Chapter 16 Chapter Sixteen

Wednesday night.Fresh sea breeze, north-northeast wind, rising air pressure.Longitude and latitude removed here due to reviewer's request.A tense atmosphere was growing, as if the sound of the button of the wireless transmitter suddenly breaking had quietly entered the residences of the passengers. Nothing to say about this.The crew was as leisurely and busy with their work as ever.But you can only see them from a certain distance.They appeared and disappeared, and the door slammed shut.A liner at sea is as sensitive as a theater for an emotional atmosphere, and that's why everyone knows it.

The passengers joked a lot with each other.The notice said there was a film showing in the lounge after dinner but the bar would close at ten. Max kills the time until finally the moment comes when he needs to think about proper dinner attire.He was lazily walking towards his cabin before seven o'clock, and he was attracted by the familiar voice before he approached the door in front of the store on Deck B. "Look," growled an angry voice, "I'm getting pissed off. I know the secret of your little preferences, but I still don't want any hair growth. I just want to shave, shave-- , understand? I have been shaved and avoided you for five days. For the sake of Aesop, can you stop mumbling about hair supplements and its benefits?"

"Hair is like grass," said the barber. "And now the grass grows, doesn't it, sir? No one can doubt it. Well, why does the grass grow?" "I don't know. I mean..." "Exactly proves my point, sir," said the barber triumphantly. "Grass grows because rain falls on it and waters it. See, even grass, which is a gift of God and a natural phenomenon, needs something poured on it to germinate, as you might say, no Is it?" Max drew back the curtains and poked his head into the barbershop. The barber shop was clean, with white tiles and a shimmering mirror, the place looked neat except for HM. HM's glasses fell on his nose, and he was staring at the giant bandage behind the white cloth at an angle that would break his neck, but not enough to catch the barber's eye.The barber opened the small glass door to check the steaming towel, closed the glass door contentedly, and continued to whip the foam in the large china cup. "So if Lady Nature must be pampered, what will happen? Come in, sir, you're next!"

The barber suddenly fell silent and stopped whipping the foam because he recognized Max.An ominous doubt passed through his mind.He put down the glass.But Max just nodded, walked briskly to a chair, picked up a copy of "The Artist" (Tatler), and the barber was relieved considering that he also needed a haircut.The barber still thought Max was his deepest doubt out of the corner of his eye, but he got on with what he was doing. "Sir, I have another thing to tell you," he continued in a loud voice, "you know, I'm not going to say I didn't feel a little hurt the last few days. (Sir, I'll keep the Your glasses. That’s right, that’s it.)”

"Listen, young man. Did you listen to what I told you about the towels? Don't get too hot. I'm sensitive—" "Sir, I have my dignity, just like everyone else," said the barber in a wounded tone, "and you are my first customer too. (And now, with your permission, a hot towel. By the way .not very hot, is it?)" "Well!" "Hot or not, sir?" "No! No! No!" "Let's just leave it there, then. Please hold still, sir, and now I'm wrapping the towel around and leaving room for your nose. Speaking of the nose, I'll come back to it later. What I'm trying to say is , I have as much dignity as anyone else. Not because you haven't paid me at least three times. No! But it's a very nice thing for a gentleman to sit on my chair and get up again while the foam is still on the brush Rare thing."

"W-what?" "I said, while the foam was still on the brush. No offense, though, I promise! They say tonight's movie is Shirley Temple's, I'm sure you'll like... what's wrong, gentlemen?" The silence lasted for a long time. At first, Max just flipped the pages of the magazine without looking at them, and finally realized it too.He was disgusted by the whole mess.He knew Valerie Chafford was a liar.He had the chilling feeling that they hadn't dealt with the commotion yet.The effect of the silence finally exploded in him, and he looked up. He saw HM's face reflected in the large mirror on the wall. Holding a hot towel in one hand, HM struggled to sit upright on the barber chair.His face was flushed from the heat, his eyes were wide open and unblinking, an expression that would not have looked more outlandish even if the barber had knocked him on the back of the head with the famous hair restorer.

