Tell Them Katy Did Page 7

They had brought a Christmas tree all the way from Los Angeles and the crew had been looking forward to the occasion. Separated as they were from their families, they took a very sentimental view of the holiday.

  “Mister Letterman outdid himself at lunch today,” the mate said. “He scarcely stopped for breath the whole time.”

  “It’s hard enough to be apart from one’s family at Christmas time, but I cannot endure the thought of spending the entire evening listening to that incessant chatterbox.”

  “Short of throwing him overboard, I don’t know what you can do,” the doctor said. “He’s not a bad old soul, you know. He just needs a man.”

  “What on earth do you mean?” the captain cried.

  “Oh, come now, gentleman,” the doctor scolded them. “Surely you must have realized by now that Mister Letterman is homosexual. Gay, in their own terms.”

  The captain’s face reddened. “Yes, that thought crossed my mind, but the man is sixty if he’s a day. You can’t mean to suggest that he’s thinking of romance at his age.”

  “I think it all the more likely at his age,” the doctor said. “All that loquacity. A good session with a lusty man, whatever it is that those people do together, it would relax all those jangled nerves. I give you my word we’d have some quiet then.”

  The captain smiled at the suggestion and his eyes twinkled. “Well, then, Doctor, since you are a bachelor, and this is the remedy you suggest, I think it is up to you to see to the matter.”

  “Pardon me, Captain, but as ship’s doctor it is up to me to prescribe treatment for the afflictions of our passengers, but it is not my duty to administer it. Besides, I am past the age of sixty myself. I think that youth is an essential in this matter, and good looks an advantage. I believe our mate here, Hans, would be the ideal one to solve the problem.”

  Hans leapt to his feet. “Me. I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. Are you suggesting I am…?”

  “Oh, don’t be foolish,” the captain said. “You’re a sailor, aren’t you? Sailors have a long tradition in these matters. Didn’t I see you dancing with another sailor in Belem not so long ago?”

  “It was only a samba.”

  “Besides, you’re handsome, young, and strong. We have two more weeks before we reach Los Angeles and can be free from this pest. Surely you wouldn’t let the rest of us down.”

  “No, no, Captain, you ask too much of me. I was only married two months before we set sail, and I can hardly return to my bride and confess that I have already been unfaithful, and with a man in the bargain.”

  “Am I then to have the rest of my trip, and my Christmas holiday to boot, ruined because there is no man on my ship to show a little kindness to an aging homosexual? I swear it, I shall run us aground.”

  “What about Peter?” Hans said in a flash of inspiration. “The radio operator.”

  The captain gave a roar and pounded upon the table. “By all the angels in heaven,” he cried. “You have found the very solution. Bring that young man here, at once.”

  When the radio operator, young Peter, was brought into the dining room, he wondered uneasily if he had done something wrong, but he clicked his heels smartly together and stood at attention while the four men—the engineer had now joined the others—looked him over at some length.

  Peter was tall, wide of shoulder and narrow of hip. His hair, a riot of curls, was golden, his eyes the blue of the sky—the very epitome of Teutonic manhood.

  “How old are you, young man?” The captain asked.

  “I’m twenty-one, sir.”

  “Married?”

  “No, sir.”

  “You are aware, are you not, that we still have one passenger aboard?”

  “Yes, sir. I’ve seen him a time or two on deck. He always says a very polite good morning to me.”

  “And I trust you have responded in kind?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “That is good, then.” The captain assumed a serious manner, and his face took on a stern expression.

  “We are a cargo ship,” he said, “but as you know, we also carry passengers, and because it allows us to turn a profit, this is a branch of our business our owners want us to encourage. My instructions are that we are, each of us, to do everything that we can to ensure the happiness and the comforts of our passengers. I trust that you recognize the importance of that mission.”

  The radio man looked puzzled, but he nodded and said, “Yes, sir. I am always happy to do what I can to make our passengers happy.”

