by Rachel Rhys
‘Yes, of course. From what I know about him so far he seems a really good sort.’
‘Then what?’
Edward is saved from replying by a young boy tugging on his sleeve. ‘You want watch? I have watch.’
Lily leaves him and makes for a shop selling silk kimonos. The kimonos are exquisite – in jewelled colours, with intricate embroidery – and there are matching mules. A red one catches her eye, the same colour as the dress Eliza was wearing the first time Lily saw her. ‘That would look lovely on you, Lily,’ says Helena, who has entered the shop without Lily noticing.
The first price they are given is four pounds, but Ian soon manages to haggle that down to two pounds, ten shillings. It’s still too much for Lily. She is very conscious of her limited pot of money in the Purser’s Office and how long it might need to last her.
As she turns to go the young soldier’s wife she’d met on deck comes through the door. ‘Don’t go,’ she says. ‘My husband will sort this out for you.’
She emphasizes the word ‘husband’ as if trying it out for size. Sure enough, the uniformed soldier Lily saw earlier on the dock now launches into negotiations with the trader until the price is knocked down to twelve and six. Delighted, Lily is just about to reach for her purse when the officer starts shaking his head and marshalling them out through the shop door. They haven’t gone more than a few yards when the trader calls them back.
‘I will make no money myself, and I have six children to feed, but I want so much to make the pretty lady happy.’
The price is fixed at eight shillings. The money is handed over, the kimono wrapped in paper. The soldier has the look of a conquering hero and his young wife hugs him as if they are celebrating the completion of a dangerous mission. Yet as they leave the shop Lily can’t bring herself to look at the trader’s sorrowful face. She can see that he would not dare get on the wrong side of the British military, who are permanently stationed here and whose trade must be essential to their livelihoods.
‘Do you think he really has six children to feed?’ she asks Edward.
Edward smiles. That sweet smile that presses dimples into his cheeks, as if with a giant thumb. ‘Probably, Lily. But at least now he has eight shillings more to feed them with than he had an hour ago.’
Edward is in a buoyant mood, having bought a watch and a beautifully carved ivory-handled paper knife, which he unwraps to show her. In the grainy light, the handle looks like a bone.
Still Lily cannot shake off a sense of having wronged the man and his unseen family. Outside the shop the atmosphere is leaden and thick, the sky merging with the sea in a uniform greyness. She is glad they are staying only two hours. The place has a stifling feel, as if the air is being trapped by the hulking, parched mountains behind them.
And still the traders keep coming, seeming to appear from nowhere. Lily finds herself separated from Edward, surrounded by a gaggle of Arab women, all in black from head to toe, apart from their faces, which are covered with brightly coloured scarves, leaving only their eyes showing. They are carrying trays of beads, and Lily resolves to buy a couple of necklaces.
One of the women takes hold of her arm, gesticulating towards a shop at the far end of the front, clearly intending to propel Lily the entire length of the dock to show her whatever treasures lie inside. When Lily manages to get free she is alarmed to find herself quite a distance from most of the other passengers. Only George Price is up this end. Lily hasn’t seen much of her table companion over the last few days, for which she is grateful. George struggles with the heat and seems to have spent a lot of time down in his cabin.
Now he is surrounded by children, all trying to get his attention or to force their trinkets on him. Each time he tries to pull away they follow him, sticking close to his side, blocking his exit. ‘No,’ she hears him say. And then, suddenly, he bellows, ‘No! Get off me!’
But one boy is unafraid. He hangs persistently off George’s arm, calling out random phrases of English. ‘Please. Good day. Very nice wallet. You like. Very good.’ He looks around twelve years old, but thin and small as they all are.
‘Leave me alone!’
George always has a high colour, but Lily can see that his face is darkening into a deep, bloody red.
