by Lucy Taylor
He shifted his feet. The floor seemed to slip away underneath him.
“I’ll be going then. Is there anything else you need, Ms.—” At the start of every voyage, he’d trained himself to memorize the names of his cabins’ occupants off the manifest, “—Kent.”
The woman’s wide-set eyes, dark brown with hints of amber, appeared to size him up. A conclusion was evidently reached, and she gave a knowing smile. “Forget formalities. Call me Naqi. And I’ll be needing a pair of binoculars.”
Hugo didn’t want to point out that what he’d had in mind was more along the lines of extra towels or truffles on the pillow instead of mints.
“You’ll find excellent binoculars in the gift shop on Deck Four.”
She removed her dripping parka and slung it across a chair. “I need binoculars, not information about where to buy them. And by the way—”
He began nodding with what he hoped was appropriate contrition.
“—why were you holding my bracelet when I came in? Do you plan to steal it?”
Hugo’s face flamed as though he’d been locked inside a freezer, but he rallied, reminding himself of what Imelda used to tell him—before he gave her reason to believe otherwise—that he was more than a mere steward, he was a gentleman as well. Invoking his former lover’s lofty cadence, he said, “I confess to you, Ms. Kent—Naqi—that I am a man with a weakness for beauty which sometimes gets me into trouble. But I take nothing that isn’t freely offered. I am a man who—”
She closed the space between them like a shadow sliding over a bare wall, pressing herself to him as though they were old lovers, her touch so wickedly assured that he lost both balance and composure and stumbled back onto the pristine expanse of heretofore unrumpled bed.
“I know what kind of man you are,” she said, peeling off her sweater before she cupped his face to kiss, tracing the curve of his cheekbones, the sweep of his lips, with her thumbs.
While he removed his clothes, she opened up the closet and began yanking down furs, tossing them onto the bed. Onto these—the luscious sable and ermine and mink—they sprawled naked and tussled and rolled on the thick, sumptuous bedding of pelts.
Her skin was still damp with spray. On her mouth was the tang of the ocean. When he tongued between her thighs, the scent of sex he’d first detected upon entering the cabin unfurled in his brain like fever.
She slid back and straddled him, matching her rhythm to the pitch and sway of the ship, bending forward so he could tongue and suck her nipples.
Then suddenly, alarmingly, Inz’s hiss in his head—Hot lover, she ditch you, no?—followed by a jolt of anger and the knife thrust slam of his heart.
He rolled the woman over and got on top, riding a rush of violent need, his blood full of razors and heat. Tired of tameness and the bitter swill of self-hate for the things he’d fucked up.
Pounding his pain into her.
When he hooked her legs over his shoulders for a deeper thrust, he felt her own powerful contractions tugging him deeper still, and there was a disorienting instant of naked lust meeting primal terror when he feared he might not be able to withdraw. Arched beneath him, she saw the dash of panic in his eyes and pulled him down to her even as she released her inner grip, the moment so fleeting and unexpected that, as Hugo continued to ram himself inside her, he could only think he had imagined he had briefly been held captive.
Later, she wrapped the furs around them like a soft dark cave where they could nuzzle and caress, whispering sweet, foreign words to him before she fell asleep. He lay there, aware of the passing time and turn-downs still to do, of the ship picking up speed as it plowed south into deeper water. Finally, carefully, he extricated himself from her embrace and began to gather up his clothes.
She woke up while he was struggling to get his legs into his trousers as the ship swayed, her flat gaze detached and—to Hugo—disturbingly neutral. Imelda, he reflected, liked to watch him dress, too, but appeared far more appreciative.
“Come back tomorrow night with the binoculars,” she said. “By then I’m sure I’ll have thought of something else I need.”
Despite his best intentions, he could feel resentment bunch his forehead. What, she couldn’t be bothered to buy the damned binoculars herself? Or she took pleasure in tasking underlings with petty favors?
He was getting ready to say something to that effect when he saw what looked like a trail of blood drops flying at his head and couldn’t suppress a grin as he snatched the ruby bracelet from the air.
