Ocean Prize (1972) Read Free Page B

distinctly: “Poles.”
    The men heard him. They stopped laughing and turned away from the bar to face the table where Lawson and his companions were sitting. One of them walked over to the table and said: “No, not Poles. Swedish. From Swedish ship. You English, huh?” He sounded friendly.
    “I’m Australian,” Lawson said. “These here yobs are English.”
    “That’s a bloody lie,” Moir said. “Ah’m Scottish.”
    Lawson acknowledged the correction with a flip of the hand. “Sorry, chum. I forgot.”
    “What you drink?” the Swede asked.
    Trubshaw looked at him in surprise. “Are you payin’ mate?”
    “I pay,” the Swede said. “We join you, no? All seamen, all from ships. Stick together.”
    “Suits me,” Trubshaw said. The offer of a drink seemed to have put him in a better humour. “Plenty room at this table.”
    The Swede called his countrymen over, and they all sat down and eight more glasses of beer appeared on the table. Only two of the Swedes could speak English; the other two communicated by signs and grins. The one who had bought the beer introduced himself as Olaf Brondsted; the others were Johannes Vigfusson, Carl Jonsson and Eric Andersen. Lawson did the introduction for himself and his party. They all shook hands.
    “We arrive today,” Brondsted said. “From Hamburg. You been here long?”
    “Long enough,” Lawson said. “We sail tomorrow. Hopeful Enterprise. Wheat.”
    “ Hopeful Enterprise ?You from that ship?”
    “That’s right. You know her?”
    “We see her,” Brondsted said. He relayed this information to the two who did not speak English. One of them said something in his own language and they all laughed.
    “What’s so bleedin’ funny?” Trubshaw demanded. “What’d ’e say?”
    “He say Hopeful Enterprise very old ship.”
    “What if she is? I seen older.”
    “Is nothing. Is just that our ship very new.”
    “You think that’s funny?” Trubshaw was speaking slowly and deliberately, and Wilson could sense the tension beginning to build up. Moir was looking angry too. The Swedes had stopped laughing. “You think you’re flamin’ superior or sumfin, jus’ ’cause you got a newer flamin’ ship?”
    “I do not say that.” Brondsted was keeping his voice under control but his face had hardened. “I think you take offence too easy, my friend.”
    “Friend!” Trubshaw said. “What makes you think I’m your friend? Jus’ ’cause you buy the drinks don’t make me no friend o’ yours, an’ don’t you forget it.”
    Brondsted was still keeping his voice low, but there was an edge to it. “Are you wishing to pick a quarrel?”
    It was Lawson who broke the tension. “Ah, forget it, chum. Drink up, can’t yer? What’re we arguing about? Sure, the Hopeful Enterprise is old. She’s a bloody old worn-out crate. What in hell’s it matter? Forget it, Trub. Drink your beer. Next round’s on me.”
    Trubshaw muttered something under his breath, but he drained his glass and everybody relaxed. Wilson breathed more easily with the crisis passed, but he knew that it might well be no more than a temporary respite with Trubshaw in his present mood. Nevertheless, for two more rounds things seemed to go smoothly enough, even though Trubshaw said little, sitting with his elbows on the table, drinking his beer and staring at the Swedes with unconcealed resentment.
    Strangely, it was Wilson himself who was the cause of the unpleasantness flaring up again. He had not been drinking and there were now three full glasses of beer in front of him. Jonsson, the other English-speaking Swede, who had just bought a round, leaned across the table and said: “Why you not drink?”
    “I’ve had enough,” Wilson said. “I don’t want any more.”
    “But I buy you beer.”
    “Give it to somebody else. Drink it yourself.”
    “No,” Jonsson said. “I buy you beer, you drink.”
    Wilson had the feeling that he had had this kind of argument before—with Trubshaw