Tomato Cain and Other Stories Read online

  He saw a face low down in the great wardrobe mirror.

  For a moment everything in him stopped.

  A terrible, thin face. With perfectly round shiny eyes; shadows you could almost see through, that belonged to a thing, not a person; dull, dull, tangled hair.

  "Well, how do you look?" said Gladys.

  She was putting a kind of jolliness into her voice. Her head came down beside his, to see. She was healthy, different only in the way all people looked in mirrors.

  Mamma brought out his green suit with the white curly collar, and laid it on the bed. He watched little creases being smoothed from its special cloth.

  “Is it Sunday?" he said.

  Lines folded deeper in Mamma's face; her bright eyes fixed on him so hard that he felt guilty, and blinked several times. "No," she said in a low voice, "but you are to wear it to-day. I am taking you to have your photograph made."

  Gladys squeezed him. "The doctor says you're a lot better now, Raymond. Won't it be nice?"

  He clutched her warm arm. Sideways, through Gladys’s hair, he could see Mamma standing still, watching.

  “Silly! Little silly boy! He's frightened!" said Gladys. “I had it done last year - you know that. And Mamma has. Everybody has. There, funny boy.”

  She brushed his hair till it was smooth, and cut off some little pieces and put them in an envelope.

  "Glad," he said," what are you crying for?”

  But instead of answering she began to dab his face gently with a puff of her own powder.

  It was cold downstairs. Everything felt hard and big, and the linoleum looked like frozen water. "Button his overcoat up," said Mamma. "Stay quietly in that chair, Raymond, until the cab comes. Close to the fire.”

  The yellow-tiled grate turned on him an unfamiliar, quivering heat that made him blink often. Soon the little pains in his knees died out. He was damp and hot inside his clothes.

  “You must behave well," said Mamma. "Do exactly as the gentleman directs. Keep very still for him - that is the most important thing. Are you warm?”

  "The cab!" Gladys called. "It’s here!" She came into the room. “Oh, how much better he looks! He’ll be sorry to leave such a nice fire, won't you, Raymond?"

  They got into the cab. There was a strange smell of its leatheriness, and some kind of scent, and pipe smoke were in the thick blue cloth of the seat, and the padded walls. He sat between Mamma and Gladys and watched the tall roofs stream past the window.

  "Isn’t it fun?" said Gladys. "Listen to the horse's feet! Trotting as fast as he can go. All specially for this little boy!"

  When they climbed down the cab's iron steps, it was in a street with shops and high buildings. Mamma stopped to talk to the driver. "Come along,” said Gladys. "Up we go. Let me help you, old mister shaky-legs!”

  There were many stairs inside the building; whenever they stopped, they saw more leading upwards. “Must be growing while we climb them!" Gladys panted. She had both arms tightly round him, almost carrying him. From below Mamma was calling softly and crossly, “Gladys! Wait a moment, if you please! We must all go in together!"

  They came to the last of the stairs, and there was a door that was partly made of glass, with printed letters on it.

  'Come," said Mamma.

  The man inside wore black clothes. There was no hair on his head, and he had yellow eyes that moved in a sort of liquid. He said, "So this is the little man! A bright chap! In no time you'll be as fit as a fiddle, eh?" He held a hand down to Raymond. The fingers were dark brown, and some of the nails had split until you could see into the cracks.

  "Shake hands with the gentleman, Raymond," said Mamma.

  He could do nothing.

  “Not altogether surprising,” said the man, and made a noise like a laugh; but he was not pleased. "Chemicals ruin the hands, madam. Sit down in this nice chair, little man."

  He began to talk to Mamma in a whisper, glancing sideways.

  The room was very big, with wide windows in the ceiling, but they were painted streaky white and no sky showed through them. Tall shining things made of wood and glass and yellow metal stood everywhere.

  "Now," said the man. "Let us begin. The little fellow’s overcoat off, please, madam?"

  Then Raymond was on a different chair. His legs hung down from the huge leather seat. The man picked up his hand and pressed it on to the chair's cold, knobbed arm as if it belonged there. A polished table stood close by; on it were a book made of leather and a shiny plant like Mamma’s. "Genuine antiques," the man was saying to Mamma. “The floral background is hand-painted in oils."