««—»»
The binoculars required some finessing—nimble fingers and a deep-pocketed jacket put to good use while the gift shop manager was texting—but worth the risk. Naqi rewarded him with another bout of enthusiastic debauchery, insisting that he stay the night, huddled with her in their nest of furs.
He slept like a stone until, sometime in the wee hours, she shook him awake. “Get up! A glacier is about to calve.”
Half zombified with sleep, he grabbed a robe and stumbled outside. The ship was gliding through a fjord, past spectral cliffs of blue-white ice that gleamed pearlescent in the moonlight. Naqi stood silhouetted in the shimmering light, the muscles of her naked back clenched as she gripped the rail. He opened his mouth to complain about the cold, but she shushed him. The seconds ticked.
There came a vast and vibratory rumble, as though a furious sea beast, aroused and rampant, had thrashed to life under the water. Explosive cracks, like a barrage of artillery fire, rent the night, as a colossal shelf of ice crumbled into the water, flinging up a mammoth geyser of spray.
“It’s happening!” cried Naqi, exultant, triumphant as though in this purely natural phenomenon she found some sort of personal redemption.
Hugo gaped at her. He’d seen camera-laden passengers shiver outside in freezing cold for hours at a time, staring at a slab of ice in hopes a chunk would rupture off into the sea—a fool’s mission, he’d always considered it. But now, seeing the ecstatic look on Naqi’s face, he felt a tiny jolt of doubt and wondered if there was more to what he’d just witnessed than was immediately apparent. “How did you know that was going to happen?”
She shrugged as though such abilities were commonplace. “The glacier tells me. When I’m this close, I can feel it creak and vibrate. Before it calves, the ice groans and shudders like a woman giving birth.”
Hugo could feel the cold knifing through the bottoms of his bare feet up into his ankles and knees. The prospect of bundling with Naqi in that warm mountain of furs suddenly seemed irresistible. He took her hand. “C’mon, you’ve seen it. Let’s go back to bed.”
She shook him off and stood riveted, staring at the cliffs of ice. He saw that she was trembling, too, blue moonlight sliding over the goose bumps on her skin. When she spoke, her voice was hushed and reverent. “The Inuits say that once there was a tribe called the Claw People, who fed off human souls. They caused much death and suffering. The people cried for help to Aguta, the god who gathers up the dead, and he froze the Claw people in the ice.”
She spoke with such gravity that Hugo wondered if she half believed what she was saying. He looked into the blue-black water that was now subsiding back into deceptive stillness and, though he saw no sign of lurking evil, no souls being consumed, her words still touched some atavistic fear within him, of things unseen and unimaginable set loose to feed upon the world, and a shiver skimmed his ribs like the legs of a spider. He looked at the looming wall of ice that the ship was passing and thought: Hell isn’t fire and brimstone like the predicadores rant about. Hell is cold and sleet and knife-edged wind, an eternity in ice.
Hell is here.
««—»»
By dawn, the first brash streaks of violet light revealed otters frolicking among the ice floes and a bald eagle soaring over forested slopes. A moose with candelabra antlers lumbered along the shoreline, then dipped back inside the veil of greenery, its lumbering movements seamless as a sigh.
Bundled in furs, Hugo an
d Naqi watched as the ship traveled past dense, foreboding forests where no light penetrated and huddled trees scraped brittle-looking branches against a frozen sky.
Naqi slid her hand through his. “It’s so beautiful, but you don’t want to be here. I can tell your heart is somewhere else.”
He shrugged. “Too cold, that’s all.”
“It’s more than that.” She took his face in her hands, kissed his forehead, eyelids. He brushed her hair back, saw diamonds glinting in her earlobes like tiny stars.
“Tell me where you would go,” she said, “if you could live anywhere at all.”
He knew at once. “Buenos Aires.”
“You’ve lived there?”
“For a few months, yes. It’s a beautiful old city, the people are kind, the air like flowers—” He smiled at a memory that flashed by like an unexpected kiss. “They have enormous tango halls where passionate women wrap their legs around the men and look like they’re making love right on the dance floor.” He laughed softly. “I never became good at tango, but it was enjoyable to try.”
“You were in love with someone in Buenos Aires. Perhaps someone you left behind?”
