Beside a Burning Sea
Page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
DAY ONE
DAY TWO
DAY THREE
DAY FOUR
DAY FIVE
DAY SIX
DAY SEVEN
DAY EIGHT
DAY NINE
DAY TEN
DAY ELEVEN
DAY TWELVE
DAY THIRTEEN
DAY FOURTEEN
DAY FIFTEEN
DAY SIXTEEN
DAY SEVENTEEN
DAY EIGHTEEN
Acknowledgements
DEAR READER
Beside A Burning Sea
AN INTERVIEW WITH JOHN SHORS
DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
Praise for Beneath a Marble Sky
“[A] spirited debut novel. . . .With infectious enthusiasm and just enough careful attention to detail, Shors gives a real sense of the times, bringing the world of imperial Hindustan and its royal inhabitants to vivid life.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Jahanara is a beguiling heroine whom readers will come to love; none of today’s chick-lit heroines can match her dignity, fortitude, and cunning. . . . Elegant, often lyrical writing distinguishes this literary fiction from the genre known as historical romance. It is truly a work of art, rare in a debut novel.”—The Des Moines Register
“Agreeably colorful . . . [with] lively period detail and a surfeit of villains.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“An exceptional work of fiction . . . a gripping account.”—India Post
“Highly recommended . . . a thrilling tale [that] will appeal to a wide audience.”—Library Journal
“Evocative of the fantastical stories and sensual descriptions of One Thousand and One Nights, Beneath a Marble Sky is the story of Jahanara, the daughter of the seventeenth-century Mughal emperor who built India’s Taj Mahal. What sets this novel apart is its description of Muslim-Hindu politics, which continue to plague the subcontinent today.”
—National Geographic Traveler
“A passionate, lush, and dramatic novel, rich with a sense of place. John Shors is an author of sweeping imaginative force.”
—Sandra Gulland, author of the Josephine B. Trilogy
“[A] story of romance and passion . . . a wonderful book if you want to escape to a foreign land while relaxing in your porch swing.”
—St. Petersburg Times
“It is difficult to effectively bring the twenty-first-century reader into a seventeenth-century world. Shors accomplishes this nicely, taking the armchair traveler into some of the intricacies involved in creating a monument that remains one of the architectural and artistic wonders of the world.”—The Denver Post
“A majestic novel that irresistibly draws the reader within its saga of human struggles, failings, alliances, and betrayals.”—Midwest Book Review
“The author has obviously done in-depth research of the Taj Mahal and its history. In addition to his fascinating storyline, he weaves in many details about the planning and building of this unique architectural masterpiece. From the exquisite white marble brought in from the quarries of Makrana to the gold and precious gemstones decorating it, Shors enables his readers to visualize the profound wonder of it all. He also depicts the political climate in a clear and concise manner so that readers can better understand the Mogul empire that reigned supreme during this period of India’s history. I can highly recommend this novel, a real page-turner throughout.”—The Historical Novels Review
“[Shors] writes compellingly [and] does a lovely job of bringing an era to life . . . an author to anticipate.”—Omaha World-Herald
“A sumptuous feast of emotional imagery awaits the reader of Beneath a Marble Sky, an unabashedly romantic novel set in seventeenth-century Hindustan, inside the warm sandstone of its Mughal palaces.”
—India-West
“This sweeping love story takes place in seventeenth-century Hindustan during the building of the Taj Mahal. Princess Jahanara, the emperor’s daughter, tells her parents’ saga and shares her own story of forbidden love with the architect of the legendary building.”—St. Paul Pioneer Press
“This novel skillfully delves into Eastern aristocracy, culture, and religion. The story is told in titanic fashion by Jahanara, the eldest daughter of the emperor who built the Taj Mahal. . . . Shors enthralls with his first novel, based on an age-old Asian love story. Those familiar with Ken Follett’s The Pillars of the Earth will find strong correlations between the novels. This is a page-turner.”—Romantic Times
“Shors . . . creates a vivid and striking world that feels as close as a plane ride. Most important, he manages to convey universal feelings in a tangible and intimate way. Shah Jahan’s grief isn’t just that of a man who lived centuries ago; it’s a well of emotion felt long before Mumtaz Mahal ever lived, and is still felt today. Shors’s ability to tap into that well, and make it so alive, renders the novel as luminous a jewel as any that adorn the Taj Mahal’s walls.”—ForeWord Magazine
“An absorbing novel about the extremes of passion—with much relevance for our own time.”—Rocky Mountain News
ALSO BY JOHN SHORS
Beneath a Marble Sky
New American Library
Published by New American Library, a division of
Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street,
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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
First published by New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
First Printing, September 2008
Copyright © John Shors, 2008
Readers Guide copyright © Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 2008
All rights reserved
REGISTERED TRADEMARK—MARCA REGISTRADA
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA
Shors, John, 1969-
Beside a burning sea / John Shors.
