OPENING DOORS

FERRY TALE ENDING

On a night when the rain was blowing sideways she watched him board . Hanging over the passenger staircase looking down at the parade of soaked humanity oozing out of  lifts clutching bedding, Cassie kept her jaded roving eye at high alert . She was a woman who holidayed alone watching people.  Listening  to snatches of conversation while she flirted with the  gypsy violinist and bought three cd’s from his pebble eyed child.   She stared at her fat freckled arms in the short blue blouse and sighed . Spain couldn’t come fast enough.  She ran past the cluster of crew to lock her cabin and once inside the small neat space quickly smoked half a cigarette. Unlike the majority of her colleagues whose cabins were strewn with toiletries and discarded uniforms, hers was visitor friendly. She  straightened the patchwork throw brought from home and folded down the page of her book .                                 

At  the Bureau de change she waited for pound coins to be counted into their linen bags for her till. The Master at Arms was telling the girls in the duty free shop  that the Michelin Baby was aboard. A regular traveller he wore only a nappy and a gold chain and ran amok three times a month causing commotion amongst the Waterford Glass and Kilkenny Design . With his wrinkled fat legs  he was a tour de force and not subject to normal discipline from man nor beast. He had a head you could open fire exit doors with and a ring of crusted chocolate and snot around his mouth. Cassie found it amusing that a man with a gun could be afraid of a rampaging toddler. When the girls stopped counting she signed for her float and lifted her head and spotted her stranger.

He  stood blonde head and shoulders over the mass of passengers stoicly queueing  for cabins. He seemed to her to be very far away. In the crowd but not of  it. Unsure of what to do as around him, like a red sea  parting, the regular passengers flowed to familiar places where they could lie down in some semblance of dark.  On busy crossings the decks became impassable, and  resembled the mayhem of Mumbai.The stewardess was explaining for the tenth time in minutes that all cabins were pre- booked and that a wait list was in operation for no-shows. She smiled apologetically at him and noticed him read her name badge.

 On her way ustairs she saw him settling in against the bulkhead with his bags arranged around him like a small boy building a fort. A couple with dreadlocks and hand knit jumpers were lying opposite in a single sleeping bag. The woman had looped a wicker bag under the leg of the carver chair and from its opening poked the wizened  head of a patch eyed Jack Russell pup  wearing a red bandana .  She resisted the urge to wake them and tell them the pup would have to be kennelled on the aft car deck. From bitter experience she knew he would only stand barking for hours  in a lake of piss and frighten the horses. She had learned to her cost in this job you were paid from the neck down.

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 The tall mans  eyes were closed , nostrils flaring  slightly with each breath She stopped to check  from  the panoramic viewing window how many trucks were still inching their way down the pier, like a line of glow worms being swallowed by the yawning maw of the bow doors. She  rested her arms of her burden before tackling the rest of the stairs to the restaurant .

He spoke .

 -    Excuse me, is it very rough?  -  He asked watching her heave the coins onto the sill.

She turned and was about to make a joke when she saw his pallor and his adams apple moving rapidly.

   - Well its not pleasant but you’ll be fine, she answered. -  Do you feel sea sick?  -                 

She stood bracing herself with feet wide apart and knees slightly bent to counterbalance the swaying ship. Rolling with whitecaps while still tied up to the quay wall was a dead giveaway for a whore of a crossing.

-    I hate this. I’m an engineer on a North Sea oil rig but cant stand storms. Usually I  have a birds eye view but this is a little too close for comfort.....

         He taperered off and passed a hand across his eyes.          

- Cassie, ....Hi, I’m Fran. -

He extended his arm and Cassie shook his damp clammy hand. He wore a celtic silver band.

-           Welcome aboard. Try to relax and focus . Deep breathing .  These  will help settle your tummy  -

She removed a portion of two ginger biscuits in cellophane from her waistcoat. As a floater it was part of her brief to spot the waxy ones before they were sick and someone skidded in it.  Minimise the trauma for all concerned. Damage limitation. She left the little yellow packet on the table in front of him .

Fran nodded and went back to watching from the porthole the activity far below.  Like a tethered animal the ship thrashed and rocked against her ropes as an army of tiny men in yellow jackets ran through the howling wind and rain preparing to untie the mammoth knots. He wondered again why he did not just fly into Dublin and hire a car . He could feel his mouth watering and his heart racing . He shoved  his phone into his pocket and  made his way unsteadily to the gents holding on to the bulkheads . He noticed that the bar was heaving already with country men in suits and he could hear the tannoy aplogising for the delays.

Scooching through the galley to check  the  night  specials  Cassie saw that the crew had battened down  everything with rolls of clingfilm stretching it until it was like nylon but still the galley boy was listlessly sweeping glass,crockery and food remnants into the deck grids. He was singing snatches of lyrics from his headphones over the roar of the huge rumbling plate wash.

