They had reached the storage area. Aquanetta opened the door and they rolled their carts inside.
“Pure red in the face I was, being marched to the ship surrounded by bastards in uniform, the passengers leaning over the sides and pointing and laughing at me persecution. Crucified, I was, me, a good Christian, with a bishop in me family and all, and I'm kicked outta some godless shitehole, me life tainted with some foreign stamp on me passport no others kyanny understand! Ye know, me uncle be's a bishop, and I'm afreared having someone in the family what's been deported will get his strucken off the bishop's list. Excommunicated, he's gonny be. Can ye imagine how I be's feeling, er...?”
Fionnuala faltered. How was she supposed to say the woman's name? Although it was displayed there in plain view on her nametag, Fionnuala didn't trust herself to take a stab at pronouncing it, which was fine, as Aquanetta, since she had met her, had kept eying with a mixture of confusion and suspicion the bizarre selection of letters gathered together that spelled out Fionnuala's own. Fionnuala knew that, to the very few non-Irish aliens she had come into limited contact with, it was as if someone had plucked letters at random from the alphabet and strung them together in a drunken stupor to form a fantasy name.
“...love,” Fionnuala decided.
“Happened to me, too, years ago,” Aquanetta admitted, settling her rump on a barrel of bleach. “You ain't the only one. Can't step foot in Jamaica no more. When my son De'Kwon passed—drug overdose,” she added in response to Fionnuala's eyebrows twitching more with curiosity than compassion, “I let myself slip. Now I been to rehab and got myself clean, I look back and see what a crazy-assed, looney-tunes bitch I was. Some nasty shit passing for recreational drugs out there. Tramping through the casinos near my house, high on whatever I could afford to buy. Digging my fingers into all the bottom tray things of the slot machines, hunting for slips people forgot. Searching the floor for dropped bills. Found some, too. Begging for handouts in the john. Who knows how many people I menaced. Can't remember a damn thing. Rehab sorted me out. I found the Lord again too. See?”
To Fionnuala's extreme alarm, she reached between the lapels of her outfit and began digging around in the chasm of her mountains. Aquanetta tugged out a little gold medal that hung from a chain that was prisoner in the folds of her neck flesh. She showed it to Fionnuala. There was a picture of God. It said Trust The Lord.
“I got my lesson learned. I got my eduction.”
Fionnuala touched her elbow. Aquanetta moved it.
“Ye poor thing,” Fionnuala twittered. “I never lost God. Right by me side, he's always been. I'm in the first pew every Sunday at St. Molaug's, and most Holy Days and all. C'mere, I've some leftover Tanqueray from the Duty Free in wer cabin, if ye fancy a wee tipple. We can have a right natter. I'm knackered, what with being locked up in that cell half the day and then coming back to the ship and hearing I had to do me shift after all. Twenty cabins in as many minutes, I musta did. I need to let me hair down and put me feet up. I think ye do and all. I want ye to join me.”
Aquanetta looked worried, but then forced her head to nod, however uncertainly. She tilted her head. It seemed like a momentous decision had been reached.
“You ain't so bad,” Aquanetta said. “I like you.”
Fionnuala fizzled with excitement. Aquanetta closed the door to the storage room, and they headed to the stairs. They were forbidden from using the elevators to go down the nine decks to the staff quarters.
As they started their journey down, clutching the handrails as if their lives depended on it, and maybe they did, Aquanetta hummed what Fionnuala suspected was an R & B hit of yesteryear, perhaps “Oops Upside Your Head,” or some such. She couldn't know it was a Mahalia Jackson gospel standard.
“And ye've to show me how to do me nails like yers and all. Jesus Saves, mind?”
Fionnuala's head bobbed before Aquanetta's as they went down and around, down further and around, her pony tails unable to swing, so slick with grease were they. Aquanetta sniffed the air. She emitted a noise that was halfway between a grunt and a snort.
“Smell like white folk round here.” Fionnuala turned, looking stricken. Aquanetta seemed to realize Fionnuala's color. “Rich white folk, I'm talking bout. Not you. You one of us.”
Fionnuala was affronted for a second, a hand to her breastplate, then understood this was meant to be a compliment. Her grin was strained and fixed as she turned back around and took more steps towards the bowels of the ship.