  "Tidy his hair, Gladys," whispered Mamma.

  A burning brightness came, high up. His eyes itched and watered. The man said, “Don’t look at the lights, little fellow," and moved metal things that clicked, under a black cloth.

  Raymond shivered. He seemed to be in another place, feeling nothing; like being asleep and not dreaming. He could hear Gladys blowing her nose somewhere behind the brightness.

  "Ah, yes," said the man, busy jerking things in the dark, “doesn't he look a picture?” He cleared his throat. “Steady, now! Still as a mouse. See what I've got in my hand?" And, as if he was singing a little tune, “Keep-quite-quite-quite still —“

  Clack, went his machine. "Now, again… ”

  When the lights went out at last, everything broke into spots of purple darkness.

  "This very evening, madam," the man was saying; on one hand he had put a glove with a head like a monkey. “Without fail. In the circumstances." His voice had a secret in it. "I'm so very sorry — “

  On the way downstairs Raymond sneezed.

  He lay quietly in the bed. When he moved, all the old pains jumped in his arms and legs, worse than weeks ago. His nose was running.

  For a time the sun made slow reddish squares on the wallpaper. Then it disappeared.

  His heart began to hurry, bumping until it hurt. The bed seemed to shake. A tiny ticking noise began, somewhere down among the springs; keeping time with his heart.

  The door opened; it was Gladys again.

  "How now, dear?" she said, and put her cheek against his forehead. “The shivering's stopped, and now he's too hot. Poor little sick Raymond!” She sat on the bed. "I've got a surprise for you," she said. "Lie very still, and I'll show you. It's just this moment arrived.

  “Look!" She held something up, high above his chest. A reddish-brown picture. He knew the table in it, the huge chair, the book, the shiny plant, from some time in the past.

  There, too, was that terrible face.

  After a moment he turned to her. She smiled and nodded.

  "It's the photograph, darling. Isn't it nice?”

  He twisted his head away, and his neck ached. Tears came out of his eyes. He felt angry and frightened; as if he had lost part of himself.

  Gladys was tightening the bedclothes round him. “Poor dear! Does it hurt to look up? I'll put the photo here on the mantelpiece, and light the candle so that you can see it all the time. We're going to have another big one, in a frame, to hang downstairs. Mamma is so pleased and - and —“ Her voice turned down and trembled.

  Suddenly he felt himself held tightly. "Raymond!" Gladys was crying again, and a tear ran down inside his collar. “Oh,my little —“

  She squeezed him until he gasped. Then she ran out of the room and the door thudded.

  He felt cold and small.

  Then, in the same instant, he was enormous. His head stretched from the pillow until it touched the walls. His huge hands were pressing down through the bed to the floor. From far below came the ringing click of the bedspring, like distant hoofbeats.

  On the mantelpiece was the little brown picture-child. His face was white and horrible and still. He clung to his chair and stared at Raymond.

  The candle was too bright to look at. And when it flickered, the whole room bobbed. Waves of fright rushed over him, up through the bed. His ears were bursting with the noise.

/>   "Keep still," said something inside him. “Keep-quite - quite - quite - still!"

  His head was changing its shape because it was so heavy, and the beating, bubbling heart climbed up to meet it.

  “Keep - quite - quite - quite - still!” said a voice.

  It sounded like his own, but this time it was not inside his head. It was outside, close to his ear. He twisted himself through the hot clothes, crying because it hurt; and looked.

  He nearly screamed with terror.

  By the bed stood the picture-child. Alive. In the green suit, but now it was reddish-brown. His face was the narrow photograph-face. Like a hollow, china thing.

  “Still! " said the boy. “Keep - quite - quite - quite - still, little man."

  He put out a hand and laid it on the rumpled sheet. Brown fingers, and the nails were split wide open. "Your heart’s going to burst,” he said.

  The whole of the bedroom roared and crackled; yet at the same time it was utterly quiet. The boy smiled. Little bony teeth.

  "‘I'm going to have your toys," he said. “The new ones too."

  The bedspring kept time like a great bell.

  “And in this bed will be me. Just-keep-quite-quite-quite - still. You won’t be anything at all.

