"Are you carrying anything prohibited?"
A question on the margin, put by the customs inspector to every traveler as he makes his rounds, completing the official travel formalities, before the traveler takes his place on the ship's deck.
"No..." and the traveler passes on...
The official asked me his routine question as he asked the others, and we all passed through in peace; but we turned around when we heard him order one of the women to stand for a search.
She was a pretty blonde at the gates of twenty; one did not need to exercise any powers of discernment to realize that she was one of those artistes who work in the many performing troupes that come to the island.
Her protests poured out in English, spoken with a German accent.
The customs officer paid no heed to her fury, but handed her over to a woman to carry out the search...
I contented myself with this much of the scene and went down to the launch that carried me to the ship
that was to sail with me from Limassol to Beirut.
It was late afternoon... I withdrew into myself in my cabin, passing the time in reading, until, when evening came, I went up to walk about on the ship's deck... Darkness had fallen, but for those lights coming from the cabins...
As for the passengers, they had gathered in the saloon playing cards, and some had circled around the jazz
band, dancing and making a merry din.
I leaned on the ship's rail for a while and cast my gaze downward, watching the boiling foam breaking against the hull of the huge steamer... Then I tired of standing and went walking toward the other end of the ship, when a figure brought me up short—resting her head against the wooden wall... I peered a little, and saw the blonde German artiste, weeping...
Her case perplexed me, as I was perplexed at my own... Should I ignore her and go on without a backward glance? Should I intrude upon her?... when I was not even sure she would accept my meddling?... Should I?... I took a step forward, but then stopped, for I felt a strange pity for her, and saw myself bound to do something for her... I drew near her, and she opened two large eyes in which the tears glistened, and said...
"What do you want?"
I answered in confusion... "No. No... not at all... it's nothing... You... you are crying? Isn't that so?"
She said, "Yes, I am crying—is that any business of yours?"
I said, "No. Of course not... but I cannot bear to see anyone cry."
She turned her face away and went on with her weeping, and I stood frozen in my place like a simpleton, waiting... Then I found myself moving closer to her, raising my hand to her with a handkerchief in it... then offering her a cigarette, which she took, drawing long, nervous puffs from it, and she said...
"And what is all this to you..."
I said, "Nothing... a human duty, no more..."
She laughed a mocking laugh that bewildered me, and said...
"Ah... I had forgotten that in people's dictionaries there is a word they call humanity... A human duty, eh?"
And she laughed again...
But I got hold of myself and asked her once more...
"Did some trouble meet you at the customs?"
She was silent, and I repeated my question...
She retorted sharply:
"You are a busybody... Very well then, listen... Yes—everything I had has flown away. They took it from me... four hundred gold liras."
"And why did you get yourself entangled in carrying them...?"
She said, "Jenny drove me to it—one of the Italian girls of the troupe. She said she had often carried gold on her journeys, and that a little pleasantness with the
customs officers was enough to settle the matter and hush up the smuggling. But things went contrary to what I wished, and they seized the sum... and they nearly barred me from sailing, had not the troupe's manager appealed to one of the men of consequence in the country..."
I made no comment on the news, so she flared up and cried out nervously:
"What is the matter with you, saying nothing... Perhaps, like the others, you believe that money runs like water between our fingers, gained without toil or effort... or that we scoop gold out of mines... or..."
"I said nothing of the kind."
She returned to her calm for a few moments; then the tears came again, washing her eyes. A woman appeared, stepping toward us, and she sprang up nervously and shouted at her:
"What do you want... Away from me, you face of ill omen!"
The other's answer to this outburst was a loud, cheap laugh.