She moves towards him, thinking she might be able to intervene, when Thwack! George’s hand catches the boy on the side of the head and the youngster is on the ground. Rather than take the opportunity to escape, George moves in and begins to kick the boy repeatedly. Kick, kick, kick. He kicks harder. Oh! Oh, please don’t. The boy covers his face; his nose has begun to bleed. A deathly hush has come over the children and Lily is horrified to see George bend over the boy and draw his clenched fist back behind his head, preparing to punch. Without thinking, she breaks into a run and dives into the throng of children, positioning herself between George and the boy, who is curled in a ball, crying soundlessly.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she screams.
George’s face is still the colour of liver, his stretched-back arm trembling, his breath coming from him in short gasps.
‘They won’t go away. They won’t stop touching me.’
‘They’re children. Just children.’
‘You don’t understand, Lily. They’re not like British children. These are vermin. You have to be tough. That’s what they understand.’
From the corner of her vision Lily sees dark shapes moving closer. The Arab women have noticed something is happening, are coming to find out what. She glances at the boy and is relieved to see him stirring.
There’s a noise from the dock, a raised shout. The last launch is about to set off.
‘We need to leave now,’ says Lily, pushing away just as the women arrive, dragging George behind her by his arm. She does not dare turn around, but she hears the boy sniffing, a soft sound muffled by the dirt and the thick, paste-like air and the terrified whispers of the other children.
Now she is moving faster, her eyes focused on the launch and on the other passengers queuing to get on. She can make out the slight figure of Edward, wearing a white shirt rolled up at the sleeves. And ahead of him Helena. There’s a shriek from behind her. Over her shoulder she sees a woman crouching next to the boy, gesticulating in their direction. Now everyone is turning towards them.
She turns back to the launch, where the last passenger has now boarded. They must not leave, she whispers to herself. They must not leave me here.
The woman is shrieking louder now, and Lily begins to run. She hears George’s broken breathing behind her. Now the men are also shouting, and moving towards them. The shopkeepers come out from their shops to see what is happening.
‘Wait!’ she calls to the boat, where a steward is loosening the ropes. ‘Please wait!’
A man grabs hold of Lily’s arm. ‘Lady,’ he says roughly. ‘Lady.’ It appears to be the only English word he knows. She shakes free. ‘I’m sorry,’ she says, without slowing down. ‘I’m so sorry.’
She hears George behind her. ‘Get your hands off me. Leave me be.’
Finally, she is at the launch, where the steward is now standing, impatiently peering along the dock.
‘What has happened?’ asks Edward, getting up to greet her. ‘Lily, are you all right?’
She nods, but tears are coursing down her cheeks.
‘They frightened her,’ says George, dropping heavily into a seat. ‘Those people are like savages.’
As the boat pulls away from the dock through the grey, turgid water, Lily finally dares to turn around and sees the boy’s black-clad mother, one arm around her weeping son, gesturing angrily with her other hand as if to summon them back.
‘George is completely unstable. That’s what he is. You can’t strike a child like that.’
Edward is leaning forward in his deckchair so that his head is almost touching Lily’s. Since disembarking from the launch this morning, he has barely left her side. She knows he blames himself for allowing her to become
separated from them.
‘He had a terrible look in his eye, as if he had quite lost control,’ Lily says, shuddering to remember George’s fiery cheeks, his raised, trembling fist.
‘Well, we must just give him a wide berth,’ decides Helena. She is on her own, for a change, Ian having gone to take a nap after their early start, and she appears strangely vulnerable. That’s how quickly his constant presence has become a part of her.
Some of the passengers have set up an entertainments committee to help the stewards find ways to amuse the passengers throughout the voyage. Yesterday afternoon there was a magic show and today they are organizing a fairground, setting up makeshift stalls at the far end of the deck, using canvas and sheets procured from the stewards which they drape over drying racks and chairs.
Mrs Collins, the chaperone, is a member of the committee and is busy issuing instructions to some of the younger volunteers. ‘Up a bit. A teeny way to the left. That’s it.’ Audrey and Annie are helping out, happily trailing yards of sheeting from the cabins to the deck.
