One earring is a silver seahorse with insets of what look like tiny pieces of opal, and the other is a silver turtle, also with opal insets. I start to weep, resting my head in my hands. This would have been such a fun day if Rosa and I had been together with Mum. We would have paraded our new bikinis around our suite before hitting the beach and laughed while dangling the earrings from our ears with a mock argument over which earrings we wanted.
I love them both and slot them straight into my ears. Grabbing a fistful of toilet paper, I wipe the tears from my face and stand up. I toss the paper into the bin and look in the mirror. My face is puffy and my eyes a bit watery, but the earrings gleam in the light from the bathroom mirror. I like them mismatched. It means when they’re finally matched, Rosa and I will be together again. It gives me hope.
I tell Sheryl the full story. She’s shocked I’ve been allowed to keep the suite key but says she’s glad I didn’t tell her beforehand as she would have begged me not to go. It was too risky, and I could have gotten into a lot of trouble. But now it’s done, she’s all ears. I show her my gifts and she’s so pleased for me.
“I wish I was young again so I could wear such pretty bathers,” she says wistfully, looking down at her wide hips and rounded stomach.
Sheryl knows the international code for Australia, so we try Mum’s phone. It doesn’t work, no matter what we do. Maybe it’s the same as the phones in the cabins. There must be some sort of communications blackout. I’m so disappointed—I realize I’d got my hopes up about talking to Dad too high. Especially today of all days, it would have been awesome to hear a familiar voice.
I tell Sheryl about the extra bedding and towels in our suite, and we try to work out why on earth that would be the case. It all seems so strange.
“Maybe they’re expecting a big family group soon. But where would they come from? Who knows? We don’t,” says Sheryl.
“As if they’d tell us, and of course we can’t ask, as that would give it away I’ve been there.”
“I think it’s best to keep it our secret for the time being, Jilda. Not even tell any of the other passengers. I think it would cause a lot of unrest, and people would be speculating even more than they are now.”
Finally I go to bed, the bikini under my pillow and the earrings on the bedside table where I can see them as soon as I wake in the morning.
“Happy birthday, Jilda,” says Sheryl softly into the darkness. “Sweet dreams.”
Soon I feel tears seeping out of the corners of my eyes, running back into my hair. I gulp a couple of times, so I turn and burrow my face in my pillow, muffling the sounds so Sheryl won’t hear me.
Chapter Six: Day Five Ship
THE DAY starts in its usual monotonous way with our breakfast delivered. Room service is no fun here—it just means lack of freedom to us.
We spend the morning reading until finally, interminably later, lunch comes. At this rate, all we look forward to is dinner, and the chance to get out on the promenade deck for me to stretch my legs and Sheryl to get some air. But we are in for a surprise today. Soon after lunch the ship seems to stop. We can hear distant clangs, but the ship itself is still.
What on earth is going on now?
We are wondering whether we’ll be allowed to take our promenade walk after dinner at all now the ship isn’t moving. If we’re in a port, perhaps they won’t want us to see where we are.
Around three in the afternoon, there is an announcement over the loudspeakers to pack up all our gear and put our suitcases and other bags into the wardrobe. We’re told we’ll only have about thirty minutes to do this. After that we’ll be called to the Vista Theater, and they say we have to bring anything of value, such as passports, credit cards, money, or jewelry with us. Sheryl and I look at each other in amazement and shock.
Are they going to rob us?
“I’m putting my money belt on,” says Sheryl. “They’ll have to physically undress me to get at my money and passport! I’m not letting anyone get their hands on my precious stuff.”
I notice she takes off her wedding and engagement rings and puts them in her money belt too. She hikes up her skirt and fastens the money belt around her hips. She looks so incongruous with her large white undies hanging out in the breeze like that, but I’ve gotten used to seeing her in her underwear by now after so many days confined together.
I have a secure money holder that goes around my neck, so I get it out and check that my passport and money are in there. I don’t have any credit cards yet, although I’m looking forward to the day when I will. Mum and Dad have both said we have to wait until we’re eighteen for that. It’s so annoying when they agree on something, as you know you don’t have a chance to break their alliance. I guess it’s kind of comforting they do stick together sometimes, though.
I wonder about Mum’s and Rosa’s important things. I’ve got their passports and Mum’s phone from when I sneaked into our cabin, and Mum would have taken her credit cards with her for the day on their excursion in case of any unexpected purchases. I don’t know whether to put their passports in with mine so they could all be stolen or leave them in the safe in Sheryl’s and my cabin. I decide to keep theirs in the safe. I might get into trouble if I take them anyway, as they won’t be expecting me to have Mum’s and Rosa’s passports. I lock them back up.
Sheryl and I pack our things. It only takes about fifteen minutes. Then we sit on our beds and speculate about what’s going on. At last, a break in routine, and there must be some important news, or else they wouldn’t summon us all together.
“They’ve definitely stopped, and so they must be letting us off, seeing as they’ve made us pack our bags,” says Sheryl hopefully.
“I wonder where we are? I wonder if they’ve brought us back to Fiji?”
