Free The African Queen by C S Forester Page B

before Allnutt, moving restlessly about the boat, began to occupy himself with overhauling the engine. For a long time that engine had not had so much attention as Allnutt lavished on it to-day. It was greased and cleaned and nurse-maided, and a couple of the botched joints were botched a little more effectively. Then Allnutt found he was thoroughly dirty, and he washed himself with care, and in the middle of washing he thought of something else, and he went to his locker and got out his razor, and cleansed it of the thick grease which kept it from rusting, and set himself to shave. It was only sheer laziness which had caused him to cease to shave when the war broke out, and which accounted for that melodramatic beard. Shaving a beard like that was painful, but Allnutt went through with it, and when it was over he stroked his baby-smooth cheeks with satisfaction. He put cylinder oil on his tousled hair and worked at it until he had achieved the ideal coiffure, with an artistic quiff along his forehead. He replaced his things in his locker with elaborate care, and sat down to recover. Five minutes later he was on his feet again, moving about the cramped space, wondering what he could do now. And all round him was the silence of the river; that in itself was sufficient to get on his nerves.

Chapter 5

    A MAN of stronger will than Allnutt, or a more intelligent one, might have won that duel with Rose. But Allnutt was far too handicapped. He could not do chess problems in his head, or devote his thoughts to wondering what was the military situation in Europe, or debate with himself the pros and cons of Imperial Preference, or piece together all the fragments of Shakespeare he could remember. He knew no fragments of Shakespeare at all, and his mind had never been accustomed to doing any continuous thinking, so that in a situation in which there was nothing to do but think he was helpless. In the end, it was the noise of the river eternally gurgling round the tree roots which broke down his last obstinacy.
    Allnutt had made several attempts to get back on a conversational footing with Rose, and only once had he managed to induce her to say anything.
    “I hate you,” she had said then. “You’re a coward and you tell lies, and I won’t speak to you ever.”
    And she had shaken herself free. The very first advance Allnutt had made had surprised her. All she had hoped to achieve was revenge, to make Allnutt suffer for the failure of her scheme. She had not believed it possible that she might reduce him to obedience by this means. She had no idea of the power at her disposal, and she had never had to do with a weak-willed man before. Her brother and her father were men with streaks of flintlike obstinacy within their pulpy exteriors. It was only when Allnutt began to ask for mercy that it dawned upon her that she might be able to coerce him into obeying her. By that time, too, she had a better appreciation of the monotony of the river, and its possible effect on Allnutt.
    Her one fear was lest Allnutt should become violent. She had steeled herself to hear unmoved anything he might say to her, or any indelicate expressions he might employ, but the thought of physical force undoubtedly gave her a qualm. But she was a well-set-up woman, and she put unobtrusively into her waistbelt the stiletto from her workbag. If he should try to rape her (Rose did not use the word “rape” to herself; she thought of his trying to “do that to her”) she would dig at him with it; its point was sharp.
    She need not have worried. Physical violence, even towards a woman, was a long way from Allnutt’s thoughts. It might have been different if there had been any gin left to give him the necessary stimulus, but providentially all the gin was in the river.
    Just as Rose had underestimated her power, so had Allnutt underestimated his offence. At first he had taken it for granted that Rose was angry with him because he had got drunk. Her scheme for