Deck Z - The Titanic

by Chris Pauls

  Lou squeezed herself in, all elbows and knees, defiantly unladylike. “Where’s your family?” she asked bluntly. “Don’t you have a wife?”

  “I don’t, actually.” Weiss coughed and adjusted his collar. He was uncomfortable with personal questions, even when he wasn’t traveling incognito. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

  “That’s too bad,” Lou said, raising her eyebrows and swinging her legs beneath the bench. “My mum ain’t married neither, not since Papa died. That’s why we’re headed to Iowa City.”

  Weiss cleared his throat again. “I’m sorry to hear about your father.”

  “Wasn’t around much anyways,” said Lou. “He liked ramblin’.”

  Weiss nodded. Still swinging her legs, Lou continued, “Mum’s brother George is a professor at a school in Iowa City. I’m going to study frogs. Once we save some money.”

  “A scientist, eh?” Weiss said with approval. “They allow girls to be scientists in Iowa?”

  Lou’s eyes narrowed. “The best scientists in Iowa are women.”

  “I’m sure they are,” Weiss chuckled. He shifted the valise between his shoes. “What happened to your nose?”

  “Ugly pug two blocks over tried to sell papers on my corner,” said Lou. She held up a fist. “Had to set the bum straight.”

  Weiss shifted. “I see. Does your mother approve of the way you settled that dispute, Lou?”

  The girl grinned broadly, wrinkling her nose. “Nope, but I did tell him to scram first. He said no and started calling me names. I cussed him right back—I can cuss and swear with the best of ‘em!—but I could see it was no use.” She shrugged proudly. “This little scrape ain’t nothing compared to what I gave …”

  “Louise!”

  The girl’s mother stormed toward them, her auburn hair now free of her frilly hat. The other passengers on the bench leaned away, wanting no part of her anger. “You promised—no more talking to strangers!” she cried. She flushed as she turned to Weiss. “Begging your pardon again, sir.”

  “Mr. Nosworthy isn’t a stranger,” protested Lou. “We’ve been properly introduced.”

  Weiss held up his palms.

  Lou said to her mother, “Don’t you think you should invite him to eat with us? That’s good manners, ain’t it?”

  Weiss turned red and stammered. He didn’t want Mrs. Goodwin to think he had any ulterior motives. “Really, I … I …”

  “I’m sure the gentleman has other plans,” said Mrs. Goodwin, taking Lou by the arm and pulling her forcefully off the bench. “She won’t be bothering you again, you have my word.”

  “It’s no bother,” he said, but mother and daughter were already moving away and didn’t hear.

  “He has to eat,” Lou grumbled as her mother pulled her away.

  11

  DECK D. CAPTAIN’S TABLE.

  WEDNESDAY, APRIL 10, 1912. 8 P.M.

  “Let us drink to the mighty Titanic!”

  Passengers in the world’s largest floating room erupted in cheers of approval, and many stood to raise their glasses. With a sweep of his arm, Dr. William O’Loughlin hoisted his tumbler to the assembled and enjoyed a healthy swig of rye before retaking his seat at the captain’s table. His cheeks flushed warm, both from the applause and the drink.

  In a corner of the room, Wallace Hartley launched the Titanic band into a lilting waltz, the violins’ melody line lifting above the applause. Leading this group marked the pinnacle of Hartley’s career, and his pride showed in the flourish of his bow. He smiled and winked at O’Loughlin as the man took his seat.

  O’Loughlin sat, as usual, with his good friend, the architect Thomas Andrews. Boyish and thrilled to finally be at sea on Titanic after years spent dreaming her into existence, Andrews slapped the doctor on the back good-naturedly. “Perhaps you should skip the toasts and stick to curing the sick,” Andrews laughed.

  The captain’s table was small, seating only six, but it was still the most prominent table in the first-class dining saloon, positioned forward and center of the rest. O’Loughlin and Andrews were joined by Lady Cardeza and her companion for the evening, businessman Emil Kaufmann, J. Bruce Ismay, and, of course, Captain Smith himself. A succulent smell of roast duckling filled the room. Now that Titanic was well out to sea, good spirits abounded.

