by Perrin Briar
Ernest leaned on the railing beside Fritz and looked at the calm surface of the sea. A small flock of birds descended, hovered just above it, and then dipped their beaks into it without stopping.
“It’s really quite beautiful, isn’t it?” Ernest said.
“Yeah,” Fritz said, not even looking. “Stunning.”
“Marvellous how the sea rises and falls the way it does, pushing and pulling, and going up and down, up and down, side to side and-”
Fritz hurled again, this time hitting the hull. Ernest smiled, relishing the moment.
“Funny how it’s you who’s turned out to be seasick, isn’t it?” he said. “My money would have been on me. But I’m right as rain. I could dance if I wanted to.”
Fritz glared at Ernest, but it failed to have the effect he’d hoped for.
“You’ve got a piece of airline food at the corner of your mouth there,” Ernest said.
Fritz wiped his mouth.
“I hate you,” he said.
Ernest looked over Fritz’s shoulder.
“You’re about to hate me even more,” he said.
“I don’t think that’s possible,” Fritz said.
“A couple of girls are heading our way.”
Fritz turned even paler.
“From which direction?” he said.
“Behind you,” Ernest said.
Fritz turned away and covered his face as best he could.
“Have they gone?” he said.
“Yes, they’re gone,” Ernest said. “In fact, they were never here in the first place. I just wanted to see you squirm.”
Fritz made a grab for Ernest, who stepped back. Fritz lost his balance and hit the deck. There was a gasp. A pair of pretty girls stood over Fritz, hands to their mouths. Fritz, face pale, T-shirt vomit-stained, turned to Ernest.
“I’m going to kill you!” he shouted.
“Let’s not be silly,” Ernest said, backing away.
“I’m going to bloody kill you!”
Ernest took off at a run as Fritz pulled himself to his feet using the railing. Ernest turned and ran down a narrow alley that snaked between cabin compartments. He came out the other side, looked back, and saw no sign of Fritz.
He walked at a leisurely pace along the deck, and then leaned against the railing. He looked out at an earth bank that slipped by like it was losing its grip on the hull.
The lights of the towns grew smaller, giving way to ramshackle villages with huts on tall stilts – what Ernest knew to be called Bahay Kubo, Balay or Nipa Huts. He smiled at the memory attached to the knowledge.
Ernest waved to a little girl sat on the end of a pier made of bamboo canes, her legs draped over the side, toes tickling the water’s surface. The ferry chugged on, slow but relentless, and the girl shrunk into the distance. The water was calm, but brown with dirt and silt from the land’s steep banks.
Ernest heard raised voices, not from fighting, but excitement. He rounded the stern of the ship and found a large group of children and teenagers. They were gathered around something on the floor.
Felix the cabin boy and three other kids were in the centre. As Ernest drew closer he could see they were playing a game with small white tiles.
Felix placed three tiles with bamboo drawn on them onto the deck. The crowd of boys and girls stood up and roared as one. The losing players put money down and Felix scooped it up with a long stick.
Jenny stood to one side. Ernest approached her.
“What’s going on?” he said.
“They’re playing Mahjong,” Jenny said.
“Mahjong?” Ernest said.
“It’s a Chinese game,” Jenny said. “Similar to chess so far as I can make out. You have to make pairs and sets of three with the various tiles. I don’t know. They all look the same to me.”
Ernest watched in fascination as a new game started and the four players shared out their tiles. Ernest compared the confident way Felix played compared to the hesitancy of his new opponents. He had a system, Ernest thought. But what was it?
Ernest catalogued each of Felix’s movements in his mind, absorbing them for analysis. If it was one thing Ernest loved, it was solving a difficult problem.
Chapter Three
THE VESSEL swayed beneath Jack’s feet as he made a round of the boat. At the prow a group of young kids played a game of skittles, the undulating surface making it even more fun and unpredictable.
