The Rebellious Tide

by Eddy Boudel Tan

  Sebastien and Sophie were escorted through the main thoroughfare of B Deck as soon as the anchor was dropped. There was a security guard on either side of them. It seemed the guards had been instructed to make as little verbal and visual contact as possible. All of Sebastien’s belongings had been mindlessly stuffed into his hiking backpack. Sophie pulled a cream-coloured suitcase on wheels with a magenta scarf tied around the retractable handle.

  The silence on B Deck was disturbed by shouts of their names. Turning around, they saw Ilya and Diya running toward them. They wore the sleepless night on their faces. Diya’s hair flowed behind her in a cloud of curls while Ilya’s eyes were tinted pink. Their footsteps clanged heavily against the steel floor.

  The two security guards prevented them from coming closer. “Stop right there,” one of them said in a voice that was consciously deep. “You’re not permitted here.”

  “This is our deck,” Diya cried, exasperated. “We live here.”

  “At least let us say goodbye.” Ilya’s eyes pleaded, but he knew Nikos had given his orders.

  “You already have,” the guard said. “There’s no need to get any closer.”

  “It’s okay.” Sebastien looked at his two friends from the other side of the corridor, his face displaying gratitude and exhaustion. “I’ll miss you both.”

  “This isn’t over.” Diya’s voice rang across the steel walls. It was resolute, as always, but now strained with desperation.

  “It is over,” Sebastien said, unable to hide the defeat that had settled inside. “We’ve lost.”

  “For now.” Ilya held his chin high.

  Sophie and Sebastien were led down the gangplank while the indecisive wind whipped their hair around their faces. It felt consequential when their feet landed on the concrete pier. As Sophie had once said many years earlier, it felt like the end of one thing and the beginning of something else, except this time they weren’t quite ready for a new start.

  The buildings of Palermo pressed against the port in a colourful collection of Norman palaces, gothic bell towers, Phoenician walls, and modern hotels. The guards stood at the end of the gangplank and watched their retreat.

  They were near the gates of the port when they heard a clamour from above. The Glacier towered over them, an imposing wall of white steel and blue-tinted glass. There must have been hundreds of people crowded along the edge of the bow. Sebastien spotted the grey and pink uniforms of the cabin-service crew, as well as the bright turquoise jackets with the gold buttons of the staff. They shouted and chanted, hands waving in the air. He scanned the crowd for one brooding officer in particular but didn’t see the brilliant white uniform.

  A cheer resounded along the bow as a black banner was released over the edge. It flapped in the wind as it unfurled, spanning the height of three decks. The message was painted in bold white letters against the dark cloth.

  WE

  ARE

  ALL

  POWERLESS

  “They really love you,” Sophie said, peeking at Sebastien from the corners of her eyes.

  A wistful smile appeared on his lips. Creases gathered around his eyes as he squinted. “There’s a woman up there named Rosa,” he said, drawing the energy to speak. “She told me once that she had never seen the crew and staff so united. We give each other power when we work together. It wasn’t enough. It may never be enough. But it made a difference to Rosa.”

  They checked into the first hotel they could find. It was a narrow building wedged between two blocks of apartments. At one point in time they had all been wings of the same grand palace, but now they were dismembered sections. The hotel’s skinny five-level facade was covered in a veneer of faux pink marble, while the walls and shutters of the apartments aged honestly in chipped paint and sun-bleached stone.

  The sign above the heavy glass entrance said Hotel Memoria above three proud golden stars. One broken half star dangled at the end.

  Sebastien didn’t sense disappointment in Sophie’s response when the young man at the front desk informed them in beautifully accented English there was only one room available with two separate beds.

  Their room was on the top floor. Double doors with glass panels led onto a tight balcony overlooking the rooftops that lined the port and the sparkling sea beyond.

