Katherine arrives. “I don’t see many people out here,” she says. “Could it be because of the choppy sea?”
“It’s exciting, isn’t it?” I ignore her sarcasm and grip the railing.
“It’s the beginning of the adventure,” she says into the wind. “I must admit, I’m a bit frightened. I want to accomplish so much.”
“Oh, Katherine, you’re the most prepared and talented person I know. You have nothing to fear.”
She chuckles. “Maybe. Technically, Maroon communities like Accompong have historically used dance, music, and rituals to maintain their fight against colonial oppression. But I’m not on this journey just to collect information. African dance will help me create unique choreography.”
The ship rocks. Katherine clutches the railing firmly, her tone unwavering. “Anthropologists contribute to encyclopedias, textbooks, and museum archival materials. Where is African culture honored?”
A sailor approaches and tips his hat. “Ladies, excuse my interruption. There’s a storm on the horizon, and we’re heading straight for it. The captain has asked us to inform our passengers. You will hear an alarm when being on deck is no longer safe.” He tips his hat again and walks to another group, gazing at the sea.
“We’d better get inside, then,” Katherine says as she steps back from the railing.
“Yes, I guess we should,” I respond.
“Sorry for burdening you with my nervousness.”
“Please, you don’t think I’m not just as nervous? I am, but I’m only beginning my expedition. You’ve been working toward this for years.”
“That’s true.” She crosses her arms, rubbing her shoulders as if warding off a chill.
The ship suddenly lurches, and we both grab the railing. The alarm sounds.
“We’d better get below,” Katherine says.
We head back to our staterooms, struggling for balance with every step.
When I open the door, Tully sits cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by photographs, camera lenses, and rolls of film,holding his Leica II. With two twin beds, a writing table, and a chair, the cabin feels small. I’m as long-limbed as he is, but much thinner. Tully takes up more than half the remaining space, leaving little room for me.
“The passengers aren’t allowed on deck.” The edge in my voice is unmistakable. I slam the door, cross the short distance to the writing table, and drop into the chair. “Katherine and I were on deck having a conversation when they ordered us to our staterooms.”
“What choice did they have? We’re sailing into a tropical storm.” Tully sets down his camera, folds his arms, and rests his elbows on his knees, cradling his chin in his hands. “Well, that means we’ll be stuck with each other’s company until after the storm.”
“So, you’re talking to me now? By the way, that was a harsh thing to say.”
“I figured I’d say it before you did.” He touches his stomach, grimacing as the ship’s hull tilts and sways.
My heart sinks. “Are you seasick?”
“Is that a hint of satisfaction I hear in your tone?”
“Never. Your discomfort brings me no pleasure.”
“Unlike you, dear, I don’t find a rocking ship thrilling. I’m trying my best not to lie flat on the floor and weep.”
“I’m sorry.”
“So join me on the floor.” Tully pats the space opposite him as he gathers his lenses and camera parts, clearing a spot for me.
“Stop debating and sit with me.”
“Okay, okay.” I rise from the chair to my knees, then angle my hips toward the floor, tucking my legs to the side.
“Now, isn’t that better?”
“If you say so,” I reply sourly, even though I relish his attention. “What are you doing with these photos?” I notice that most of them are of me: Vivian Jean sitting on the edgeof their bed, Vivian Jean in the kitchen with Maxi drinking tea, Vivian Jean in the garden pruning flowers, and Vivian Jean at 31st Street Beach with Katherine in the summer of 1933 alongside Clifford.