On the left and front side of the ship the endless reach of the sea stretched out into the far horizon, the sun a red orb perched over it. On the right-hand side land shrunk with each passing second. The idea they were floating on nothing but metal and wood with no firm grounding made Jack feel nervous.
He breathed in the clean air and let it fill his lungs. He rubbed his hands together, the muscles thick and strong, covered with hard skin like he was wearing a pair of workmen’s gloves. And though he was tired his body ached to scale a wall, to get up high. He needed to climb. He hadn’t climbed so much as a flight of stairs in twenty-four hours.
He turned and looked up at the crow’s nest that soared high above him. It had to be sixty feet high if it was an inch. He weaved through the crudely built cabin compartments until the mast loomed directly up before him. He placed his hand on its cold black surface and felt a cold shiver of excitement at the impending challenge.
A series of rectangular ledges had been screwed into the mast, no doubt meant to be used as a ladder. But Jack didn’t scale them. Instead he ran his hand around the pole, until his fingers came to a series of indentations where the wood met imperfectly. The ridges ran all the way to the top. He smiled and slid his fingers into the gaps.
Only the very tips of his shoes could fit in the crevices, but it was enough. He pulled himself up, scaling the pole. Once he rose above the squat cabin quarter buildings on the deck he was hit by the sawing wind that came off the sea. It was salty and fresh, making his clothes snap and crack. He could make out Fritz hunched over the railing on the left-hand side of the boat.
Poor Fritz, Jack thought, and then chuckled to himself. Rather him than me.
The vessel leaned over to one side as it took a steep swell, the mast bending with it. Jack felt his stomach lurch. He flattened himself against it. As the boat hit the base of the swell Jack pulled himself up, found another handhold, and then waited as the boat pulled back. He curled his fingers and gripped hard with his toes.
Jack paused when a pair of sailors met underneath him. The smoke wafted up from their cheap cigarettes. The muffled cadence of their voices reached Jack’s ears, but not what they were saying. He pushed on.
The climb became a test of timing as well as endurance as he waited for the boat to rock to the side before climbing a couple of metres, and then pausing again as the boat rocked back in the opposite direction. The sweat on his chest and neck felt cool as the wind whispered against it.
Finally he was upon the crow’s nest. Here, the pole seemed to bend and sway the most. Jack willed himself not to look down, and he didn’t. He reached up and wrapped a fist around the thick struts of the crow’s nest.
He felt instinctively how strong they were, that they could easily hold his weight, so he gripped them with both hands, and as the boat rolled back from a deep swell, his feet lost their hold, and he dangled there, holding on only with his hands.
But he didn’t panic.
The boat swayed forward again, and Jack pulled himself up and over the edge of the crow’s nest, and onto the floor. He chuckled to himself, letting the relief wash over him. He had superficial cuts to his fingers and black marks on his clothes. His muscles burned, but it was a good feeling, and he revelled in it.
There weren’t many eleven-year-olds who could handle a climb like that by themselves without safety gear, he thought with a satisfied smile.
“Hello,” a voice said. “Who are you?”
In the concealed shadows were two boys. Jack’s grin sank as he realised they were both younger than
him.
Chapter Four
THE MESS was small and cramped, tables and chairs filling every available space. The kitchen was visible through a small hole in the wall that you had to crouch down to see through. But if you intended on eating on this boat, you knew better than to look.
The only concession to the efficient use of space was the unnecessarily wide bar counter where a man sold bottled beer and snacks. The place was bustling with sailors and passengers.
“I’ll get us a couple of beers,” Dennis said, heading toward the bar.
“Excuse me?” Bill said, making eye contact with a man at a table. He gestured to a pair of empty seats. “Do you mind if we sit here?”
“Of course not,” the man sitting opposite said with a heavy Indian accent.
“Thank you,” Bill said.
Dennis appeared, and handed Bill his beer.
“They’ve only got Carling,” he said. “Or some local beer I’ve never heard of.”