“Smell like that rich bitch Elizabeth Taylor.”
“Erm...erm...that's me,” Fionnuala admitted. “I found some of her scent in one of them cabins and gave meself a quick spritz.”
“What you wanna make yourself smell like that for?”
Fionnuala thought guiltily back to her Burberry scarf somewhere in the house in Derry. She had cursed herself at not being able to find it, couldn't understand how she had misplaced the pièce de resistance accessory of all her outfits. But, considering the weather, she was relieved she hadn't found it and brought it along. And now...if she had it slung around her neck, she could only imagine what Aquanetta might think: she would be walking around with airs and graces. Like Ursula Barnett. She didn't want her new mate Aquanetta to think she was what Fionnuala thought Ursula was: a jumped up Lady of the Manor bitch. There was no greater sin. None. Her brain cells trundled more quickly than usual for a reply.
“There was still a terrible stench from them cells rising from me. I had to cover it up.” Then, to assure Aquanetta she was indeed 'one of them,' she wittered on, “Och, me fingers be's falling offa me! I'm dead shattered, so I'm are! I haven't a clue if I be's going backwards or forwards, sure I haven't. I've hoovered that many floors, and all on me lonesome. That flimmin lazy layabout daughter of mines...”
Fionnuaula caught herself. It was a sin to spread gossip about family dissension, especially to this woman who was essentially a stranger. She struggled for other conversation.
“And, c'mere til I tell ye, I'm more used to taking loo roll outta strange toilets than putting it in, if ye catch me drift. Unnatural, so it be's, like condom machines in pub lavs.”
They reached the cabin. Fionnuala ushered Aquanetta inside with a flourish of the hand. She was for the first time aware of the smell of them all in the cramped quarters, but Aquanetta didn't seem to mind. Fionnuala headed for the bottle of gin.
“Let's get that drink, shall we?” Fionnuala invited. She unscrewed the top and looked around for something to pour the liquid into. With all the detritus strewn around, it was amazing that the only thing Aquanetta's eyes zoomed in on was the DateJust Lady 31 Rolex lying on Fionnuala's bed, waiting to be put on Ursula's pillow the next morning.
“Hrmph! How you able to afford one of them? I seen them for upwards of 5 Gs on the Internet.”
“Naw...ye're...ye're,” Fionnuala stuttered, bottle in hand, “ye're misunderstanding. I lifted it from one of the cabins. And not for meself. For to give to me sis—och, it's terrible complicated to explain.”
Aquanetta leaned against the wall and looked at her. It seemed suddenly chilly to Fionnuala in the cabin, which was ridiculous, in the hull next to the engine room and its many furnaces as they were. She tried to direct her attention to anything except the look Aquanetta was giving her, as if Fionnuala had just jumped up and thrust her tongue down her throat.
“Och, look at that, would ye! A note against me jar of headache tablets.”
Fionnuala picked it up and read, her lips moving.
MAMMY! YOOTHA WANTS TO SEE US ALL IN HER OFFICE! IT SOUNDS DEAD URGENT! CAN YOU MAKE IT THERE IN 10 MINS? XOXO DYMPHNA
Forgotten was the Tanqueray. She stared at the words in confusion and then shock. Her eyes shot around wildly, searching for a timepiece of sorts. Then her nostrils flared in derision.
“Ten minutes from when? Daft cunt! Wer family's been given a summons from Gestapo Agent Yootha! What do ye think the slavemaster—” she caught herself again and eyed Aquane
tta nervously “—wants with us all? And how the bloody hell am I meant to know if I'm early or late?”
“I'm guessing late.”
Fionnuala gripped her arm.
“God bless us and save us! Ye don't think she's heard of me deportation, do ye? Or...or...?”
Fionnuala was suddenly spitting with rage at anyone but herself. Long and winding was her list of infractions of the ship's rules, but none of them were her fault. She blamed Siofra for running off, Ursula for being so much of a snide, selfish bitch that Fionnuala had to steal from the cabins to teach her a lesson, Dymphna for leaving the useless note.
“I've to make it down to yer woman's quarters sharpish. Would ye mind accompanying me?”
