally as he brushed the rice off his own shoulders, “this isn’t Vitalis.”

  “I don’t suppose it really matters that they don’t know each other,” I said tentatively. “They’re so young they don’t even really know themselves.”

  “I wonder if any of us ever do,” Derek said, a momentary sadness in his voice. “Shall I take you out for dinner?”

  I wanted to be dewy-eyed about this marriage. I’ve had enough reality to know I have to live in it; but, if I can’t daydream about myself, I still like to daydream about other people. If Joy had been able to go back to San Diego with Wally, they might have remained for me a harmless, romantic indulgence. Nobody I know, however, could manage American Immigration authorities as we’d been able to manage everything else. When Wally’s leave ran out, Joy’s papers had still not arrived. She moved back into the apartment with me to wait.

  Oh, it wasn’t that their brief honeymoon had been dreadful. It was real and it was funny. Wally had apparently taken Derek’s advice about dinner, but he had also, in his enthusiasm, ordered yet another bottle of champagne with the result that, when they finally arrived in their room, he passed out cold and slept peacefully, in the middle of the bed, all night long. The following night he’d had a nightmare, bashed Joy in the eye with his elbow and said sharply, “Get out of my bed, Joanne!” Joy was obviously not disturbed so much as curious about everything that was happening to her.

  “Ruth, do American girls shave their legs?”