p. cm.
eISBN : 978-0-451-22492-7
1. World War, 1939-1945—Pacific Area—Fiction. 2. United States. Navy—Hospital ships—Fiction.
3. Survival after airplane accidents, shipwrecks, etc.—Fiction. 4. Soldiers—Japan—Fiction. 5. Nurses—
Fiction. 6. Solomon Islands—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3619.H668B47 2008
813’.6—dc22 2008009398
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
PUBLISHER’S NOTE
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, plac
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For my family—
Allison, thank you for the gift of always believing.
I love you.
Sophie and Jack, nothing else compares.
Through the misery of war, love is lost and love is found.
Like all things of green and flesh,
Love dies when republics collide.
Yet amid the wreckage of minds and memories,
Love can quickly emerge,
As if a fresh rain that tries to wipe clean a field of battle.
—ANONYMOUS
DAY ONE
Warm winds bear old scents.
I ask why I have fallen
And how I may rise.
Benevolence
SEPTEMBER 23, 1942
SOLOMON ISLANDS
Ten minutes before a torpedo sliced through the sea and slammed into steel, most everything was normal aboard the U.S. hospital ship Benevolence.
Parting the temperate waves of the South Pacific at a speed of twelve knots, Benevolence more closely resembled a transatlantic passenger liner than the handiwork of the U.S. Navy. The five-story vessel spanned four hundred feet and boasted engines that generated four thousand horsepower. The ship was coated in white paint, with giant red crosses dominating its sides and smokestack. From a distance, Benevolence looked far more majestic than a massive chunk of floating steel had any right to. The ship radiated comfort and security and solace.
Below deck, reality was far different. Benevolence held nearly five hundred hospital beds, which were filled with soldiers who suffered everything from chest wounds to lost appendages to malaria and psychiatric maladies. Attending to these patients were several dozen navy doctors and nurses. Though few of these healers had been on the front lines, during the course of the war most had been shot at by snipers, lifted off the ground by bomb blasts, and contracted a tropical illness. Moreover, the mental toll of trying to cure the often incurable had pushed many of the staff to and beyond the breaking point.
Benevolence was designed to linger on the outskirts of battle, to swiftly enter burning waters, and to provide aid to the men who’d been maimed by bombs and bullets. International law mandated that hospital ships save both friend and foe, and Benevolence was filled with torn American and Japanese soldiers. The ship stank of unwashed bodies and disinfectants and bleach. Much worse, depending on one’s location, the stench of burnt flesh could be as oppressive as the humid air that kept everything in an eternal state of dampness. Though the drone of Benevolence ’s engines drowned out the moans of the dying, the screams of the burn patients often pierced the air.
Ten minutes before his ship was split in two, Captain Joshua Collins absently studied the chart before him, wondering how his wife, Isabelle, was faring with the fresh batch of wounded. He knew that she’d be darting from soldier to soldier, creating order and sanity where no such havens should have existed. During this frenzied dance she’d act as a mother or lover or sister to the men who suffered and died before her. As far as he was concerned, she was able to almost magically transform into whoever these suffering men so desperately needed her to be.
Though Joshua and Isabelle had been together for almost a decade, and though he recognized that she wasn’t perfect, he still marveled at her. He hoped that the men she saved understood the extraordinary measures she took to save them—for to do so she’d left a trail of herself from North Africa to Midway. This trail was filled with her laughter and youth, her faith and strength. Painfully aware of her sacrifices, Joshua often prayed that she wouldn’t be an empty shell by the time the war ended. He’d seen too many such shells, and the fear of her becoming one was a burden that weighed heavily upon him. Unfortunately, despite this fear and his consequent longing to mend her as she mended others, he had his own demons, and such monsters rarely set him free.