  “You’ll forgive me,” said Ismay to the Lady Cardeza, “if I celebrate too much this evening? Many years of hard work bear fruit tonight!”

  “You’ll only be forgiven,” smiled the Lady Cardeza, motioning languidly for a steward carrying a bottle of red wine, “if you allow us to join the celebration.” Mr. Kaufmann bent his brow to the steward—a gesture meant to communicate, “She’s had enough, thank you.”

  Ismay took in the room yet again, with its leaded windows and Jacobean-style alcoves. There had to be ten millionaires—millionaires!—in this saloon alone. “My God,” he said. “Titanic puts Lusitania to shame. Larger by half. And grander beyond measure.”

  Mr. Kaufmann stifled a laugh into his napkin. Lady Cardeza joined in the laughter as well, but at what she would have been hard pressed to say.

  “Do you find something funny, sir?” Ismay asked.

  “Not at all,” replied Kaufmann dryly. “She’s a beautiful ship. Grand is just the word.”

  “I haven’t told you nearly enough about my new friend, Mr. Kaufmann,” said Lady Cardeza. “He claims to be unattached, which I find hard to believe. And did I mention Emil is also in the shipping business? You two have so much in common!”

  “You didn’t mention,” said Ismay. “What line, if I may ask?”

  “Hamburg Amerika,” said Kaufmann.

  Ismay bristled—no doubt Kaufmann was aboard on a fact-finding mission. The German line’s Deutschland had won the Blue Riband for fastest passenger liner to cross the Atlantic. Titanic would certainly pose a threat to that. “Funny,” said Ismay. “I thought I knew every man of consequence at Hamburg Amerika.”

  “I’m new,” Kaufmann replied without elaboration.

  There was an uncomfortable silence at the table as Ismay sized up the German, a big man with nondescript features. Ismay disliked Kaufmann immediately. Lady Cardeza, feeling silences were meant to be broken, raised her refilled glass for another toast.

  “To Titanic!” she said. “May she sail a thousand voyages!”

  “I designed her to sail ten thousand,” Ismay said pointedly, “come hell or high water.”

  Andrews shifted in his seat and grinned, while Kaufmann let loose with a hearty “Hear, hear!” Andrews was happy to let Mr. Ismay have the spotlight. For Andrews, Titanic’s successful launch was reward enough. Not that work on the ship was finished. He kept a small notebook with him at all times to jot down any imperfections he observed or ideas for improvement. For example, he already wished he’d fought harder for the glass dome that would have served as this room’s ceiling.

  “Let’s not tempt the fates,” said Captain Smith. “I’d prefer to leave the devil out of this.”

  Ismay grimaced. Smith’s relentless sobriety was spoiling both Ismay’s mood and his moment of triumph. “You know how special this ship is, Captain,” Ismay said. “But perhaps Mr. Andrews can explain to our guests why Titanic is unique and unrivaled?” Asking Andrews to speak about Titanic was like asking a mother about her child. Andrews’s enthusiasm for his prodigy carried them right through to the end of their meal.

  “Fifteen bulkheads rise from the bottom of the ship—some as far up as Deck E!—essentially creating sixteen individual compartments. Each compartment is watertight, or at least it is once we close the special doors.”

  Kaufmann sniffed. “Yes, but it would be difficult to do by hand in an emergency—”

  “Exactly!” Andrews interrupted. “That’s why we designed a new type of system. If, God forbid, the ship took on water from any sort of collision, we can close all the doors from the bridge via electronic switch.”

  “Electronics!” exclaimed Lady Cardeza.
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  “Electronics that trigger hydraulically operated, vertically sliding doors, a design exclusive to Harland and Wolff,” Andrews explained with pride. “Why, even if Titanic took on water in four of those compartments, she would still stay afloat and sail on to her destination!”

  “Unsinkable!” Ismay pounded the table and leaned at Kaufmann. “Shipbuilder magazine itself said so!”

  “You don’t seem so sure, E. J.,” Lady Cardeza cooed to the captain, casually adjusting her hair. “I don’t know how to swim. Is Titanic truly unsinkable?”

  “I cannot imagine any condition,” said Smith, “that would cause this good ship to founder. Thanks to men like Mr. Andrews, modern shipbuilding has gone beyond that.”

