“That sounds good to me.” Bervick helped her up. The sailor was still asleep. Angela took the bottle of whiskey and slipped it in her coat pocket.
“He’ll never miss it. Besides we might want some in the movie,” she said cozily. They pushed their way through the crowd of soldiers and sailors. Standing outside the door were two Shore Patrol men waiting gloomily for the eventual riot.
“Nasty bunch them SP’s,” remarked Angela, and then, “Jesus but it’s cold.” She pulled her coat tight about her neck. Quickly they walked to the small theatre at the end of the street.
The theatre held about two hundred people. It was almost filled now and the show had begun. They found seats at the back. A shot was being fired on the screen and Angela, hearing it, squealed with gay terror. Two rows in front of them a man vomited. Bervick shuddered.
“That’s all right, dear. You’ll be warm in a minute,” whispered Angela. He put his arm around her thick shoulders. She giggled and let her hand rest on his knee. Together they watched the figures on the screen and thought of each other.
iii
Morning came whitely over the harbor. The water was oily calm. A small Navy boat went through the channel and the crews of the different boats began to stir about on the docks.
Bervick walked down the deserted street of the village. The houses looked unlived in. There was no sign of life away from the docks. His footsteps sounded sharp and clear in the emptiness of the morning.
He thought of Angela and felt sick at the memory of her making love in a torn silk dressing gown, her frizzled red hair hanging stiffly down her back. Olga was so much cleaner. He would not think of Olga, though.
The ship was already awake. The crew was straggling up out of the focs’le. He could see Evans moving around in the wheelhouse. Martin was out on the forward deck.