Still absently gazing at the chart, Joshua reflected on what he worried was a growing chasm between Isabelle and him. For as much as he admired and loved her, over the past few months he hadn’t felt as compelled to spend time at her side. As he saw it, the two of them inhabited different realms. After all, his complete focus centered on the safe and effective operation of Benevolence, and her duty was to ensure the best possible medical care for her patients. Neither task left much room for anything else. And the less time they spent together, the less inclined they were to seek each other out. It was as if, having left the overwhelming demands of the helm or the patients, neither spouse had energy for the other. And so they drifted apart, like kites released into a storm.
Saddened by the recent unraveling of his marriage, Joshua turned from the chart and, looking through a window, studied the calm waters surrounding Benevolence. The nearby sea had already witnessed enormous conflicts between American and Japanese warships, and Joshua knew that more such battles were coming. The Japanese, as he’d been briefed many times, needed possession of the nearby islands to protect their recent conquests, and the allied forces were desperate to stop further Japanese expansion. Benevolence had been sent to these waters because of the looming battles that so often stole his sleep.
Downwind from where Joshua stood and stared, a young officer hid in the shadows of the stern. Eyeing a distant island—which was bathed in amber by the dropping sun—he flicked a cigarette into the sea and checked his wristwatch. Knowing that a plane would arrive soon and release its torpedo, he stayed hidden. Though unafraid of bullets and soldiers, he didn’t like the thought of plunging thirty feet into the water below, of being sucked deeply under that water, of having to swim a half mile to an empty island. He consoled himself with the knowledge that if he lived, he’d spend the rest of his life enjoying the vast wealth that a series of betrayals had brought him. He’d have his fill of women and possessions and power, and, best of all, he would never have to obey orders again.
The officer cared nothing for those he had killed or for those aboard Benevolence—the men and women whom he’d soon send to death. Occasionally, ruined faces haunted his dreams, but such torments weren’t tangible enough to change his actions. People died in war, he reasoned, and if they died at his hand, so be it. He had ample cause to hate both Americans and Japanese, and over the past nine months, he’d happily killed people on each side of the conflict. Killing had become his greatest joy.
Though his past deeds had led to the deaths of many, tonight his betrayal would destroy an entire ship. He eagerly awaited watching Benevolence burn, for he despised those who operated the vessel, and the thought of its commanding officers being forever silenced made him clench his fists with anticipation. Of course, he’d miss watching the nurses—miss the sights and scents and fantasies that they brought into his world. But the money and influence that his treachery would produce far outweighed anything that the opposite sex could offer.
He’d been told there would be no survivors, and worried for his own safety, he fidgeted and quietly swore. He increasingly felt as if he were entombed within his own casket. Continuing to curse, he looked skyward, wishing that the bomber would come. He knew it would, for the belly of Benevolence had been secretly filled with aviation fuel, antiaircraft guns, and stockpiles of ammunition. Once he’d discovered this development and alerted the Japanese to its presence, they couldn’t have been more intent on sinking the ship.
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br /> As far as he knew, only one other person aboard Benevolence was aware of this cargo. Like everyone else, the navy intelligence officer would perish in a few minutes. He’d die with the doctors, the nurses, the sailors, the patients. They’d die in flames or in the sea, and their deaths would not be short of suffering.
When the officer heard the distant drone of an aircraft engine, he removed a life jacket from beneath a bench and quickly secured it about his torso. He then pulled a wooden box into the retreating light. The waterproof box contained a radio, a pistol, rations, cigarettes, and everything else he’d need to survive for several weeks on the island. With a grunt, he heaved it overboard. An ever-increasing hum filled his ears, and knowing that the plane would soon drop its torpedo, he inhaled deeply and vaulted over the railing. Just before he hit the water, his vision passed through an open hatch and he glimpsed a pair of nurses bent over a patient. Then the sea rose up to strike him, and his world went black.
The nurses heard the splash and paused in their work. One of them—whose eyes mirrored a clear sky and whose teak-colored hair had been cut short by her own hand—turned from the three-day-old wound before her, glancing at the hatch. “Did you hear that?” she asked her older sister, Isabelle.
“The splash?”
“It sounded louder than a wave.”
“So?”
“I wonder what it could have been. Maybe a jumping dolphin?”
“You wonder about a lot of things, Annie.”
“Well, I . . . I think it’s good to ask questions,” the younger sibling replied, returning to the wound. “It keeps everything fresh.”