Sailors on the Inward Sea Read Online Free Page B

“There’s something I’ve wanted to talk to you about for a long time.” There was a sense of urgency in his voice, but when I inquired what it was he told me it was too complicated to discuss on the phone and rang off.
    I returned to the docks and went back to work brushing on a second coat of sealant, remembering how the old gang used to sit there talking their hearts out. When my turn came I would go on and on about my latest voyage, sometimes for hours, without a break except for a drink, while Conrad sat in his steamer chair listening with half-closed eyes, a thoughtful expression on his face as he took in every word. I won’t claim that I had a presentiment about his visit the next day, Ford, but I wondered if his story was connected to that time.
    IN THE MORNING I heated water in the kettle and got some toast and marmalade down my throat along with a cup of Turkish coffee—the British mania for tea always left me cold, that watery treacle not being my idea of a proper drink. Fortified, I pushed open the cabin door and stepped outside into a heavy fog, which I greeted as a blessing since it kept the heat at bay. In the gloom I heard the voices of men on nearby boats, the creak of spars, the dull slap of anchor chains and then the distant call of a foghorn. I had been at work an hour or so replacing brass fittings when I heard Conrad impatiently call my name from the dock. He couldn’t see the Nellie nor could I see him so I shouted. A minute later he emerged, trailing wisps of fog like gauze. He had aged badly. His pointed beard was mostly gray and his eyes, half-obscured beneath the heavy folds of his lids, looked watery though still intense. Despite the obvious wear andtear, he had kept up his appearance as well as his famous accountant in Heart of Darkness. In his well-cut dark suit with waistcoat and matching cap, he could have been a baron on vacation from his estate outside Warsaw, an effect made even more credible by his monocle. He stepped onto the gangway, supporting himself with a silver-handled blackthorn walking stick, looking at me fondly with an expression that was both familiar and a bit strange, a kind of serenity gracing his eyes and manner I had not seen before. When he stepped aboard he held out his hand.
    â€œMy dear faller,” he said warmly, “I’ve missed you. Perhaps now that you’ve retired we can see more of each other.”
    I said nothing would please me more and then unfolded two steamer chairs, which I placed close to the hallowed spot on the deck. While I described my narrow escape from the barge he leaned back so that his face was bathed in the weak sunlight beginning to color the fog, his arms resting heavily on those of the chair, a perfect picture of a man aged beyond his years. A mild wind blew away the fog between the Nellie and the nearby boats lying at anchor. Farther out the swells caught glints of the sun, the whole reach of the Thames dotted with oblongs of light like a rush of spawning salmon. He wanted to hear about my plans for the Nellie, of which he approved. He even made a few additional suggestions. Though he clearly enjoyed the technical conversation, it did not take me long to realize what was on his mind. The look in his eyes was as good as a signal flag.
    â€œThe old thing?” I said.
    He nodded.
    â€œYou amaze me. I thought you’d have let it go by now.”
    â€œYou know me better than that, Malone.”
    â€œWell,” I replied, “I needn’t tell you what I think about it.”
    Ignoring my sarcasm, he went on.
    â€œMarlow and I,” he said, “have parted company forever.”
    When I asked if that was what he was so eager to tell me, he said no, though in the long run the two were related.
    â€œSo it’s still an issue,” I said.
    â€œBecause of its nature.”
    I will explain this business with Marlow in due time, Ford, but as it is secondary to the story he soon