I sit down beside her and hold her hand. Her skin is soft and saggy.
“You’re not alone. I’m with you now.”
“Thank you, dearie. You seem a good girl.”
“Jilda. My name’s Jilda.”
“I’m Sheryl.”
I tell her about how my mother and sister are on the same excursion.
“I’m sure they’ll all be fine. They’ll be looked after on the island,” I say, trying to convince myself at the same time.
“Thank you, dearie. You’re so kind. But us. I wonder what will happen to us?”
“I guess we’ll have to wait and see. The man said they’ll only tell us what we need to know. And he promised they won’t hurt us.” I try to keep my voice steady.
“Let’s hope they keep their promise, then,” says Sheryl. “I’m much too old for all this uncertainty.”
“How come you didn’t leave when they called everyone to the theater?”
“I wasn’t sure what was going on, and thought I’d wait for further announcements. But none came. It’s too far for me to get to the theater without someone pushing me, and I knew it would take forever for me to hobble there.”
That makes sense. I wonder if there are any other passengers left, apart from us, who for one reason or another didn’t make it to the theater.
I let go of her hand and stand up and walk around the cabin, discomforted by not having any real windows in the room. I’ve gotten used to having a balcony, fresh air and a view, and now that I’m stuck way inside the ship with nothing to look out at, I feel a bit claustrophobic. I know our being in an interior cabin is a wise move on our captors’ part, as we captive passengers have no idea where we are. The only time we’ll see outside is when we’re allowed to go for meals.
I’m grateful I’m not on my own, though, as my thoughts would have driven me crazy. At least I have someone to talk to, even if she is old enough to be my grandmother. But she is granny-like in the nicest of ways.
Eventually a call comes over the loudspeaker for us to go to dinner.
“I’m not hungry,” I say.
I still feel a bit weak from my food poisoning, if that’s what it was, and also worried about what’s happening with the ship. The man said not to worry, but the uncertainty is driving me nuts. And I know Mum and Rosa will be feeling sick not knowing what’s going on. Hunger is the furthest thing from my mind.
Sheryl hoists herself up in the bed and says, “I’m starving. I tried to order room service at lunchtime, but nobody answered the phone. We must always eat when we’re offered food. We don’t know what’s happening and whether the feeding will suddenly stop, so we must keep up our strength and eat whenever we’re given the opportunity.”
I suppose she has a point. Who knows what’s going on and whether the food will run out if we don’t call in to another port to get fresh supplies. Although there aren’t that many of us on board by the look of things, there still seems to be some staff who’ll also need to eat. Not all of them were told to take the day off in Fiji.
Sheryl puts her legs over the edge of the bed, stuffs her swollen feet into rubber flip-flops, and, after levering herself up with a grunt, hobbles over to her wheelchair.
“I don’t need it all the time,” she explains, “but I do need it when I have to walk long distances.”
I don’t think going to the Banana Lounge is a long distance at all, especially if you use the lift, but I’m not going to try and convince Sheryl to walk in case something happens on the way.
How will I lift her up off the floor if she falls?
“I’ll push you.”
“Thanks, dearie. I’m so lucky to have you with me.”
I’m starting to wonder whether that’s why they put me in with her, as she seems to need a lot of help.
Pushing the wheelchair isn’t so difficult, and I realize how easy it is to be on a boat with a wheelchair, as every surface is flat and there are lifts between floors. Maybe that’s why so many oldies go on cruises.
There are a few other passengers still on board who mustn’t have heard the announcement either, or not followed it for one reason or another. We sit near each other at two tables. It’s such a different atmosphere from the previous nights when the room had been full of passengers chattering loudly and having fun. I look around at the others. Most of them appear anxious, and don’t seem to have much of an appetite either. There’s a friendly-looking girl with long, curly brown hair at the other table. She looks about the same age I am, or maybe just a little older. I wonder who she is, and hope I get a chance to talk to her some time. I could do with a friend my age. I’m already missing Rosa so much, and it’s really only been a few hours.
