THE END OF THE FLIGHT by W.S. Maugham

Date: 2015-10-07; view: 540.

I shook hands with the skipper and he wished me good luck. I felt somewhat lonely when I landed and my bags were put beside me on the beach. This was a far off place, this little town on the north coast of Borneo, and I felt a little shy at the thought of presenting myself to a total stranger moreover with the announcement that I was going to sleep under his roof, eat his food and drink his whisky, till another boat came in to take me to the place where I was going. But everything turned all right.

The moment I reached the bungalow he came out, a sturdy, ruddy cheerful man, of forty five, perhaps, and greeted me with heartiness. While he held my hand he shouted for one boy to bring drinks and for another to look after my luggage. He cut short my apologies. ”God, man, you have no idea how glad I am to see you. The boot is on the other leg. And stay as long as you like. Stay a year.” I laughed. He put away his day's work, saying that he had nothing to do that could not wait till tomorrow. We talked and drank and talked. When he showed me into the bedroom he looked at the bedroom thoughtfully and said “It was the Dutchman who slept in it last. Do you want to hear a funny story?” I wanted chiefly to bed but he was my host, and then I know it is hard to have an amusing story to tell and to find no listener.

“He came on the boat that brought you here. He came into my office and asked me where he could find a place to stay for some time. I told him that if he hadn't anywhere to go I didn't mind if he stayed with me for some time. He jumped at the invitation. I told him to send for his luggage. He held out a little shiny black bag saying that it was all he had. I told him to go to the bungalow and I would come as soon as I am through with my work. While I was speaking the door of my office opened and my clerk came in. The Dutchman stood with his back to the and when the door was opened suddenly he gave a shout, jumped and took out a revolver. “What the hell are you doing?” I cried. “I beg your pardon, It's my nerves, my nerves are terrible,' he said. Well it really looked like it.

When I got back to my bungalow I found him sitting quietly in the middle of the place and when I offered him to one of the long chairs he refused. It seemed very strange. He wasn't much to look at: tall heavily built, with a square head and close cut hair. I think he was about forty. The thing that chiefly struck me was his expression. There was a look in his eyes, blue eyes they were and rather small that I could not understand, and his face gave you a feeling that he was going to cry. He had a way of looking quickly over his shoulder as though he heard something. By God, he was nervous. We had three or four whiskies that afternoon and a lot of gin later on and at last he told me the story.

He came from Samatra, the Dutchman, and he had done something to an Achinese and the Achinese had sworn to kill him. At first he thought nothing of it but the fellow tried two or three times and he got frightened. So he decided to go away for a bit. He went over to Batavia and made up his mind to have a good time. But when he'd been there for a week he saw the fellow hiding behind the wall. The Dutchman began to think it was beyond a joke and he thought the best thing he could do was to go to the Soerabaya. Well, he was strolling about the town one day and when he happened to turn round and saw the Achinese walking quietly just behind him. The Dutchman was straight back to the hotel, packed his things and took the next boat to Singapore. He put up at the hotel where all the Dutch stay and one day when he was having a drink in the courtyard in front of the hotel, the Achinese walked in, looked at him for a minute and walked out again. The Dutchman told me he was paralyzed. He knew that the Achinese was awaiting his time, that damned fellow was going to kill him.

The skipper on the boat that runs between Singapore and Kuching lives in the hotel between the trips and the boat was starting at dawn. The Dutchman left his luggage at the hotel and walked down to the ship with the skipper as if he was going just to see him off and stayed on the boat when she sailed. He felt pretty safe in Kutching but one day when he sat in the club he looked out of the window and he saw the Achinese sitting there. Their eyes met. This boat which brought you was the one that gave him the chance to get away quickly.

It was pretty late and told him that it was time to go to bed. I took him to his room and he bolted the shutters though I told him there was no risk and I heard him lock the door when I left him. Next morning when the boy brought me my tea I asked him if he‘d call the Dutchman. He said he was just going to. I heard him knock again and again. I knocked too. We made enough noise to rouse the dead and finally I broke down the door. I pulled apart the mosquito curtains that were round the bed. He was lying there on his back with his eyes wide open. He was as dead as mutton. A dagger lay across his throat and, and say I'm a liar if you like , but I swear by God it's true, there wasn't a wound about him anywhere. The room was empty. Funny, isn't it?” “Well it depends on your idea of humour” I replied. My host looked at me quickly. “You don't mind sleeping in that bed, do you?” “N-no. But I would have preferred to hear the story tomorrow morning.”

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