He studied the passing forest. A fox ran along the shoreline, something bloody hanging from its jaws. “I work on a cruise ship. I’m always leaving people behind.”
“A lonely life,” said Naqi. “I understand that. My life is lonely, too.”
“It doesn’t have to be.”
They were silent for a moment, watching the fox rip its prey. Hugo lifted Naqi’s hand to his mouth and licked the palm, breathing in the carnal perfume of her skin, feeling himself stiffen. She leaned toward him as though she were about to bestow a kiss and whispered, “I wonder, have you ever seen anyone jump overboard?”
The question, so unexpected, rattled him profoundly.
“Why would you ask me such a thing?”
“I suppose because sometimes I imagine doing it myself. When the sea is tranquil like this, it seems to beckon me. Like a lover holding out his arms for me to jump.”
“Don’t talk crazy” Hugo said. “You wouldn’t last five minutes in that water.”
She studied him. “I’m going on the glacier walk this afternoon. I want you to come with me.”
He’d been maneuvering himself to press against her, but now he tensed and pulled away, snapping in exasperation, “Do you think I’m here on holiday? I’m not a wealthy man. I can’t just take off work to keep you company! I can’t—”
She sighed and tapped a finger to his lips. Slipping one of the diamond studs out of her earlobe, she placed it in his palm and curled his fingers round it.
Light danced in her eyes like a candle flame, and she whispered, “Find a way.”
««—»»
He was coming out of Naqi’s cabin, straightening his tie, when Inz zipped around the corner toting a pile of towels, and almost knocked him flat.
“Watch where you’re going!” he said and Inz gave him a sneer. “You spending all night with that old woman, don’t you?”
“Don’t be stupid. I just brought her tea.”
Inz’s lip curled. “You bringing her your cock is what you do.”
“Bitch. What’s wrong with you?”
“Tonio told me you weren’t in your bunk last night.”
“What, my bunkmate waits up for me now?”
“If you fucking a passenger, Hugo, you are—how they call it?—history, you know that.”
“Hell, if that’s what I was doing—which I’m not—the cruise line should pay me double.”
“Ha!” scorned Inz. “You wish.” She wrinkled her nose like she was smelling something nasty. “How you even getting it up for grandmama, eh, Hugo? At least Brazilian bitch has flair and spice. But this old cow…!”
Jealous bitch, go fold your fucking towels, thought Hugo, but he held his tongue. Instead he slid his arms around Inz’s waist and pulled her close. “Why do say these things, my Inz? Why do you make me angry? Don’t you know when all is said and done that you’re the one I want?”
He tried to kiss her, but she made a disgruntled moue and turned her head.
On impulse, Hugo dug inside his pocket and took out the diamond stud. “Look here. I wasn’t going to give it to you yet, but since you doubt me…” When he dropped the earring into her hand, her eyes widened and glazed over.
“I need to ask a favor, though.”
««—»»
Hugo worked the first half of his shift distractedly. Around noon, when he felt the ship slow down and turn slightly to starboard, he put away his cleaning cart and went outside. Already most of the passengers were gathered on the Sea Mist’s upper decks, taking photos of the massive Hurtigruten glacier that Naqi called the Torngasak. Now, even with a thick cloud cover and snow starting to fall, the Hurtigruten gleamed as if lit from within, its pressure ridges and crevasses outlined in a luminous shade of turquoise so bright it burned the eyes. The water around the glacier’s terminus was dense with brash ice, small ice fragments that, over time, had accumulated from its numerous calvings. He looked around for Naqi, didn’t see her, and took the elevator down to Deck Five to let her know that he’d arranged for someone to complete his shift. If she asked why he wasn’t wearing the diamond, he’d tell her that ear rings violated the dress code for male staff.
A pair of French-Canadian girls who occupied the cabin next to Naqi’s waylaid him as he was coming up the hall. Flirty and boozy and reeking of gin, they peppered him with questions about the zipline excursion in Ketchiken, an activity that involved strapping on a harness attached to a cable and beelining through the treetops of the Alaskan rain forest at breakneck speed.