The brigade of chefs who ran the restaurants,cafes and pantries were sweating over hot plates and salamanders trying to prep for the thousands onboard and Cassie picked her way though the wet floor tile holding on to stainless steel tables  trying not to slip. The chief  night cook  eyeing the days papers at his desk spotted her.

- CASSIE!! Safety shoes  - he roared.

-          Oh Jesus, I cant do a 12 hour shift in those shoes –

-  Well, dont come running to me if you fall and break your bollix, Wha ? -

The other chefs laughed and she could feel herself blushing .

-          Oh Cassie, your hair is only massive ! –

-           

More laughing and whistling. Her face was scarlet. She knew better than to react.  It was a pecking order and a speck of blood would begin a free for all. She remembered the screamer with the chief out on the poop deck  on a scorching summer afternoon when she had called him a lazy bastard and thought he would strike her in his fury. . He had a grudging respect for her balls but liked to provoke her and start outrageous slagging. He called her boyfriend Shallow Hal and dared her to start. She didn’t. Now she knew it was  just kitchen banter. Now she kept her powder dry and her mouth shut.

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In the private dining restaurant Jimmy the Maitre’d was holding on to the handle of the linen press  with one hand and  rummaging in a drawer with the other . Cassie could smell  drink and and aftershave off him from forty feet away.  He  turned his crusty red rimmed eyes to her. His face was pillow creased from a late drunken sleep . One  tear duct was blocked and streamed constantly which gave him the appearance of forever crying. He lived on his nerves and cans of Carlsberg.

“Name of Jasus where are me glasses?” he shouted over the sudden thrust of the massive engines .Cassie glanced around the room and spotted  that the other  watch  had attached them to a portait of Lady Gregory with Blu tac. She rescued them while he watched her stand on the red velvet banquette in her tights.

“Christ I’ve a head like Holyhead, and the place is up the walls. Give us a dig out here will you?”

Cassie picked up the two teapots filled with boiling water and lurching from table to table she poured a small trickle on to each of the white linen cloths to assist in  purchase for crockery and flat ware. In weather like this a passenger could end up with a lap full of steak and sauce. She braced her hips between the tables and began to deftly set  them while  glancing at the ornate gold clock above the glass doors.

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In the crew mess the bow legged  bosun balanced his forehead against the water urn while he stirred 6  sugars into his coffee. The walkie talkie crackled and rasped on his shoulder as the last of the decks were packed meter by meter with cars and trucks,  the AB’s jigsawing with the spaces available.

-          Oh, its blowing a hooley out there all right and getting worse by all accounts - he sighed as he sat heavily beside  the morose looking men.

 “We’re in for a bit of weather , men” he copied the Captains  plummy voice.

-          I told him it was madness to head out in a 9 . Can only get worse.  Says the delays  are costing millions . Christ , we probably cant even get alongside . Nearly tore the arse off her trying to dock  -

The sleep addled sailors who between them had racked up centuries of  sailing in all the seas and oceans of the world and still didn’t know where Conyer Creek was mumbled and cursed and belched around him.

He swallowed his coffee in a frothy mouthful and wiped his white  mousetache with a gloved hand.                                

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In the gents Fran unrolled yard after yard of toilet paper and wiped his face, and then the seat. He flushed twice . He had barely made it. The ships engines had started suddenly and the realisation that he felt this bad  had turned his bowels to water. In a cold sweat he had made it into the cubicle ,and the smell of other peoples sickness had seen him empty his stomach in one huge yawn.  He hoped no one had heard him but could hear water running into a sink.He opened the door and stood holding on to it. A man in uniform was sluicing a mop up and down into a sink blocked with vomit while he whistled. He splashed the full mop with shredded tomato skins and sweetcorn up and down in the sink forcing the solid lumps down the plughole with the hot water and the heel of his latexed hand.

 -If you think this is bad wait a while, later you wont be able to get in here with the puke ! –

He dragged his mop bucket to the firedoor and it slammed behind him.

Fran held on to the the sink with both hands while he bent over trying to breathe. A wave of panic hit him as he realised the idea he had been toying with could not happen now, as they were churning their way away from land and out into the darkness of the rolling sea.

                                                

                                 

                                                 

The complete blackout of the bridge was broken only by tiny flashing lights on the navigational instruments.  The First mate scanned the consul  for the reassuring  green ones.. He was nearing the end of his watch and anxious for his bunk. The Old Man had been on the wheel to oversee the departure  and had waited in the dark breathing heavily, reeking of pipe tobacco till they had passed the Stack lighthouse. He had issued instructions to be called from his accommodation at the Bailey to berth her. On the wing the Deck Officer was relaying  the numbers of  passengers and children shoreside. Waves of spray clattered off the glass  fifteen decks high and a sudden roll sent the  control spinning  out of his hand. He hung up from the office and rang the buzzer for the officers mess.

