Gerontius by James Hamilton-Paterson

Author:James Hamilton-Paterson [James Hamilton-Paterson]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780571314027
Publisher: Faber & Faber
Published: 2017-08-31T04:00:00+00:00

Next morning Edward woke early; the draught of horse-dope had given him many hours of dreamless sleep. After breakfast, which he took practically alone, he went up on deck to find the sea had changed. No longer was it the purple which would lighten to deep blue as the sun rose to set aglow its uppermost sixty feet. It was now a yellowish-green colour ridged with small waves which slapped at the Hildebrand’s forefoot as if she had been a yacht changing tack before an oncoming tide. The sight filled him with the disquiet of estuaries. But an even more convincing sign of change was the smell of the wind. The crispness of pure ocean breath was overlaid now by a soft reek of rot: the exhalation of a hundred million arboreal lungs, the thrilling perfume of the tropics full of unknown oils bled off untold golden leaves by a heavy sun. It was the scent inseparable from torrential distillations of water and the river had carried it faithfully like a familiar far out into the Atlantic where at a dishevelled boundary each passed into a larger diluent.

‘Your first sight of Brazil, sir?’ It was Pyce with a starched white cloth over one forearm in mid-bustle between points of dutiful activity.

And only then did Edward look properly at the horizon and notice the low stain between sea and sky.

‘So that’s it, is it?’

‘That’s Brazil, sir. Unless the Captain’s made an error.’

‘Of course.’

‘An error of course.’ For a peculiar instant the two men nearly smiled at one another. ‘But he never has yet, sir. In any case you can smell it. Can’t mistake a smell like that. The land you can see over there’ll be Mary-Jo island. It’s right in the mouth of the Amazon and they say it’s about a hundred and seventy miles across.’

‘That’s a whacking big island.’

‘It’s a whacking big place, Brazil. Never got used to it myself and I’ve made this trip dozens of times in the last five years. This water here, sir? ’T’isn’t sea-water, you know. That’s fresh water, Amazon water. You can drink it. In fact a bit further on’s the place where all the ships take on fresh water, including us. It’s pure Amazon water we’ll be drinking from now until Liverpool. They tell me it’s still drinkable two hundred miles out to sea but I can’t say I’ve tried.’

‘Good heavens … I say, Steward, can you get me some?’

‘Thought you’d say that, sir. I already have.’ And from the pocket concealed by the napkin he drew out the hip-flask.

‘You deserve a medal, Pyce. A small one.’

‘I’ve got one of those, sir. They gave me one a few years back.’ And he excused himself and walked away up the deck leaving Edward holding the flask at a loss for words. Cheeky the man undoubtedly was. And yet … Probably he had served with honour: why mightn’t he have done so? And yes indeed, probably anybody would prefer a half-sovereign to a medal.

(‘I can’t

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