Lily closes her eyes and leans back in her chair, suddenly exhausted. They have been told that, now they are leaving the Red Sea and entering the Indian Ocean, the weather will change, but so far there has been no let-up in the oppressive, dry heat. In her mind, she goes over the scene on the quayside at Aden, sees the boy’s head jerk back as George’s thick hand strikes his skull, sees him curled on the ground with the tears forging clear channels in his dirt-grimed cheeks. She remembers her shame when the boy’s mother started shouting, knowing the Arabs would imagine she and George were together.
‘I should have done more,’ she says now to Edward and Helena. ‘I should have stayed and helped the boy.’
‘How could you?’ asks Edward. ‘You don’t speak the language.’
‘I could have tried. Instead, I was just focused on getting away. I wasn’t thinking about the boy, just about how to get on to the launch before it left without me.’
Lily feels limp with despondency and self-reproach, and she suddenly has a great yearning to see Maria. If she cannot rid herself of her sense of guilt over failing to protect the boy, at least she can make amends for neglecting her friend.
She finds her at the opposite end of the deck to where the fairground will be, talking to a Jewish couple whom she introduces as the Neumanns. They have been discussing the situation in Austria and Maria is looking serious, her eyes behind her round spectacles blinking rapidly as if to ward off unwelcome thoughts. She looks older, Lily thinks. The voyage has aged her.
‘Have you heard from your parents?’ Lily asks, regretting that she has not thought to ask this question sooner.
Maria shakes her head.
‘But this is not a surprise,’ says Mrs Neumann, a tiny woman with deep lines scored down each side of her mouth like a ventriloquist’s dummy. She has a very pronounced accent that means there’s a slight delay in Lily’s head between hearing the words and making sense of them. ‘Austria is under German control and Germany is at war. Everything is in chaos.’
‘Maybe they’ve left and you haven’t heard from them because they are on the move,’ Lily offers, desperate to give comfort.
Maria’s eyes brighten.
‘Yes,’ she says quickly. ‘This is what I am hoping. It would be very difficult for them to send letters while they are travelling.’
‘Exactly,’ says Mr Neumann. But Lily sees the look that passes between husband and wife and her chest feels tight.
After the Neumanns have gone Maria and Lily remain in their chairs, talking.
‘I’m so glad to see you again, Lily. I thought I had done something to offend you.’
‘No. Not at all. I have been … distracted. Tell me, how have you been?’
‘You mean, after the assault on the deck?’
Lily nods, but she is conscious of her body stiffening. This is the conversation she has been dreading.
‘I am fine. Really. But I don’t think the captain and his staff really took it seriously. No one has come to talk to me about it.’
‘Maria, could you have … Might you have been mistaken? Could it have been something you dreamed or just a question of the heat and the unfamiliar noises on the deck?’
Lily knows even as she is speaking that she should not be saying this. And one look at Maria’s stricken expression only confirms what she already knows.
‘You think I made it up, Lily?’
‘No! I was only trying to see if there could be another explanation.’
‘Lily, I know what happened. I was there. You were there.’
She sounds so anguished Lily quickly changes the subject and for a while they talk about books they have read or would like to read. Afterwards, they stroll in companionable silence to see the fairground at the far end of the deck. There is actually a breeze, coming from the sea. Lily holds her face up to it as they walk. The cooler air calms her. Already, that morning’s scene on the quayside in Aden is seeming distant. When she thinks of it, she sees it in grainy grey, like a bad-quality cine film. And though there is still an awkwardness between her and Maria that was not there at the beginning, at least they are walking together, talking, not estranged.
The fairground has taken shape since the afternoon. The individual stalls have been set up using the sheets and drying racks, each one with its own oil lamp inside. One contains a table, arranged with individual lanes marked out in cutlery, down which five people at a time can roll a coin, the winner receiving a token for a drink from the ship’s bar. Another has a large glass jar packed with liquorice allsorts. Whoever comes closest to guessing how many sweets are in the jar wins the lot. Lily has never much liked liquorice allsorts and Maria claims never to have heard of them and declares their appearance ‘unappetizing’.