  “Good. The gentleman in question needs the attentions of a man.”

  “Attentions, sir?” Peter screwed up his face in puzzlement.

  The captain reddened, but he said frankly, “Of a sexual nature. And the doctor and I have decided that you are the perfect one to resolve this issue.”

  “Of a sexual nature, sir? You mean, from me?” The young man blushed and gave a little laugh, but he quickly saw that this was not a matter of amusement to the others in the room. “But, I’m not inclined that way, sir. Anyway, the gentleman is old, he’s old enough to be my father.”

  “At your age, that shouldn’t matter in the least. When I was twenty-one…well, no matter, my exploits are not the issue here. Besides, this is a gentleman of distinction. He has talked with us evening after evening of his acquaintances in the city of the angels.”

  “He appears to be on a first-name basis with a great many members of the movie community,” Hans added.

  “There, you see,” the captain nodded his approval. “Who knows what might come of your kindness in this matter? You’re a good-looking fellow, I don’t mind telling you that. Who’s to say you might not find yourself enjoying a movie career as a result of doing a good deed. It’s not often one gets the opportunity to combine a little pleasure with a chance at fame and fortune.”

  “But, sir…”

  “I am not making a request of you,” the captain interrupted him in his sternest voice, “I am giving you an order. You will present yourself to Mister Letterman in his cabin at exactly eleven o’clock tonight.”

  “But, what shall I do?”

  “Do? What kind of foolish question is that? Do what comes naturally.”

  * * *

  The captain and his mates were already at the table the next day when Mr .Letterman bustled in. He seemed even more talkative than usual, but halfway through the meal he paused and said, thoughtfully, “I had a strange experience last evening.”

  For a change the others at the table hung on his words, waiting breathlessly for him to go on.

  “I was just about to get into bed when someone knocked at my door. ‘Who is it?’ I asked. ‘It’s the radio operator,’ came the reply. ‘What do you want?’ I asked, and he said, ‘Could I speak to you for a moment?’”

  “Well, I was puzzled, but I slipped on my bathrobe and opened the door, and the young man said, ‘Excuse me, sir, but would you like to send any radio messages?’ Which struck me as very amusing. I’d have laughed in his face, but I didn’t want to hurt the poor boy’s feelings, so I simply said, ‘Thank you so much for thinking of me, but I don’t care to send any messages.’ I must say, he looked at me quite oddly, as if he were embarrassed, so I simply said ‘Good night,’ and shut the door.”

  “That damned fool,” the captain cried.

  “He’s young, Mister Letterman,” the doctor said. “I suspect he thought that with Christmas approaching you might want to send someone holiday greetings.”

  “Oh, I took no offense,” Randolph said with a little laugh, and launched into one of his more interminable stories.

  * * *

  When Randolph had gone, the captain sent for the radio operator. “You fool,” he berated him. “What on earth made you ask Mister Letterman if he wanted to send any messages?”

  “But you told me to act naturally. That’s what I do, is send messages. I didn’t’ know what else to say.”

  “Idiot. The man is homosexual, and you are young and handsome. I put it to you, t
he honor of Germany is in your hands. Now, try again tonight, and do think of something a little more appropriate to say.”

  That night there was again a knock at Randolph’s door. “It’s Peter, the radio operator,” came the reply when Randolph asked who it was. “I have a message for you.”

  “For me?” Randolph was astonished. He could think of no reason for anyone to be sending him a message—unless the worst had happened and his shop had burned to the ground.

  “Slip it under the door,” he said, “and I’ll write an answer and slip it back to you.”

  When he read the message that was slipped under the door, however, his head swam and he had to fetch his spectacles and read it again to be certain he wasn’t mistaken.

  “Merry Christmas. Stop. I am in love with you. Stop. I want to be with you. Stop. Please, let me come in. Stop.”