Bill took a sip of his beer and tried to ignore the fact it was warm. He smiled and looked around at their surroundings.
“Can you smell that?” Bill said.
“Yeah,” Dennis said. “Pretty nasty. I suppose a lot of these men haven’t washed in days. Maybe even weeks.”
“What?” Bill said. “No, I meant the smell of a new world. New opportunities. New people.”
“Is that what opportunity smells like?” Dennis said. “You can keep it.”
He took a large swig of his beer. A little Indian girl with huge eyes looked up at Bill and then away again.
“Please excuse my niece,” the Indian man said. “She’s never seen a white man outside the classroom before.”
“It’s fine,” Bill said. He turned to the girl and spoke softly. “Hello. My name’s Bill. What’s your name?”
The girl looked away, embarrassed.
“Priya,” the Indian man said, his voice stern but not unkind, “let’s not forget our manners.”
“Priya,” the girl said. “My name’s Priya.”
“It’s very nice to meet you, Priya,” Bill said.
Priya hopped down off her chair and crossed to Bill. She took his hand and shook it.
“Nice to meet you,” she said.
Bill smiled.
“Did your teacher show you that?” he said.
Priya nodded, swaying her hips side to side.
“Where are you from?” she said.
“Switzerland.”
“Oh!” Priya said, clapping her hands. “Chocolate! I love Swiss chocolate!”
“I have some,” Bill said. “If you’d like some.”
Priya whooped excitedly. Bill handed her a cube of chocolate. Priya unwrapped it and popped it all into her mouth at once.
“What are you doing here, Priya?” Bill said.
“My father got more work and my mother is a housekeeper at a rich banker’s house back home. They’re paying for me to go to a school in Singapore, so I can get a better job later.”
“How old are you?” Bill said.
“Eleven,” Priya said.
“Wow. And already preparing for working life? What happened to your childhood?”
Priya cocked her head to one side.
“Child…?” she said.
“Childhood,” Bill said. “Playing games and having fun.”
Priya shrugged.
“My mum said… childhood is overrated,” she said. “She used that word a lot. ‘Overrated.’ If I do well maybe my children can have a childhood.”
“Life can be harsher in other parts of the world than you’re used to,” the Indian man said.
“I’m sorry, I don’t think I caught your name,” Bill said, offering his hand. “I’m Bill. Bill Flower. This is Dennis Montrose.”
“Rohit Bhakta,” the Indian man said.
“You’ve come a long way to escort your niece,” Bill said.
“We couldn’t afford a flight to Singapore,” Rohit said. “It’s cheaper to fly to the Philippines and take a boat.”
Priya wandered back to her seat and fiddled with the dials of a small pink radio. She turned the tuner and put it to her ear so she could hear it better.
“She’s beautiful,” Bill said to Rohit.
Rohit leaned over and kissed Priya on the top of the head.
“I agree,” he said. “Soon she will be living with my own children. She’ll become like a daughter to me. Do you have any children?”
“Yes,” Bill said. “Four boys.”
“Oh! Wonderful!”
“They can be, sometimes.”
“Children truly are a blessing. Are you travelling for business or pleasure?”
“Hopefully both,” Dennis said interjecting.
He took a healthy swig from his bottle.
“Wonderful,” Rohit said.
A young man in his mid-twenties dumped his backpack onto the seat beside Bill and fell into another. A thick gold chain hung around his neck, nestled in his thick dark chest hair.
“My feet are killing me!” he said, taking off his leather boots and massaging some blood into them. “No matter what anyone says, never try to cross a continent on foot.”
“I’ll try to remember that,” Bill said.
“How do you do?” the young man said. “The name’s Zack.”
Bill looked at the hand Zack offered him. It was the same one he’d used to massage his foot with. Bill gritted his teeth and shook it.
“Bill. Bill Flower.”
“You seem the trustworthy type,” Zack said. “Would you mind watching my bag for me while I get myself a brew?”
“Sure,” Bill said.