I pick at the food as well as I can and manage to force down some pasta and a couple of meatballs smothered in rich tomato sauce, which fill me up.
“Veggies too, dear,” says Sheryl. “Health is now your top priority.”
I fork up a few pieces of fresh tomato and a couple of slices of cucumber. Sheryl smiles to herself.
Dinner over, there are no more announcements, despite several passengers demanding some answers. Some are particularly annoyed the Wi-Fi hasn’t been available since the ship left the port. Even the televisions are not working, so we can’t watch any news to find out if anyone knows about us. There seems to be some sort of communications blackout—at least for us.
There’s no entertainment tonight, the bars are closed, and we have to return directly to the cabins. Usually we enjoy a choice of activities, like singing, dancing, music, a film, or a show. It’s eerily quiet as I wheel Sheryl back to our room.
Sheryl lies down on her bed, and I sit in one of the lounge chairs. I’m putting off lying down for as long as possible, as I don’t really want to sleep so close to a virtual stranger, but ultimately I know I won’t have a choice. Luckily our beds are separated with at least a little bit of space in between them, though not much.
I’d brought the third book in my current favorite trilogy with me on the cruise, but I just don’t feel like opening the pages. Instead I sit there with my book in my lap and think about Mum and Rosa.
What are they doing now? What do they think has happened to me?
I know Mum will be really freaking out by now with worry, and Rosa won’t be much better. I wish I could let them know I’m all right—so far, anyway.
After a while I put my book on the little coffee table, get up out of the chair, and try to push my bed a bit farther away from Sheryl’s. I have to move my bedside table first, which is easy, but the bed takes quite a lot of effort. I finally manage to gain an extra half a meter or so. She has her eyes shut, so I hope she won’t notice what I’m doing and be insulted I want more space between us.
Sheryl begins to snore lightly, and then gets louder and louder.
Oh, no. I’m going to have to listen to her snore all night!
Eventually she wakes herself up with a snort.
“Damn,” she says, and reaches for her CPAP machine—one of those appliances that help with sleep apnea. My grandfather’s got one of them, so I know roughly how they work. Placing the mask over her face, she switches on the machine, and soon rhythmic breathing fills the cabin. At least it’s better than the sound of snoring. She doesn’t seem to have noticed the beds are farther apart.
I grab my book and hop into bed, but I lie there staring at the ceiling. Eventually I give up and drop the book on my bedside table, turn out my bed lamp, and close my eyes. The rocking boat begins to lull my senses; my eyes grow heavy and I drift off to sleep too.
Chapter Three: Day Two Ship
I WAKE with a start to a rat-a-tat-tat on our door. I struggle out of bed and open the door. There is breakfast on a tray for the two of us, carried by one of the ship’s staff members.
“I thought we were going to the Banana Lounge for meals,” I say.
“Only dinner, when it’s dark” is the reply.
So they’re keeping us inside during all the dayli
ght hours—so we can never see where we are.
The scrambled eggs on two pieces of toast (one wholemeal piece and one white) are perfect—maybe because the cooks are only catering for such a small number of people. There’s a mini packet of cereal each, some milk in a silver jug, a banana and strawberries, two little pots of yogurt, two large muffins (one plain and one with chocolate chips) and pots of tea and coffee.
“So thoughtful,” says Sheryl, tears glinting in her eyes. “The cooks have given us a kind of choice, even though we didn’t get to select what we would have.”
I explain to Sheryl how I can’t face coffee in the morning and have to have the tea. Luckily Sheryl is a morning coffee person.
“I can’t stand the smell of tea in the morning,” says Sheryl. “So that works out well for us, then.”
“You’re just like my sister, Rosa. She’s like that.”
My eyes blur with tears thinking of Rosa in her pajamas, drinking coffee out of her favorite mug, but I try to push that image from my mind.
I’m a little hungrier this morning, so that’s a good sign in more ways than one. My illness must be over, and maybe I’m starting to cope better with the stress of not knowing what’s happening. Sheryl is right—we have to keep up our strength for whatever lies ahead.
