Echoes From a Distant Land by Frank Coates Page B

taking the bottle from in front of the bearded man she poured a measure into a glass and added water. The mixture turned milky. ‘Drink,’ she commanded.
    The aromatic fumes irritated his eyes, but the woman stood over him, arms crossed, so he took a mouthful. A surge of blood rushed to his brain and his throat constricted. An involuntary gasp escaped his burning lips.
    The man at the bar mumbled a disparaging grunt.
    â€˜More,’ the woman said. Her voice was threatening, but she had a pleasant face and when he glanced up at her, she smiled. He finished the drink, and warmth spread from his belly through his whole body.
    â€˜You are off the Madura ,’ she stated.
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜Looking for a room?’
    His eyes roamed around the hotel, from the stained timber glasses cabinet above the black marble bar to the half-dozen circular tables to the carpeted staircase. It hadn’t occurred to him until that moment, but here was a perfect haven from his torture on the ship. Here he could find his feet. Here he could perhaps finally get some sleep.
    â€˜A room?’ he said.
    â€˜ Oui . I have a nice room for you. Two francs.’
    The Madura could sail without him. He had long ago lost his enthusiasm for New York. In fact, he detested the name. New York and his dreams of adventure and education had been the cause of his interminable suffering.
    â€˜Yes,’ he said. ‘A room.’
    â€˜Come, I show you,’ she said, and led the way to the stairs.
    She glanced back and found Sam still fixed to his seat.
    â€˜Come. You can get your things later.’
    Sam’s legs were leaden and he leaned on the table while he got to his feet. His heart thumped and his face burned as he followed the woman’s shapely bottom up the stairs.
    On the landing, the threadbare carpet under his feet began to rise and fall in great waves like someone had hold of the end and was shaking loose the dust.
    He heard the woman say, ‘ Quelle? ’ just before his head hit the floor.
    Â 
    Sam awoke in a small but pleasant room lit by the yellow light of a paraffin lantern on the bedside table. His head ached and the cramps that had pinched his gut for many days were worse, but he had none of the last weeks’ debilitating nausea. As the fogginess of sleep cleared, he realised his bunk was steady; and with a sigh of relief he remembered that he was no longer on board ship.
    The door to his room opened and the woman from the bar peeped in.
    â€˜Ah,’ she said, entering. ‘You wake up.’
    Sam noticed the woman had an armful of clothes, and at the same time realised he was naked under the sheet and light blanket. The clothes she carried were his. She noticed his expression and smiled.
    â€˜All clean now,’ she said and then made a face. ‘Pooh! How you stink. Do you think I would let you sleep in one of my beds when you stink like a donkey? No. Now you are all clean. How do the English say it? From top to toe.’
    A number of questions flew into Sam’s head, most of which he thought it best not to ask, but one of them was important. ‘What happened to me?’
    â€˜Maybe I should have given you the bouillabaisse before the absinthe, yes?’
    â€˜I fell …?’
    â€˜Boof!’ she said, making a gesture with her arm. ‘Like a tree. You are very heavy. Joel, he helped me, but he is useless after four absinthes.’ She shrugged. ‘Don’t worry, he didn’t see your pee-pee.’
    She laughed at his expression, then disappeared with a promise to return with the bouillabaisse.
    Her name was Paulette, and Sam guessed she was about forty, though as she was white it was hard to tell. She told him that she and her absent husband, Aubin, owned the bar, but that she managed it because he was at sea for ten months of the year and in any case, she was the one with the bar-keeping experience.
    She was a full-figured woman, with short hair,