“Cheers.”
Zack crossed to the bar.
“It’s gone!” a voice behind Dennis said. “It’s all gone!”
The voice came in a whine from a large man in a rumpled purple suit. He stared into the only cut glass of whiskey in the whole place. The man downed the whiskey in one, tipping the last few drops onto the top of his head.
“It’s the end,” he said, almost bursting into tears.
“Hey, are you all right?” Bill said.
“It’s the end,” the man said. “What difference does anything make now?”
Bill sized the man up. He’d met the type often enough in Chucerne.
“If nothing matters, neither does the end, does it?” Bill said.
The man sat in silence for a moment and then a low rumble escaped the back of his throat. He threw his head back and barked out a laugh that scared Priya. He wiped a tear out of his tired eyes.
“Yes,” he said. “I suppose you’re right.”
He offered his grimy hand.
“Reg Meadows’ the name,” he said.
Bill hesitated before shaking it. He desperately wanted to go to the bathroom and scrub his hand clean.
“What did you mean by ‘it’s the end of the world’?” he said.
Reg waved his hand as if it didn’t matter.
“Just your usual case of nihilism,” he said.
“Certainly are a lot of characters in here tonight,” Dennis grumbled under his breath.
Zack returned with a bottle of unlabelled beer. Dennis caught sight of it
“How can you drink that?” Dennis said. “You don’t even know what it is!”
“Figuring it out’s part of the fun,” Zack said.
Zack tasted it and smacked his lips.
“Not bad,” he said. “Fruity, nutty.”
“Plenty of those in here tonight,” Dennis said.
“So, what brings you here, Zack?” Bill said.
“I graduated from Sydney University last year and decided to do some soul searching,” Zack said. “I suppose I should have done that before spending all that borrowed money.” He shrugged. “But there you go. Life would be much easier with hindsight, don’t you think?”
“Probably,” Bill said.
“But then I suppose it wouldn’t be as exciting that way, would it?” Zack said. “To
know everything what was going to happen, what the outcome was always going to be.”
“It makes no difference,” Reg said, holding up his whiskey glass to the light. “We’re all going to end up worm’s meat anyway.”
“That’s why I moved from New Delhi,” Rohit said. “I got sick of dirty cities, the stench. Singapore is much cleaner. I felt a dark presence growing in Delhi. In fact, in every city I went to I kept expecting something bad to happen. Maybe it’s just me and my own psychosis. We all see what we expect to see.”
“You’re looking mighty pale there, mate,” Zack said to Reg. “Sure you haven’t caught something?”
Reg laughed and slapped his knee.
“Oh, I caught something all right,” he said.
“A touch of madness, by the sound of it,” Dennis grumbled into his beer.
“Speaking of which,” Zack said. “Have you been keeping up to date on the virus? I haven’t heard much since I left. It was just beginning to get hairy back home. They say it started in the Middle East.”
“Baghdad, I read,” Bill said.
“Virus?” Rohit said. “What virus?”
“Haven’t you heard?” Zack said. “It’d infected a dozen people in Oz before I left. I think they’re trying to keep a lid on it as much as they can, stop people from panicking, but how much control can you really do with something you can’t see, smell, taste or touch?”
“They managed to control the spread of Ebola,” Dennis said.
“That’s debatable,” Zack said. “One of these days something is going to spread like wildfire through the human race. We won’t even know what hit us until it’s too late.”
“That’s the way to go,” Reg said. “A nice quick aggressive virus. It’ll be like shutting your eyes and going to sleep.”
“Pleasant evening topic,” Dennis said, rolling his eyes.
Midway through his eye roll Dennis double-took something in the corner of the room.
A blonde woman, her back to him, sat at the bar, chatting to a young handsome man. She laughed, throwing her head back and leaning into him, touching his arm and knee as often as she could. She wore tight skinny white jeans and a tube top that left little to the imagination. Dennis licked his lips, a fan of the female form.