“I guess it good exercise for me.”
Fionnuala squinted at the vagueness of her reflection in the mirror, plumping up her ponytails and quickly smeared on a line of lipstick. They left the cabin and hurried down the hallway towards the stairwell.
“Can ye be there in ten minutes!” she snorted. “C'mere til I tell ye, A-ak...woman, that daughter Dymphna of mines be's a right flimmin useless slapper! I should've smothered her with the pillow in the maternity ward when the sister's back was turned, so I should've. It's the God's honest truth, I felt terrible queer when she was clawing her way outta me.”
Aquanetta's cornrows whipped around in alarm.
“Queer? Where the queers round here?”
“...Naw, peculiar, I meant, like.”
Aquanetta still looked worried. Fionnuala, fearing she was losing her as a mate, quickly decided to break family rule number three and tell Aquanetta about Siofra. If she engaged Aquanetta in the decision-making process, perhaps her twin faux pas of luxury perfume and jewelry would be forgotten. She quickly explained about Siofra's disappearance. Aquanetta looked surprised. No, more. She looked shocked.
“What if Gestapo Woman's found out wer Siofra's not doing the quota of work laid out for her? What if one of the staff's found her, or if the wee bitch has gone and told Yootha herself I let her have the run of the ship!” Her face turned murderous. “I’ll kick that manky geebag so hard up her arse, she’ll have me toes for teeth!”
“You mean you ain't seen her for days now?” Fionnuala seemed not to hear the concern in Aquanetta's voice.
As they clawed the handrails leading up the steps to Deck C, Fionnuala babbled on, “And to add to me woes, wer Dymphna, she be's 20 years of age, and 20 years of terrible misery they've been for me and all.”
“What she done?”
“Be herself. Och, I've something to reveal to ye. Not a word to a soul, mind.”
Aquanetta raised her hand and swore to the Almighty as they rounded a corner.
“She doesn't be me daughter, not really,” Fionnuala whispered.
“Adopted?”
“Och, naw, she came from between me legs, like. But her daddy doesn't be me betrothed, Paddy. And as the creature was conceived out of holy wedlock, I don't count her as one of me own. I see her more like a...a family pet of sorts, if ye catch me drift. Her father be's...” Fionnuala looked around the landing they had stopped on to catch their breath, but there were no eavesdroppers present, only a fire hose attached to a wall “...the coal man!”
Aquanetta's features scrunched with incomprehension.
“What the hell a cold man?”
The moved on upwards.
“Naw, coal. Wer coal delivery man.”
“You mean like charcoal?”
“Aye.”
“You got so many bar-b-ques in your country you gotta get your charcoal delivered?”
Fionnuala bawled with laughter. “Bar-b-ques! What are ye like?” She sobered quickly. “Naw, for the fireplace, like. To keep ye warm at night. And during the day, as well.” Aquanetta took a step down, her eyes glinting with suspicion and betrayal. Fionnuala turned around and faltered on a step. Aquanetta folded her arms. Again. Fionnuala couldn't understand how she wouldn't know. “Have youse no fireplaces back at yers?”
Their house had since been modernized, but for years Fionnuala had been damned with dragging herself out of bed in the 6 AM chill to enter the sooty depths of the coal bin, shovel it up, start the fire with little blocks of wood and firelighters and the day before's newspaper placed against the gaping hole to get the fire raging; that and filling the hot water bottles nightly used to be the bane of her existence, when the rest of the industrialized world luxuriated in central heating. And she had been lying to Aquanetta: they never used the fireplace to heat the house at night. They filled hot water bottles.
“Got a hot tub, too?” Aquanetta snorted.
“Och, every house in Derry has fireplaces.” Though now they were mainly for show and rodents' nests. “Had ye no clue?”
“I didn't even know if you had cars there. All I ever seen is photos of cows and sheep. And Braveheart.”
“That be's Scotland.” Fionnuala couldn't hide the edge to her voice. “Och, this be's us, Deck C.”
She wrenched open the door and scuttled off towards the door which was Yootha's lair. It was marked Staff Director. Her heart thumped close to her throat. Behind her, Aquanetta sawed at her nails with an emory board. And the look she gave to Fionnuala's back asked the question 'Why that rich white bitch slumming it? Pokin fun at us?'