“A once in a lifetime experience! You’ve got to try it!” Hugo was enthusing, when suddenly he saw Naqi crack the door to her suite and slip the Do Not Disturb sign into the key slot. She then closed the door quickly without seeing him.
The Canadians kept asking questions (and Hugo, glibly, invented answers as they popped into his head—“of course no one has ever fallen from a zipline, the equipment was designed by NASA engineers”), but as soon as he could extricate himself from their tipsy exuberance, he went to Naqi’s door and unlocked it with his passkey.
She wasn’t in the suite or the bathroom or in the little alcove with the mini-bar, which only left the balcony. With her name on his lips, he went outside, automatically pulling the slider shut to retain the heat in the room.
His mind, expecting one thing, stuttered to a stop when what he saw was quite another.
The balcony was empty.
Incredulity was followed by cold, gut-loosening dread. This couldn’t be. She was playing a game. She was in the cabin, but somehow he’d missed seeing her. He went back inside, checked the sitting room and bedroom again, then the closets, the bathroom, the shower. Had she slipped outside while he was distracted by the Canadians? Impossible, he’d been looking right at her door.
Back to the balcony.
“Naqi!”
The wind jabbed at him like a blade twisted by a sadist.
Bits and pieces of their earlier conversation stormed through the gathering turmoil in his mind: I understand loneliness…Have you ever seen anyone jump? Who the hell asked a question like that?
He leaned over the railing, into the black and glittering chop, and knew with sickening certainty that she was down there, probably already dead.
He leaned out, yelling her name, but the ship was moving so fast, it seemed to fly across the waves. Panic clawed at his belly. Vertigo made his eyes seem to spin in their sockets.
She’d done it. She’d jumped.
Por Dios!
Behind him, he heard a throaty cough, like a laugh or sneeze being stifled.
He whirled and saw her perched on the adjacent balcony, the binoculars around her neck. Her lips were pressed tight with suppressed mirth, as though she’d caught him doing something foolish but felt it would be unkind to laugh. But then she began to giggle, while he gape
d at her with nothing less than horror.
To get from the balcony where Hugo stood to the one she was now on, she’d had to traverse five feet of yawning space with nothing but the Gulf of Alaska below. The railings themselves were not flat but cylindrical, always damp with spray. Standing on one would be like trying to walk across a greased broom handle stretched between two swaying chairs.
“Stay there!” he ordered, even as she climbed atop the railing and leaped, clearing the gap between the two balconies and landing nimbly, her knees absorbing the shock of the fall.
“I’m sorry. Did I scare you?” she said, looking not repentant in the slightest.
“Are you crazy? What the hell are you doing?”
“That balcony is wider. I can get a better angle for viewing the Torngasak.”
He waved his hands, a man fed up. “You’re loca! What the hell is there to see? Nothing! Just ice and rocks and more ice!”
She looked at him as though he’d claimed the frescoes in the Sistine Chapel were just so much graffiti-tagging.
“For years,” she said, “I’ve studied glaciers. They fascinate me, and the Torngasak is a favorite. I’ve cruised past it, but I’ve also hiked its valleys and moraines, I’ve drunk from its melt-pits and shivered out a storm in one of its ice caves. Never any sign of thaw. But now the ice is melting. The glacier’s heart is bleeding out and everything will change.”
And Hugo, squinting at the towering glacial cliffs, suddenly felt a bone-deep chill, as though the glacier really were a living thing, now in its death throes, and he preparing to trudge across its dying bones.
“Go dress for the outdoors,” said Naqi. “The Zodiacs are loading.”
««—»»
Instead of going straight to his bunk in the dormitory to change clothes, Hugo gave in to the impulse that had been tugging at him ever since he told Naqi about Buenos Aires.
Taking out his cell phone, checking to see he still had service, was like picking a sore, the blind craving of an alcoholic reaching for a bottle, a gesture so automatic and reflexive that it went unchallenged by his conscious mind until he was scrolling through the address book to punch in Imelda’s number. He almost hung up, but some inner momentum, borne of feelings he couldn’t really acknowledge or explain, powered him on. Numbly, he tolerated the hollow bleating of the phone until someone picked up on the other end.
