“Forget the sling. That ice bath has my shoulder feeling good.”
“You mean numb.”
Water splashes up from E-Deck, licking at our feet.
“March,” Jamie orders us. “We don’t have much time.”
40
From the Smoking Room, I’m shocked to hear the sounds of people singing and the tinkling of piano keys. I shake out my waterlogged ears. Sharp cheers also burst forth—the kind that accompany a dice throw or shots of whiskey. In the adjacent General Room, someone is giving a vigorous sermon.
“Water,” croaks Wink.
Though there are drinking fountains in both rooms, Wink chooses the one with the preacher. He takes a long draw, sucking in water with his whole body.
The preacher raises his hands. “It’s never too late to be saved! Our heavenly Father welcomes even the newest convert.”
When I put my lips to the fountain, the sweet-tasting water feels warm on my tongue. If these people want saving, they should get to the Boat Deck.
After he drinks as well, Jamie herds us back to the exit, edging past the clergyman, who’s pressing palms with the woebegone. The preacher reaches a group of men sitting shoulder to shoulder, their white-blond hair nearly glowing, set off by their purpling faces. I nudge Jamie, recognizing Bledig and the bottom cutters. One of the men begins to bawl.
Jamie frowns, but his frown lacks true annoyance. If anyone has a chance of getting on a boat, it’s probably not them, with their shabby dress and mean looks, made even meaner by Bo, Jamie, and Mr. Domenic. Resignation sits like a heavy log over their bent necks. I long to tell the poor wretches to get up and fight. Then again, they might take that the wrong way.
Outside, the well deck hums with passengers, most crowded around a rather flimsy staircase to the superstructure.
Only a few days ago, I juggled a pineapple on this very deck. My wager with Jamie and Bo was a simple one, the players evenly matched. Somehow, it feels like a wager is still on. Only I’m no longer a player, but a prop, along with two thousand other souls. The ship has laid a wager against the sea, and it’s clear who’s favored to win.
At the top of the stairs, the gate to the upper decks remains locked. A middle-aged gent scales it, uses his life belt as a pad, and swings his legs over. He grips a woman under the arms and hauls her over, too. Others crawl along the jib of the cargo cranes, bypassing the gate altogether.
Why won’t they open the gate? It’s as if they’ve locked us in a cage and hung the key just out of reach. Will there be a line in heaven, too, with the tin plates barred from the table until the gold ones are set? If so, the Chinese at least have an advantage. In Chinese heaven, there’s no line, only stars, which, through forces of push and pull, regulate when you are born and move you back to heaven when you die.
Sometimes I picture Mum up on that terraced hill with Ba and the ancestors, where I hope she can visit when she pleases.An afterlife without one’s loved ones doesn’t seem like a place I’d want to go. Maybe that’s why Jamie likes to study the stars. Whatever the answer is, surely it’s written up there.
Beyond the gate, the rearmost lifeboat is being lowered, occupied by a dozen men and women. The scrape of hull against hull as it inches down reminds me of a spoon against an empty bowl.
As we maneuver to a spot at the bottom of the stairs, Jamie stares out to port, where others are beginning to look. A tiny prick of light flashes from somewhere on the horizon.
“’Tis a boat,” a young mother behind us tells the babe in her arms, her voice high and cracking. “And ’tis comin’ ter save us, me love.”
I hope that’s true, and that it makes haste.
The gate finally breaks, and I hold Wink as close as his lifesaver will allow. People press in toward the lifeboat, held back by shouting crewmen.
“Women and children only!” cries an officer. “Men, stand back!”
Some of the men do as they’re told, but others, whether because they’re afraid or because they don’t speak English, still manage to board.
“Hold boarding!” a crewman with the darkened complexion of a fireman bellows from inside the lifeboat. “We’re at limit. You’ll have to wait for the next boat.”
“There is no next boat!” wails a man. “They’re all gone!”
The news sets my heart rattling against my rib cage. If this is our last chance, we’d better make it good.
“Act helpless,” I drop in Wink’s ear. “Maybe cry. Can you do that?”
His eyes become flinty, and he nods.
“Smartly,” Jamie orders hoarsely.