  The Glacier basked in the morning sun. Sebastien leaned against the shaky railing and examined what had been his home for the past month. It was a surreal vision from this vantage point. He could see the exterior of every deck, follow the curves of its body from bow to stern. The pyramid of the ship’s funnel appeared massive when gazing up at it from Sunset Deck, but it was far less imposing from afar. The black banner his friends had unrolled for him was being drawn back by a group of white suits no larger than fleas. It didn’t matter. The message was received. The staff and crew of the Glacier had no intention of surrendering.

  He peered through the ship’s impenetrable hull as though he had X-ray vision. He saw the turquoise velvet seats of the Odeon, the atrium that rose above the Agora through the core of the ship like a cavern of glass and light, the seafoam carpet of Riviera Deck.

  He pictured Ilya preparing for his daily spin class in the fitness centre beneath the navigation bridge. He would have less vigour during the routine, and the smile on his face would be more strained than usual.

  He imagined Diya sipping a hot mug of tea in the staff cafeteria. The casino would be closed until the ship departed from port later that night, but there would be no rest in her turbulent mind.

  Rosa would be starting her rounds in the guest quarters, tossing towels into the laundry cart and shaking out duvets over immaculate beds. Much of the Filipino Mafia would be doing the same, scrubbing and sweeping like Sebastien’s mother once did. They wouldn’t be ready for life to return to normal, not after everything they’d learned and witnessed over the past few weeks.

  Alexis and her two darlings would be eating breakfast somewhere in the open-air patios of Lido Deck before venturing into port. She would feel safe as she drizzled honey over mounds of yogurt, but little Kristo knew better. He’d be holding his mother’s hand protectively, looking over his shoulder every so often, afraid to see the wild-haired man with the familiar eyes.

  Perhaps Kostas would be with them, relieved that his adversary was no longer on board to expose him for the snake that he was.

  Do you miss me, Father?

  He wondered where Nikos would be. A shudder travelled through Sebastien’s body as he pictured the young officer surrounded by the tinted glass and white sheets of their House of the Heel. There had been nothing left to say to each other when his guards arrived to detain Sebastien and Sophie. Nikos stood and watched, wordless. He hadn’t been seen since.

  Sebastien gripped the iron railing until his knuckles went white as he scanned the hull of the distant ship. Hidden deep within it was a secret. It festered beneath the opulence, its proximity arrogantly close to those who sought refuge from the evils of the world outside.

  He pictured Athena trapped behind a guarded door. Escape for her was as likely as escaping evil. It was everywhere.

  Has she given up hope? Would she be right to do so?

  Sebastien would have given anything to be wrong. He wished Nikos was telling the truth. He didn’t want Nikos or his father to be capable of such corruption. But he couldn’t deny what he’d seen and heard.

  He felt the push and pull of uncertainty. Emotion and logic were at odds with each other to the point he couldn’t tell which was in control. The evidence was flimsy. He couldn’t prove that Athena wasn’t in fact suffering from delusions. The tattoo. The nickname. Neither proved a thing to an objective mind.

  He couldn’t even be certain that Kostas was involved. His father hadn’t made any claims about Athena. They had been made by Nikos. The only contact he’d seen between Kostas and the young woman was that night in Sirens, when Nikos was ordered to remove her through the secret door in the wall. If Athena was telling the truth, it
was still possible that Kostas was unaware of her abduction. Sebastien doubted this, but could he trust his own instincts when it came to his father? Hadn’t he boarded the Glacier having already decided that his father was the enemy?

  Then again, his own eyes had seen Kostas hand a young officer an envelope of white powder. The target had been Dominic, and the reason involved cabin A66. “They’re hiding something they don’t want anyone to find,” Dominic had said. “Something bad.”

  Perhaps there was a different explanation entirely. Nikos’s words echoed through his mind.

  You only see people as victims or villains. Right or wrong. Good or evil. It’s not that easy.

  A cool breeze from the sea tickled his skin. He remembered his last few conversations with Ilya the previous day. Something Ilya had said haunted him.

