Send a Gunboat (1960) Read Online Free PDF

accustomed to the bored and untidy indifference of past stewards, this Chinese boy was something more than just different, he seemed to hold all the elusive qualities and secrets of his race in his watchful, old-young face.
    “What’s your name, boy?” Rolfe asked quietly.
    “Chao, sir.” The voice was shrill and unformed.
    “Chao? Is that all?”
    Fallow hastened to explain. “The rest of it is too difficult, sir, the last Captain decided on the first bit!”
    Rolfe grinned, and as if to mirror the reaction of his new master, Chao beamed widely, exposing a wide array of white teeth.
    “Well, Chao, you can get my gear unpacked and stowed away. I shall probably be on to you quite a bit, until I know where everything is hidden.”
    “Very good, Captain-sir,” he nodded vigorously, his clipped black hair jerking like an enraged hedgehog. “I sleep in pantry. You ring, I come any time.” He nodded again, his button-eyes dancing.
    “A very admirable arrangement,” Rolfe smiled. And to Fallow, “How old is he, for Pete’s sake? Under age for service, I’ll bet!”
    “’Ardly, sir. They takes the fit ones for this job. Age don’t matter much. But Chao ’ere’s about fifteen, I believe.”
    They watched as Chao moved the suitcases into the cabin, his bare brown feet padding noiselessly on the carpet, Rolfe with friendly interest and Fallow with his usual look of listless uneasiness.
    “If you don’t find ’im satisfactory—” Fallow began, and Rolfe saw the boy’s thin shoulders stiffen.
    “He’ll be fine,” finished Rolfe hastily. “Now, is everything going on all right with the ship?”
    “Er, yes, sir.” Fallow backed for the door. “I’ll go an’ get on with it, sir!” He disappeared hastily, and Rolfe heard him stumbling down the ladder to the main deck.
    He shrugged helplessly. Why did the man misinterpret everything he said? Even an innocent question was taken as a hidden reprimand. He turned back to the boy, a question framed on his lips. He froze in his chair, gripping the wooden arms with fingers of steel.
    Chao had the largest suitcase open on the deck, and already Rolfe’s clothing was hanging in neat piles from the furniture. But his eyes were riveted on the large, silver-framed picture, which Chao had unwrapped from its thick cardboard covering, and which he now held at arm’s length in a careful examination.
    Rolfe’s mouth was dry. Her picture. Rising up to mock him already, in his last retreat from her world.
    “Put that down, blast you!” His voice cracked like a pistol shot in the confined space.
    The steward spun round, his face dark with fear and misery. “Sorry, Captain-sir! I thought you’d want the lovely lady put out where you—”
    “I said put it down!” His voice rose to a scream, and he jumped across the cabin, snatching the picture from the boy’s frightened grasp. He stood staring at her, his breath rasping in his throat. The same white, insincere smile, the bright, mocking eyes. How could he have been so blind?
    “Captain-sir?” The voice was so low that it hardly penetrated his racing thoughts. “Can I do anything?”
    Rolfe lifted his eyes momentarily, and stared unseeing at the boy’s stricken face.
    “Yes,” he said slowly. “Get me a bottle of whisky.”
    He stood the picture carefully on the table and sat down opposite it, not moving, or even looking up, as Chao placed the bottle and glass beside his elbow.
    The door closed, and for some minutes the slowly moving fan was the only sound in the cabin.
    He slopped some whisky into the glass, his eyes still on her face. Then he raised it to her, and said aloud, “To you, Mrs. Rolfe. You bloody bitch!”
    The spirit burned his throat like fire, and as it flowed fiercelythrough him, he realized just how much he had needed it. He downed three full glasses in quick succession, and then leaned back in the chair, breathing deeply. With unsteady fingers he unbuttoned his jacket, allowing the slight