"What man? Oh, Emily, not that— that thing down there."
"Those eyes," she screamed. "Those teeth!"
"Please, dear—"
"He's the cook! The ship's cook. He gave me the recipe for that celery seed dressing, don't you remember?"
Hank Cobb searched his memory. "The cook..."
Half a city block away, in the ship's infirmary, Alberto Vittorelli was fading back out of his brief episode of consciousness. The black wall of the ship— how did the ship appear? The woman screaming, the bobbing faces all around him, their wet hair plastered to their heads, the gentleman in the white suit moving hurriedly above him now, his expression of worry so deeply graven on his face that it seemed almost comical.
The antiseptic-smelling white room began to swirl around him. Of course they had come to rescue him. Without Vittorelli, the ship would sail with no sauces. He closed his eyes to the whirling, darkening place, its lone occupant the worried gentleman in white. But the spinning continued inside Vittorelli like a tight, diminishing merry-go-round. The riders on the merry-go-round (Faster! round and round it went, faster and faster!) were the men in the sea with him, their sailor uniforms bright in the dark water, the sailors and the screaming woman and the worried gentleman in white. And at the center of it 'all, so small how, small and disappearing, was another face, cold and commanding, swept by yellow hair, lit by the palest ice-blue eyes, a face he would never forget...
?Eight
The next morning was Sunday. Remo sprang awake to a deafening howl, the thunder of heavy, bewildered footsteps, and the clanking of glasses and ice cubes. He wrapped a towel around himself and headed for the kitchen, but Sidonie intercepted him just outside the bedroom.
"What you do out there?" the housekeeper accused, her eyes pinched into little black marbles. "This place a mess."
"We had visitors last night," Remo said lamely.
Sidonie craned her neck past him into the bedroom, where Fabienne was groaning awake, her hand held to her throbbing forehead. "Land sake, boy," Sidonie gasped, stepping backward in indignation. "What for you got her in your bed?"
Remo passed up the obvious explanation in view of the fact that Sidonie was a friend of the girl's, and also because she had to weigh in at over 225 and already had a couple of belts of rum in her. "She's been hurt," he said.
Sidonie waddled tentatively into the room, her ice cubes tinkling in her glass as she swayed her heavy bulk toward the girl in the bed. When she saw the chain of bruises around Fabienne's throat, she placed her hand over her heart, tossed down the full glass of rum, and waddled menacingly back toward Remo. "You do that, white boy?" she growled.
"Come on, Sidonie. Why would I do that?"
She pressed her face close to his, rum fumes invading his nostrils like bayonets. "Maybe underneath that soft white skin, you a mad dog." She lifted an eyebrow.
"Why don't you ask her?"
"Maybe she lie?"
"Oh, good grief," Remo said.
"Maybe she like it." She smiled wickedly.
"Sidonie." Fabienne's voice brought the huge woman running. Remo exhaled gratefully.
"Who do this to you, girl?" she asked, pressing the girl's face into her mammoth bosom. "You tell Sidonie, she going fix his butt good."
Fabienne coughed to bring her voice above a whisper. "It was the mute, Sidonie. The Dutchman's mute."
The black woman's eyes closed as she sucked in air noisily. With two fingers she gave the sign of the Evil Eye to ward off demons.
"You know I'm getting tired of all this crap," Remo said. "Any mention of this Dutchman character around here, and everyone gets scared out of their bloomers. It is to puke."
"Do not mock him," Sidonie warned. "He hear you. He is the Evil One. He knows."
"Oh, bull fat," Remo said. "I'm going up to that castle on the mountain today and haul that mute, or whatever he is, down to the police station. And if the Dutchman doesn't like it, I'm going to pop his cork."
"Do not speak so quickly, Remo." Chiun stood behind him, glittering in a ceremonial robe of teal-blue brocade.
"See, he know," Sidonie said, gravitating toward Chiun, whom she showered with affectionate pats and clucks. "You look real fine today, Mr. Chiun," she said sweetly. She turned back to Remo, scowling. "This white boy, he come out wearing a towel around them skinny legs, him with a girl in his bed."
"I wish I could have been spared the sight," Chiun said. "And I'm sorry for the mess Remo made here last night. We were attacked by hoodlums last night. They broke my television."
"That's a shame, Mr. Chiun. I'll have the place fixed up in no time."
"Can you replace my television?" he asked hopefully.
"You just leave it to me. You going to teach that trash what beat up Fabienne a lesson?"
"Yes. His last lesson," Chiun said coldly.
There was a loud knocking at the door. "What fool come visiting this time of day?" Sidonie mumbled as she lumbered toward the front entrance.
"Something special going on today?" Remo asked Chiun, who was arranging the elaborate folds of his ceremonial robe. Chiun shrugged. "You're not going to tell me, are you?" Remo said, fingering the cloth of the kimono.
"There is no need for you to know."
Sidonie's loud whisper wafted toward them. "No," she hissed, stomping. "I ain't giving you no hundred dollah. You never give back the last fifty you borrowed."
"Sidonie, baby," Pierre's smooth voice cooed. "It the truck. She broke. I got to have the money, or I go out of business."
"Too bad for you, then. You got to go to work now like an honest man."
"Who goes?" Chiun called.
"It only Pierre," Sidonie said. "I telling him to leave now. You hear that, boy?"
Remo and Chiun walked into the living room.
"Mister Remo." Pierre nodded. "I come to talk to Fabienne, if she here."
"Hah!" Sidonie grunted. "You come to rob me again."
Pierre ignored her. "I been most everywhere on the island," he said, "looking for her. I got to give her some bad news."
"She's here, but she's not feeling well," Remo said. "Maybe you can tell me."
"Well..." He shuffled his feet. "It not good. I seen her house today. It wrecked. Windows smashed, mud all over the door, everything. Look like somebody get real mad, tear the place up."
"It must have been the mute," Remo mused.