by Jack Dey
Majiv was at a loss to know what had just taken place, but he unquestioningly obeyed Mr Lieberman. The Liebermans were generous people and if it wasn’t for them, he and Katarzyna would be destitute, struggling and living among the poor somewhere on the streets.
Marguerite ambled along, following the two men, Majiv carrying her suitcase. The paradox of the situation struck her silent, remembering how her father hated Jews and did whatever he could to destroy them. She’d been raised on a diet of racism and hatred, but when she was in trouble, the only one who took the time to even notice and offer her kindness was a Jew.
“I..I don’t know how to thank you, Mr Lieberman. I was so frightened of sleeping on the streets and being alone,” Marguerite stammered, offering the old man complete honesty.
Mr Lieberman paused and turned toward Marguerite. ”Two thousand years ago, an innocent man was nailed to a cross, Marguerite. He was the only innocent man who ever lived and He died because of us. He was God’s very own Son and took the punishment for my sin that I should have taken and in return, He asks me to be like Him and He tells me to love as He loved. If you must thank someone, then thank Him. His name is Jesus Christ.”
Mr Lieberman turned back to his journey and continued walking, leaving Marguerite shocked and stunned into silence at the old man’s frank faith confession.
The welcoming doorway to the Liebermans' apartment faced directly onto the sidewalk. It was a big solid door that bore the faded scars of the racist slogans etched deeply into its grainy surface many months before; and to one side, screwed solidly to the wall was a plaque that read, Shalom. Mr Lieberman placed the key in the door and unlocked it.
"Ima, we are home and we have a new guest," he announced.
Soon the little group of tired, cold and hungry people huddled inside the warm apartment, with Mrs Lieberman and Katarzyna quickly finding their way into the entry and excitedly welcoming Marguerite.
“How was your first day at the bakery, Marguerite? I hope my husband was not too tough on you.”
Marguerite was immediately drawn to the warmth of the old lady and her motherly welcome. The two old people obviously had talked at length about their new member of staff and she knew all about Marguerite and treated her like she was family, not an employee.
“He was very patient with me, thank you,” she returned shyly.
“Marguerite will be staying with us and she will have the spare bed in your room, Katarzyna,” Mr Lieberman explained.
Katie’s eyes lit up in excitement. The thought of an older sister figure was a welcome gesture. “Come upstairs and see your room,” Katie took hold of Marguerite’s hand. “My name is Katarzyna, but everyone calls me Katie.”
Mrs Lieberman called after the two girls, “Dinner is nearly ready, Katarzyna. Marguerite will be tired and ready to eat. Don’t take too long.”
“Yes, Ima,” Katie replied respectfully.
Mrs Lieberman hugged Majiv. “Go and wash for dinner, Majiv. I can see Marguerite has taken some of your workload. You don’t look so tired.”
Majiv nodded. He was keen to eat and spend some time with his notebook, adding to the pages he had already written for his parents.
By the time the five people gathered around the table, Mr and Mrs Lieberman had spent time together discussing Marguerite’s plight and her need for a home.
The scents of real home cooking were making Marguerite's stomach growl, realising it had been a long time since she’d had a meal cooked by someone resembling a mother figure. Mr Lieberman bowed his head and the other members followed his lead, leaving Marguerite unsure what was happening but she followed the example set, having never seen this before. Speaking in a foreign tongue, Marguerite couldn’t understand the old man’s words, but then he interpreted the thanksgiving prayer for her benefit. Once the meal began in earnest and food receptors zigzagged across the table with hungry family members taking a share, the conversation and hilarity increased as stomachs were warmed and filled by Ima’s hard work.
The talk at the table abruptly quieted when Marguerite’s puzzled expression turned to Katie and asked a question. “Katie, you called Mrs Lieberman Ima. What does that mean?"
Katie’s expression immediately broke into a delighted smile. “It means mother.”
Mrs Lieberman beamed from across the table, offering her own suggestion. “You can call me Ima, too, if you like, Marguerite.”
