The Rebellious Tide

by Eddy Boudel Tan

  Sebastien followed his father’s gaze and saw Nikos for the first time that night. The deputy security commander stood near the back of the crowd, an island of white in an ocean of black.

  Unsure of what to do at first, Nikos gestured to his blue-suited security guards to follow Kostas’s orders. He unhooked the two-way radio from his waist and called for backup.

  The mass of people on the floor huddled more closely together. The shouts were deafening as the guards made a few weak attempts at breaking the chain of linked arms. One guard tried dragging a Russian bartender by the ankle, but she kicked him in the chest. “Don’t touch me!” she roared.

  Several officers arrived on the scene in their bright white suits. They roamed through the seated crowd, demanding people get to their feet.

  “Hold onto each other!” Sebastien shouted.

  “Free Dom!” Ilya cried. It wasn’t long before the rhythmic chant echoed throughout the hall. The demonstration had escalated in a way that nobody had quite imagined, but they weren’t about to move.

  Nikos marched down the passageway and grabbed Briana by the arm. She twisted out of his grip. Two guards chased after her as she bolted away, pushing aside a few curious onlookers.

  When it was clear the security guards weren’t going to use force to remove the protestors, Kostas held the microphone to his mouth. “If you want to play these silly games, so be it.” He looked at Nikos and the other officers. “Shut down the electricity on B Deck. No lights. No sound. They can sit in the dark if that’s what they want.”

  The stark fluorescent lights went out seconds later and the hum from the speakers went dead. The darkness was tinted red by emergency lights that ran along the floor. Styx truly resembled its namesake.

  After a collective gasp spread down the hall, everyone cheered as Kostas and his officers made their exit. The crowd of staff and crew clustered on the floor hadn’t got the outcome they wanted. They hadn’t won. Perhaps it was the adrenalin surging through their bodies, passing from one person to the next by touch, but it still felt like they had accomplished something with this little act of defiance.

  As the cheers died down, a voice as pure as rain began to sing. It was Contessa. Soon the darkness was filled with voices as the crowd sang and hummed along.

  “Can we talk?”

  Sebastien looked up to see Nikos standing above him. With a furtive glance at Ilya, he nodded and climbed to his feet. The young security commander led him through the doors of the staff cafeteria. The smell of chicken parmigiana lingered in the air.

  “Did you have something to do with this?” Nikos asked when he was sure they were out of sight.

  Sebastien could barely make out the serious features of the face before him in the darkness, but the hushed tone was tinged with anger.

  “Yes.” No other words came to him.

  “This was a bad idea.”

  “What were we supposed to do, Nikos? Nothing?”

  “You could be in a lot of trouble. All of you.”

  “Did you hear what he said?” Sebastien startled himself by how distressed his voice sounded. “He doesn’t give a shit about any of us. We’re beneath him. Disposable.”

  His body trembled as Nikos’s hands reached out and held his arms. He shook them off, but they held him again more firmly. He grabbed the front of Nikos’s jacket in both fists, pulling toward him roughly until he could feel the warm breath on his face. They struggled back and forth, clutching each other, locked in a rigid embrace.

  “What are you going to do?” Nikos said, his voice deep and dark. “Hit me?”

  He flinched as Sebastien’s cheek brushed softly against the side of his nose. Their faces hovered closely together, a magnetic push and pull. Their lips met, as if reeled in by each other’s breath, softly at first, gently. Their bodies gave in to the pull as they pressed together.

  Every muscle in Nikos was tense with restraint, but he couldn’t deny himself any longer. As the voices sang and their lips burned, nothing else mattered in that moment but Sebastien Goh.

  Athens to Palermo

  EIGHT

  House of the Heel

  Sebastien leaned over the edge of the ship’s railing. Twenty-first-century Piraeus was a different place than the war-ravaged stronghold it was once. The port town outside of central Athens hissed with life. Ships of all sorts pulled in and out of the harbour, leaving paths of white foam that crisscrossed each other in the waves. Streams of sailors, travellers, and workers hurried across the docks. The morning sun glinted off glass buildings that jostled against the edge of the sea. Although it was now a place of modern industry, one of the busiest ports in the world, Piraeus wore its history in its faded facades and cracked pavement. Wars, plagues, victories, defeats — Piraeus had seen it all.

