Bates's hat hung to dry on one of the pegs. They'd gotten him inside. The man was thoroughly shaken up and dealing with it by claiming he was all right.
"Well, here's to the BeRliet," Bates said. And he drank from his flask. The bitter alcoholic thang of whatever he had in there filled the air. Bates smiled at her again, and, not smiling herself, Mary looked curiously at Robert Leigh. Henderson's protégée was dressed in the same sort of loose clothes that the rest of the team wore except that his were clean. He had changed already. Mary's chest tightened in worry. The kid's complexion was pale and his eyes shot away when Mary attempted to make eye contact. She frowned.
"I can't ever say thank you enough." Bates said.
Mary looked away from Leigh and back to Henderson, who stood leaning and watching them from a distance. Withdrawn into himself. The rain clattered loudly on the canvass of the tent. Deafening in the heavy silence.
"Let's not talk about that," Mary said. And Mary noticed Henderson's shoulders were slightly shaking under the coloured, sun-proofed jacket he wore. Henderson's face remained blank.
So they were sat in the dry of the communal tent, and drank their drinks and avoided one another's eyes.
"What?" Bates looked muddled.
"Would amount to nothing," Mary said. "Strain our nerves, that's all."
"No," Bates said, frowning and nodding thoughtfully. "But I suppose that I'll keep dreaming of it for the rest of my life now." And he took another gulp with misplaced good humour.
Henderson's voice abruptly rose. Deep and grating: "Nonsense. Let's have dinner," the man said. Still blank. Too blank. He pushed himself off the tent pole. "Forget the whole thing. Nothing to it anyway."
"I won't forget what you did for me, though."
"Nothing to it," said Henderson. And as he stepped away and into the kitchen, he said: "nothing to it at all."
Bates made to rise, but Mary made a gesture.
"What!? Want to stop me? What's with him?" Bates snarled and frowned and gestured wildly at the retreating figure and back to her.
"No one's trying to harm you, Joseph." Mary didn't step away. "Just thinking about your well-being. Stay put for now—Joseph— Joseph. Bates! Sit down."
Bates growled and then complied. Slight irritation welled up and Mary decided that a break would be much easier than remaining in his company. She could eat, then, by herself, and could complement the ledger during her meal. They would all eat by themselves. It wasn't bad for them to take a moment alone. She would see them again come morning when she was to move to Loiyangalani— and it would be easier than having to go through all the emotional trash.
She lifted the fabric and turned one last time in the passageway, the rain clattering on the ground before her feet. "You need something for your leg?"
Bates shrugged. "Pain's alright."
"I can get you something."
"I know. But what we've got doesn't work for me — I had a bad reaction to the same stuff after a shoulder surgery in college."
"Alright." Mary didn't really care anymore. She ducked her head and stepped out into the rain.
❧
It must have been about seven o'clock when she was joined by Henderson. Mary had moved from her tent to the back of the van again, as the rain made less noise on the canvass spanned over the back of the van than that of her tent.
"What did you want to talk about?" Mary said, not looking up from her ledger. She reached for her meal and got hold of the fork on the second try. It tasted salty.
"Boats." Henderson said.
"Boats?"
"Yeah."
Mary looked up from her ledger. Henderson lay sideways under the canvass, picking at his plate and looking and her inquiringly and bored. Mary cocked an eyebrow: "You know, historically, I haven't had a lot of things to say about boats."
He rolled on his back; his arms folded behind his head. "All right, what's your favourite?"
"What like... my favourite boat? People don't have a favourite boat."
"Yeah, they do."
"People have favourite colours and favourite books. They don't have favourite boats."
Henderson grimaced. "Fine, then you try and carry the bulk of our conversations."
"It's not like you have."
He barked out a laugh. "Oh, I have— I have, all right. All those dull moments over the years. I had to keep them all filled."
"Why is that? Are you scared of silence?"
"Mmh— It makes me uncomfortable if I'm with people. But I love silence."
"You love it?" She laughed.
"You say that because you don't have children."
"Hmm."
"Tessa's having problems with our youngest's tutor. A row about the curriculum."
"That's too bad."
"I should be with them," he then turned at the hip. Laying himself sideways. His voice took on a strenuous quality, "Am I a bad father? A bad husband?"
"No— now eat your cakes."
Henderson turned to lie on his back again. "We can leave them alone nowadays, easier than when we had to hire someone. Just give them food and a toy, and they're occupied for hours on end."
"Resilient, aren't they?"
"Surprisingly. Yeah."
Mary looked at Henderson with his flat, blue eyes and the other smiled back at her. He had a pleasant smile if you did not notice how his eyes showed when he was hurt.
"Maybe I can fix it up by the time you get back," he said.
"No. I'm not staying away long. I'm going to get the pulleys from Mombasa and I'm coming back."
"Why?"
She looked away and redirected her attention to the ledger. "Can you miss the Minerva?"
"How's Charles?"
Mary didn't look at him. "We're getting a divorce," she then said. "Not really. Not yet. But he's thinking about it. How's Leigh dealing with everything?"
"Charles told you?"
"No. But he's always thinking about it. Since we got married. He's romantic like that."
"Are you?— thinking about it."
Mary let out an involuntary breath and shrugged. "We married young, Jacky. He didn't realise marriage could last a life. And we're both not getting any younger."
"I'm not buying it," the man said. Mary made a noncommittal sound. "Charles isn't divorcing you. You just think he should."
"He'd be happy. Can you miss the Minerva?"
Henderson's eyes moved between hers. "In the morning if you like," he told her. And when he realised Mary wouldn't answer him, his gaze darted from her to their sodden surroundings. "How long has it been raining?" He sighed.
"A million years."
"Really?"
"Mm."
Henderson groaned as he tipped his head back. "How do we escape?" He whispered.
Mary smiled to herself. "Offer tribute."
"Human tribute?"
"Human tribute. We'll vote."
"That's democracy for you."
"Hmm."
"I'll lose."
Mary snorted. Henderson shrugged. "But I've got seniority, so I ought to get a veto."
"You'd die for a good cause."
"What? You having dry socks?"
"Mm."
"That'll have to do."
She looked at him. A smile on his face. It made him look softer. "I want someone to get Bates to the clinic tonight." She spoke.
"I told Silva to drive him once the rain clears up but Bates got it into his head that he's fine."
Mary cursed the man out under her breath. Henderson grunted and glanced at her briefly.
"He doesn't do it to show off."
"I didn't say that." Mary pushed away her plate. "But someone's got to take a look at that leg."
"He'll come around once he gets stiff."
"If he gets stiff it'll be too late. At the end of the week he won't be able to walk. I meant it when I asked about Leigh. The kid's shaken up."
"Why don't you take him with you?"
Mary met his eyes. "To Mombasa?"
Henderson shrugged. "Not much to do until the pulleys get here."
"Old school."
"Take him with you." The 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 went unspoken. But it was there.
Mary searched his face. "Alright." She spoke.