Read Online In High Places by Arthur Hailey - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Arthur Hailey
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glanced knowingly at the others.
'What's your opinion about Henri Duval?' Dan asked.
Stubby Gates took a deep swig from his own mug before answering.
' 'E's a decent little fellow. Most of us like 'im. 'E works when we ask 'im to, though a stowaway don't have to. That's the law o' the sea,' he added knowledgeably.
'Were you in the crew when he stowed aboard?' Dan asked.
'You betcher! We fahnd 'im when we was two days out o' Beirut. Thin as a ruddy broomstick, 'e was. I reckon the poor bastard was starvin' before 'e come on the ship.'
De Vere had tasted his tea and put it down.
'Bloody awful, ain't it?' their host said cheerfully. 'It tastes o' zinc concentrate. We picked up an 'old full of it in Chile. Bleedin' stuff gits in everything - yer 'air, yer eyes, even the tea.'
'Thanks,' the photographer said. 'Now I'll be able to tell them at the hospital.'
Ten minutes later Henri Duval came to the galley. In the meantime he had washed, combed his hair, and shaved. Over his shirt he wore a blue seaman's jersey. All his clothing was old but clean. A tear in the trousers, Dan noted, had been neatly darned.
'Come and sit down, Henri,' Stubby Gates said. He filled a fourth mug and placed it before the stowaway, who smiled his thanks. It was the first time he had smiled in the presence of the two newsmen, and it lighted his face, making him seem more boyish even than before.
Dan began the questioning simply. 'How old are you?'
There was the slightest of pauses, then Duval said, 'I twenty-three.'
'Where were you born?'
'I born on ship'
'What was the name of the ship?'
'I not know.'
'Then how do you know you were born on a ship?'
Again a pause. 'I not understand.'
Patiently, Dan repeated the question. This time Duval nodded understanding. He said, 'My mother tell me.'
'What nationality was your mother?'
'She French.'
'Where is your mother now?'
'She die.'
'When did she die?'
'Long time back - Addis Ababa.'
'Who was your father?' Dan asked.
'I not know him.'
'Did your mother tell you about him?'
'He English. A seaman. I never see.'
'You never heard his name?'
A negative headshake.
'Did you have any brothers or sisters?"
'No brother, sister.'
'When did your mother die?'
'Excuse -I not know.'
Reframing the question, Dan asked, 'Do you know how old you were when your mother died?'
'I six year old.'
'Afterwards, who looked after you?'
'I take care myself.'
'Did you ever go to school?'
'No school.'
'Can you read or write?'
'I write name - Henri Duval.'
'But nothing else?'
'I write name,' Duval insisted. 'I show.'
Dan pushed a sheet of copy paper and a pencil across the table. Slowly and in a wavering, childish hand the stowaway signed his name. It was decipherable but only just.
Dan gestured around him. 'Why did you stow aboard this ship?'
Duval shrugged. 'I try find country.' He struggled for words, then added, 'Lebanon not good.'
'Why not good?' Involuntarily Dan used the young stowaway's abbreviated English.
'I not citizen. If police find -I go to jail.'
'How did you get to Lebanon?'
'I on ship.'
'What ship was that?'
'Italian ship. Excuse -I not remember name.'
'Were you a passenger on the Italian ship?'
'I stowaway. I on ship one year. Try get off. No one want.'
Stubby Gates put in, 'As far as I can figure it, 'e was on this Eyetalian tramp, see? They was jist goin' back and forth rahnd the Middle East. So 'e 'ops it at Beirut an' gits on this one. Git it?'
'I get it,' Dan said. Then, to Duval, 'What did you do '" before you were on the Italian ship?'
'I go with men, camels. They give me food. I work. We go Somaliland, Ethiopia, Egypt.' He pronounced the names awkwardly, making a back-and-forth movement with his hand. 'When I small boy, crossing border not matter, no one care. Then when I bigger, they stop - no one want.'
'And that was when you stowed on the Italian ship?' Dan asked. 'Right?'
The young man nodded assent.