  The staff and crew of the Glacier felt defeated. They crowded onto the outdoor bow, the arrowhead-shaped deck reserved for crew, and leaned over the side with Sebastien. They wanted to get a glimpse of Dominic as he disembarked onto the crumbling concrete of Greece.

  The high from the previous night hadn’t survived the dawn. Their rebellion might have woken them from their apathy, but they hadn’t won. Dominic was still being sent away. The commanding officers had made their message clear.

  You are powerless.

  The words repeated themselves endlessly in the tunnels of Sebastien’s mind. They confirmed everything he had imagined his father to be. Cold. Cruel. A man who was hollow on the inside. How else could he have done what he did to Ruby Goh?

  At least everyone saw what’s behind the mask of smiles, he thought. They won’t be so easily manipulated now.

  The staff and crew of the Glacier had risen that morning to a message from their overlords. It was posted along every corridor of the lower decks, printed on the same cheap photocopy paper as the signs Sebastien had used to gather Dominic’s defenders. This time, the words were different.

  In response to last night’s misconduct on B Deck, staff and crew will not be permitted onshore while we’re docked in Athens.

  ACTS OF INSUBORDINATION WILL NOT BE TOLERATED.

  REBELS WILL BE DISMISSED

  IMMEDIATELY.

  Questions or concerns can be raised with your staff purser.

  Regards, Your Commanding Officers

  Standing beneath the morning sun, Sebastien wore the dejection on his face. They had failed Dominic, and it hurt. But there was something else. He kept picturing his father from the previous night, dismissive and uncaring, and tried to reconcile the image with the kind-faced man who helped him to his feet in the atrium. His face flushed at the realization that he’d been fooled. The feeling that eclipsed all others was hatred.

  “There he is!” someone shouted. Their eyes followed the pointed finger to see a man walk off the gangplank. He wasn’t more than a black speck in the distance, but they could tell it was him by the blue specks on either side. He was being led away by Nikos’s guards. Shouts and applause rumbled across the deck. Dominic looked up toward the noise. A hand waved in the air until the blue specks prodded him onward.

  I’m going to get justice for you, Sebastien thought. And it will begin with finding what you saw in cabin A66.

  Following Dominic was Briana. The reward for her courage was immediate eviction. She also had an escort of guards leading her to the gates of the dock.

  “Tell your secret boyfriend to rein in his pack of dogs,” Ilya said, with his arms dangling over the railing. He saw Sebastien was in no mood to joke, and the smile faded from his lips. “You did everything you could. You know that, right?”

  “It wasn’t enough.” He pushed the hair away from his eyes to see the sincerity on Ilya’s face. He wanted to tell his friend the truth — that Kostas was his father — but he held it back. He didn’t want to implicate Ilya unless it became necessary.

  “For all we know, nothing we could have done would have been enough,” Ilya said. “But we couldn’t just stand and watch. We had to do something, so we did
.”

  “All we did was piss off the malákas. You heard Kostas. We’re powerless. Maybe he’s right.”

  “He’s wrong.” Ilya turned so they stood face to face, eye to eye. “What happened last night meant something to people. It meant something to me.” He scanned the wind-swept deck around them. It was filled with people of different colours wearing uniforms that represented contrasting social stations, but something intangible now bonded them together. “This isn’t just a job,” Ilya went on. “This is our home. The commanders keep us numb with parties and privileges, but the truth is they dominate us. We give up a piece of our freedom when we board this ship. Last night was a sign that we do have power, because now we know we’re not alone.”

  As if on cue, three Filipina housekeepers in grey uniforms approached them, looking both shy and excited. “My name is Rosa,” said the woman in the middle. She had a plump figure and a friendly face. Her palms were placed against her pale pink apron. “We want to thank you both for everything you’ve done. Dominic was our friend. We didn’t save him, but seeing how much support he had last night …” Her words trailed off as her face welled with emotion. “For so many people from the staff to care about a crew member, for Contessa Bloor to be there for his cause, it was unbelievable. We’ve never seen anything like it.”