“No point letting us off anywhere if they steal all our valuables,” says Sheryl. “How would we get on without our passports and credit cards?”
I’ve been wondering myself how Rosa and Mum have been going without their passports. Of course I’ve been secretly hoping that because they don’t have their passports they’ll still be in Fiji, and I envisage Mum and Rosa waiting anxiously but patiently on the pier for my return. But I know in my heart of hearts it’s highly unlikely they’ll still be there. It’s so long since the ship left that port. And we probably won’t be taken back to Fiji anyway, as that was what the man said right from the start.
Where are we?
Have we traveled around in circles for days, or have we traveled miles and miles across the seas to a distant land? We could have gone a long way in almost a week. Was it a week? I’d lost count of the days. It actually feels like I’ve been living on this ship for half of my life.
The announcement bell peals again, and we’re told it’s time to go. The guards at the end of the corridors take us via an internal route to the theater. I push Sheryl in her wheelchair, and when we arrive she insists we park her chair at the back. She hobbles down the stairs and we take a seat. We sit, crew and passengers alike, wondering what could be happening now.
Finally the man I spoke to in the empty auditorium on the first day of this nightmare picks up a microphone and begins to speak. He seems assured and excited now, not like the other day when he was shaking and nervous.
“This is the day we have been waiting for,” he says. “From today, the rules on this ship will change. Since early this afternoon, many other passengers have been coming on board, and from now on you will be hot-bedding in your cabins.”
“Hot-bedding, hot-bedding….” I can hear muttering all around me.
“What do you mean, hot-bedding?” Gavin calls out in a loud voice. His face is very red, and I worry about his blood pressure.
“What we mean is that you will all be allotted eight hours in your cabins. The end of each eight-hour interval will be signaled by the bell you normally hear before an announcement—but it will be three lots of the usual three so you can differentiate it from a normal announcement.
The bells will be sounded ten minutes before the end of your turn in the cabin to give you time to collect what you need for the next sixteen hours.”
The number sixteen is starting to sound like a very bad luck number to me by now. I’ve just had my sixteenth birthday on the ship of horrors, and now I have to stay out of my cabin for sixteen hours a day whether I want to or not. I’m beginning to think I never want to hear the number sixteen again.
“When your eight hours are up, this means you must stay away from your cabin until your scheduled time is due again. Use this time wisely for sleeping, as it will be difficult to find a place to have a rest anywhere else on the ship due to the numbers of passengers.”
Everyone’s starting to get really noisy.
“What about the crew? Does this include us?” asks a man in a tall chef’s hat.
“You already work shifts, so now you will work eight hours, sleep eight hours in your cabin, and then return to work. Crew members, you will not be doing your normal duties. Most of you will now have to be involved with food preparation, serving, and cleaning up. We will soon be allocating you your new tasks.”
“Oh, great!” calls another crew member. “Slave labor.”
The man ignores the outburst and continues.
“As you will appreciate, passengers, dealing with such large numbers of people on board, we can no longer control where you go on the ship, but to keep things orderly, you must only go to your passenger deck, not wander around the other passenger decks. The public areas are where you can walk freely. You must abide by the rules of when you are allowed in your cabin. None of you can return to your own cabin for anything at all during the other sixteen hours, so you do not disturb the others sleeping there.”
“What if we need to go to the toilet?” someone else calls out.
“There are plenty of public access toilets all around the ship which you can use. Your showers, of course, you will have to take during your eight hours allowed in your cabin. And keep the showers short. We have a desalination plant on board, but it will be hard for it to keep up with the volume of water needed.”
“So, how many more passengers are you talking about?” pipes up a woman.
“I am not at liberty to tell you,” says the man.
“Do the math. A full ship with three shifts means three times the usual number of people on board,” I hear someone say behind me. Her voice carries as clear as a bell. I turn around to see it’s the apple girl sitting right behind me. Her green eyes are bright and her cheeks flushed.
Hairs stand up on the back of my neck.
Gasps fill the theater.
I remember when we were reading about the ship before we came, we learned there were two thousand passengers and one thousand crew. That means the ship normally carries up to three thousand people. But with three shifts of hot-bedding, that means six thousand passengers can be housed on board.
But then I remember the extra mattresses I saw when I sneaked into our suite on my birthday. And the piles of towels. Maybe there will be even more people than we could imagine.
“You cannot go back to your cabins now. Other people are already settling in there. Your allotted time in your cabin is from midnight till 8:00 a.m. Count yourselves lucky your shift is the one with the most usual body-clock sleeping time, so make the most of it.”
“So we’re supposed to feel grateful now, are we?” says Gavin.
“Yes, you will be able to have the most normal routine of all shifts.”
“What about meals?”
“All meals can now be taken in every one of the ship’s restaurants and cafes again. Do not expect the specialty restaurants to serve exclusive food, though—each restaurant will be serving exactly the same type of food. There will be no more room service, as the crew numbers will obviously be very stretched—you will have just basic services. Some of the people coming on board will be helping with the food preparation, but there will continue to be no made beds, no bathrooms cleaned. You must do that yourselves to try and maintain some semblance of hygiene in your cabin. We must do everything we can to avoid an outbreak of gastroenteritis.”
