You cough slightly when you come in because of the thick smoke.. also because it’s the custom.. it’s opaque all the way to the back of the room.. and as far as the bay window on the Thames.. the little wide panes.. Got to get right against them to see clear. Prospero Jim’s at the bar. He’s squint-eyed but he sees his people all right.. He’s a flash size-up artist.. He’s not too keen on me.. He must be a little jealous..
"The rope, you understand?” he reminds me. "That tells everything… Right, my boy? The rope! That’s the whole story!..”
Talking about his old job perks him right up. dancer in the Bordington Company, the big world-wide circus, a month in every city, record sellouts, always the same triumph, flowers, cigars, and girls galore.. He had just about one joke, always the same, about the sun. When it was pouring outside he never let up with it..
"Lovely weather, my Lord! Lovely smile! London sun! Don’t you think so?”
He’d shoot it from the bar at everyone who came in, that was his Italian’s revenge, they called him Ravioli, he came down hard on the z’s.
"Here, you zee, it only rains twize a year!.. But zix monthz at a time!”
He knew all about the river, the people, the ways, the trafficking, just as he did about his pub and his customers. He was always suspicious of newcomers… he was afraid of anything that prowls… He wasn’t a bad sort, but soured because of the climate… he made dough, that was all.. He wanted to go back to the sun. Home to Calabria, and well-heeled! That was his program. It didn’t happen by itself. There were hard deals!..
"Big? Fat?” he’d ask me.
That was how he felt me out. I could see what he was insinuating. If I’d got something from the boat. If I’d answered right off, I’d have done myself harm.. Had to grunt at him just so, "Ooh!. Oh!..” anxious, not slobbering. a good impression. our way of talking, French style, did us a lot of harm. Answered "Hm! hm!” He’s got a good opinion of me. We’re going to sit down in the daylight at the long table against the window. time passes… the customers doze a bit.. Some of them even snore. It’s the fatigue, and then the smoke and the stout dulls you… A pint in each fist.. It’s a sort of maneuver. They’re waiting for the whistle to blow again at the Poplar wharves, for the noise to start up again, shrieking, for the trucks to unload.. then a dash to the storerooms! tearing away everywhere! disappearing into the works, the big uproar starts again, they’re sweating away inside, grunting with effort, knocking themselves silly, groaning, working punch-drunk at full steam! Chnooff!.. Chnooff!!.. Chnooff!!
.. the crane winds up, swings, carries off the slops!.. it goes up! down! it dusts! a whirl of junk! Still got time to see how things’re shaping up! the tide starts floundering out around eight o’clock. The clients don’t gab much!. they’re sort of dozing with fatigue.. they’re waiting.. Just have to be on the lookout from time to time, to keep an eye on things, on the flats beyond.. toward the trees… the break around the bend.. toward Greenwich after Gallions Rock where the ships come up with the pilots on the ebbing tide.. Nor’west-nor’-west. little ones first right at the head. the measly plunderers, the caravan.. the big ones afterward, the mastodons, the steamers, the sober buzzing with triple-echoed sirens.. the hoarse one.. the bassoon, the ailing. the Indias.. The P. and O.’s. they blast out!. majesty!. What Lords! the mail boat! the clients tear out of the joint! A rush to the moorings!
The ship’s pulling in!. The pub empties in a second!.. all the clients on the rungs!.. to the sculls! and I know you!.. at the stem! at the rails!
The Mate’s looking out from up above.
"Fifty going up!”
The Mate bawls out to the echo..
"Two extra!..”
Go to it, riffraff! jump windward!. Getting crushed! killing themselves on the ropes!..
The dockers climb up.
The big propeller’s churning at their asses!.. Prroof!!.. Prroof!!. Prroof!!. grinding through the mush! bulging bubbles!..
Telegraphing. from the bridge: Ding! Ding! Ding!..
"All astern!”