  There was one way that could expose the truth. If he were unsuccessful, he might never know whether he was right or wrong about Athena. But if the proof were found, he would have no choice but to face everything he had always feared.

  It was nine in the morning in Petit Géant when Jérôme St-Germain assessed the easiest way of breaking into the old Goh family apartment. He stood on the narrow strip of grass that separated the building from its neighbour, staring up at the plain rectangle of glass two levels above that used to be Sebastien’s bedroom window.

  He had woken up to the ringing of his phone an hour earlier, surprised to discover who was calling from an Italian number. Sebastien’s voice had the same familiar tenor of tenderness and intensity, but Jérôme detected an undercurrent of something else. There hadn’t seemed to be much time for catching up. Sebastien had a favour to ask, one that came with clear instructions. “It has to do with my father” was the only explanation offered.

  There were very few things Jérôme wouldn’t do for him. He had loved Sebastien since the night of their first kiss as they tumbled across the newspaper-lined floor of Camera Obscura. It happened four years ago, but the aching in his chest made it feel like yesterday. He subjected himself to watching Sebastien fumble with how to be happy. Jérôme could have told him the answer wouldn’t be found with Sophie Lamoureux. He and Sebastien had come so close to finding themselves in each other, but the chance wilted after the publicized photographs, the red paint on the storefront windows, the taunts, the insults.

  Perhaps one day Sebastien would see what was in front of him. Until then, Jérôme would offer his friendship.

  He placed two cylindrical garbage bins beneath the metal grate of the fire escape mounted on the side of the building. The bins weren’t very sturdy, but all he needed was a boost to haul himself onto the landing that led to the second-floor window. His first attempt was a failure. The bins toppled over, sending Jérôme to the grass in a sprawl of graceless limbs. He looked at his button-up chambray shirt and slim chinos, cursing himself for not dressing more appropriately for breaking and entering.

  He adjusted the red frames of his glasses before the second attempt. The bins remained upright long enough for him to grab the landing’s edge. He hoisted his body forward until his lower half no longer dangled in the air.

  His leather brogues pounded against the metal stairs as he climbed to the bedroom window. Just as Sebastien had described, the latch was broken and the window slid open with ease. He didn’t want to soil the bed with his shoes, so he leapt through the opening and landed heavily in the middle of the floor.

  The tidy room conflicted with his perception of Sebastien. The modest furniture and neatly organized belongings reflected the man’s sense of order but didn’t do justice to the passion inside him. The stunning photographs on the walls hinted at his talent, but the creativity should have been unleashed within this space rather than confined within frames. It occurred to him that it was his first time in this room. He had never been invited.

  He wanted to linger, to smell the bedsheets and rifle through the books, but what he was searching for was in another room. Jérôme stepped into the open space that served as the kitchen, dining area, and living room. The apartment had stood empty since Sebastien’s departure for Europe. The lease renewed once a year, and he hadn’t had the time to find subtenants. Everything would look exactly the same when he returned.

  If he returned.

  Jérôme’s forehead crinkled as he looked at the pile of splintered wood that used to be the family dining table.

  Ruby’s bedroom shared a wall with Sebastien’s. He turned the wobbly doorknob and stepped inside.

  The air felt different here. Jérôme tried to ignore the notion that it was because someone had died in this room. Ruby’s bed stood in the far corner beneath a window, its mattress depressed in the centre and the bronze paint chipping from its posts. A full-length mirror stood against the opposite wall, though it was angled away from the bed.

  Picture frames of different styles and sizes covered the surfaces of a desk, a dresser, and a set of shelves. They displayed mother and son throughout the years. The woman was alluring, her eyes clear and present. Smiling hadn’t come easily to her younger self, but she appeared to soften with age. Her face was always cloaked beneath her long black hair. One wooden frame held an image of Ruby with her young son at the petting zoo in a nearby town. They sat on a bale of hay, the mother caught in the middle of a laugh while her son held a baby goat with genuine love on his face.

