Passage by Night (v5) Read Free

crowd.
    Manning offered Morrison a cigarette and the American said, 'I'm not sure I care for that young man. Too cocky by half.'
    'A little young, that's all,' Manning said. 'He thinks he's in love.'
    'And isn't he?'
    'Who knows? He's at an age when you fall in love with every personable woman you meet.'
    'A phase I've never managed to grow out of, I'm happy to say.' Morrison emptied his glass. 'If you'll excuse me, I think I'll have a bath. What about joining me for dinner later?'
    Manning shook his head. 'Thanks all the same.'
    'Another time perhaps.' Morrison opened his wallet and laid several banknotes on the bar. 'A little something on account.'
    Manning counted the money and frowned. 'We agreed on one-fifty a day. There's a hundred too much here.'
    'I figure I owe you a new harpoon gun at least.' Morrison grinned. 'What time in the morning? I'm still set on getting that tuna.'
    'No need to be too early. I'll meet you on the jetty at eight.'
    'I'll be looking forward to it.'
    The American moved away through the crowd and Manning put the money in his hip pocket and ordered a large rum. As he lit another cigarette, the drum rolled and the dance floor cleared at once. The lights dimmed and a spot picked out the archway beside the band.
    When Maria Salas stepped through the bead curtain, there was a sudden general sigh as if the crowd had caught its breath. She was wearing black leather riding pants, a white silk shirt knotted at her waist and a black Cordoban hat tilted at an angle, shading her face.
    For a moment she stood there as if waiting for something and her fingers gently stroked the guitar and she started to sing.
    She didn't really have a voice and yet there was something there, a touch of the night perhaps, a dying fall that caught at the back of the throat. Probably no more than half a dozen people in the room understood what she was singing about, but it didn't matter.
    Manning remembered their first meeting that hot July afternoon. The fishing boat from Cuba packed with refugees, drifting helplessly in the gulf. It had been her tremendous quality of repose, of tranquillity almost, in spite of the situation, that had first attracted him.
    It was not that she was beautiful. Her skin was olive-hued, the blue-black hair tied with a scarlet ribbon and yet, in that dramatic costume, every other woman in the room faded into insignificance.
    As her song died away, there was a moment of breathless stillness followed by a roar of applause. She took it like a torero in the plaza at Mexico City, hat extended in her right hand, feet together. As Manning ordered another rum, she launched into a flamenco, dancing as she sang, stamping her high-heeled Spanish boots. She finished on a harsh, strident note that was infinitely exciting.
    This time the applause was prolonged. She vanished through the bead curtain and returned to stand stiffly, heels together, turning slowly, her gaze travelling over the whole crowd. As her eyes met Manning's, he raised his glass and she nodded slightly. She gave them one more song and at the end danced out through the bead curtain still singing, her voice dying away into the distance.
    The calypso band struck up another goombay and Manning pushed his way through the crowd and went into the casino. As yet it was early and business was slack. One or two people stood at the roulette table, but the blackjack dealer was playing patience to kill the time until the rush started.
    Kurt Viner, the owner of the Caravel, was sitting at a desk in the far corner checking the previous night's takings, his manager hovering at his shoulder. A thin, greying German of fifty or so, he wore his white dinner jacket with a touch of aristocratic elegance.
    As Manning entered the room, he looked up and waved. 'Harry, how goes it?'
    Manning took the two hundred and fifty dollars Morrison had given him and dropped them on the desk. 'A little something on account. I've been letting the tab run away with me lately.'
    Viner