Easy does it! big tremble!. Nearing the dock!. groans at the side!.. slowly pulls in.. Tucks in there, tiny-enormous. docks!. It’s ready!. Oof! It’s over!. A big bellyfull of sigh. Oof! Oof! Over! Over! big little-boat!. Sad, the end of the music.. Sorrow comes down on it!.. Back to port!.. All tied up everywhere by a thousand ropes.. Pain covers everything over. blots it out. Stop!
r
\Jascade was at home and in such a boil that no one dared open his mouth. After all he liked his crew and the gals in particular. There were nine of them around him, some nice, some big, some skinny, and two who were pretty awful to look at, Martine and La Loupe, I got to know them well later on, they always had the best takes, his charm-champs, what scarecrows. Men’s tastes are a hash, they stick their noses anywhere, they bring back cockeyes, hags, they think they’re cream puffs, that’s their affair, it’s not yours, they’ll never know, so let ’em screw.
They twaddled away, a regular birdhouse, jabbering, squealing, enough to make you dizzy, on edge for a fight, you couldn’t hear yourself. Cascade wanted it to stop, he had a speech ripe, important things. He was dashing around in shirt sleeves, he was yelling for it to stop, for them to shut up. A pearl-gray form-fitting vest, tight pants, a spitcurl flat against his forehead nicely twisted down to his eyebrows, he still looked pretty good, he stood his ground all right, he’d stopped trying to be a lady-killer, just a little with his mustache, his handle bars, he must’ve been quite slick in the old days! But he was getting gray, he’d changed, especially since the big worries, the beginning of the war, he couldn’t stand screeching, especially the girls’ yapping, he’d fly right off the handle.
There were decisions had to be made..
"After all, I can’t pimp for all of you!.. God damn it! ”
They were laughing at his troubles.
"I’ve got four of my own! That’s enough! That’s my load! Am I the Chabanais? I don’t want any more, Angele! you hear me? I don’t want another single one!”
He was refusing women.
Angele must have smiled. Her man looked comical yelling away. A serious woman Angele, his real one, who ran his stable, she had a tough time.
"I’m not crazy, Angele! I’m not Pelican! Where’s it going to end? Where’m I going to hide them all if this goes on? What do I look like? What’s got to be has got to be! All right! but what the hell! let it stay as is! The Sharp wasn’t beating his brains out. he cleared out just two days ago. he’d been looking for me, the fairy..starts bending my ear. He tries to reason with me: Take mine, Cascade! you’re a pal! the only one I’ve got confidence in! I’m a-off to war!’ he tells me. 'I’m a-off to fight!’. Well go!
'You’re a pal! I know you! It’s a break!’ No sooner said than done!.. Satchel! The gentleman beats it, doesn’t even turn around! A job lot, a gal on my hands! Poor Cascade! One better! No time to grunt! I’m all swelled up! 'I’m a-off to war!’ that’s all there’s to it! Cool as a cucumber! 'I’m in it all right,’ he tells me, 'the Sappers! 42nd Engineers!’ All is forgiven! The gentleman gives another encore! The gentleman looks like a young man! The gentleman’s getting rid of his worries! Woman trouble for me, and how!.. I say to myself 'The Sharp saw me! He’s taking advantage of the circumstance! He’s appointing me goodhearted manager!’ I didn’t like that kind of trick! Let me tell you I was pretty sore! I left and went toward the Regent. I said to myself 'I’m going to wake up the bookie, got an idea. Four o’clock! that’s the time for the Royal! Pay-off time! I’m going to drop in and get my money from him! A wad! Stuttering Phil owes me a pile! He’s not in much of a hurry! I’m going to scare the hell out of him!’ Who do I bump into at the door but Jojo!.. He goes at me right away… in some state!.. What heat! I say to myself he’s drunk!. Not at all!. He’d just enlisted! Another one! He was shooting his mouth off.. ’Cascade,’ he says, 'take my Pauline!’. Begs me just like that!. He grabs hold of me!