[adapted]

by
Katherine Mansfield

It seemed to the small crowd on the wharf that she would never move again. She lay there, very big and still, on the grey, wrinkled water. A loop of smoke hung above her. A huge flock of gulls screamed and dived for the kitchen scraps at the back. You could just see small couples walking — like little flies going up and down a dish on a grey, wrinkled tablecloth. Other flies crowded and swarmed at the edge. Now there was a white flash on the lower deck — maybe the cook’s apron, or the stewardess. Now a tiny black spider ran up the ladder to the bridge.

At the front of the crowd, a strong-looking, middle-aged man, dressed very well and warmly in a grey overcoat, a grey silk scarf, thick gloves, and a dark hat, walked up and down, turning his closed umbrella in his hand. He seemed to be the leader of the small crowd on the wharf, and he also kept them together. He was like something between a sheepdog and a shepherd.

But what a fool — what a fool he was for not bringing any glasses! There wasn’t a pair of glasses among all of them.

“Funny thing, Mr. Scott, that none of us thought of glasses to see far. We could have got them moving a bit. We could have done a little signaling. Do not be afraid to land. Natives harmless. Or: A welcome waits for you. All is forgiven. What? Eh?”

Mr. Hammond looked quickly and eagerly, nervous but also friendly and open, at everyone on the wharf, even the old men resting by the ramps. They all knew that Mrs. Hammond was on that boat, and he was so excited that he felt sure this wonderful fact mattered to them too. He did not even think that they might not care. It made him feel warm towards them.

They were, he decided, as good a crowd of people — Those old men over by the walkways, too — fine, strong old men. What chests — wow! And he pushed out his own, put his hands, in thick gloves, into his pockets, rocked from heel to toe.

“Yes, my wife’s been in Europe for the last ten months. On a visit to our oldest girl, who was married last year. I brought her up here, to Salisbury, myself. So I thought I’d better come and get her back. Yes, yes, yes.” The clever grey eyes got narrower again and looked nervously, quickly, at the still ship. Again his coat was open. Out came the thin, butter-yellow watch again, and for the twentieth — fiftieth — hundredth time he worked it out.”

“Let me see now. It was two fifteen when the doctor’s boat left. Two fifteen. It is now exactly twenty-eight minutes past four. That means the doctor’s been gone two hours and thirteen minutes. Two hours and thirteen minutes! Whee-ooh!” He gave a strange little whistle and closed his watch again. “But I think someone should have told us if there was anything wrong — don’t you, Mr. Gaven?”

“Oh, yes, Mr. Hammond! I don’t think there’s anything to — anything to worry about,” said Mr. Gaven, tapping out his pipe against the heel of his shoe. “At the same time — ”

“Yes, yes!” said Mr. Hammond. “Very annoying!” He walked quickly up and down and came back again to his place between Mr. and Mrs. Scott and Mr. Gaven. “It’s getting quite dark, too,” and he waved his closed umbrella as if the dark could at least be polite and stay away for a while. But the dark came slowly, spreading like a slow stain over the water. Little Jean Scott pulled at her mother’s hand.

“I want my tea, mummy!” she cried.

“I expect you do,” said Mr. Hammond. “I expect all these ladies want their tea.” And his kind, red, almost pitiful look pulled them all in again. He wondered whether Janey was having a last cup of tea in the saloon out there. He hoped so; he thought not. It would be just like her not to leave the deck. In that case perhaps the deck steward would bring her up a cup. If he had been there he would have got it for her — somehow. And for a moment he was on deck, standing over her, watching her small hand fold round the cup in the way she did, while she drank the only cup of tea to be got on board... But now he was back here, and only God knew when that cursed Captain would stop hanging about in the stream.

He took another walk, up and down, up and down. He walked as far as the taxi stand to make sure his driver had not gone away; back he went again to the little group close together under the banana boxes. Little Jean Scott was still wanting her tea. Poor little thing! He wished he had a bit of chocolate with him.

“Here, Jean!” he said. “Want a lift up?” And easily, gently, he lifted the little girl onto a higher barrel. The movement of holding her, keeping her steady, made him feel much better, made his heart feel light.

“Wait,” he said, keeping an arm around her.

“Oh, don’t worry about Jean, Mr. Hammond!” said Mrs. Scott.

“That’s all right, Mrs. Scott. No problem. I am happy to do it. Jean is a little friend of mine, aren’t you, Jean?”

“Yes, Mr. Hammond,” said Jean, and she ran her finger down the bent part of his soft hat.

But suddenly she caught him by the ear and screamed loudly. “Look, Mr. Hammond! She’s moving! Look, she’s coming in!”