Marguerite attempted an embarrassed smile that spoke of a distant heartache, staring at her plate for comfort and not intending for her actions to be interpreted for its true meaning. Although Katie and Majiv had missed Marguerite’s pain-filled expression, the Lieberman’s intercepted its intent and figured Marguerite’s family life had been anything but pleasant.
“Thank you,” Marguerite mumbled, but it had been many years since her mother had died and she hadn’t used that special term of anyone since.
*~*~*~*
Marguerite quickly settled into her warm, comfortable bed while Katie chattered away in the darkened room until she fell silent. Her slow, rhythmic breathing told Marguerite that Katie was asleep and in the quiet, she heard her own troubled heartbeat until outside, the wind picked up and it made an eerie shrill as it rattled the second-floor bedroom window. Marguerite shivered and pulled the comforter over her face, realising if it wasn’t for the kindness of the Liebermans, she would be out in the winter gale, tired and hungry, trying to shelter against the cold and vulnerable to every passing threat. But now she was safe, fed, warm and secure in a bed of her own, all at the kindness of people her father had taught her to hate. Her eyes became heavy and her body began to succumb to the need for rest. As sleep twisted itself around her consciousness and drew her in, she wondered how the old man had seen to the heart of her need and responded in an act of pure unselfish kindness.
A small renegade tear slipped from her eye and ran down the side of her face.
*~*~*~*
Chapter 13
Magellan Desapo tiredly stretched his heavy frame across the compartment’s bench seat, staring discontentedly at the countryside slowly ambling by his window. The constant rocking and clickety clack of train wheels had almost driven him from his senses but thankfully, the three day trip to the coastal port town of Lightning Harbour, a journey that’d taken him clear across the continent, was nearly through. Desapo much preferred to journey by sea, but the town’s gentry required his attention and his services urgently, leaving the train his only viable choice and the quickest means to respond.
Stonemason by trade and bad boy by default, Desapo took on only the most difficult jobs, building impossible structures in the cusp of inaccessible places and charging a fee to match. His team had an unchallenged reputation for speed and accuracy in stone structures and it was claimed that Desapo could cut stone so flat that a cigarette paper could not be inserted between the joint in two blocks.
Normally, his services were in great demand, but the sudden stock market crash of '29 left him with a book of cancelled jobs and his current four year bridge project was coming to a rapid conclusion. Needing to chase projects to keep his core of specialist stonemasons in work and together, Desapo tried to stay ahead of his competition and if that meant three teeth-gritting days on a train, he was prepared to make the sacrifice, otherwise his expert team would fracture, searching for employment elsewhere. At this point in history, he was desperate for any job that would keep him going through the predicted tough years ahead.
A conductor walking through the carriage distracted Desapo’s sternly unamused and staring features, bringing the anticipated and much coveted news of the journey’s end with a shouting announcement.
“Lightning Harbour, end of the line, prepare to disembark!”
As if confirming the conductor’s bawl, the engine driver pulled on a cord, directing a sudden burst of steam into the throat of the train’s whistle, giving voice to a deep, lonesome drawl and announcing their arrival into Lightning Harbour. Slowly the tr
ain began to shed speed, hissing violently as pent up steam pressure inside the boiler harmlessly found release onto the greasy track boards below while squealing locomotive brakes completed the long calculated crawl into the station.
A playful breeze blew the steam clouds over the covered station as the engine passed through, blanketing the platform and a crowd of waiting bystanders in a swirling mass of hot water vapour. Squinting eyes and screwed up facial features were an expected hazard in the region of steam trains, while ladies could be seen all around holding onto their hats and turning their backs against the impetuous clouds in a fruitless attempt to shelter one's finery.
The locomotive eventually drew to a comprehensive stop with a cascading judder, jolting noisily through each carriage’s connection to the next as the engine’s intention to discontinue registered through the train like a rippling wave into a millpond. With the long snaking vehicle brought to an exacting halt, passengers were assured of covered access to the waiting town of Lightning Harbour.