 By 4am people who have been awake all night have resigned themselves to not sleeping.  They sigh and moan and tell each other they would swap a kidney for a bed. How they will never sail on a sea again if ever they should get to land again. How they would give their firstborn child and  the lotto to lie down in the  warm dark  and close their eyes for  five minutes. She watched  fingers of grey dawn unravelling  the fabric of the night sky, rolling through a rainbow of colours darkling, impossible purples, punishing pinks merging  into charcoal  and gold. She remembered a dawn drive to catch a ferry exactly like this one, driving red eyed through the sleeping Welsh villages . In a place called Narberth they had rounded a curve where a woman in a grey stone cottage was arising from bed. Naked she had stood dreamily at the window and watched them pass.

“Did you see her” – she had asked.

“Jesus christ who ? I’m trying to watch the road here” – he had replied.

 Sleep was out of the question now. Somehow the dawn had exacerbated the rolling of the ship and the size of the waves . Everywhere was chaos.   Like trying to walk uphill as the ship lurched and fell away from your feet.  In the packed bar the staff were tripping over the winecoolers and smashed bottles that had spilled out of  fridges.  Cassie scanned the crowded room . The regular commercial drivers  knew the menu as well as their number plates . The waves were gigantic now.  She saw white faced passengers staring out into the gale.

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In the engine room the motor man checked the screens again and again and putting on ear defenders slid the watertight doors open.

                                                

Cassie noticed the silence first . The huge ship rolled and listed at an angle and machines  tore away from  fittings and smashed.  A purser ran past her with blood trickling down his forehead. The shocking thing was the running.

-          We’ve lost the engines and the old man is about to announce the abandon ship ! he panted.

-          What ?

-          Where is your muster station? Oh Jesus oh Jesus -  She’s rolling back. –

He spreadeagled his legs to stay upright but in a heartbeat even the equipment  stapled to the floor was loose and falling. The creaking of metal and shattering of glass drowned the passengers cries. Cassie looked out the porthole and knew she had to get down low. She could not do it from here.

Fran was frozen holding on to a coke machine that he had wedged himself behind. There was only the noise of the wind and metal screaming now. People fell past him. Upside down . Falling onto the ceiling. A teenage boy rolled past and he caught him by his sleeve and held him . He tried to tell him to reach out his hand but the boys eyes were blank and uncomprending. He seemed to be in a trance.  Deaf with shock. The ship listed violently to starboard and he was gone. Dropping  like a stone.

                                                        **** *******************

-          MAYDAY MAYDAY ...................... Echo India Foxtrot Delta. Do you read me ? Echo India –

-          This is the coastguard , please confirm. –

-          Engine failure , repeat engine failure. Ten minutes to Abandon Ship

Though she knew where she was supposed to be Cassie was heading the opposite way.  Her lifeboat duties  forgotton now  and a preservation instinct had taken its place.Something innate and ingrained. No amount of drills crawling through smoke filled rooms with  a line of ankle to hand and hand to ankle amidst laughter and fart jokes could prepare anyone for this.  She could not be at the top of this hulking thing when it turned over. Whatever chance she had it would be at sea level . She was crawling down the internal metal stairs used by only deck crew rung by rung. The emergency lights had come on and she saw the lifeboat lockers a floor below.  As the ship leaned ever further she slid down the last flight and felt her ankle snap.  First a burning pain then nothing.  She tore open the door of the foc’sle head  and dragged the life jacket over her. The wind tore the breath from her lungs like a greedy balloon.  The cold shocked her into numbness . She could not even do the water slide in Santa Ponsa . Not this. Never this. There were people in the water. The Marine Evacuation System had not been deployed. No slide, No chute. No life raft with whistles and flares . Nada. Sweet suffering Christ.

The sea looked like soup someone forgot to take off the boil. 

In the driving wind and spray the scene was spotlit  by the orange beam from the helicopter above. In a flash Cassie saw that this was it . She almost laughed out loud as emotions and thoughts and a crazy line from dead Reuben came into her head,  - “apart from all that Mrs Lincoln, how did you enjoy the show?”- She thought of home and men and wasted chances and a million other memories as time seemed to slow down . The pantomime playing out in front of her could not be real. This must be a drill. She must be dreaming.There were people shouting. To her. At her. She remembered the last line of the book waiting on the small bed –

“When the canvas frays in the curach of thought, and a stain of ocean blackens beneath you –  may there come across the waters – a path of yellow moonlight – to bring you safely home -        And with this beannacht she felt hands reach up to grab her, one warm hand coming straight up out of the depths – his blonde head slick now like a seal – she waited, waited an eternity in a single heartbeat, waited for the dip in her tummy – the feeling of freefalling – and at the tip of it – the very height of it – slipped quietly into the shocking water.

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Michelle Mahon 22/10/2010