Chapter Five
I saw my first rat before we set sail.
Although our cabins were in the officers’ quarters, there were only two and they were tiny, so Ellis and I had to share a very small bed—a bunk, really—which would have made sleeping impossible even if the engine that powered the rudder wasn’t immediately beneath us. There was a small washbasin in the cabin, but the bath facilities were shared. I was the only woman on board, so I had to wash myself at the sink. I was also so sick I couldn’t keep so much as a cracker down.
When I wasn’t hanging my face over the sink trying not to throw up, I was lying on the bunk with my arms wrapped around my stomach, doing my best to stare into the distance, which in this case meant trying to focus on some point beyond the cabin wall, which was altogether too close.
The day before we were supposed to land at the naval base in Scotland, German U-boats caught up with one of the other ships in the convoy and torpedoed her. We circled back to pull men out of the water, which was so slick with fuel it was actually on fire. The Germans were still there, of course, and we could feel the depth charges, which pitched us about until I feared capsizing and splitting up in equal parts. Unsecured items flew across the room. The electricity flickered on and off, and the cabin was so full of smoke I couldn’t breathe without choking. The handkerchiefs I held over my nose and mouth came away the color of lead. Ellis took pills by the handful—he’d refilled my prescription before we left, getting a great many more than usual since he didn’t know how long we were going to be away, and the quantities he consumed alarmed me.
When the torpedoes came, Hank shrank into a corner with a bottle of whiskey, saying that if he was going to die, he might as well die drunk. I shrieked each time a deck gun fired. Ellis put his life belt on and wanted me to do the same, but I couldn’t. Having something bulky strapped around my middle impeded my breathing and increased my panic, and besides, what possible difference could it make? If the ship went down, the Germans wouldn’t pluck us from the water, and even if they did, the poor men the SS Mallory had managed to save were grievously burned and likely to die anyway.
I flew into a tear-filled rage: I threw an alarm clock at Hank, who ducked it wordlessly and lit another cigarette. I pounded Ellis’s chest and told him he had tossed us into the middle of a war because his father was a stubborn, stupid, irascible old man, and now, because of him, we were going to be killed. I said I hoped the Colonel dropped dead in his House of Testoni shoes, preferably upon hearing that we had all been blown up, because he was a fraudulent, egomaniacal blowhard without so much as a drop of compassion for anyone else on this earth, including—and especially—his own son. I declared Edith Stone Hyde a self-righteous, bitter old cow, and said I hoped she survived deep into a lonely old age so she could reap the rewards of her treatment of us and its fatal consequences. I told Ellis that the second we hit solid ground, I was turning around and taking the next boat out of there, although even as I said it, I knew I would never willingly get on another ship. I told him that he was the idiot, and that his—and his father’s—stupid obsession with a stupid monster was going to be the end of us all, and if he could come up with a stupider reason to die, I’d really like to know what that was.
Ellis’s nonreaction was almost more frightening than the torpedoes, because I realized that he, too, thought we were going to die. And then I felt guilty and cried in his arms.
—
When we finally reached land, it was dusk. For the last couple of days, I’d been worried we might be changing ships rather than docking, because everyone kept referring to our destination as the HMS Helicon, but apparently that was a code name for the Aultbea Naval Base.
I was so desperate to get off the ship that I staggered on deck while the wounded were still being unloaded. Ellis followed me, but at the sight of the burned men, turned and went back below.
Some of the men no longer looked human—scorched and misshapen, their flesh melted like candle wax. Their agonized moans were terrible to hear, but even more horrifying were the silent ones.
One looked me in the eyes as he was carried past, his head bobbing slightly in time with the steps of the men bearing the stretcher. His face and neck were blackened, his mouth open and lipless, exposing crowded teeth that made me think of a parrot fish. I hated myself immediately for the comparison. His eyes were hazel, and his arms ended in white bandages just below the elbows. His peeling scalp was a mottled combination of purple and black, his ears so charred I knew there was no hope of saving them.
He held my gaze until I turned in shame, leaning my forehead against the salty white paint of the exterior wall. I pressed my eyes shut. If I’d had the strength to go back down to the cabin I would have, but I didn’t. Instead, I kept my eyes closed and held my hands over my ears. Although I managed to block out most sounds, I could do nothing about the vibration of footsteps on the deck. I was excruciatingly aware of each ruined life being carried past. God only knew how these men’s lives would be changed, if they even survived. I tried not to think of their mothers, wives, and sweethearts.
When we were finally allowed to disembark, I stumbled down the gangplank and onto the dock. My knees gave out, and if Hank hadn’t been there to catch me, I’d have gone off the edge. Everything in my vision was jerking back and forth. I couldn’t even tell which way was up.
“Jesus Christ, Maddie,” he said. “You almost fell in the soup. Are you all right?”
“I don’t know,” I said. My voice was hoarse. “I feel like I’m still on the ship.”
Ellis took my other elbow, and together they led me off the dock. I stretched out an arm and leaned against a white-painted lamppost. The curb at my feet was also white.
“Maddie? Are you okay?” said Ellis.
Before I could answer, a man in a wool greatcoat and hat approached us. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with red cheeks, black leather gloves, and an eye patch. His one eye alternated between Ellis and Hank. “Henry Boyd?”
“That’s me,” said Hank, lighting a cigarette.
“Well, I knew it was one of you,” the man said in a melodious accent, leaving us to interpret the wherefores. “I’ll be driving you, then. Where are your things?”
“Still on board. The porters are back there somewhere,” said Hank, waving vaguely toward the ship.
The man laughed. “I’m your driver, not your lackey.”
Hank raised his eyebrows in surprise, but the man put his hands in his pockets, spun on his heels, and began to whistle. His earlobe and part of the cartilage was missing on the same side as the eye patch. A thick scar ran up his neck and disappeared beneath his ginger hair.
Ellis whispered, “I think you’re supposed to tip him.”
“Freddie said it was all taken care of,” Hank said.
“Apparently it’s not,” Ellis murmured.
“Well, somebody do something!” I cried.
Hank cleared his throat to get the man’s attention. “I don’t suppose I could make it worth your while…”
“Oh, aye,” said the man, in a firm but cheery voice. “I wouldn’t say no to a wee minding.”
When our trunks and suitcases had finally been identified, collected, and loaded—a feat of engineering that resulted in an ungainly mountain of luggage strapped to the roof and trunk of the car—our driver raised his one visible eyebrow and glanced at Ellis’s waist. “I don’t think you’ll be needing that anymore,” he said.
Ellis looked down. He was still wearing his life belt. He turned away, fumbling as he unfastened it, and let it drop at the base of a lamppost. I felt his shame acutely.
The driver opened the rear door of the car and motioned for me to get in. A soiled blanket covered the seat.
“Slide on over then,” he said. He winked at me. I think.
Ellis got in after me. Hank took one look at the blanket before walking to the front of the car. He stood by the passenger door, waiting for the driver to open it.
“Well, are you going to get in, or aren’t you?” said the driver, jerking his chin toward the rear.
Finally, reluctantly, Hank came around back. Ellis frowned and shifted to the middle seat. Hank got in beside him.
“Right, then,” said the driver. He shut our door, climbed into the driver’s seat, and resumed whistling.