  Andrews’s ears went red from the compliment. He grinned and pushed food around his plate.

  “Then you agree with my assessment,” said Ismay, satisfied that he’d bested Kaufmann. “Titanic represents man’s triumph over the sea!”

  Lady Cardeza took another swig of wine and leaned into the table. “But is it true what they say,” she said in a loud stage whisper, “about the ghost?”

  Ismay coughed into his fist. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “One of the porters whispered it to me earlier,” said Lady Cardeza. “He said Titanic is haunted by a man who was trapped inside the walls of the ship itself! Is it true? I can’t imagine anything so horrible.”

  Captain Smith clipped a long cigar and fired its end. A cerulean trail of smoke drifted toward the ceiling. “Go on. Tell her about our ghost, Mr. Andrews.”

  “Yes, please do, Thomas,” said O’Loughlin.

  “Fairy tales,” Ismay scoffed.

  “Oh please,” urged Lady Cardeza, “you can tell me. I won’t breathe a word of it to anyone.”

  “If it’s all right, Mr. Ismay,” said Andrews, “I’ll tell the tale. Sensible people will recognize the story for what it is.”

  Lady Cardeza clapped her hands in delight. Kaufmann grinned as well. Mr. Ismay did not raise further protest.

  “The gossip began,” Andrews said, “when a shipyard worker supposedly slipped and fell unnoticed into the steel hull. Some say his name was Wassell. Others say Sclater.”

  “Yes, but what was his name?” asked Lady Cardeza.

  “He doesn’t have a name because he doesn’t exist. But as the story goes, our mystery man was knocked unconscious, and his coworkers, unaware of his presence inside the hull, entombed the man inside. At night—” Here Andrews paused for dramatic effect. “—the shipyard men say that you can still hear the poor sod pounding the walls of his prison, trying to alert the world to his horrific fate.”

  “I heard knocking this very evening,” exclaimed Lady Cardeza, eyes wide.

  “No doubt the steward with his corkscrew,” said O’Loughlin with a chuckle. Lady Cardeza harrumphed.

  “There are a hundred such stories for every ship that’s built,” said Andrews. “I thought I could dispel this one by conducting a full investigation. Nothing and no one was ever found. But by refusing to ignore the gossip, I seem to have only given it stronger legs.”

  “Rumor and innuendo have torn down far more than they have ever built,” said Ismay, shaking his head.

  “I did turn the tale to my advantage, however,” said Andrews with a wry grin. “I took to calling the hull ‘the Tomb’ as a way to remind the men their work was dangerous. And that did it, by God. Injuries went down more than 15 percent.”

  “Well played,” said Kaufmann, as if conceding a point.

  “And there you are,” Ismay said. “Another example of modern man overcoming superstition. We have entered an age in which men of science and industry can bend the world to their will.”

  “So it would seem, Mr. Ismay,” said Captain Smith. “Still, I believe it’s wise to maintain a healthy respect of the unknown.”

  “Oh, please, Captain. Don’t tell me you have more horror stories to share!” chided Ismay.

  “Some stories,” replied Smith, “are not meant for the dinner table.”

  Ismay regarded the captain. “That reminds me of some fine advice from Robert Louis Stevenson: Keep your fears to yourself and share your courage with others.”

  “Wise words,” agreed Smith. “Reminds me of another saying I picked up during my time in Arabia, though I don’t know who said it first.”

  “What is it?” implored the Lady Cardeza. The others leaned in as well.

  “Arrogance,” said Smith, “diminishes wisdom.”

  12

  TITANIC BOAT DECK.

  FRIDAY, APRIL 12, 1912. 7:15 A.M.

  By the morning of Titanic’s second full day at sea, Theodor Weiss no longer felt the rush of his escape. The events seemed dreamlike now, with his arms against the railing, a full stomach from breakfast, and the endless ocean reaching to the horizon.

  But Weiss still felt unsettled. The burden of the Toxic weighed on him more heavily than Lady Cardeza’s fourteen trunks. All his thoughts had bent toward escape. He’d given little consideration to what he would do once he reached America. First, he needed to set up a fully-equipped laboratory. That required funding, and his own accounts were insufficient, if he could even access them now. There was security to consider as well. A military facility was in some respects ideal, but he no longer trusted any government. Would America really act any differently than Germany? Perhaps a wealthy patron could provide support. He had no family to lean on.