Desapo immediately grabbed for the compartment exit handle and alighted onto the station platform, a welcome relief after such a long irksome journey. Scanning the busy area for someone who might represent the gentlemen who had summoned him, Desapo scoured the likely contenders for a period of time, then decided to collect his luggage and return afterward to locate the tardy host. Standing by his baggage, the platform was nearly deserted when Desapo was approached by a small man in a business suit, obviously running very late.
“Mr Desapo, I presume. Apologies for my tardiness. I am Wallis Pike and behalf of the town’s business fraternity, welcome to Lightning Harbour,” glancing up to the towering man, Pike felt a little intimidated.
“The last man who made me wait like this ended up in a cement kibble and became part of a bridge footing,” Desapo’s baritone threat boomed over the deserted platform.
Desapo’s unflinching and expressionless face made Pike nervous, but he continued to hold out his hand in greeting, unsure whether Desapo was serious or just trying to make him squirm. However, Pike nearly doubled over when Desapo’s big hand squeezed his offering into a vice, now certain of his intention to punish his lateness. Red faced and suffering under the grasp, Pike whispered, trying not to show his pain, “Mr Krueger is waiting for us at your accommodation.”
“Lead on, Mr Pike,” Desapo commanded.
The only thing that slightly impressed Desapo about Pike was the new Cadillac Sixteen Pike was driving. The white-walled tyres and spoke rims all added to the prestige of the shining vehicle with two large chrome frog-eye headlights completing the look. All it would take for Desapo to be totally at home was Al Capone and his Tommy gun toting gangsters to ride in the back.
Rolling to a stop at the front of the Lightning Strike Hotel, Pike grimaced and hoped the disgruntled Desapo hadn’t taken exception to the company’s chosen accommodation. It was a rough looking place in a rough looking neighbourhood, but he figured the towering Desapo could take care of himself.
Pike struggled under the weight of Desapo’s luggage, almost dragging the case into the small foyer and then on to Desapo’s room. Already signed in before Desapo arrived, Krueger and a contingent of gentlemen were waiting in a small conference room to the side for Desapo’s appearance. Under the glare of his boss, Pike tried to steer Desapo directly to the waiting luminaries, but Desapo wanted to freshen up before meeting the men and overrode Pike with a contentious bawl.
“They’ve waited three days, Mr Pike. Another half hour won’t kill them,” Desapo chided.
Pike could see he wasn’t getting anywhere with the big man, so he waited patiently for Desapo to gather himself and bowed to his time schedule, considering the waiting gentry were also suffering Desapo’s convenience and that he’d been accustomed to keeping important people waiting.
Finally, Desapo conceded he’d wasted enough of their time and availed himself to a meeting... Pike would never keep Desapo waiting again. Turning to Pike and waving him on with a careless gesture, Desapo quipped, “If they have issue with me being late, you can explain it!”
Pike swung open the tired door to a struggling conference room and as if announcing royalty, Desapo strode into the presence of the waiting gentlemen. Magellan Desapo was introduced to a dozen businessmen, however, Desapo’s mind had no space for names in his practical head and he promptly forgot them, not bothering with names or titles. Present were representatives from local government, the merchant traders' association and many other businesses that had an interest in the maritime industry, hanging on every word Desapo spoke.
After a quick calculating scan of the room, Desapo’s eyes rested on a wiry gentleman dressed in a grey suit, with black, curly hair and a face severely pockmarked. The man was trying to keep to the back of the group and blend in, but Desapo’s calculating gaze had been alerted, searching the annals of his memory. Somewhere, this unusual face had made a statement in a forgotten part of Desapo’s history, but his memory wasn’t cooperating.
Pike saw the interplay between the two men and stepped in to make an introduction. "Mr Desapo, this is Mr Fabian Van den Guys."
Desapo glared at Van den Guys, his mind puzzling at the stubborn piece of jigsaw breathing and fidgeting before him.
“Captain,” Van den Guys insisted.
“Pardon me?” Desapo retorted, his demeanour still struggling with the puzzle.
