Free The Sugar Islands by Alec Waugh Page A

found it hard to believe that those dangers of which he had heard seamen talk were waiting behind the outline of the Château d’lf, that those very sailors who cheered so light-heartedly from the decks might be seeing for the last time the high cliffs, the narrow streets, the mounting houses.
    â€˜Soon,’ he would think, ‘quite soon.’
    He had no doubt but that destiny would transport him into an ampler world. By that belief the despondency of his boyhood had been consoled. He was confident of fame and fortune. One day his father would be proud of him. Under his father’s eyes he would cover himself with glory. In different settings he had seen the moment. Sometimes it had been in battle; sometimes upon the sea; sometimes in some local brawl. But always the end had been the same. There had been that dignified figure pausing with a look of interest in his eyes, saying, ‘What is your name, young man?’ and himself replying, ‘They call me Vaisseau, but I am your son.’
    The road would stretch straight before him then. Men honoured their natural sons, when they were worth honouring. He would be sent as an officer to the wars, or to Paris as a courtier, with fine clothes and money in his purse. There would be an end to the long, dull days, to the monotony and drudgery of the vineyards and the terraced slopes.
    That was how he dreamed in boyhood.
    The same dream that had sustained him then was with him on the brink of manhood. An arrogant, surly figure he waited for his chance.
    Â§
    It came on the occasion of the biannual fair that was held a mile or two northwards of Marseilles. Like other fairs it wasthe commercial monopoly of the priesthood; and in their eyes it was a commercial transaction simply; the means of marketing profitably the merchandise their ships had brought from the Levant. From all sections of the Midi and Provence came buyers to that fair, for the patrolling of lonely villages or the replenishing of city stores. But to the local peasantry the fair was a fair simply. They came to display their best dresses to their neighbours; to exchange gossip with their neighbours; to laugh and dance; to see the sideshows; the marionettes; the camel with the head of a horse and the eyes of a tiger; the two-trunked elephant; the three-footed monkey; the bearded dwarf; the woman who was too fat to cross her legs; the tattooed negress; the Abyssinian with distorted nostrils; the Arab with a ring hung from his lower lip. For three days and nights the fair continued; three days of bargaining, of drinking, of love-making, of quarrelling. The homes were few that did not at its close number one broken crown.
    It was on the second day that Roger got his chance. He was standing with some twenty others round the roped circle from which a bare-backed, sunburnt sailor, his hands upon his hips, the muscles standing high upon his arms and shoulders, was challenging anyone at the rate of twenty-five sous to five to stand up in the ring against him for five minutes. He was strong and brutal; with his nose squashed back like a negro’s upon his cheeks and his lips drawn thinly and tightly over toothless gums. There was not an ounce of fat on him. He weighed fourteen stone.
    â€˜Come on, you yellow bellies,’ he called out. ‘I’m not asking you to beat me, to knock me down. Merely to stand on your feet here for five minutes. Just to protect yourselves; that’s all I’m asking you. And I’m offering twenty-five sous against five to the man who’s fit to do it.’
    With a hoarse, arrogant voice he bawled out his challenge.
    It was answered by a smooth, precise, and slightly mocking voice.
    â€˜They’ve seen you here too often, Victor, I’m afraid. They’ve seen too many of their friends lose their five sous to you. It’s only strangers that’ll run the risk.’
    Roger turned at the sound of the voice; turned and gave a start. There, two yards