Sad Wind from the Sea

He shook his head. ‘I heal quickly.’

She smiled and pointed to the numerous scars on his chest and stomach. ‘You must do.’

He grinned. ‘Souvenir of the war. Shrapnel. Looks worse than it was.’

She carefully bandaged his arm and said, ‘Which war—Korea?’

He shook his head. ‘No, my war was a long time ago, angel. A thousand years ago.’ She pressed surgical tape across the loose ends of the bandage and looked quickly up into his face. The sharp triangle that formed his chin was covered with a dark stubble that accentuated the hollowness of his cheeks and the dark sombreness of the eyes. For a brief moment he looked down at her and then he said, ‘You’ve done this sort of thing before,’ and gestured to his bandaged arm.

She nodded. ‘A little—but even that was too much.’

Suddenly she began to shiver uncontrollably and Hagen slipped his arm about her shoulders and squeezed. ‘You’re all right,’ he told her. ‘It’s all over.’ She nodded several times and broke away from him, and stood over by the window, her back towards him. He opened a drawer and by a miracle discovered a clean shirt. By the time he was properly dressed again she had recovered.

‘That was rather silly of me,’ she said. ‘The essential feminine weakness coming out, I suppose.’

Hagen laughed. ‘What you need is a drink.’ He poured gin into two moderately clean glasses and, crossing the room, kicked open the window and led the way out on to the balcony. The girl sat in the only chair and Hagen leaned on the balcony rail and for a short time there was silence.

‘Do you think I might have a cigarette?’ Her voice spoke gently from the darkness. He fumbled in his pocket and finally discovered the battered packet. As the match flared in his cupped hands, and she leaned forward, the delicate beauty of her face was thrown into relief. He held the match for a moment longer than was necessary, and they looked briefly into each other’s eyes, and then he flicked the match out into the darkness in a long, curving arc. ‘I’d like to thank you for what you did back there.’ She spoke slowly and carefully as though searching for words.

‘Girls like you shouldn’t be on the waterfront in the early hours,’ he told her.

As if she had suddenly arrived at a decision her voice sounded again from the darkness, this time more assured and confident. ‘My name is Rose Graham.’

So he had been right about one of her parents, at least. He half-turned towards her. ‘Mark Hagen. Captain Hagen I’m known as in these parts.’

‘Oh, you are a sea captain?’

‘I have a small boat,’ he told her. It came to him that he was wrong. The operative word was ‘had’. I had a small boat, he thought. What have I got now? Another thought struck him, more immediate, more urgent. ‘Was I in time back there?’ he said. ‘I mean, did those mugs really harm you or anything?’ He felt suddenly awkward.

The chair creaked as she stood up. ‘They didn’t harm me, Captain Hagen. It wasn’t that kind of an assault.’

She moved to the rail and stood beside him so that his shoulder touched hers lightly each time he stirred. The wind blew in from the sea and the mist rolled across the harbour, and the riding lights of the ships glowed faintly through the gaps that appeared every so often when the wind tore a hole in the grey curtain. From the balcony the view was magnificent and suddenly Hagen felt at peace and restless, happy and discontented, all at the same time. It had been a bad day and the past came too easily to mind. He decided that it was all the girl’s fault. It had been a long time since he had been so close to someone like her. He sighed and straightened up.

She laughed lightly. ‘What are you thinking about? It must be something pretty sad to make you sigh so heavily.’

He grinned and took out another cigarette. ‘I was contemplating a misspent life, angel,’ he told her. ‘I seem to be making a habit of it lately. I must be getting old.’

She laughed again. ‘How ridiculous. You aren’t old. You’re still a young man.’

‘I’m thirty-five,’ he said. ‘When you’ve lived the life I have, then believe me—it’s old.’ A thought came to him and he smiled to himself and added, ‘How old are you, anyway?’

She said eighteen, in a small voice. Hagen laughed. ‘There you are. I’m twice your age. I’m old enough to be your father. In fact I’d say it’s about time you were safely tucked up in bed.’

He walked back into the bedroom and started to put on his jacket. She followed at his heels and stood watching him, playing nervously with the silk scarf that was twisted round her throat. She spoke in a high-pitched voice. ‘I don’t think it would be very wise for you to see me back to my hotel.’

He straightened up slowly and looked at her without speaking. She flushed and dropped her eyes and he said, ‘If you think I’m going to let you walk two miles through the worst part of Macao on your own, you’re crazy.’

She darted past him and had the door half open before his hand gripped her arm and pulled her back. She struggled for a moment and then relaxed suddenly and completely and said despairingly, ‘Captain Hagen, I’m trying to tell you that if you take me back to my hotel you may be involving yourself in more ways than you think.’

Hagen took a crumpled linen jacket from behind the door and handed it to her. ‘Here, woman! Cover thy nakedness!’ He intoned the words with deliberate pomposity.

She dissolved into laughter and for a moment or two they laughed together. When she spoke again the edge of nervousness had gone, but she was still desperately serious when she said: ‘You’ve been very kind to me. It’s just that I don’t want to see you get mixed up in something that isn’t your concern.’