  If only his sister, Sabine, were still alive. As a boy, he thought that having a twin of the opposite gender was strange. “She doesn’t even look like me,” he would object, though everyone else thought they looked startlingly similar. His boyish protests reminded him of Louise. “Her hair is so long and wild!”

  But their hearts and minds were joined, and young Theodor knew it, regardless of what he said to save face with others. The twins could not lie to each other—even when parents and other adults swallowed the children’s fabrications whole, Sabine and Theodor could tell when the other was casting falsehoods. Yet it cut even deeper than that. When Sabine’s feelings were bruised, some part of him felt her pain.

  He thought of the tree they used to scale as children, a Norway spruce with plenty of low branches. In the summer, the tree’s bark seeped with sap—quite a chore to scrub off later, but the sticky gum offered a reassuring tackiness that made Theodor feel as if he couldn’t fall, like a spider defying gravity.

  But the spruce still offered trials, most notably a gap about three meters off the ground, between sets of sturdy branches. Sabine was the stronger climber, and she would shimmy up the fat trunk to reach the next big limb, then swing her legs until she somehow ended up in a sitting position above him, grinning like a cat.

  “You can do it, Theodor!” she’d holler.

  But he couldn’t, not like her. He’d stare up helplessly, until finally she would take pity on him and reach down to grab his wrist. With her strong right arm pulling him up, he could grab hold of the next branch and scramble up next to her. That was what she was for him, the little boost that made all the difference. After catching their breath, they’d keep climbing higher together in the bright afternoon sun.

  The glint off the ocean spray brought Weiss back to the present moment. He tightened his grip on the valise handle. Whenever he felt challenged, he often imagined holding out his arm for Sabine. Whatever the problem was, the thought of her always helped pull him through. Now, he would keep his promise to her. He would find a cure for the plague that killed her.

  Weiss returned to the common room to shake off the cold of wind and sea. He found a place on a bench, securing the valise on his lap and leaning his walking stick against an arm rest. The room was quieter in the morning, which was more to his liking.

  “Mr. Nosworthy?”

  A steward touched Weiss’s shoulder and handed him a small envelope addressed in a childish script, rendered in thick pencil. Louise, he thought.

  Weiss unsealed the envelope
and withdrew the Titanic stationery card, emblazoned with a red flag marked by a single white star. He struggled to read the juvenile scribble:

  Mr. Nosworthy my mum did not come back to our cabin last night and I’m worried something awful. I want to go look for her but don’t want to leave on my own. Can you help? I’m scared. Please come see me. Lou, cabin F2

  Frowning, Weiss folded the note in quarters and shoved it inside his breast jacket pocket. Was the girl in real distress or only match-making? Surely, alerting a crewmember was the best way to find her lost mother. In all likelihood, she had found some other gentleman more to her liking last night and would return to her cabin at any moment. As endearing as Lou was, Weiss didn’t have time to get entangled in her family troubles. If everyone just kept to themselves, thought Weiss, the world would be a much better place. Yet he couldn’t just ignore Lou’s request. His conscience dictated that he go and help her, if she still needed it. Then he could put an end to their acquaintance.

  The scientist grabbed his valise and cane and made his way down three sets of orange-lit staircases to Deck F. Down in steerage, he could feel the rumble of the ship’s massive turbines in his feet. The grumbling sound grew louder as the room numbers on the lacquered white doors became progressively smaller: F40, F32, F16.

  He turned the corner and rapped loudly on the door to F2. Weiss knocked again, but still no one answered. Had Lou now run off? There were no sounds of footsteps inside, though it was hard to hear over the turbine engines. Weiss reached inside his jacket to confirm the room number in Lou’s note when something heavy struck him in the back of the head. His legs went out beneath him, and as he was dragged down the corridor, he lost consciousness.

  When Weiss came to, he was tied securely to a chair, unable to move. His hands and feet were bound, and more cords wrapped around his chest. A pillowcase covered his head, making it hard to breathe and impossible to see.