“Captain Fabian Van den Guys. I own several ships that work the local trade route.”
Van den Guys and Desapo turned from their interplay as Pike called the meeting to order, and it was obvious from Desapo’s demeanour he hadn’t recognised the pocked-faced character, yet Van den Guys was on edge. Desapo would remember soon enough and he intended to be long gone before that occurred.
“Gentlemen, as you know, all those represented here have a vested interest in this meeting. It has taken me many months of work to gather this group together and hopefully we can, with the help of Mr Desapo, open up Lightning Harbour for shipping traffic at all times of the day and night. All those present know that the Barrett Channel cuts a significant amount of time off our voyages, and costs related to doing business in Lightning Harbour. However, darkness, high tide and of course, Black Dean constitutes considerable risk to our vessels and inhibits traffic in and out of Lightning Harbour. A situation we hope to reverse. It is therefore our combined desire to construct a lighthouse over Black Dean and open up a navigable route at all hours of the day and night, allowing us greater trade into our important port and conquer Black Dean once and for all.”
A constricted murmur struggled through the small group at Pike's open confession, but Desapo couldn’t take his eyes off Van den Guys. The jigsaw piece was irritating him noticeably and even more so as a stricken expression crossed Van den Guys' features at Pike's speech. He was trying to hold an expressionless face to the world, but something wasn’t sitting right.
Pike’s squeaky voice continued on after he’d given the gentry time to ask questions, but as all conversation ceased, he moved to end the consultation. “We will take Mr Desapo out to Black Dean tomorrow for his expert appraisal and to give us a cost estimate. Then we can form an association to share the burden of the expense and the rewards.”
With that, Pike closed the official meeting and Desapo was immediately swamped with enquiries. He tried to keep an eye on Van den Guys, but he slipped out before Desapo could block his escape and get to the bottom of the nagging mystery.
*~*~*~*
Chapter 14
After pausing several times to ask for directions, Captain Lewis strode with a determined gait up a tidy path and into the Lightning Harbour Office of the National Shipping Board. He had but a short window of opportunity before he would be needed back aboard the Riviera and with his hurried and nervous attitude, the sweat began to bead on his brow. Red faced and short of breath, Lewis stood over a harassed receptionist, adding an impudent cough to beckon her attention, giving the impression he was an importa
nt man in a hurry.
“Yes, how may I help you?” the receptionist asked, noticing the uniform and hoping his enquiry wouldn’t consume much more of her precious time.
Lewis took a moment to organise his thoughts before announcing his business. “I have an appointment with the legislative commander,” Lewis peered down his nose at the woman.
“Your name, please?”
“Captain Jonathon Lewis, SS Riviera. The commander is expecting me.”
Swivelling in her chair, the dainty receptionist unravelled her small frame and walked toward a closed door. Listening, with her ear inclined to the door for a few seconds before she attempted to disturb the busy commander and once satisfied he was unencumbered with an important issue, she then rapped several times before entering, making sure she closed the door behind her. Moments later, the door reopened and the same woman reappeared, beckoning Lewis to enter the commander’s office.
“The commander will see you now, Captain Lewis,” the curt voice demanded.
“Thank you,” Lewis replied, squeezing past the small woman and into the room behind, while the keeper of the commander’s door returned the barrier to its closed position and found her train of thought before Lewis had interrupted.
“Captain Lewis, Provincial Legislative Commander Robert Draper,” Draper held out his hand in greeting. “How can I be of assistance, sir?” he asked, pointing to a chair for Lewis to sit in.
Lewis spent the next half hour outlining the story surrounding his ordeal, pausing frequently to add gravity to his annoyance. The commander’s face contorted in all the right places, establishing an official air of piety to this scandalous act while Lewis explained in great detail, as if he was making a statement to a traffic cop, all the steps he had taken to obey maritime law and avert a potential tragedy. He emphasised the scope of dignitaries assigned to his care as the Riviera’s captain and the blatant disregard the cutter captain had for the lives of all aboard the Riviera.