The Rebellious Tide

by Eddy Boudel Tan

  She smiled. “And we will always have our final kiss, hiding from a family of three behind a statue on a cruise ship.”

  “You mean luxury liner,” he corrected her. Laughter burst out of them and rang throughout the little room. They held onto each other as their bodies shook until their eyes were wet.

  They were interrupted by Sebastien’s phone. It danced loudly on the nightstand between the two beds. The smile disappeared from his face.

  “It’s a message from Jérôme,” he said. Sophie sat upright in the middle of the bed, waiting to hear what her rival had uncovered.

  Sebastien’s body went cold when he opened the attached file. Everything seemed to shut down.

  Jérôme had delivered a photograph of a photograph. It must have taken hours to comb through the thousands of tattered images hidden in those boxes in Ruby’s closet. His search had been focused on one thing that may or may not have existed.

  He had found it.

  The image on the screen was of Sebastien’s mother. It was taken at least two decades ago, judging by the youth that radiated from her face. It was a happier time, before graduation day, before her body would be ravaged by sickness. Ruby was laughing, eyes squinted shut and teeth bared. It looked like she was spinning. Her fingers were a blur of motion. Her long black hair was a static tornado around her head.

  The bedroom mirror stood directly behind Ruby. With her hair suspended in the air, the reflection exposed a rare view of her back and shoulders. Sebastien rubbed his eyes to be sure they weren’t playing tricks on him, but he knew what Jérôme must have found.

  The mirror revealed something he had never seen before, something she must have kept hidden his entire life. On the back of her neck was a symbol carved in black ink. It was the same symbol he’d discovered for the first time only days earlier.

  Six connected little circles.

  Aphrodite’s flower.

  They brand their girls with that exact symbol.

  Ilya’s words echoed through his memory.

  These criminals have been around for decades.

  Decades.

  Decades.

  The ship’s horn bellowed from the port. The thunderous sound carried over the rooftops of the ancient city and through the balcony doors of the Hotel Memoria.

  Sebastien didn’t say a word as he passed the phone to Sophie, the disturbing image still on the screen. He didn’t feel the chill in the night air when he stepped onto the balcony. He stood there, motionless, and watched the Glacier’s graceful retreat through the harbour. It was lit up like a funeral pyre as it drifted into the black, mournful sea.

  He pictured Kostas inside the lavish halls with a smug grin on his cleanly shaven face, safe and warm, protected from the dangers outside. Sebastien screamed into the night, toward the ship that was slipping away from him. He allowed himself this release, only for a moment. As he closed his lips and his eyes, his mind had already moved on. There was so much to do.

  “Don’t forget about me, Father.” His voice dropped to a whisper, the words touched then stolen by the wind. “I’m coming for you.”

  TWENTY

  Spanish Snow Globe

  Nobody was as feared and revered throughout ancient Greece as Achilles. Every man wanted to be like the fierce warrior, but nobody wanted to fight him. He wasn’t a god, though. He was just a man, like the rest of them.

  His mother loved him more than anyone else. Afraid that he was destined for a life of blood and battle, fighting for kings who cared for nothing but their own ambition, she did whatever she could to protect her son from the inevitable. This was why she dipped her baby boy into the ink-black waters of Styx, the river that meandered between the world of the living and the underworld of Hades. The water was known to make invincible any flesh it touched. It washed over the skin of the boy, except where he was held by his mother — his heel.

  When Paris, Prince of Troy, fell in love with Queen Helen of Sparta, the two reckless lovers sailed across the sea to hide behind the impenetrable walls of his storied city. Her husband, the jealous King of Sparta, wasn’t too pleased to have his wife swept away by the foolish young prince. After all, she was beautiful. You’ve heard all this before — the face that launched a thousand ships. One of those ships carried Achilles, by then every ounce the fearsome fighter he was destined to be.

  Thus began the Trojan War, a ten-year siege of a city famous for its walls. The King of Sparta rallied all the forces of Greece to fight for his honour. There aren’t many things more dangerous than a powerful man with a bruised ego.

