‘Let me repeat the bit that might interest you most,’ Duff said, putting down the tray. ‘You finally get some dick.’ He stressed the consonants so that no one would be in any doubt as to what he had said. Then Duff turned to the table. The engineer had risen to his feet and was coming towards him.
‘Take off your glasses,’ he said.
‘Can’t see fuck all without them,’ Duff said. ‘See a fuckwit with them.’
The engineer wound back his arm, announcing where the blow would come from, and swung. Duff retreated a step, swayed and, when the engineer’s oil-black fist had passed, took two steps forward, grabbed the engineer, who was now off balance, by his other hand, forced it back against his wrist, grabbed the engineer’s elbow and let his momentum take him forward while Duff slipped behind. The engineer screamed, automatically bending forward to relieve the painful pressure on his wrist as Duff steered him into a wall head first. Duff pulled the engineer back. Rammed him forward again. Against the bulkhead. Duff pushed the helpless engineer’s arm higher, knowing that soon something would have to give, something would break. The engineer’s scream rose to a whine, and his fingers lunged desperately at Duff’s hat. Duff rammed his head against the wall for the third time. Was steadying himself for a fourth when he heard a voice.
‘That’s enough, Johnson!’
It took Duff a second to remember that was the name he had given when he signed on. And to realise the voice was the captain’s. Duff looked up. The captain was standing right in front of them. Duff let go of the engineer, who fell to his knees with a sob.
‘What’s going on here?’
Duff noticed only now that he was panting. The provocation. The anger. ‘Nothing, Captain.’
‘I know the difference between nothing and something, Johnson. So what is this? Hutchinson?’
Duff wasn’t sure, but it sounded like the man on his knees was crying.
Duff cleared his throat. ‘A friendly bet, Captain. I wanted to show that the Fife grip is more effective than a Hull haymaker. I might have got carried away.’ He patted the engineer’s shaking back. ‘Sorry, pal, but we agree that Fife beat Hull on this occasion, don’t we?’
The engineer nodded, still sobbing.
The captain took off his hat and studied Duff. ‘The Fife grip, you say?’
‘Yes,’ Duff answered.
‘Hutchinson, you’re needed in the engine room. You others have got jobs to do, haven’t you?’
The mess cleared quickly.
‘Pour me a cup of coffee and sit down,’ the captain said.
Duff did as he said.
The captain raised his cup to his mouth a couple of times. Looked down at the black liquid and mumbled something. Just as Duff was beginning to wonder whether the captain had forgotten he was there, he raised his head.
‘Generally I don’t consider it worth the effort to delve into individuals’ backgrounds, Johnson. Most of the crew are simple, with limited intellects; they have pasts best left unprobed and futures that won’t be on board MS Glamis. As they won’t be under my command or be my problem for long, I know it’s not worth getting too involved. All that concerns me is how they function as a group, as my crew.’
The captain took another sip and grimaced. Duff had no idea if this was due to the coffee, pain or the conversation.
‘You seem like a man with education and ambition, Johnson, but I won’t ask how you ended up here. I doubt I would hear the truth anyway. But my guess is you’re someone who knows how groups function. You know that there’ll always be a pecking order, and everyone will have their role in that order, their place. The captain at the top, the rookie at the bottom. As long as everyone accepts their own and others’ positions in the order we have a working crew. Exactly as I want it. At the moment, however, we have some confusion at the lower end of the pecking order on MS Glamis. We have three potential chickens at the bottom. Sparks because he’s the youngest. You because it’s your first time. And Hutchinson because he’s the most stupid and very difficult to like.’
Another sip.
‘Sparks will survive this trip as the bottom chicken. He’s young, intelligent enough and he’ll learn. And you, Johnson, have moved up the order, I’ve just seen, after what you did to Hutchinson. For all I know, it was a situation you initiated to achieve just this. But if I know Hutch, he started it. Like the stupid idiot he is, he set himself up for another fall. And that’s why he’s looking for someone to be under him. It’ll probably be some poor soul who signs on in Capitol, where we’re going to need a couple of new men as people sign off all the time. Do you understand?’
Duff shrugged.
‘And this is my problem, Johnson. Hutch is going to keep trying, but he is the permanent bottom chicken. And I would prefer another bottom chicken, one who would quietly accept his fate. But as Hutch is an ill-natured troublemaker who considers he’s been given enough beatings in life and now it’s someone else’s turn, he’s going to continue to create a bad atmosphere on board. He’s not a bad engineer, but he makes my crew work worse than it would be without him.’
A loud slurp.
‘So why don’t I get rid of him, you say. And you say that because you’re not a seaman and know nothing about Seafarers’ Union employment contracts, which mean I’m stuck with Hutch until I can get something on him that would give me a so-called objective reason to offload him. Physically attacking a colleague would be one such objective reason...’
Duff nodded.
‘So? All I need from you is a yes and a signature for the Seafarers’ Union. I can get the rest from the witnesses.’
‘We were only playing, Captain. It won’t happen again.’
‘No, it won’t.’ The captain scratched his chin. ‘As I said, I don’t make a habit of delving into my crew’s backgrounds unnecessarily. But I have to say I’ve only seen the grip you had on Hutch used twice before: by the military police and the port police. The common denominator is police. So now I’d like to hear the truth.’
‘The truth?’
‘Yes. Did he attack you?’
Duff eyed the captain. He presumed he had known from the start his real name wasn’t Cliff Johnson and that the galley boy hadn’t worked in any restaurant. All he was asking for was a yes and a false signature. If and when there was ever any discussion of the real identity of this Johnson he would be over the hills and far away.
‘I see. Here’s the truth,’ Duff said, watching the captain lean across the table. ‘We were only playing, Captain.’
The captain leaned back. Put the coffee cup to his mouth. His gaze above the cup was firmly fixed on Duff. Not on Duff’s eyes but higher, on his forehead. The captain’s Adam’s apple went up and down as he swallowed. Then he brought the empty cup hard down on the table.
‘Johnson.’
‘Yes, Captain?’
‘I like you.’
‘Captain?’
‘I have no reason to believe you like Hutch any more than the rest of us. But you’re no snitch. That’s bad news for me as a captain, but it shows integrity. And I respect that, so I won’t mention this matter again. You’re seasick and you’re lying, but I could use more people like you in my crew. Thanks for the coffee.’
The captain got up and left.
Duff remained seated for a couple of seconds. Then he took the empty cup to the galley and put it in the sink. Closed his eyes, placed his hands on the cold shiny metal and swallowed his nausea. What was he doing? Why hadn’t he told him the truth, that Hutch was a bully?
He opened his eyes. Saw his reflection in the saucepan hanging from the shelf in front of him. His heart skipped a beat. His hat had ridden up to his hairline without him noticing. Hutchinson must have clipped it when he swung. The scar shone against his skin like a thick white vapour trail after a plane in the sky. The scar. That was what the captain had been staring at before he put down his cup.