Ole Underwood
Mansfield

  Down the windy hill stalked Ole Underwood. He
carried a black umbrella in one hand, in the other a
red and white spotted handkerchief knotted into a lump. He
wore a black peaked cap like a pilot; gold rings gleamed in
his ears and his little eyes snapped like two sparks. Like two
sparks they glowed in the smoulder of his bearded face. On
one side of the hill grew a forest of pines from the road right
down to the sea. On the other side short tufted grass and little
bushes of white manuka flower. The pine trees roared like
waves in their topmost branches, their stems creaked like the
timber of ships; in the windy air flew the white manuka flower.
"Ah-k!" shouted Ole Underwood, shaking his umbrella at the
wind bearing down upon him, beating him, half strangling him
with his black cape. "Ah-k!" shouted the wind a hundred
times as loud, and filled his mouth and nostrils with dust.
Something inside Ole Underwood's breast beat like a hammer.
One, two -- one, two -- never stopping, never changing. He
couldn't do anything. It wasn't loud. No, it didn't make a
noise -- only a thud. One, two -- one, two -- like someone


beating on an iron in a prison, someone in a secret place -- bang --
bang -- bang -- trying to get free. Do what he would, fumble at
his coat, throw his arms about, spit, swear, he couldn't stop the
noise. Stop! Stop! Stop! Stop! Ole Underwood began
to shuffle and run.
  Away below, the sea heaving against the stone wall, and the
little town just out of its reach close packed together, the
better to face the grey water. And up on the other side of the
hill the prison with high red walls. Over all bulged the grey
sky with black web-like clouds streaming.
  Ole Underwood slackened his pace as he neared the town,
and when he came to the first house he flourished his umbrella
like a herald's staff and threw out his chest, his head glancing
quickly from right to left. They were ugly little houses leading
into the town, built of wood -- two windows and a door, a
stumpy veranda and a green mat of grass before. Under one
veranda yellow hens huddled out of the wind. "Shoo!"
shouted Ole Underwood, and laughed to see them fly, and
laughed again at the woman who came to the door and shook a
red, soapy fist at him. A little girl stood in another yard untwisting
some rags from a clothes-line. When she saw Ole
Underwood she let the clothes-prop fall and rushed screaming
to the door, beating it screaming "Mumma -- Mumma!" That
started the hammer in Ole Underwood's heart. Mum-ma --
Mum-ma! He saw an old face with a trembling chin and
grey hair nodding out of the window as they dragged him
past. Mumma -- Mum-ma! He looked up at the big red prison
perched on the hill and he pulled a face as if he wanted to cry.
  At the corner in front of the pub some carts were pulled up,
some men sat in the porch of the pub drinking and talking.
Ole Underwood wanted a drink. He slouched into the bar.
It was half full of old and young men in big coats and top-boots
with stock-whips in their hands. Behind the counter a big girl
with red hair pulled the beer handles and cheeked the men.
Ole Underwood sneaked to one side, like a cat. Nobody looked


at him, only the men looked at each other, one or two of them
nudged. The girl nodded and winked at the fellow she was
serving. He took some money out of his knotted handkerchief
and slipped it on to the counter. His hand shook. He didn't
speak. The girl took no notice; she served everybody, went
on with her talk, and then as if by accident shoved a mug
towards him. A great big jar of red pinks stood on the bar
counter. Ole Underwood stared at them as he drank and
frowned at them. Red -- red -- red -- red! beat the hammer.
It was very warm in the bar and quiet as a pond, except for the
talk and the girl. She kept on laughing. Ha! Ha! That was
what the men like to see, for she threw back her head and her
great breasts lifted and shook to her laughter.
  In one corner sat a stranger. He pointed to Ole Underwood.
"Cracked!" said one of the men. "When he was a young
fellow, thirty years ago, a man 'ere done in 'is woman, and 'e
foun' out an' killed 'er. Got twenty years in quod up on the
'ill. Came out cracked."
  "Oo done 'er in?" asked the man.
  "Dunno. 'E dunno, nor nobody. 'E was a sailor till 'e
married 'er. Cracked!" The man spat and smeared the spittle
on the floor, shrugging his shoulders. "'E's 'armless enough."
  Ole Underwood heard; he did not turn, but he shot out an
old claw and crushed up the red pinks. "Uh-Uh! You ole
beast! Uh! You ole swine!" screamed the girl, leaning across
the counteer and banging him with a tin jug. "Get art! Get
art! Don' you never come 'ere no more!" Somebody kicked
him: he scuttled like a rat.
  He walked past the Chinamen's shops. The fruit and
vegetables were all piled up against the windows. Bits of
wooden cases, straw and old newspapers were strewn over the
pavement. A woman flounced out of a shop and slushed a
pail of slop over his feet. He peered in at the windows, at the
Chinamen sitting in little groups on old barrels playing cards.
They made him smile. He looked and looked, pressing his