  Achilles couldn’t have cared less about the man’s honour or his wife. He was there for the glory, to have his name remembered and sung throughout the ages. He was flawed, like any man, despite his godlike presence. He could be vengeful and angry. The only person who brought him joy was his dearest friend, Patroclus.

  There’s no concrete evidence that Patroclus and Achilles were lovers, but it makes for a far more interesting tragedy. Everyone knew the truth, but nobody dared talk about it any louder than a whisper.

  Things were looking pretty dire for the Greeks until sweet Patroclus, wearing the armour and shield of Achilles, was killed by Hector, Prince of Troy and Paris’s noble brother.

  Achilles was devastated and, most of all, consumed by rage. Nobody murdered the secret lover of a warrior like Achilles and got away with it. He hunted down Prince Hector and stabbed him in the throat. Avenging his lover wouldn’t be complete until Achilles dragged Hector’s body behind his chariot around the tomb built for Patroclus.

  Now that is love.

  Achilles was back in fighting form, but they still couldn’t breach the monstrous walls of the city. If they were going to win, it wouldn’t be by force but by wit.

  One morning the Greek troops were gone, as though they had vanished overnight. They have given up, the Trojans thought. They have fled across the sea, humiliated.

  On the beach outside the city was a gift left behind by the defeated warriors. It was a gigantic statue made of wood in the shape of a horse. Words were inscribed across the planks of its side.

  The Greeks dedicate this offering to Pallas

  Athena for their safe return home.

  The Trojans couldn’t have been happier. After ten long years of war, they had won and their walls remained strong as ever.

  They felt victorious.

  Proud.

  They brought the wooden horse through the gates of Troy as a symbol of their triumph. Wine flowed freely and music played as the Trojans threw a monumental celebration in the heart of the city.

  What they failed to realize was the immensity of their hubris. They had underestimated the Greeks, some of whom were hiding inside the belly of the wooden horse. As the Trojans slept, delirious from drink and vanity, the soldiers emerged from the horse and opened the gates. The Greek forces flooded the city like a tidal wave.

  You’re probably wondering what happened to Achilles. He was there as the city burned. He didn’t even notice Paris, Prince of Troy, standing nearby with his bow drawn.

  The arrow sliced through the air, piercing the only vulnerable part of his sculpted body. It was the spot his mother had held when she dipped him into the River Styx.

  His heel.

  As he lay dying within the smouldering city, Achilles saw the eyes of Patroclus. His heel wasn’t his only weakness. He had never claimed to be invincible. He had always known he was just a man.

  The port of Barcelona was an alluring beacon for ships sailing across the glassy sea. The glimmer of lights lined the shore of the seductive city, a siren’s call to weary sailors.

  Sebastien leaned against the steel beam of a tower that rose from the wide concrete pier. His skin was damp beneath the canvas coveralls despite the chill in the air. The sun wouldn’t appear for another hour. The city slept.

  He spotted the Glacier when it was the size of a firefly in the distance. Its golden glow drifted along the surface of the water until its enormous hul
l dominated the harbour. It had been three days since he watched the ship sail away in Palermo. He wondered if the memory of him had faded within its decks as it travelled onward to Naples and across the Tyrrhenian Sea.

  His father would be asleep in his bed, unaware of the impending siege.

  This anger doesn’t have to be a bad thing. It fuels our fight.

  Ilya’s words played in Sebastien’s mind while he watched the Glacier glide alongside the pier with graceful precision.

  It can be used for good, but only if we’re smart.

  The security checkpoints wouldn’t allow passengers to board or disembark for another few hours. Until then, the dock would be alive with activities that guests rarely witnessed. The excess of life on the Glacier made it easy to take for granted the work that allowed the ship to operate. Hundreds of crates lined the pier, waiting to be loaded on board. They were stocked with food for the galley, towels for the spa, jewels for the shops, and enough liquor to incapacitate a small city. Forklifts weaved around the stacks, lifting pallets piled high with boxes wrapped in plastic skin.

