The smell must not be forgotten-frangipanni, coco-nut oil, and sodden wood. How much of the scene could he fix in his memory before the ship sailed? The sound, too-he must get that-the firm slap of bare feet on wet boards, the languid murmur of voices and the snatches of song drifting from a group of native girls near those clumps of fierce magenta coral. The design made by the feet on wet planks. Then the brown face beneath, with liquid blue half-tones reflected from the water, then the oily dark torso, foreshortened, the white loincloth, and the sharp legs.
The hair was vivid magenta against the arsenic green of a pile of fresh bananas. Idly at first, and then with absurd concentration, he began to memorise, starting with a detail. He had a sudden desire to run a mental ring round the scene beneath him, to isolate it, and make it clear for ever in his mind.
In a minute or two now they would slide away, lose significance, and become a vague memory. ALLEYN LEANT OVER the deck-rail, looking at the wet brown wharf and the upturned faces of the people.
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