  Jérôme examined the photographs and watched Sebastien grow up before his eyes. He had been a chubby, happy baby, grinning toothlessly with his eyes squinted shut. He was more serious as a child, though never bored, his face alive with curiosity. Teenaged Sebastien resembled his present-day self, all lean muscle and messy hair. He’d inherited the full lips and copper complexion of his Asian mother, but the ridges of his face and alert green eyes implied European blood.

  Pulling himself away from the images, Jérôme noticed something peeking out from beneath the bed. He crouched to the floor and found a checkerboard of black-and-white squares scattered with loose wooden discs.

  He heard Sebastien’s voice calling him to the closet, reminding him of why he was there. As he had described, several cardboard boxes were stacked on the top shelf of the closet. Jérôme placed them on the floor in the shape of a circle and sat cross-legged in the centre. There were six boxes in total. With a deep breath, he opened the first one.

  Their high-ceilinged room at the Hotel Memoria was filled with the aroma of onions and anchovies. Sebastien and Sophie sat on their respective beds as they devoured their dinners. Each bed held a box of sfincione, the square-shaped pizza made of thick dough and sharp cheese native to the island of Sicily. He’d always admired Sophie for her unapologetic love of food. She felt no shame in ordering dessert, using extra butter, or inhaling an entire pizza, regardless of who was present.

  It had been a joyless day, despite the indulgence. Sebastien had left Pétit Géant with a clear sense of purpose. Now he felt stuck, uncertain of what to do next.

  Dusk was beginning to settle outside. The air that drifted through the open balcony doors was cooler than earlier. The Glacier glimmered in the distance, every deck aglow. A string of lights connected the mast above the navigation bridge to the enormous funnel aft. The ship was scheduled to leave for Naples in an hour. Over the course of five days, it would dock in Barcelona and Palma de Mallorca before arriving in Cannes.

  Athena’s fearful eyes flashed through Sebastien’s mind.

  “Do you love that man?” Sophie tried to appear nonchalant as she tore a piece from her pizza and popped it into her mouth.

  “Nikos?”

  She nodded, keeping her eyes on her dinner.

  “I wouldn’t call it love.” Sebastien leaned back against the upholstered headboard. “Maybe it could have been in a different dimension.”

  “Do you love Jérôme?” She knew he knew this was the real question she wanted answered.

  He turned to face her, but her eyes wouldn’t meet his. Her auburn hair was pulled to one side in a loose ponytail. She l
icked the tomato sauce from her fingertips.

  “Why does that matter now?”

  “Just answer the question,” she said, a measured calmness in her tone.

  “I do love him, yes.” It was the first time he’d admitted this out loud. “I just haven’t figured out what kind of love it is yet.”

  She nodded again, deciding whether or not this answer was enough for her. “I know what we once had has expired,” she said softly. “You were right. We tried our best. It wasn’t enough. Where did we go wrong?”

  He had wondered the same thing more times than he could count. “What I did to your father will always be my worst regret. Not just for everything I lost, but because I will always be ashamed of the person I was that day. I’m afraid of him.” He swallowed hard. “Your forgiveness was the only thing that kept me from giving up on myself. Of all people, you should have hated me. But you helped me believe there was something worth salvaging.”

  “I needed it, too.” She looked up, and their eyes connected. “I was so angry and confused, I needed a way to make sense of what happened, so I could put it behind me. So I could move on.”

  “You became the one hopeful thing in my life, so I poured everything into it.”

  “I did the same,” she said with an embarrassed smile. “I was hell-bent on making something good from the wreckage of that year.”

  “And it was good.” He crossed the space between their beds and sat by her side. “What we had was special. I don’t know what would have happened to me if you hadn’t been there. You told me I had a choice. I made my choice, and I’ll never regret it. But it wasn’t meant to be forever.” He put his arm around her. She rested her head against his chest.

  “We’ve served our purpose for each other,” she said. “Now we learn to let go.”

  “No matter what happens, you will always be the woman who saved me.”