‘I suppose this all ties in with your being on the waterfront at such a peculiar hour?’

She nodded. ‘I had to see a friend. He telephoned and asked me to meet him at a certain warehouse. The taxi-driver wouldn’t wait and then those men…’

‘I still think it was a funny hour to see a friend and if he knows this town he shouldn’t have asked you to come to a quarter like this at such a time.’ Hagen was surprised to discover that he really felt angry about the whole thing. ‘If I hadn’t arrived you’d probably have ended up in the harbour.’

She turned away, desperation on her face again. ‘But don’t you see,’ she said, ‘it wasn’t that kind of an assault. Those men wanted some information and they’ll try again. If you are seen with me…’

She left the sentence unfinished and shrugged her shoulders. Hagen considered the point for a moment and then he went over to his bed and felt under the pillow. When he straightened up he was holding an American service issue Colt automatic. He checked the action of the weapon and slipped it into his pocket. He grinned and, opening the door, motioned her out. ‘I love trouble, angel,’ he said. ‘It makes life so much more exciting.’ For a brief moment she stared at him and then her face relaxed into a smile and she went through the door without a word.

It took about forty minutes to reach her hotel. The girl hardly spoke a word on the way. Hagen guessed that she was almost on the point of collapse and finally slipped a hand under her arm. She leaned heavily on him and a faint, delicate perfume tingled in his nostrils. For a moment he savoured its sweetness pleasantly and then impatiently shrugged it aside and concentrated on keeping alert in case of trouble.

At the foot of the steps leading up to her hotel they halted. Hagen said, ‘Well, this is it.’

She nodded sleepily. ‘Will I see you again?’

For a moment he considered the question and doubts raced through his mind. The girl meant trouble—big trouble. He was sure of that and he had enough troubles of his own at the moment. He made his decision suddenly as she swayed forward tiredly and bumped against him. ‘Yes, you’ll see me again, angel,’ he said. ‘I’ll drop in around noon.’

He smiled reassuringly and patted her on the shoulder. ‘Noon,’ she said and suddenly warmed into life. A deep smile bloomed on her face. She reached up and pulling down his head, kissed him lightly on the mouth, and then turned and ran up the steps and into the hotel.

For a moment Hagen stood there, her fragrance still with him, then he turned away and began to walk briskly back towards the waterfront. He smoked a cigarette and thought about her and now and then a tiny smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. As if he didn’t have enough trouble. ‘You never learn,’ he said, half-aloud, and as he bent his head to sniff again at the fragrance on his shoulder where her head had rested, a bullet dunted the wall beside him.

As he ran for the shelter of a warehouse doorway, a car engine started up, and a large limousine appeared through the fog like a menacing monster and hurtled towards him. Hagen scrambled into the safety of the doorway and, turning, pulled out his automatic and loosed three shots in rapid succession at the car. It swerved wildly and scraped a fender as it rounded the corner of the street and disappeared. The whole thing had happened in a matter of seconds. Only the reflex action of several years of hard living had saved him.

He kept to the wall for the rest of the way to his hotel and held the automatic at the ready, but nothing happened. When he entered the hall the night-clerk was still asleep, head propped between his hands. Hagen had reached the foot of the stairs before a thought struck him. He turned back to the desk and shook the sleeping man by the shoulder. It was several moments before he awakened. Hagen was intrigued. Only a short time before the man had been awakened by the faint sounds made by two people quietly crossing the hall. Now it took several moments of hard shaking to wake him. The man raised his head and looked at him in surprise and said politely: ‘Ah, Captain Hagen. You are back.’

Hagen leaned on the desk and said casually, ‘Has anyone been asking for me?’

‘At this time in the morning?’ The clerk was trying to sound surprised and failing badly. ‘You joke me?’

Hagen lifted the flap and was on the other side of the desk in one smooth movement. ‘No, I don’t joke you,’ he said and grabbed the terrified man by the lapels. ‘Now start talking. Who enquired after me?’

‘No! Please. I have nothing to say.’

Hagen produced the automatic. ‘That’s a pity,’ he said, ‘because you’ve got about ten seconds to change your mind before I start wiping this across your face.’

He chucked the man under the chin with the barrel by way of encouragement and the clerk cried out suddenly. ‘I talk! I talk!’ His voice was cracked and high-pitched like an old woman’s and he was sweating with fear. ‘Just after you and lady leave, two men come in. Very nasty, very rough. They ask about you. One have knife. He say I not talk, they cut my throat. What I do? I tell what they want to know and they leave.’

The sing-song voice finished mangling the English language and he stood shaking like a frightened little bird looking for some place to hide. Hagen thought for a moment and said, ‘Were these men white men?’

‘No! They Chinese.’

Hagen nodded. ‘Do you know them? Have you ever seen them around here before?’

The night-clerk’s eyes dropped and he looked more afraid than ever. ‘Not from Macao. Me think they from mainland.’