"Innes, Hammond - The Killer Mine" - читать интересную книгу автора (Innes Hammond)

That's right - go on, 'it me.' His watery eyes peered up at me. 'Go on,' he cried again, "it me, why don't yer? Ain't yer even got the guts ter do that?' he sneered as I lowered my fist. 'No -- afraid of Mulligan. That's what it is. You've always bin afraid o' something, ain't yer?'

'What do you know about what makes men afraid?' I cried.

'As much as most men,' he snapped back. 'I did me time in the Army, didn't I? Three years before the war and then Dunkirk and fru the desert to Alamein. Wasn't my fault, was it, that I got a rupture an' they slung me out?'

'Sure you done your time,' I said.

'Sawd me country through like any decent man, that's wot I done. Rank o' corporal I 'ad when me belly went back on me.'

'All right,' I said, 'So you saw your country through. But look at you now - a rotten little scab running liquor for a crook that got his dough in and out of North African ports whilst you were sweating in the desert.'

'Well, a bloke's got to live, ain't he?' He gulped at the cognac, rinsing it round his mouth like a mouth-wash. His Adam's apple jerked as he swallowed the liquor and breathed out fiercely. 'Ain't that so, Emilio?' he asked, turning to the Egg. 'A bloke's got to live. Wot d'yer fink the ruddy Ministry o' Labour offered me when I got discharged as unfit fer dooty? - a job da'n the mines! An' me wiv a rupture the size of a barn door got in the defence o' me country. Liftin' the barrel of a bleedin' ack-ack gun, that's 'ow I got it. Now I ast yer - do I look like a Bevin boy? I got me rights, same as anybody else. So I sez to meself, Charlie, I sez, you fer a job wot's easy on the belly, and wot pays fer the time yer servin' your country.' He thrust his face suddenly close to mine. 'You comin' the 'igh an' mighty! Blimey, who d'yer fink you are ter be tellin' me I'm a scab and a racketeer? Wot yer goin' ter do when yer get ashore, anyway -- you just tell me that?'

'I got a friend in Penzance,' I said, stung by his sneering face. 'Sent me word he could get me a job.'

'An' told yer Tom Mulligan would give yer passage to England, eh?'

'How did you know?'

"Ow did I know? 'Cos yer ain't the first we brought back from It'ly, that's why? If your pal put you in touch wiv the skipper, then the job he got fer yer ain't no better than wot we're doin' on board the Arisaig. Gawd strewf, 'ow the 'ell d'yer fink the likes of you live in England? You ain't got no hidentity card, no ration book - in the eyes of the officials yer don't exist. Yer a floatin' population of scum wot lives off the Black Market. An' if yer want my advice, yer'll make straight fer London when we've landed yer. That's the safest place for your sort. Join the spivs and petty twisters wot 'ang ara'nd the race courses and the dawgs. Yer'll be safe wiv them - fer a bit.' He belched and heaved at his stomach.

I sat down again. God, how I hated myself! I felt the tears burning in my eyes and put my head in my hands to hide my sense of loneliness. A hand suddenly rested on my shoulder and Ruppy's voice with all the habitual harshness gone out of it, said, 'Come on, chum. Don't take no notice o' me. Yer'll feel better when yer seen yer fam'ly.'

I shook my head and wished he'd go back to his sneering. 'I've no family,' I said.

'No fam'ly! Blimey! That's tough. But yer got friends, ain't yer?'

'No,' I told him. 'Only the fellow in Penzance. You see, I left England when I was four. The only thing I can remember about England is when I was on the deck of a ship that took us to Canada. My father pointed the coastline out to me. It was just a grey smudge on the horizon. That and the day my mother went away - those are about my earliest recollections. We lived at a place called Redruth in Cornwall. That's where I was born.'

'But if yer went to Canada when you were four, why the 'ell didn't yer join the Canadian Army?'

'I didn't stay in Canada. After my father died, I went to Australia, to the gold mines. I was twenty then -- a miner, like my father. After the war had been going on for some time I got a ship to England. But France fell and Italy came in and we Were held up at Port Said -- so I joined Wavell's mob. This is the first time I've been to England since I was four years old.' Damn him - why had he started me off like this? Why didn't he go on sneering at me? I could stand that. I began to swear. It was a pointless waste of words, but it forced the tears of self-pity away.

'You oughter've gone back to Canada, chum,' he said. 'There wouldn't 'ave bin no questions ast there.'

'I couldn't get a ship,' I said. I reached out for the bottle and poured myself another drink.

'Yer don't want no more o' that firewater,' he advised, putting a restraining hand on my arm that was like the claw of a bird. 'Yer goin' ashore soon and yer'll need to be sober.'

But I took no heed, filling the glass and draining it at a gulp.

Footsteps sounded on the companion ladder. The door opened. 'Hey, Pryce! The skipper wants you.' It was a dumpy little man they called Shorty.

'Okay,' I said.

He went back up the companion ladder and his feet sounded again on the steel deck as he made his way aft towards the wheelhouse. The unfastened door slatted back and forth to the movement of the ship. I took another drink and then got to my feet. The watch off duty swayed in their hammocks. The steel walls, peeling and greasy with dirt, dipped and rose, dipped and rose. The naked bulb swung dizzily before my eyes. The Italian watched me. His eyes were on my belt and they glittered like live coals. I hitched up my trousers and my fumbling fingers bit into the flesh of my stomach as I felt for and found the outline of the money belt around my waist.

'What are you staring at?' I snarled.