  “Feel it bursting?"

  Downstairs, they were arguing.

  "Crass folly — !”

  She twisted a handkerchief in her fingers, and tried to hold her lips firm; but they trembled.

  "Kindly remember, Doctor, that I am the child's mother! I wanted this memory of him, to keep. More than anything you could ever understand!"

  “Nonsense, madam!" said the doctor. "Think I wouldn’t have told you if he was dying? But now - I can't answer for what you may have done to-day. Let me see him at once."

  Half-way up the first flight of stairs, they heard the cries in his bedroom, and ran the rest of the way. The doctor threw the white door open.

  "Raymond!" his mother exclaimed.

  He was crouching near the window in his nightshirt, but over it he had pulled the jacket of his best green suit. The trousers were clasped to his chest. His eyes were bright with delirium, staring towards the bed.

  "I won’t! I won't be still!" The screaming went on, hoarse and terrified.

  He did not seem to see them. From the window ledge he snatched a picture-book and held it tightly.

  "I won’t! No! No! I won’t go on the mantelpiece!”

  END

  Chapter 14

  Chains

  Chains, master?

  You’ve found the right man if it’s them you're wanting. I lay you’d travel from here to Old Scratch’s bosom, and never light on another stock like mine. You’re in a sweat, master, due out on the next tide and short of tackle, I wager? Pretty fix, that. But you came to me, and I never let a sailor-man down yet.

  Here - I’ll just set a spark to me lantern; it’s a filthy bastard of a night round the harbour for an old man. Crabber, you brute - hup! Old dog, too, sir; we're both stiff in every joint. Now we'll be off!Only a few steps away, my shed is. My palace. Thirty feet to the ceiling, if it’s a pygmy’s inch. And all heaped with the treasures of the deep blue sea.

  Of course you understand my stores aren’t new, exactly. Honourable labour, you might say, has been their lot. So often a firkin-bellied shipowner, or it might be a wharf-lubber, or just a poxy carter, they'll say: “These here chains is wore out,” and they’ll throw them away. But do you - heel, Crabber! - do you just chip off the pitch and rust, and run ’em through a tub of rock-oil, why, many a one’ll see good service again. Test ’em and take out the weak links, that’s all.

  Of course, they comes cheaper than the new, master; but you’ll find ’em well cared for, and I sell only the best. Big demand for ’em sometimes, so I like the sight of moneys in hand, of course - Oh, yes, sir; yes, I see. Naturally I knew I could trust you. Nice to deal with a gentleman, sir.

  It’s remarkable, you know, what kinds and degrees there is in chains. Rare masterpieces, sometimes. Craft and wisdom I’ve found in some of mine, that no ordinary ironman would ever know of, even in this year of grace 1731. The way they’ll take any sort of strain, yet when they’re slack they'll lie neat as a lady’s hand. Queer-shaped foreign links you see, you’d think they had human sinews the way they act. Course they’re not all like that; some are clumsy, sheer weight, and treacherous in a ship.

  And here we are, master. Big place, eh? Would you hold the lantern just a moment; salt gets into the lock and it sticks. That’s it - thank you kindly. Just follow me.

  Now watch when I hold up the lamp. There! Chains enough for you, eh? See how they go right up to the very roof? Looped and coiled over the cross-beams, most of ‘em. Mark where you walk, there’s that many on the floor; it’s slippery, too, from the oil that drips down.

  Quite an inheritance, eh, master?

  That’s what it was, you know. My grandfather had it first, and then my father. When I came back from the sea - oh, yes, I sailed in southern waters for many a year - my father said: “With my blessing, do you take this store which has been built up to a paying business by me and my father.” Meaning grandfather, you see. I told him he was a liar. He was right, though. Remarkable what money there is in them, too; gentry wanting a rare piece of chain for some fancy purpose, and what not.

  Here’s me chattering, and you got to sail on the next tide!

  Now, master, just what’s your requirements? Spare anchor chain? Some fine lengths here, full weight. See that in the corner? Washed up out of a Dutchman in van Tromp’s time; too old to use now, though.

  Something lighter? - right! This way, sir.