Our tray is soon bare, only a few scattered crumbs and a little drop of spilled milk left.
“Good girl,” says Sheryl, patting my knee.
When I go to put the tray outside our door, I look up and down the corridor. The guards are still in place. We are truly prisoners in this cabin.
I flop back on the bed with a sigh.
“Where’s your book, dearie?”
I decide that as sweet as Sheryl is, I can’t stand her calling me “dearie” all the time.
“Please, I’d really rather you call me Jilda.”
“Okay, dear… Jilda. How do you spell that anyway. J-I-L-L-D-A?”
“Yeah, that’s almost right. Only one L, though. Mum apparently wanted to spell it the proper way, G-I-L-D-A. It’s Italian, but Dad said everyone would say the G like in ‘girl’ and mispronounce it. So Dad got his way—probably the only time he ever did!”
I laugh in spite of myself. Mum and Dad broke up years ago, because they could never agree on just about anything. Although they had agreed to go halves for us girls on this trip so we can celebrate our sixteenth birthdays in style. I try not to think about the fact it’s only a couple of days till our birthday.
“Where is your father? Is he in Fiji too with your mother and sister? You didn’t mention him last night.”
“Oh, no. He’s in Hobart.”
“Why is he there?”
“That’s where we come from. Tasmania.”
“Oh. I thought you must have been from Italy. With your Italian names, you and your sister.”
“Mum and Dad had their honeymoon in Italy. That’s why they wanted Italian names for us. That was in their romantic young days.”
“They’re not romantic anymore?” asks Sheryl, sounding wistful.
“No, long divorced.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that.”
“It’s better really, without them fighting all the time.”
“So, you live in Hobart? That is a long way indeed. Fancy that. We only had to catch a taxi to the port in Sydney to get on this ship.”
“You’re lucky. We had to fly from Hobart to Sydney first, and then hang out overnight at a hotel. The next morning we were so excited when we finally got on the boat. We raced along the corridor, searching for our cabin. Mum was convinced they would’ve made a mistake with the booking and not given us a cabin with a balcony. When we opened the door to our suite and Mum saw the balcony, she ran to the rail and grabbed it and started to cry with relief.”
I feel like I’m running off at the mouth, but it seems so long since I’ve had a proper conversation with anyone.
“Your mother sounds like a wonderful person. So in tune with her emotions.”
“She has to be. She’s a writer. A poet, actually.”
“My sister is too! How amazing.”
“My sister is amazing too,” I say. I start to cry. Sheryl pats my hand.
“Tell me about your sister, Jilda.”
So I tell her all about Rosa, and the fun and close connection we have as twins. She lets me talk and talk until finally I stop.
She smiles.
“My sister is my twin too,” she says.
“No way,” I say. She’s let me talk for such a long time, and never once interrupted to tell me she’s also a twin. What a nice person she seems to be.
She begins to tell me all about their experiences as identical twins. How they had tricked their teachers, their friends, and their boyfriends. I can’t believe an old person like her had as much fun as us doing such similar things when she was young so long ago.
I feel a bit closer to Sheryl now, but there’s no way I’m going to tell her about our boyfriends yet. She’ll probably think we’re too young anyway.
After that I feel a bit more relaxed, so I pull out my book and start to read. This fills in the time until lunch, when once again a tray is brought to our room. It looks like the only excitement during our day will be what we’re given to eat. This time it’s sandwiches, again a choice of types of bread and fillings, some cakes, and a variety of fruits to choose from. Drinks are a choice of apple or orange juice. Well, at least our captors aren’t making us starve. Or die of thirst.
But what on earth are they up to? We can tell the ship is constantly on the move. Sometimes it seems we’re in fairly calm waters, and at other times, the ship seems to develop more of a roll as if out on the wide, wild ocean. Deep in the interior of the boat, in a cabin with no windows, we can hear and see nothing of the outside world. Zilch. Zip. Zero. We don’t know if we’re near other islands in Fiji, or way out to sea.