  A heavyset man with tightly curled hair approached, wearing the same style of coveralls. Sebastien recognized him as part of the Filipino Mafia. The man greeted him with a discreet smile. “Follow me,” he said, cocking his head to the side. Sebastien lowered his cap so it covered the top of his face. They darted through the narrow aisles that separated the crates until they came to a wooden box twice the size of Sebastien’s old cabin.

  The man pulled a latch, and the side of the box opened on a set of rusty hinges. They were enveloped by the smell of chemicals and dampness as they stepped inside.

  Ilya had explained over the phone what would serve as Sebastien’s carriage into the Glacier, but he didn’t know what to expect. In front of him, supported on an ornate base of bronze, stood a transparent globe that could fit three horses inside.

  A new production was premiering on the stage of the Odeon the following evening. It was said to be an extravagant and shamelessly stylized retelling of Homer’s Iliad. Other than the familiar characters — Achilles, Patroclus, Paris, and Hector — there was little resemblance to the classic legend. The show would feature magic of the Vegas variety and circus acts performed by exotic beauties. They would be joined by the ship’s regular cast of entertainers, who had been rehearsing for weeks.

  Ilya hadn’t known what role this enormous prop would play in the show, except that it was meant to be a snow globe.

  The man picked up a cardboard box from a corner and placed it in Sebastien’s hands. “Blankets,” he said. “Rosa wants you to be comfortable.”

  “Tell her I say thank you.”

  The man reached near the base of the acrylic globe and opened a hatch that was almost invisible. Sebastien climbed inside, placing his hands on the convex surface.

  “Who needs a Trojan horse?” he said. “I’ve got a Spanish snow globe.”

  The man laughed and passed him the box of blankets. “Make yourself at home. You’ll be here for an hour or two. Friends will meet you on the other side.”

  Sebastien thanked him for his help. The man stepped onto the pier, holding the side of the wooden crate in his gloved hand. He looked at Sebastien, eyes alive with hope. “We are all powerless,” he said before disappearing into the darkness.

  The only sound in their apartment was the mechanical ticking of the moon-shaped clock on the wall. Ruby sat across from Sebastien at the kitchen table. She scrutinized the checkerboard between them with the focus of a military commander, envisioning every possible move and the resulting permutations of counterattacks. Her stack of Sebastien’s black captives already doubled the height of the white discs he’d been able to capture.

  Although twelve months had passed since the incident on graduation day, it didn’t feel like the event was behind them. The court hearings were over and the consequences accepted, but traces of that afternoon continued to stain their lives in unexpected ways.

  Sebastien wasn’t removed from the mailing list of the university he had planned to attend, so brochures would arrive displaying young faces with perfect teeth and bright futures.

  Ruby would ring through a customer’s groceries at the Prix-Mart and be handed the business card of a “wonderful psychiatrist who could help your son with his problem.”

  Sebastien’s first freelance assignment for the local newspaper was to photograph the lacrosse team that had removed him from the roster. The official statement had described him as “incompatible with our values of sportsmanship and decency.”

  Mother and son had each other, though, and they persevered.

  “I’m going to start penalizing you one checker for every five minutes it takes for you to make a decision.” Sebastien made this threat at least once every match they played.

  Ruby liked to take her time, a quality her son hadn’t inherited. His athletic body and restless mind were designed to move, but she thought people could stand to move less and just be.

  “How many times have I told you to learn patience?” She shot him a stern look before sliding one of her white pieces forward on the checkerboard, a seemingly innocuous move. “This is why you never win. You act before you think.”

  “I don’t never win,” he said with exaggerated petulance. “Sometimes I get lucky.” His face lit up as he laughed.

  “And sometimes I let you win out of pity.” Ruby gave him a playful kick beneath the table. “You have to think three steps ahead. And while your opponent thinks he has the upper hand, you better make sure your next move counts.”