  Sebastien didn’t know what to say. “I’m happy we did what we could to help. I just wish it had made more of a difference.”

  “It made a difference to us,” Rosa said. “It isn’t easy being crew. We’re treated like we don’t matter because we’re at the bottom. We don’t have any of the influence the staff have. So when we work together, people like you make us stronger.”

  Ilya flashed Sebastien a look that said “I told you so.”

  “We will remember this,” Rosa said. “You have friends in the crew.”

  A saxophone moaned through the atrium later that afternoon, a melancholy sound to welcome the new arrivals.

  It was another embarkation day. Out with the old passengers, in with the new. Sebastien leaned against the balustrade of Adriatic Deck in his turquoise blazer, the gold buttons glinting in the pale light, with his camera strapped around his neck. He was supposed to take photos of the guests as they stepped on board, but his motivation diminished with every second that went by. He watched the endless stream of people enter the ship while thoughts swam through his mind.

  Tonight would be the captain’s cocktail party. The same staged smiles. The same excuse to forget about all that was wrong in the world. Except this time there would be three new attendees allowed in the elite officers’ circle.

  He remembered the photograph of Kostas’s wife and two children holding one another on the prow of a yacht, the wind tossing their hair. He conjured the images he had examined over the years of this happy family and their proud father. The elegant wife with the pointed nose who rarely looked directly at the camera. The daughter whose languorous limbs implied complete satisfaction with her place in the world. Most of all, he imagined the son. The boy with the deep green eyes and wild tangle of dark hair.

  “They’re coming on board in Athens for the two-week sailing to Cannes,” Kostas had told him in his office the other day. “It should be fun.”

  He repeated the words under his breath. “It should be fun.”

  Adriatic Deck was quieter the farther he got from the Agora. The smile on his face felt more forced than usual as guests stopped him for questions. He needed to get away from them.

  He ambled along the halls of the shopping arcade, avoiding eye contact with people passing by. The windows displayed merchandise in square frames of light as recorded music spilled from hidden speakers. He nearly tripped over his own feet when he reached the bank of elevators near the ship’s stern.

  Standing there were the woman and two children whose faces had been haunting him all day — the wife, daughter, and son of Kostas Kourakis. The boy and girl had aged since the most recent photograph Sebastien had seen, but they were instantly recognizable. The daughter was almost as tall as her mother and had the same placid look in her eyes. The son was a miniature version of his father.

  The woman wore a chic white skirt and a hat with a wide brim. The bright orange colour of her blouse reminded him of the stuccoed walls of his old apartment building in Petit Géant.

  They hadn’t noticed him standing there. He was about to spin around and retreat in the direction he came from, but something stopped him. With a slow inhale, he stepped toward the elevators.

  “We’ll see him later for dinner,” the woman was telling her son. Their hands were held tightly together.

  “That’s what you said about lunch.” The boy’s tone was petulant. “He was supposed to take us to that place by the port for Jewish doughnuts.”

  “He had work to do. And those aren’t doughnuts. They’re rugelach.”

  A musical chime announced the arrival of an elevator. Sebastien stepped inside with the family of three. He pressed the highest button on the panel, which was level sixteen, Sunset Deck. The woman’s manicured hand, cuffed by golden bangles, reached out for the button two levels below. The Kourakis family was staying on Riviera Deck.

  They avoided looking at each other’s reflections in the mirrors that covered the walls of the elevator, except for the little boy. There was a flash of surprise on his face when his deep green eyes met Sebastien’s.

  “Kristo,” whispered his mother with a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t stare.”

  Listen to your mother, Kristo.

  There was silence as they climbed upward through the ship. The air was heavy with the woman’s perfume, a distinct fragrance of wildflowers and spice. Sebastien felt drunk from the scent.

  The chime sounded as the elevator doors slid open to reveal the seafoam-coloured carpet and rose walls of Riviera Deck, where the most luxurious suites could be found. The woman nudged her two children into the hall.