"Give me back my glasses!" he said suddenly. "gentlemen?" "Give me back my glasses," HM yelled, getting up quietly and quickly from the chair, fumbling for the neck cloth, "I'm sorry, but I don't have time to shave right now." This stretches almost entirely to the limit of the barber's ego.For a split second, it seemed as if a trigger could happen where he slams the shaving mug on the floor and dances on the shards.Small shocks tormented him, made him miserable. "Help me out of this Appius Claudius outfit, will you?" HM urged, but when Geb was removed, he changed his mind and reached out to shake the barber's.

"Young man," he said gravely, "you don't know what you've done for me. I've always wanted to avoid this place, and it's always been the beginning and source of my inspiration. Kick to the bow. I'll be back. Damn, I'll even buy a bottle of your tonic! Before then, there's something to attend to. Come on, Max, we've got work to do." Two customers fled the barbershop so quickly he had to don their life jackets and give chase.As they went downstairs, HM spoke. "We need to find the Purser," he said. "I'm not sure, and I don't like to prophesy; but I think I've found the answer."

The purser's window was open, but Griswold himself was not there.His assistant, a pleasant, freckled young man, sat gravely and regretfully. "All I want," insisted HM, "is to see the fingerprint cards of the passengers. Only the passengers, and a magnifying glass." "I'm sorry, sir. Those cards are in the safe, and I don't know how to open it." "Where's the Purser?" The young man hesitated for a moment, "I think the meeting is in the captain's office. I can't disturb him, even if it's for you." HM's face turned serious. "Oh? About the submarine?"

"I can't say, sir. If I were you, I'd come back later." "How long after?" "Maybe a long time, after dinner anyway." "That's too bad," growled HM, the overhead windows banging. "Can't you go up and interrupt them?" "Well. Now, if it's such a serious matter, I'm afraid it's better not to interrupt." HM said, "It seems that this is not as simple as ordinary business. God, can't you be a little patient?" He snapped He said that he was the most impatient person, "Let's do this first, can't we? It won't hurt us to get something to eat."