  Mark that dog - after a rat, just as if he isn’t past catching them! Fetch, Crabber! His wits are gone; what would rats live on in a place like —?

  Hsst! Listen to that, master? Hear it? A tiny slithering, metally sound, and then a soft plop. That'd be what the dog heard, and it isn’t a rat. Guess what it is?

  Well, it’s chain, master. A little chain. Sliding and slithering through the heavier lengths and down to the floor. They’ll hang here quiet, month after month, and then - it’s the way heat and cold work on them, or a gust of wind through a crack - they’ll shift just enough, and come wriggling down like iron snakes. Queer, eh? Opening the door must have set that joey off.

  Mind that patch of grease, master! With the light so dim, you need to watch where you put your feet.

  Yes, sometimes I'll be in my cottage yonder, and in the middle of the night there’ll be hell’s own crashing and whipping from this shed. And next morning I’ll find chains lying tangled all about, like those huge dead devil-snakes that floats and stinks on the Sargasso; I lay you seen them. So I have to set to, and drag ’em out in order again.

  Now, master, would these be more to your liking? Not too heavy, but there’s a deal of life in ‘em yet. Stand on a length and pull hard as you like - you’ll find no weak links.

  Would that be your ship lying across the bay now, master - the Lampedusa? Sailing for the Ivory Coast, they say; would that be right? Pick up cargo there for the Americas?

  So the chains you’d be wanting wouldn’t be ordinary ones. Eh?

  But about three feet long, with a stout ring at one end, and shackles at the other; such that'll hold a blackey secure. Well, master, I reckon I can help you there. Just a bit farther along, if you please. Not that I’ve had many asking for them - bastards want new ones because they’re scared of the blackbirds breaking loose!

  Now watch your step! If you slip and clutch at ’em, there’s no telling what they’ll do. Crush a man’s head like a barnacle if they come down sudden.

  Look, over in that corner yonder - them’s the ones you want. I had ’em strung up along that wall out of the way. Most of ’em seen service in slavers before, and half a hundred from - guess where - old Newgate Gaol. You might find some of the gyves rusted on the inside by sweat and that; but on the whole, they’re in fair condition.

  Qu
eer, come to think of it; how much power there is in this place. Just -waiting. All these chains here are made for holding and binding ships, and men. Eh, master? So the bastards’ll do what they’re told, and work hard till they’re done with. That’s right, ain’t it? Eh? Eh? Oh, you're one as appreciates a cunning bit of chain. “A real sailor-man,” says I when I seen you first. And there’s good money going for blackbirds now in Virginia.

  Now, how’s them, master? Strong, ain’t they? Take more than a black savage to work his way out of them fetters; and just feel ‘em! Funny how they eat into the skin, and when the raw salt of a ship gets at the sores —

  Forgive me chattering.

  You'll take ’em all? All them with fetters and anklets. I’ll have ’em down directly then, and maybe some of your crew would be along in a few minutes to collect ’em. I’ll just light you back to the door, sir.

  No, no, this is the way we came. Watch your head. Just place your feet where I do, master, and you'll dodge the slippery patches. Glad I’ve been able to help you out, I often —

  Oh! That’s a fine thing - telling you to be careful, and - tumbling myself like that. Don’t move, sir. Just stand dead still a moment while I - relight the lantern. Don’t move an inch now.

  Hallo!

  Something’s slipping up aloft! Listen! They’re on the move, all of them! Don’t budge, whatever you do!

  Oh - ! Master -

  Lord, that was a smash! Curse this damp tinder - can’t see a thing!

  There! A bit of light at last! All right, Crabber? Good dog! Now where is he? Somewhere back here. Fetch him out, Crabber! Oh, what a monstrous mess of chain!

  Heel, you brute!

  Yes. That’s his hand, with the dirty lace at the cuff. Might be - might be twenty fathoms of anchor chain there, lying on him; must have grabbed at a piece because he felt himself slipping in the dark. Poor simple, honest blackbirder, he just didn’t_know his way about here. Was that it, dog? Maybe if you could see in the darkness like a cat, you’d think different.

  Look, here’s his fancy purse. His fancy gentleman’s purse. Take a good sniff at that, dog. Don’t mean a thing to you, eh?