Dan asked, 'Do you have any passport, papers, anything to
'What's your opinion about Henri Duval?' Dan asked.
Stubby Gates took a deep swig from his own mug before answering.
' 'E's a decent little fellow. Most of us like 'im. 'E works when we ask 'im to, though a stowaway don't have to. That's the law o' the sea,' he added knowledgeably.
'Were you in the crew when he stowed aboard?' Dan asked.
'You betcher! We fahnd 'im when we was two days out o' Beirut. Thin as a ruddy broomstick, 'e was. I reckon the poor bastard was starvin' before 'e come on the ship.'
De Vere had tasted his tea and put it down.
'Bloody awful, ain't it?' their host said cheerfully. 'It tastes o' zinc concentrate. We picked up an 'old full of it in Chile. Bleedin' stuff gits in everything - yer 'air, yer eyes, even the tea.'
'Thanks,' the photographer said. 'Now I'll be able to tell them at the hospital.'
Ten minutes later Henri Duval came to the galley. In the meantime he had washed, combed his hair, and shaved. Over his shirt he wore a blue seaman's jersey. All his clothing was old but clean. A tear in the trousers, Dan noted, had been neatly darned.
'Come and sit down, Henri,' Stubby Gates said. He filled a fourth mug and placed it before the stowaway, who smiled his thanks. It was the first time he had smiled in the presence of the two newsmen, and it lighted his face, making him seem more boyish even than before.
Dan began the questioning simply. 'How old are you?'
There was the slightest of pauses, then Duval said, 'I twenty-three.'
'Where were you born?'
'I born on ship'
'What was the name of the ship?'
'I not know.'
'Then how do you know you were born on a ship?'
Again a pause. 'I not understand.'
Patiently, Dan repeated the question. This time Duval nodded understanding. He said, 'My mother tell me.'
'What nationality was your mother?'
'She French.'
'Where is your mother now?'
'She die.'
'When did she die?'
'Long time back - Addis Ababa.'
'Who was your father?' Dan asked.
'I not know him.'
'Did your mother tell you about him?'
'He English. A seaman. I never see.'
'You never heard his name?'
A negative headshake.
'Did you have any brothers or sisters?"
'No brother, sister.'
'When did your mother die?'
'Excuse -I not know.'
Reframing the question, Dan asked, 'Do you know how old you were when your mother died?'
'I six year old.'
'Afterwards, who looked after you?'
'I take care myself.'
'Did you ever go to school?'
'No school.'
'Can you read or write?'
'I write name - Henri Duval.'
'But nothing else?'
'I write name,' Duval insisted. 'I show.'
Dan pushed a sheet of copy paper and a pencil across the table. Slowly and in a wavering, childish hand the stowaway signed his name. It was decipherable but only just.
Dan gestured around him. 'Why did you stow aboard this ship?'
Duval shrugged. 'I try find country.' He struggled for words, then added, 'Lebanon not good.'
'Why not good?' Involuntarily Dan used the young stowaway's abbreviated English.
'I not citizen. If police find -I go to jail.'
'How did you get to Lebanon?'
'I on ship.'
'What ship was that?'
'Italian ship. Excuse -I not remember name.'
'Were you a passenger on the Italian ship?'
'I stowaway. I on ship one year. Try get off. No one want.'
Stubby Gates put in, 'As far as I can figure it, 'e was on this Eyetalian tramp, see? They was jist goin' back and forth rahnd the Middle East. So 'e 'ops it at Beirut an' gits on this one. Git it?'
'I get it,' Dan said. Then, to Duval, 'What did you do '" before you were on the Italian ship?'
'I go with men, camels. They give me food. I work. We go Somaliland, Ethiopia, Egypt.' He pronounced the names awkwardly, making a back-and-forth movement with his hand. 'When I small boy, crossing border not matter, no one care. Then when I bigger, they stop - no one want.'
'And that was when you stowed on the Italian ship?' Dan asked. 'Right?'
The young man nodded assent.
Dan asked, 'Do you have any passport, papers, anything to
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