  “That might work if my opponent wasn’t always my unbeatable mama.”

  “One day you’ll go against someone easier to beat,” she said, leaning back in her chair to admire the man her son had become. “You seem more yourself lately, ever since Sophie visited on your birthday.”

  He shrugged. “She gave me some tough love, plus cake. Besides, there’s no use drowning myself in my own self-pity. It’s time to move on.”

  “Amen!” She threw up her thin hands with a dramatic laugh. “You’re right. It’s time to move on. I’m just happy to have my son back.”

  Sebastien swiped two white checkers from the board as he made his move. “Take that,” he said, grinning triumphantly.

  With a shake of the head, her fingers moved across the board too quickly for him to follow. “I win.” She held up his three remaining black discs so he could see the evidence. “I told you. Think first, then act.”

  “How does a goldfish beat a shark?” It was his favourite saying after a loss.

  Ruby laughed, as she always did, then groaned as she crouched forward with her arms pressed against her stomach.

  “You okay?”

  “I’m fine.” She waved her fingers in the air to signal there was no need for concern. “It must be something I ate.”

  “You’ve been saying that for the past month. I’m taking you to the doctor in the morning.”

  She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth to make the sound that said he was being silly. “I’m fine. And change your face. You look like your father when you’re worried.”

  He leaned forward in his chair. “Is that bad?”

  “He was annoying like you.” She gave him a teasing slap on the wrist. “He worried about everything. Always so serious.”

  “Maybe he had a lot to worry about,” Sebastien said as his eyes drifted down to the checkerboard.

  “Don’t we all? That doesn’t mean we must spend our lives being afraid. Worrying doesn’t help anyone.”

  “You’re right about that.”

  She stretched her arm across the table and held Sebastien by the hand. “I’m sorry.”

  “What for?”

  A proud smile spread across her tired face. “For what I said. You are a much better man than your father could ever dream of being.”

  He squeezed her hand as the clock on the wall ticked away the seconds. Her smile faded before she groaned again, the skin
around her eyes puckering with pain.

  “That’s enough.” Sebastien crossed the apartment and pulled Ruby’s coat from the hallway closet. “We’re going to the hospital.”

  You are a much better man than your father could ever dream of being.

  His mother’s voice swam through the air around him as he lay at the bottom of the transparent globe, wrapped in a blanket. The darkness was disturbed by the occasional flash of light through the cracks of the wooden crate.

  With nothing else to see, his mind replayed that night nine years earlier. The peach-coloured vinyl of the waiting room chairs. The smell of liquid hand sanitizer. The doctor with the charming gap between her teeth and the fidgety hands. She couldn’t stop twirling her pen and rustling the papers on her clipboard.

  Eventually, they would learn Ruby’s liver was failing. There wasn’t one root cause but a combination of factors that had accumulated over time. Sebastien knew the stress of that year hadn’t helped. He felt responsible.

  Puffs of sawdust drifted from the top of the crate. Everything shook. He gripped the duvet in his hands as the freight was transported over the ramp that led into the ship. The cracks between the wooden panels became searing lines of light. The sounds outside were amplified, echoing against the steel walls. He couldn’t tell where he was being taken, but the globe continued to rattle with every bump.

  “You can’t be serious about getting back on that ship,” Sophie had said three days ago, though she knew the answer. They’d stood on opposite ends of their room’s balcony in the Hotel Memoria, looking at each other, the wind blowing hair into their eyes.

  “I need to see him,” Sebastien said, one hand clenched around the railing. “I need to see his face when he realizes it’s over.”

  “This isn’t just about you and your revenge. You could be putting everyone in a whole lot of danger. Every officer on that ship could be involved for all we know. We need to let the police handle this.”

  A loud, cynical laugh shot past Sebastien’s lips. “They won’t be able to do a thing. The commanders won’t just let them march on board. They have no jurisdiction. If we’re going to take down Kostas, we need to be smarter than that. I know him. I’ve been studying him for weeks.”