by Chris Hannon
The ship was bigger than the Olinda, and newer too. Perry’s cabin was small, two double bunks on each side of the room. On one of the beds a set of folded blue pyjamas lay above a pillow - claimed territory already. He placed his items in one of four wardrobes, more akin to lockers. Perry remembered the Irishman who’d slept above him at the lodging house on America Street in Buenos Aires and how he’d slept in fear that the sagging weight would crush him in his sleep if the springs gave. He took off his cap and placed it on the top bunk above the pyjama bed. Better to do the crushing, he thought.
His position in the cabin settled, he went on deck to see Southampton off. There were scores of people moving here and there; porters carrying the last of the luggage on trolleys, a couple of young boys in caps playing catch - weaving in and out of the New York’s white supports.
‘Excuse me,’ he edged his way out into the stream of flowing people and shouldered his way to the rails. Already a dozen or so people stood ready to say their farewells and shake a white hankie at the toy sized people standing on the dock below them.
Gulls hung in the azure sky above, soaring against a backdrop of fat loafy clouds. Southampton sprawled, the tip of St. Michael’s just visible above the rooftops. The old castle walls protecting the town like an arm around a belly. This was no longer his place. It belonged to Joel and Eva now.
With a long pull on the horn, the New York shunted away from the dock. Everyone around him waved and a thousand hands waved back from the shore. He felt numb, spent of sorrow. Southampton, so wide and imposing, slowly shrunk until he could blot it out with his finger. By now he was alone and supposed it time to go back to the cabin and meet his new cabin mate. He didn’t expect anything like his last voyage, where he’d met Mr Roebuck but he hoped the sort who travelled Second to New York might be interesting enough to lift his spirits. Then again, the blue pyjamas on the pillow came to mind; they perhaps hinted at an uptight sort. Still, he shouldn’t judge. Not yet anyway.
He turned from the railing.
And there, in front of him, stood Eva. He reached out for the railing again, thinking he was having a dizzy turn. But she was still there, smiling up at him.
‘Are you really here?’ he reached his hand out to touch her and she took it in her own.
‘I am,’ she took his hand in her own soft hands.
Unable to speak, Perry drew her into him, hugging her close, feeling the warm beat of her body next to his own. He nestled into her beautiful yellow hair, still thinking that this must be a mirage. He pulled his head back, and felt the warmth of her breath against his cheek.
He shook her head in wonder at her. ‘How?’ was all he could manage.
She looked embarrassed. ‘I came looking for you. I saw you at Mrs Drew’s and followed you.’
‘But the tickets? How did you…?’
‘Joel has done well for himself. You saw our-’ she corrected herself ‘his house didn’t you? I have money. Quite a lot actually.’
He loved hearing her call it his house. ‘Does he know you’re here?’
‘After he admitted what he did to you I told him I was going to find you. I’m so sorry I didn’t listen before. It just didn’t make any sense,’ she gave his arm a squeeze. ‘Then I couldn’t find you anywhere. I’ve been wandering around all the places I thought you’d be. It was only when I saw you at Mrs Drew’s café and followed you to the ticket office that I realised how soon you were leaving.’
‘And Joel didn’t try and stop you?’
‘Once I’d bought my tickets, I only had time to race back to the house and pack a few things. He wasn’t in, so I left him a note on the kitchen table.’
Perry imagined Joel returning home, expecting to see Eva and being greeted by this note, ‘I actually feel a little sorry for him.’
‘Perry, can you ever forgive me? I had no idea.’
He hushed her with a finger on her lips. ‘There is nothing to forgive,’ he removed his finger and placed his lips to hers and they kissed. Long, soft and warm, better than ever. Eva tasted of paradise.
He pulled his lips from hers. ‘Eva…did you say tickets? As in more than one?’
She gave him a sheepish grin and nodded. Worried, he looked around the deck for a familiar face, but caught none.
‘Who else is coming?’
‘Nobody. I bought out the other three beds in your cabin. I figured, they wouldn’t let a woman mix with three men but, a couple, promised to be married, now it might be acceptable for them to share a cabin to themselves…’
His heart felt like it might burst, he brought her into him and hugged her close, kissing her and squeezing her tight to him.
Perry looked out to the horizon beyond. Whatever it held - fair winds or foul - they would face it together.
‘You know what this means then Eva?’
‘What?’
‘It means those horrid blue pyjamas are yours.’
‘Oi,’ she smacked him on the arm, smiling. ‘They’re my favourites!’
‘Did I say how lovely they were? Very fetching.’
With his hand intertwined in hers, they strolled together, ambling down the deck towards the cabin. Beneath their feet, the ship lulled and rose through the hillocks of waves, urging them forth into the unknown beyond.
Acknowledgements:
I’d like to thank Lynn Nicholls for being my editing buddy in the early drafts of the novel and the West Dean writers who offered support along the way. Greg Mosse & Lesley Thomson for practical teaching and insightful editorial. A.Temple Patterson’s ‘A History of Southampton 1700-1914 Vol. III, Setbacks and Recoveries 1868-1914’ gave useful insight into the town conditions, the state of unionism and the events that led to the town riot of 1890. Thanks to both Jason Kanellis & George Tebbutt for proof reading and excellent suggestions. Ian Dodds – for a great job on the artwork for the cover. Thanks to the team at Completely Novel, and the Beneath The Pier writing group for encouragement, fun and friendship. My family and friends for encouragement, help and patience. Thank you too, lovely wife, for your love, proofing and supportive teas.
A note about prisons:
Southampton’s Birdshit Prison is an entirely fictional place. The National Penitentiary in Buenos Aires did exist however, with spoke like workshops spanning from a Bentham-esque central building. In keeping with the developing Victorian thinking on prisons, the authorities introduced regimes of work for the prisoners within the prison’s workshops, one of which was the printing press for the national paper. At least in the beginning, prisoners had their own cells, each adorned with instructions for its upkeep and a rules list. Guards imposed strict silence for the prisoners to reflect on their misdeeds though within the book I’ve hypothesised that the prisoners regularly found ways around this to converse with one another. The mentioned escape of a man called Sampiño is reported as true, as was his method of escape – dressing up as his girlfriend after a conjugal. I hope this makes Perry’s escape seem less fanciful in light of this fact. La Cueva was a fictional element introduced to La Tumba. Years of overcrowding and deteriorating conditions saw the penitentiary closed and finally demolished in 1962.
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