  “Enjoy your stay,” Sebastien said, his voice buoyant.

  It should be fun.

  She turned around and offered a hesitant smile. “Thank you,” she said before hurrying down the corridor. The boy craned his neck to get another look at the strange man behind him. Sebastien held up his hand and waved as the doors closed.

  The electric lights of Piraeus flickered on as the sun dipped behind the hills in the distance. The port town was serene compared to the bustle of the morning. The docks were almost deserted. A hush had fallen over the streets.

  Sebastien watched as the shore drifted farther and farther beyond reach. The glow of Athens hovered over the east like a protective shell. He stood on the stern of Sunset Deck, sixteen levels above the churning sea below. From here, the waves looked like ripples in a pond.

  A man appeared by his side, startling him from his thoughts. He smelled like earth and warm skin. Nikos didn’t say a word. He leaned against the ship’s railing, his shoulder touching Sebastien’s, and looked across the gulf to the disappearing shore. His eyes were brighter in the twilight.

  A few minutes passed in silence before Nikos tilted his head toward Sebastien. “I’m sorry for what happened to your friend.”

  Sebastien hesitated before responding. “I’m sorry, too.”

  “Do you blame me?”

  “For what?”

  “For having to follow the orders.”

  Thoughts circled his mind, but he knew Nikos wasn’t the enemy. “You’re just doing your job, like the rest of us.” He inhaled deeply, letting the salted air fill his lungs. “This ship felt like home when I arrived on board a few weeks ago. I thought I’d finally found a place where I belonged. Now I’m not sure.”

  “You do belong here,” Nikos said, tilting his head closer. “Meet me on Riviera Deck in ten minutes. Walk to the very front. Portside. You’ll see a set of locked doors at the end of the hall. Knock.” With that, he was gone in a flash of white and gold.

  Riviera Deck was a seafoam-carpeted loop around the entire ship lined with identical doorways t
hat led to guest cabins. Frosted-glass lamps shaped like scallop shells punctuated the rose-coloured walls between doors. The centre of the deck was the atrium, with a balcony that hung dizzyingly above the Agora lobby below.

  Just as Nikos had said, at the end of the hall on the forward section of the ship was an unmarked set of double doors that weren’t numbered like the others. He knocked quietly.

  Nikos appeared, grabbing him by the hand and pulling him inside. The room was egg-shaped and softly lit. Enormous white sheets were draped along the walls and over pieces of furniture. The bottom half of the curved wall was made of teak panels like the floors of the outdoor decks. The top of the wall was a mosaic of jagged fragments of coloured glass that were lit from behind. Three steps led to a stage that spanned the front of the room.

  “Where are we?”

  “I like to come here when I need to be alone,” Nikos said with a shy smile. “It’s a temple. At least, it used to be. They designed it to be a place where anyone could come to worship. Muslim. Christian. Buddhist. Jew. It was always the emptiest room on the ship. It’s funny how easily people forget about their god while on holiday.” He let out a quiet snort. “It’s closed to the public now, to be turned into a venue for small wedding ceremonies. The renovations are suspended for a few weeks. Until then, I’m one of the only people on board with access.”

  He held a key card in his hand. It looked identical to the rectangles of plastic everyone used to access their cabins, but it was black instead of white.

  “No way,” Sebastien said. “Is that a skeleton key?”

  “I don’t know what that is, but it does get me into almost every room and corner of the ship. See? Being deputy security commander has its perks.”

  “Why did you bring me here?”

  Nikos stepped closer. The machismo evident weeks ago had vanished. Standing in front of Sebastien was just a man who didn’t know how to be loved. He was nervous, unsure. He struggled with his words. “I guess —”

  Sebastien didn’t let him finish. Their mouths pressed against each other. He stripped off the officer’s jacket and threw it against the wall. Nikos pulled the shirt over his head. Their chests heaved as the heat of their bodies filled the room. Soon, the floor was littered with their uniforms and the differing statuses they represented. They were made equal in the exposure of their skin.