My goodness! So she was. At last! She was slowly, slowly turning around. A bell rang far over the water, and a big cloud of steam went up into the air. The gulls flew up; they went away like small pieces of white paper. Mr. Hammond did not know if that deep beating was her engines or his heart. He had to be brave and bear it, whatever it was. At that moment, old Captain Johnson, the harbour master, walked quickly down the wharf, with a leather folder under his arm.

“Jean will be all right,” said Mr. Scott. “I’ll hold her.” He was just in time. Mr. Hammond had forgotten about Jean. He quickly went away to say hello to old Captain Johnson.

“Well, Captain,” the excited, nervous voice called out again, “you’ve felt sorry for us at last.”

“It’s no use blaming me, Mr. Hammond,” said old Captain Johnson, looking at the big ship. “You have Mrs. Hammond on the ship, haven’t you?”

“Yes, yes!” said Hammond, and he stayed by the harbour master’s side. “Mrs. Hammond’s there. Hello! We won’t be long now!”

With her telephone ringing and ringing, the hum of her propeller filling the air, the big ship came towards them, cutting through the dark water so that big white foam curled on either side. Hammond and the harbour-master stayed in front of the others. Hammond took off his hat; he looked over the decks — they were packed with passengers; he waved his hat and shouted a loud, strange “Hul-lo!” across the water; and then turned around and burst out laughing and said something — nothing — to old Captain Johnson.

“Have you seen her?” asked the harbor master.

“No, not yet. Easy — wait a bit!” And suddenly, between two big clumsy idiots — “Get out of the way there!” he made a sign with his umbrella — he saw a hand raised — a white glove shaking a little cloth. Another moment, and — thank God, thank God! — there she was. There was Janey. There was Mrs. Hammond, yes, yes, yes — standing by the rail and smiling and nodding and waving her little cloth.

“Well that’s very good — very good! Well, well, well!” He really stamped his foot. Very fast he took out his cigar-case and handed it to old Captain Johnson. “Have a cigar, Captain! They’re pretty good. Have a couple! Here” — and he tried to make the harbour-master take all the cigars in the case — “I’ve a couple of boxes up at the hotel.”

“Thanks, Mr. Hammond!” said old Captain Johnson, breathing hard.

Hammond pushed the cigar case back. His hands were shaking, but he was calm again. He could face Janey. There she was, leaning on the rail, talking to a woman, and also watching him, ready for him. As the wide space of water closed, he suddenly felt how small she looked on that big ship. He felt a sharp pain in his heart, and he could have cried out. How small she looked, to have come all that long way and back by herself! Just like her, though. Just like Janey. She was as brave as a — And now the crew came forward and split up the passengers; they lowered the rails for the walkways.

The voices on land and the voices on the ship called out to say hello to each other.

“Everything okay?”

“All is well.”

“How’s mother?”

“Much better.”

“Hello, Jean!”

“Hello, Aunt Emily!”

“Had a good trip?”

“Great!”

“Won’t be long now!”

“Not long now.”

The engines stopped. Slowly she moved to the side of the dock.

“Make way there — make way — make way!” And the dock workers brought the heavy ramps along at a fast run. Hammond waved to Janey to stay where she was. The old harbor master stepped forward; he followed. As to “ladies first,” or any nonsense like that, he did not think of it.

“After you, Captain!” he cried warmly. And, walking right behind the old man, he walked quickly up the ramp on to the deck straight to Janey, and Janey was held in his arms.

“Well, well, well! Yes, yes! Here we are at last!” he said, stuttering. It was all he could say. And Janey came out, and her calm little voice — the only voice in the world for him — said,

“Well, dear! Did you wait long?”

No, not long. Anyway, it did not matter. It was over now. But the point was, he had a cab waiting at the end of the dock. Was she ready to go? Was her luggage ready? Then they could go at once with her cabin luggage and leave the rest until tomorrow. He bent over her, and she looked up with her usual half-smile. She was just the same. Not a day had changed. Just as he had always known her. She put her small hand on his sleeve.

“How are the children, John?” she asked.

(Forget the children!) “Very well. Never better in their lives.”

“Didn’t they send me any letters?”

“Yes, yes — of course! I’ve left them at the hotel for you to read later on.”

“We can’t go so fast,” she said. “I have people to say good-bye to — and there is the Captain.” When he looked sad, she gave his arm a small, kind squeeze. “If the Captain comes down from the bridge, I want you to thank him for looking after your wife so well.” Well, he had her now. If she wanted another ten minutes — When he gave in, she was surrounded. All the first-class passengers seemed to want to say good-bye to Janey.

“Good-bye, dear Mrs. Hammond! And next time you’re in Sydney I’ll expect you.”

“Dear Mrs. Hammond! Please don’t forget to write to me, will you?”

“Well, Mrs. Hammond, what this boat would be without you!”