What are the authorities doing about us? And when will we find out what’s going to happen to us? They can’t keep us on this ship forever, and they said they’ll eventually free us. Something will have to change. But when? And how? And why is this happening to us?
The afternoon drags on much longer than the morning did. Sheryl and I occasionally speak, and eventually she drifts off for a short nap. I do the same for a while, although how I manage that I don’t know—my head is swirling with all the possibilities of what could be going on. I read another chapter of my book, but I can’t concentrate on it, and all the characters and their motives get mixed up in my head.
Finally the pounding on the door signals our release from the cabin. I’m starting to understand the term “cabin fever.” Dinnertime. A break in the monotony. I’m almost thankful to our captors for letting us out. I’ve heard about that phenomenon. Stockholm syndrome? Something like that. I wish I could google it, but without Wi-Fi research is impossible. But I’m determined not to feel one ounce of gratitude to those who are denying us our freedom and our families.
What I eat tonight is just whatever I stuff in my face. I’ve lost all interest in food, apart from the fact it’s keeping me going. I put savory and sweet things together on the same plate and eat at random.
But Sheryl, I notice, is very careful to eat a mixture of vegetables, salad, and meat. And she has fruit for dessert. She’s obviously trying to maintain a healthy diet. She looks at my plate, but fortunately says nothing. I think I’m in the mood to throw it at her if she comments on my choices, and perhaps my face tells her that. Because she doesn’t bug me about what I eat, I decide to eat a big red juicy apple. We catch each other’s eyes over the top of my apple and smile. I also catch the eye of the girl sitting at the other table. She picks up a red apple too, rubs it on her T-shirt sleeve to give it a bit of a clean, and then bites into it. We smile at each other. My stomach flops over.
Why am I feeling like this?
After dinner one of the passengers tells a guard we all really need some exercise. Hanging round our cabins all day and just coming out f
or dinner is quickly going to turn into a health issue.
“Constipation for a start,” says Sheryl.
Good on her. She isn’t shy about stating the obvious. Maybe you get braver when you get older, and don’t care so much what others think.
The guard nods and goes off to talk to his superior. We all wait expectantly to hear the outcome. When the guard returns, he says we’re allowed to walk around the promenade deck twice and then we’ll have to return to our cabins.
It’s so beautiful out on the deck in the cool night air. Millions of stars seem to almost pop out of the sky, and the wake at the back of the boat streams out behind us in an ever-narrowing white cone shape into the distance. If it were a normal night, we passengers would have been enthralled by the sight. But it’s far from an ordinary night. By the light of the moon, which casts a glow over the water, we can see we are completely surrounded by ocean, not an island in sight.
Where are we and where are we going? And why?
Sheryl tries to walk a bit to get some exercise, but she’s so slow she gives up and gets back in her wheelchair. People take turns helping me to push Sheryl along, which is so kind, as I really need a good leg stretch after being cooped up in our cabin for two days. I notice the red apple girl isn’t in the walking group, though. I wonder what’s happened to her. You’d think she’d love getting out on deck in the fresh air. Then again, what do I know about her? Nothing. Nothing apart from the fact she’s stuck on the boat the same as I am. And that she likes red apples.
And she makes me feel strange….
We’re finally taken back to our cabins, and seeing the guards still stationed there reminds us of our total lack of freedom.
Sheryl and I don’t have much to say to each other that evening. Our walk on the promenade has reminded us of just how much our lives have changed, and in such a short time. I have a shower, and while I’m in there I have a little weep. I remember Mum saying after her first shower on the ship that the shower cubicles are so small, you only need to put soap on the walls and spin yourself around to get clean. I do a careful little spin in the shower, thinking of Mum, and after turning, lean my head against the wall of the shower and give in to my feelings. I’ve been trying so hard to seem positive in front of Sheryl and the others, but all this worrying and not knowing what’s going on is really getting to me.
Jilda's Ark Page 2