  For the longest time Randolph could only stare at the slip of paper in his hands. He was aware of a tumultuous silence from the other side of the door. Finally, he took off his glasses and laid them on the dresser, and reached for the knob.

  “Come in, please,” he said.

  * * *

  The next day was Christmas Eve. The stewards had decorated the dining room and the Christmas tree stood lighted on a table against the wall. The officers were in a festive mood when Mr. Letterman came in, a little later than was his custom. When the others greeted him, he merely nodded in return. He ate well, but said hardly a word the whole time.

  Finally, the captain said, “You’re very quiet today, Mister Letterman.”

  “I have things on my mind,” was all he would say. “Could I have a bit more of that gravy, Doctor? And some more potatoes, I think.”

  The captain inwardly breathed a sigh of relief and congratulated himself on what he now saw as his cleverness in discovering a solution to their problem.

  After dinner the entire crew gathered to sing Christmas carols. Randolph sang with them in a pleasant tenor. Once or twice the doctor caught him looking at the radio operator with an expression that the doctor could only think was bewilderment.

  The captain had produced a very nice champagne. Everyone drank a little more than might have been wise, and they were all a little tipsy by the time they said good night, but Randolph, who had matched them drink for drink, managed to walk quite steadily to his own cabin.

  When the officers sat down to lunch the following day, they found that Mr. Letterman was already seated. At each place he had left a small parcel. The men gave Randolph questioning glances.

  “You have all been so kind,” he said, “I wanted to give each of you a present. I’m afraid they aren’t very much.”

  The captain found some fine Cuban cigars in his package. The doctor got a half-dozen silk handkerchiefs, the mate a bottle of cologne, and the engineer a pair of ties. When Randolph had retired to his cabin after the meal was ended, the officers looked a bit uncomfortably at one another while they fingered their gifts.

  “I feel a little guilty for playing that trick on Mister Letterman,” the mate said at last.

  “He is a good old soul,” the captain said. “I doubt he could afford these presents. I wish now we’d left him alone.”

  “It wouldn’t have hurt us any to listen to his chatter for another couple of weeks,” the engineer said. Randolph had spoken hardly at all throughout the meal.

  “Maybe he’s ill,” the captain said.

  The doctor scoffed. “He’s eating like a she-bear. I think on the contrary the man’s been cured of what was ailing him. But,” he raised an eyebrow in the captain’s direction, “you could always speak to the radio operator.”

  The captain turned red. “I think that would be indelicate.” The truth was, he was a little ashamed now of forcing the radio operator to do something that had clearly been against his nature.

  * * *

  For the rest of the trip, the crew treated Mr. Letterman with the utmost consideration. He might have been convalescing after a lengthy illness, and they the nursing staff, charged with looking after him. They competed with one another to see who could be the most charming, the most entertaining.

  Despite their efforts, Randolph did not revert to his former loquacity. To the doctor it appeared as if Mr. Letterman treated them all with a sort of polite disdain. He seemed to find them and their efforts amiable, but the doctor couldn’t help feeling he also found them a trifle ridiculous.

  At last they chugged into Los Angeles harbor. The captain came to bid his lone passenger farewell. “I hope we’ve made you comfortable,” he said, shaking Randolph’s hand and thinking that a peck on the cheek might have served better, if he could have summoned the courage to do so.

  “You’ve all been so very kind to me,” Randolph said. “I shall never forget this time spent with you. I think it’s changed my life for me.”

  It was with an undeniable regret that the officers saw their Mr. Letterman disembark from the Princess of the Andes.

  They were neither loading nor unloading cargo at this port on this occasion, however, and no sooner had their passenger left the ship than the captain turned her around and started for the open sea again. They had a load of timber to pick up along the Oregon coast, and they were already a little behind schedule.

  They were no more than half an hour out of port when the mate rushed into the captain’s quarters.

  “We’ll have to turn around and go back,” he said without preamble. “That damned radio operator has jumped ship. He’ll have to be replaced.”