face against the glass and sniggering. They sat still with their
long pigtails bound round their heads and their faces yellow as
lemons. Some of them had knives in their belts, and one old
man sat by himself on the floor plaiting his long crooked toes
together. The Chinamen didn't mind Ole Underwood. When
they saw him they nodded. He went to the door of a shop and
cautiously opened it. In rushed the wind with him, scattering
the cards. "Ya-Ya! Ya-Ya!" screamed the Chinamen, and
Ole Underwood rushed off, the hammer beating quick and
hard. Ya-Ya! He turned a corner out of sight. He thought
he heard one of the Chinks after him, and he slipped into a
timber-yard. There he lay panting....
  Close by him, under another stack, there was a heap of yellow
shavings. As  he watched them they moved and a little grey
cat unfolded herself and came out waving her tail. She trod
delicately over to Ole Underwood and rubbed against his sleeve.
The hammer in Ole Underwood's heart beat madly. It pounded
up into his throat, and then it seemed to half stop and beat
very, very faintly. "Kit! Kit! Kit!" That was what she used
to call the little cat he brought her off the ship -- "Kit! Kit!
Kit!" -- and stoop down with the saucer in her hands. "Ah!
my God! my Lord!" Ole Underwood sat up and took the
kitten in his arms and rocked to and fro, crushing it against his
face. It was warm and soft, and it mewed faintly. He buried
his eyes in its fur. My God! My Lord! He tucked the little
cat in his coat and stole out of the woodyard and slouched down
towards the wharves. As he came near the sea, Ole Underwood's
nostrils expanded. The mad wind smelled of tar and
ropes and slime and salt. He crossed the railway line, he crept
behind the wharf-sheds and along a little cinder path that
threaded through a patch of rank fennel to some stone drainpipes
carrying the sewage into the sea. And he stared up at the
wharves and at the ships with flags flying, and suddenly the old,
old lust swept over Ole Underwood. "I will! I will! I will!"
he muttered.


  He tore the little cat out of his coat and swung it by its tail
and flung it out to the sewer opening. The hammer beat loud
and strong. He tossed his head, he was young again. He
walked on to the wharves, past the wool-bales, past the loungers
and the loafers to the extreme end of the wharves, The sea
sucked against the wharf-poles as though it drank something
from the land. One ship was loading wool. He heard a crane
rattle and the shriek of a whistle. So he came to the little ship
lying by herself with a bit of a plank for a gangway, and no
sign of anybody -- anybody at all. Ole Underwood looked once
back at the town, at the prison perched like a red bird, at the
black webby clouds trailing. Then he went up the gangway
and on to the slippery deck. He grinned, and rolled in his walk,
carrying high in his hand the red and white handkerchief. His
ship! Mine! Mine! Mine! beat the hammer. There was a
door latched open on the lee-side, labelled "State-room." He
peered in. A man lay sleeping on a bunk -- his bunk -- a great
big man in a seaman's coat with a long, fair beard and hair on the
red pillow. And looking down upon him from the wall there
shone her picture -- his woman's picture -- smiling and smiling
at the big sleeping man.