CHAPTER 26
“LOU, WE GOTTA TELL somebody about that girl in there,” Slim said as they passed the black door on their way back to the cabin. The passage of time had lifted the alcohol from their brains, and they were now merely woozy and infirm. “It's gotta be illegal for her to be holed up in that Dead Body Room like that all the time.”
“You mean tell somebody like Jed and Ursula?” Louella spat her sister-in-law's name.
“Well, we can tell them too, but, no, I was thinking more like the authorities on the ship. A security guard or someone like that.”
Louella regarded him in horror.
“Over my dead body!” she snapped. “We ain't going to no authorities! We wanna be as normal as we can be! Fly under the radar! I ain't speaking to nobody in a uniform!” Slim was startled at the vehemence. He watched as she wiped spittle from her lips. She stabbed and stabbed at the button for the elevator to take them up to their deck. Slim now understood hand sanitizer. They waited for the elevator to arrive.
“And now that we know you're not dying,” Louella snarled, “tell me about you and Ursula.” She sneered the name and glared expectantly at him through those round red orbs that framed her face. Her lenses seemed to be steaming up with expectant rage.
They had been released from the dispensary, after an hour and a half in a waiting room where the only reading material was the staff's tattoos, and a ten minute audience each with the doctor proper. He had moved Louella's head from side to side and prodded the flesh around Slim's rump. The prognosis for each had been a relief. Louella's neck was suffering from mild hyperextention, Slim's back from gentle inflammation and nerve root impingement. He suggested Louella apply dry or moist heat, at her discretion, to the nape of her neck, and that Slim sleep on his side with a pillow between his knees. First he handed over some seasickness pills as, he said, he had it on good authority the ship would be traveling through increasingly rough terrain. Then he gave them both ibuprofen, advised them to behave themselves in a more age-appropriate manner in the future, no more rock climbing, and sent them away. He also advised Slim to go on a diet. Slim said he would be happy to when Hell froze over.
While they stared at the numbers above the elevator door, clutching each other to avoid toppling over, both couldn't help but thinking back to the strange little girl that had approached them from the dankness of the Death Room. They had been expecting something inhuman, but even as Slim and Louella had deflated with relief, they were alarmed at the disheveled sight of her.
“Are you a nurse?” Slim had asked, wondering about child labor laws on the ship. Away from the US, anything was possible.
The child had placed her right hand on her hip an
d glared up at them.
“Och, catch yerselves on! Do I look aul enough to be a flimmin nurse to youse?”
“I don't think we're at the doctor's, dear,” Louella had whispered into Slim's ear. “I think this is the Death Room.”
She had taken a tentative step towards the girl, who flinched backwards like a mutt used to regular beatings from its owner.
“Where's your mommy, sweetie pie?”
Slim thought ‘sweaty pie’ would have been more apt.
“Nosy aul parker!”
She had shouted it at them, but then, the armor she showed to the world seemed to fissure; she must have spent too long on her own without human contact. Her lower lip had started to tremble, and tears seemed to well in her eyes. She wiped her nostrils, which were flowing mucus. Louella had tried to reach out a hand, but Slim, fearful of disease, had pulled it back. The little girl sobbed before them, tugging on the sordid strands of hair that clung to her equally mucky cheeks.
“If youse must know, but, me mammy's to blame for me being here instead of with me family, as being with em be's a misery. Worse than when we be's back at home, so it be's. When me sister told me about wer holiday, I was of the mind it was gonny be wile fun, jumping rope with other wee girls from strange lands, playing snakes and ladders and even swimming in the sea and poking at the wee fish swimming by me, like. I seen on the Internet playrooms and all, full of playthings and loads of dolls and I don't know what. Nothing but a misery, it's been, but. I kyanny even see other wanes. All them what be's living and working with us be's ancient, and I was hearing wanes' voices from the hallways, and I wanted to join em, but me mammy told me I wasn't allowed to speak to em, like. Put me to work, so she did, clearing up rooms of minted flimmin gacks I never laid eyes on. I seen nothing but me mammy hovering over me and bedsheets and hoover bags. She had me toiling all the hours God sent.”
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