Читать книгу Shanghai - Christopher New - Страница 18

JOHNSON WAS TEACHING Denton snooker. Lining up his ball carefully on the black, Denton swung the cue gently. The ball kissed the black on the wrong side and rolled smoothly away into the pocket.

'You lifted your head,' Johnson explained consolingly. 'You lifted your head as you hit it. Otherwise you might've got it.' He sipped from the beer he'd placed on the edge of the table, smacked his lips, and leant over to make his shot. The cue slid easily forward over the crook of his finger and thumb, the ball seemed to run inevitably towards the black, there was a click and the black sank into the pocket.

'Well, if we could have a table down at the Woosung forts next week,' Johnson said encouragingly as he finished his beer, 'you'd soon get the hang of it.'

'What's it like down there?' Denton asked. 'I saw them when I arrived, but I couldn't really make much out.'

'Just a guardpost really. We go down there to make sure they don't discharge contraband before they get into the harbour.' He paused as one of the boys approached and muttered to him. 'Where?' Johnson asked, glancing round towards the door. 'All right, bring him up to my room.'

He turned back to Denton with a faintly excited smile. 'One of my informers wants to see me,' he said quietly, as if he didn't want the others to hear. 'Come along, you might find this interesting.'

Denton followed him up to the second floor. At first glance, as Johnson turned the gaslight up, Denton thought the room was completely bare. But looking round again, he saw three straight-backed wooden chairs, which reminded him of a schoolroom, and a watercolour of a sailing ship pinned to the wall. Still, the room was cheerless. There weren't even any curtains. He felt obscurely that its featurelessness was in keeping with the level, monotonous landscape of Johnson's character.

Johnson gestured to the chairs, neatly placed against the wall. 'Make yourself at home,' he said. But as he remained standing himself, Denton merely smiled, then went across to the painting. It was of a three-masted ship with many sails, all billowing before the wind. The sky was blue except for some fluffy, yellowish clouds, there were sea-gulls curling round the mastheads and flecks of white foam on the choppy blue water.

'How d'you like it?' Johnson asked behind him.

'Very nice.'

'Did it myself.'

'Really?' Denton felt he ought to show added interest now, and he stepped nearer, peering at it closer. The figurehead on the bowsprit was a mermaid with golden, wavy hair that fell loosely down round full round breasts with little red nipples. He was slightly shocked. All the mermaids he'd seen before had had ringlets that decently obscured their nakedness. He couldn't reconcile this immodesty with what he knew of Johnson. But perhaps it was all right in art? he wondered doubtfully.

'See the mermaid?' Johnson asked with innocent pride. 'Life-like, eh?'

'Yes. Yes it is,' Denton agreed hastily, looking instead at the row of portholes running along the vessel's side.

There was an almost inaudible rapping on the door. Immediately, a short, lean Chinese slipped inside and closed it. He glanced briefly askance at Denton, then stepped swiftly to the corner, where Johnson followed him. They began speaking in quick, furtive whispers. Denton watched the man's queue twitching as he shook or nodded his head in reply to Johnson's slow, careful questions. It was as though he was trying to convince Johnson while Johnson was sceptical and dubious. He was dressed like a coolie in a cheap, patched black tunic and wide floppy black trousers that ended above his ankles. On his bare feet he wore rope sandals, and Denton noticed how his toes kept curling and uncurling all the time, as though they were squirming with uneasiness. After some time, Johnson counted some notes out into his hand, snapping each one cautiously between his finger and thumb. The man's lips worked silently as he counted the money in time with Johnson. He stuffed it into a pocket inside the waist of his trousers and left, glancing briefly at Denton without expression. There was a white scar on his temple.

'Three o'clock tomorrow morning,' Johnson said, putting his wallet away. 'A cargo of salt. Not very big, but worth catching. Want to come? It's right down river, past the forts.' His faintly nasal voice was still mild and even, as though he was merely inviting Denton to another game of snooker.