Get something to eat and put it into practice, luring all the remaining passengers down for dinner. HM tucked his napkin into his collar and ate calmly without saying anything.Beyond that, there was a subdued sense of cheerfulness in the restaurant.Nobody said anything about submarines.Hoover and Lathrop engage in a long and tiresome argument about the biblical crossing of the Jordan by the Israelites; they argue about the width of the Jordan, until someone hesitantly asks if they mean the Red Sea. Hoover was as stubborn as Thorn's entire Mercetshire regiment, eating and refusing to change the notion that it was the Jordan River.Lathrop was quicker to turn to the horrific story of the flooding in Pennsylvania.Dr. Archer added an even more frightening story, concerning the Spanish War.For some reason, the stories were funnier and everyone laughed. (Waiting, more waiting. War suddenly feels to Max almost like waiting, which is why it is so tense.) After dinner everyone gathered in the hall.A movie screen was set up in the lobby.Everyone watched Shirley Temple tearing up wicked rich people with seriousness, and everyone's hearts were hooked: the scene was a bit silly, but at least it gave everyone something to do.During a break in the film Max discovers that HM is missing - he never reappears. The halls of the Edward Dick resumed their evening noise.The boat began to rock again; Ken Worthy hurried away.Dr. Archer suggests a swim in the pool, and Max partially agrees to join him.Then he followed Valerie Chafford cautiously into the smoking room. She sat down in the shadows in the middle of the circle of sofas, away from any red light. "Hey," Max said, "have a drink?" "no thanks." "I'm sorry, I forgot that you disapprove of drinking." "If you say so," muttered Valerie, "I'd like a brandy." The fireplace was empty, and the clock above it was ticking loudly.He didn't mean to irritate her with that.When she left the hall, he felt that she looked tired and lonely, listless.She was back in her dove gray evening dress, loose and worn.You can't say anything about it either, it's just that it's obviously worn a second time. "Did you like this movie?" "Oh, it's okay." "Don't you feel very well?" "I'm fine, thank you. Why are you so friendly all of a sudden, Mr. Matthews?" (Oh, my God! Max thought.) He felt her eyes surveying him.Her bare shoulders were so white and smooth as milk, exuding a more youthful air than her face.She kept opening and closing the buttons of her handbag. "I shouldn't have said that," she said, "I'm as bad as you." "impossible." "No, it's true. You're thinking, how horrible I was on deck this morning, aren't you?" He hesitated, and she continued. "Yes, that's what you think. Anyway, at least it's a relief. You don't like or respect me, so I don't have to pose in front of you. What a fool I am, and You know as well." Suddenly she slapped her thigh with her handbag.Her voice burst out suddenly, "But I am miserable, miserable, miserable! No one is as miserable as I am!" Acting again?Possibly, but Max was skeptical.There was a sincerity in her voice that he had hardly heard before. "Calm down," he said, "I don't think you're making a fool of yourself at all. It's just that you could have told them what you knew in the first place instead of being so secretive." "The thing I said," she went on, "about the threatening letter in the woman's handbag..." At that moment, Valerie's own handbag fell to the floor and the buttons came undone.The flight attendant sidled up to them with brandy, which he placed on the low coffee table in front of the sofa.Max heard the loud ticking of the clock. Both he and the flight attendant saw what was in Valerie's handbag: a large nickel-plated flashlight.The steward hesitated, then bent very carefully. "I think I must ask your pardon, miss, but—" "What's the matter?" "That flashlight," the other party smiled harmlessly, "you won't take him on deck, will you? I thought I warned you." "No, of course not," Valerie said. "I took him just in case... you know. There might be no power. And it's going to be terribly dark and cold in those lifeboats." "Yes, ma'am," the flight attendant reassured.He behaved like a diplomat, and he could almost give away classified information in the tone of talking about the weather. "Only," he said in a low voice, "I heard that there was an incident last night. Someone opened a porthole, or some guard was smoking on deck. In any case, they are much more strict. You I know, it's quiet tonight." "But," said Valerie, then stopped, "they won't, uh... won't they do anything until we're all in the lifeboats?" "No, of course not," the flight attendant comforted with a smile again, "Miss, there is nothing to worry about," he glanced at Max meaningfully. "Sir, the bar closes at ten tonight. I have to turn off the lights. Any final orders?" Max shook his head, and the flight attendant backed out, leaving only the two of them. "Do you smoke?" "No thanks," Valerie said. He lit himself a cigarette and drained the brandy in one gulp, hesitating about his answer. "Sorry," Valerie said suddenly, making him jump. "I'm going to show my rudeness again. But this time I didn't mean to, can you finish my brandy for me?" She stood up and picked up the lifejacket. "I feel like my head is going to burst. I need to go to bed. Do you mind?" "Of course I don't mind," he said, pressing on the crutches, and his bad leg ached. "Take an aspirin before you go to sleep. It'll do you good. Good night." "Good night." Bang, bang, the deep sound of the ship's engine.Bang, bang.Bang, bang.You can feel it more clearly on calmer seas.The clock struck ten.After the lights were turned off, Max continued to smoke, with inferences one after another in his mind, until he was woken up by the flight attendant's scolding.He drank Valerie's brandy and walked down the hall into the hall. He got himself a few novels and sat down in a corner from which he could see the main staircase.Hoover went down there to sleep by eleven o'clock, Lathrop a little later. "I heard," Lathrop said, his voice sounding louder than it was, "I heard they caught a tanker ten miles behind us today." "You can hear about these ships." "Ha! You're cool." "Just normal," Max said.He added casually: "Do you happen to know Miss Chafford's cabin number?" Both of them became dizzy.Footsteps came from the deck not far away.The voice they heard was clear and not loud, but it tore through the stillness of the night like a blow to the head. "Sub on starboard. Torpedoes!" Twenty seconds later, shocking alarm bells sounded from every corner of the ship.