They go next door, to a booth with a curtain hanging down that has to be lifted before entering. There’s a low table with an oil lamp that’s covered with a colourful patterned scarf, giving out a red glow. A woman sits on a rug behind the table with a shawl wrapped around her head and face. She has black kohl lining her eyes, and though Lily thinks she seems familiar, she cannot recognize who it is.
Lily goes first, sitting herself down in the chair opposite the fortune teller, who starts wafting her hands over the lamp as if summoning a spirit. ‘I see great adventure for you,’ the woman says in a low, theatrical voice. ‘And love, with a tall, handsome stranger from a foreign land. You will be torn about where to settle, but you will make the right decision.’
Lily laughs. Could there be a more predictable fortune for a young woman on a ship bound for Australia? But a hidden, foolish part of her is disappointed. Though she knows this isn’t a real fortune teller but a passenger playing a role, nevertheless she was hoping for some insight into herself.
Now it is Maria’s turn in the chair. She sits upright as a bookend as the fake fortune teller makes extravagant gestures with her hands over the glowing lamp.
‘For you also, I see adventure,’ she says, and Lily digs her fingers into Maria’s shoulder. The fortune teller has run out of new ideas already, her fingers mean to say. But then the fortune teller adds, ‘And great riches. However, I see also separations and goodbyes.’
Maria stands up abruptly and Lily can see her eyes blinking again. The fortune teller is confused.
‘I’m sorry, have I said –’
But Maria is already tearing blindly at the sheet that curtains the exit and striding out.
Lily catches up with her by the railings. Maria is gazing out at the ocean, where the breeze has whipped up the waves so they ripple along the surface, a relief after all these days of flat, lifeless expanses where nothing moved and it was as if the world had lost all definition.
‘Maria?’
Lily is tentative. Nervous. Uneasily, she recalls Clara Mills asking the captain if Maria was an hysteric. Nonsense, of course. But still.
‘I’m sorry, Lily,’ Maria says. ‘I took it too seriously.’
&
nbsp; ‘It’s perfectly understandable. Given everything that has happened to you and your concerns about your parents.’
‘We’ll forget all about it,’ says Maria. ‘The fair is just a bit of fun. Everyone has worked so hard.’
Still, she makes no attempt to move, and the knuckles of her hands gripping the rail gleam white in the moonlight.
17
15 August 1939
OVERNIGHT THE WEATHER changes, the ship rising and falling with the swell of the waves. Lily lies in her bunk and thinks about the depths of water beneath them and how far they are from home. Things have been strained between her and Ida since Eliza’s visit to the cabin two days before, but in the morning, as Lily is dressing, the older woman starts up a conversation.
‘I expect you’re missing your silk scarf – that gold one with the embroidery.’
Lily doesn’t understand. What does Ida know about her missing scarf?
‘Do you have it, Ida? Is that where it’s gone?’
Ida scoffs.
‘What would I want with that?’
‘You didn’t find it, then?’
‘No. But I know who did.’
Lily looks in the mirror, watching Ida’s reflection, sensing how much she is enjoying this little crumb of power. Finally, Ida continues.
‘It was him. The one off your table. The one that looks as if he needs a few good meals inside him.’
‘Edward?’
Strange that Edward would have picked up her scarf and said nothing.
‘When was this?’
‘A few nights back. You’d left it behind in the lounge, on the sofa seat. I saw him pick it up when he thought no one was looking and hold it to his face like this.’
Ida takes up her discarded nightdress from her bed and presses it to her nose, inhaling deeply, then she strokes it gently against her cheek, as an infant might stroke its comfort blanket.
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘Suit yourself.’
Ida sniffs and begins folding her nightdress, pinching the edges together between her bony fingers and then smoothing it flat.