“That’s all we need,” I hear someone mutter.
“What about towels and sheets and pillowcases?” asks another. “Do you really expect us to sleep on strangers’ sheets, and use each other’s towels?”
“There will be enough towels, sheets, and pillowcases to have your own each. You will have fresh linen for your first shift, but after that there will be no more linen service. I suggest you put your sheets and pillowcases into your suitcases when you pack up your bed each day, or if there is not enough room in your bags, put your sheets inside your pillowcase and put them behind your suitcases for identification as yours. As for towels, drape them over your suitcases so they can dry out and not be used by somebody else. Towels will not be changed for the duration of the trip, so please look after them. No use dropping them on the floor expecting the housekeepers to remove them and provide you with new ones, as that will not be occurring. Of course, at the end of your shift, you also need to pack up all your toothbrushes, beauty products, brushes, razors, and so on, and keep the bathroom clear and safe for others to use.”
“This is outrageous! You can’t expect us to live like this.”
“And how long will this go on for?”
“Approximately four or five days, maybe a bit more. About the same amount of time it took us to get here.”
“And where is here?”
The man with the microphone looks across to a short, stout man dressed in a white shirt with a blue tie, who has been standing quietly at the side of the stage all during the speech. The man nods and comes over to the microphone.
“You will soon find out when you talk to the oncoming passengers, so it may as well be now. We are in the main port of Levy Archipelago.”
More gasps.
I know where Levy Archipelago is. I’ve always loved geography at school. To think we’ve traveled so far! But then again we’ve been traveling day and night constantly for ages. Apart from that one time it felt like we stopped. Maybe that was when the extra mattresses, bedding, and towels were brought on board. And maybe more food supplies, or fuel….
“Why?” someone from the crowd cries.
“As you would have heard in the news over the past few years, negotiations have been continuing for a solution to the problem of rising sea waters inundating our islands. The sea level has risen so much that on high tides, and especially when a storm accompanies the high tide, the waters are flooding our houses. Many of us have moved to higher ground, but our islands are very low-lying. There is not enough land above sea level for all of our citizens to be comfortable and safe. Our fresh water is running out, as it is infiltrated with salt, and we can no longer grow our own food in the salty soil.”
Sheryl grabs my hand and holds on tight. The man continues.
“Governments around the world have only ever agreed to take a certain number of us. But we want to stay together. We are one nation of peoples and we do not want to be split up to live in different countries. We want to be together as one group in one land.”
The audience is quiet for a few moments as we take it all in. Then someone breaks the silence.
“How many citizens are you talking about, sir?”
“Approximately one hundred and twenty thousand.”
“But how do you imagine you can get all of them off your islands?”
“Ships—including this one.”
The theater erupts into noise. Shock and surprise fills the auditorium.
“How many ships?”
“Ten.”
My God. Ten. Are nine other lots of passengers in a similar situation to us? But how can ten ships carry 120,000 people?
We’ve been out of contact with the world for almost five days, so we have no idea what has been in the news. The story of missing ships must be huge around the world.
But ten ships won’t be enough for those vast n
umbers of people, surely. Somehow the maths doesn’t add up.
“You will stay here in the theater until we leave port, ladies and gentlemen. It will not be too much longer and everyone will be on board. Thank you for your cooperation.”
As I look back over my shoulder, to catch the eye of the girl behind me to see her reaction to what’s happening, I notice the guards are blocking the exits in case any of us think of leaving.
Cooperation? Is that what they call this total lack of control over our own situation?
I turn toward the stage again.
“Why did you make us bring all our valuables with us, if you’re keeping us on the ship? We thought we must be finally disembarking,” I call out as loud as I can to be heard over the muttering crowd.
Sheryl squeezes my hand tighter and whispers, “Good girl.”
“Because from now on you need to think about what you want to do with your valuables. Many people will be sharing your cabins at different times, strangers you have never met. Your cabins will no longer be locked, so you need to be as security conscious as you think you need to be. It will not be our responsibility if anything is stolen.”
More mutters from the crowd.
“Great. That’s all we need,” grumbles Sheryl. “Thieves.”
The ship lurches, and at last it seems we are underway once more.
Finally we’re told we can leave. We begin to file out of the theater, the buzz of conversation deafening. I notice apple girl is limping up the stairs in front of us. But Sheryl is so slow, we can’t keep up with her, and we have to collect Sheryl’s wheelchair anyway.
Why do I care so much about catching up with her? Is it because I need to talk to someone my own age about all of this? Or is it because of her, who she is, herself?
But my thoughts about the girl are quickly pushed to the back of my mind, as we are surrounded by crowds of people as soon as we leave the theater. The reality hits me that there really are thousands more on the ship than there were before it was overtaken. It’s slow going making our way through all the passengers, especially with the wheelchair, but most of them just move out of our way without saying a word. Many seem dazed and upset, and the atmosphere is strangely quiet considering the number of people around us.
Jilda's Ark Page 4
