Read Online The Passenger by F. R. Tallis - Free Book Online Page B

Lorenz took one last look through his binoculars. The lifeboat was surrounded by flotsam, lots of objects—all roughly the same size—creating a regular pattern on the surface. It took him a few seconds to appreciate what he was looking at. Each element of the pattern was a dead body.

    T HE MIASMA IN THE BOW compartment was almost overwhelming: bilge water, moldering food, body odor, and the cloying smell of decomposing lemons. Two naked light bulbs seemed to intensify rather than relieve the gloom. Hammocks were suspended between the upper bunks requiring those passing through to stoop or crawl. Conditions were horribly cramped, and it was difficult to make even relatively small movements without hitting a rail, a locker, salted meat, or a slimy green cheese. Some of the berths were occupied by sleeping off-watch men, and one of them was snoring loudly. Occasionally, he would stop breathing, and a lengthy pause would be followed by a loud, protracted gasp. They were hemmed in like livestock and made nauseous by the perpetual roll of the boat. Belches, fetid exhalations, flatulence—there was no escaping the indignities of the body in the bow compartment.
    Berger was lying on his side, propped up on his elbow, staring at a blank sheet of paper and trying unsuccessfully to compose a letter to his girlfriend. He repositioned his body on the mattress but was still uncomfortable.
    â€˜What’s her name?’ asked Peters.
    â€˜Rosamunde,’ Berger answered.
    â€˜How old is she?’
    â€˜Seventeen.’
    Kruger leaned out of his bunk into the feeble light. His face was covered in red rashes and boils caused by the grease he was obliged to work with. A torpedo man could always be identified by his bad skin and the tang of iodine ointment. Kruger leered at Peters and said, ‘Just seventeen. Think of it . . .’ Leaning out a little further, he added: ‘What have you got there?’
    Peters rolled over so he was facing the hull. ‘Nothing.’
    â€˜Yes you have.’ Kruger got out of his bunk and wrestled with Peters. After a short struggle he triumphantly held up a bra. ‘Oh, will you look at this!’ Kruger pulled the shoulder straps apart and let the cups dangle. ‘Who does it belong to?’
    â€˜Just a girl,’ said Peters sheepishly.
    â€˜You stole it?’ Kruger feigned shock.
    Stein appeared and snatched the bra from Kruger. He held it against his face, inhaled, and said, ‘I can smell her.’
    They all froze when they heard Lorenz say, ‘How cosy it is in here.’ His approach had been silent. Kicking an empty can of tinned fruit aside he advanced a few more steps. He was wearing a sweater and his white cap was rakishly askew. ‘Obersteuermannsmaat Stein, if you’d put that fetching female undergarment down for a moment I’d like to offer you a drink.’
    â€˜Kaleun?’ Stein handed the bra back to Peters.
    Lorenz produced his bottle of rum and filled two small glasses. He handed one of them to Stein and said, ‘I believe it’s your birthday. And my birthday wish for you is . . .’ he hesitated for a moment, ‘is that you have a future. Any future, frankly, let alone a happy one.’
    â€˜Thank you, Herr Kaleun,’ said Stein.
    They touched glasses and knocked back their measures. Stein coughed. The rum was particularly strong. Lorenz reached out to Peters and indicated that he wanted to examine the bra. Peters handed it over and Lorenz gazed down at the brocade trim which had become slightly soiled with oil. The atmosphere became a little tense as the men wondered what the skipper was thinking. After a lengthy pause he looked up, scanned the expectant faces, and burst out laughing. ‘Good for morale, is it? Perhaps I should advise Admiral Dönitz to make bras standard issue. One never knows. It could prove to be the difference between victory and defeat.’ He threw the bra at Peters and