Doctor at Sea

one of the side streets. We could hear the music, the inescapable samba, blaring down the street from the open windows before we turned the corner. The way in was through a narrow door with TAXI DANCING painted over the top of it and up a long, narrow, unbroken flight of stairs. At the foot of the stairs was a ticket office, inside which a fat man in his vest was barred up like the crown jewels.
    We paid, and mounted the staircase. At the top were two solemn policemen, who immediately advanced on us. Archer’s remarks about the carelessness of the police in arresting people flashed into my mind. I jumped nervously and began to walk backwards down the stairs.
    ‘Don’t be alarmed,’ Archer said. ‘In England you leave your hat and coat, don’t you?’
    By that time a policeman had grabbed hold of me, pulled aside my arms, and searched me for weapons. I caught sight of a table behind him that explained Archer’s remarks. On it was neatly arranged a collection of revolvers, knives, blackjacks, knuckle-dusters, and razors.
    ‘The Brazilian likes going around with a bit of cutlery in his belt,’ Trail explained. ’Makes him feel big. Unfortunately he tends to be a bit on the excited side. These cops sometimes miss a knife or two, so we’d better keep near the windows. Don’t mind a jump, do you?’
    We went inside. Three girls immediately came up to us and told us they loved us. Trail waved them aside. ’We came to hear the music,’ he told them affably.
    We strode across the floor and sat down. It was bigger than the American Bar and had more space for dancing. The walls were bare of any decoration and the floor was rough boards polished only by the customers’ feet. There were tables scattered round the floor, and girls scattered round the tables. The atmosphere was like a laundry with a breakdown in the ventilating system.
    At one end was the band - on a platform six feet above the floor and surrounded by barbed wire.
    ‘What’s the barricade for?’ I asked.
    ‘If they dislike the music here they don’t hide their feelings,’ Trail explained.
    ‘What about all these girls? What do they do?’
    ‘If you pay fifty cruzeiros you’ll find out.’
    ‘Oh, I see. Let’s have some beer.’
    We sat and drank and watched the dancing. It was the sort that Trail described as’ the bumps and grinds’. I looked nervously at men sitting at the other tables, with an expectant sensation between my shoulder-blades. When they saw a girl they fancied they grabbed her and joined the jactitating couples on the floor. After the dance they either went off with her, dragged her back to their own tables, or left her, according to the strength of their inclination. I saw a party of our Liverpool greasers in the corner, their shirts unbuttoned and outside their trousers, throwing Merseyside witticisms at their neighbours. Everyone seemed to be having a good time.
    A warm brunette descended on my knee.
    ‘Hallo darling!’ she said. ’You come wit’ me?’
    ‘No!’
    She laughed and ruffled my hair.
    ‘You dance wit’ me, no?’
    ‘Go on, Doc,’ Archer called.’ Give the girls a treat.’
    ‘But I can’t dance.’
    ‘Come on, darling,’ said the girl. She snatched hold of me and pulled me out of my chair. Then she clapped me to her bosom like a belladonna plaster and pushed me on the dance floor.
    We jostled with the rest of the dancers. It was like being lashed to an upholstered pneumatic drill. I struggled round in her clammy embrace, trying to keep my feet, wriggling out of other men’s way, and reflecting that I was a long way from home.
    When the music stopped I disengaged myself and looked for our table. By this time the Third was talking earnestly to a thin, brown girl who had taken my chair.
    ‘Thirty cruzeiros,’ he said forcefully. ’Trinta. See?’ he held up three fingers.
    She shook her head.’ No!’ she insisted.’ Cincoenta. Fifty, fifty, fifty!’
    ‘Oh hell,’ the Third said. ‘Let’s get out of here.’
    We trooped down the stairs. ’Where now?’ Archer asked when we were in the street.
    ‘Madame Mimi’s,’ Trail said with finality. ’It’s the only place where you can get a decent bottle of beer in town.’
    ‘I think I’m going back to the ship,’ I said.
    ‘Come on, Doc! You don’t have to sample the goods. Besides you’d get knifed walking back alone. Where is it, Second? Somewhere near the Rua Bittencourt, I think ...’
    He led us along threatening unlighted