I moved on, cleaning, if whisking a wet sop across anything in my path could be called cleaning. I made quick time away from my brother, to make myself appear as if I were carrying out my task. I was hurt that he should think my talk was some offense. Perhaps if he was seen in conversation his punishment could be far worse. There was that hideous corpse in his face to remind him. I rubbed my saltwater rag across nails on the pinnacle. It left shredded thread behind. My throat hurt from the tears running down inside it, though I felt relieved.
In the afternoon, August stood there while we were served our noggins of soup. He stood until the last dogwatch was called. He was still standing there when they herded us below like the oxen whose stalls we had replaced. I lay awake for hours. I might wish to say that dread about my brother’s welfare filled my mind; what kept me awake was a lost feeling that rather than them tormenting him to death, he would, by dint of all this rough treatment, become one of them, the tormentors.
And, while Patience had endured beatings, and August was standing stiff under the hot sun, I had suffered nothing more than famine. They had threatened to tear out my heart, I reminded myself, but that had not happened nor was there a sign that it was probable at that moment. Surely they would not have carried it out, one part of my mind said, while at once another part argued back that these were men who had thrashed a starving prisoner to death for trying to escape. He would have drowned anyway. Why not let the fool go? I thought, might I also prefer a quiet sleep in the sea with my pa, than to have the skin flayed from me until I bled away? These thoughts stayed fastened in my mind as if they made a pitch line against which I, too, held my dirty toes.
When they called the morning watch and a few of the women went up to start chores, I asked them to inquire for us about August’s welfare but no one spoke of him. By noon, they were sent down and I expected that I would be among those called to replace them, but we were kept below and the hatch above pinned fast and locked. The seas had grown during the morning, and hit the ship from the opposite side as it had the days before.
“Patey?” I asked. “What is happening?”
She shrugged lifelessly. “It might be a storm we have sailed into. A hurricane. I pray we shall all drown and they will lose their profits.”
“La, Patience. I do not want to die.”
The ship rose at a perilous angle then rocked back into place. She said, “I do.”
I stared into her eyes and what she said terrified me no less than the death I saw in her already. “I shall pray against you, then,” I whispered.
“You pray anything you choose. Pray to the wind, the sky, or the filth in the bilge. No god waits to either hear you or do your bidding. Pray to him or curse him, no matter. No saint arrives to save any girl from violence no matter the number of prayers. The saints are naught but shriveled skins and piles of bone. Fools all. What do I care if you pray? You may as well dance a jig or curse heaven. It does the same good.”
“La,” was all I could get out. I pulled away from her.
A sound assailed us much like the hundreds of rats swimming across the sea. The wind unleashed the wrath of the ages upon us. Sails whipped about with a great shearing sound; one of them tore asunder. The ship rose and fell across great swells as if it were crossing mountains. Some of the women grew sick from the pitching, though I stayed whole, proud now of my sea legs though I shuddered constantly. Beams all around gave out with great groaning and cracking as if the belly of the ship were coming undone and the Falls Greenway were as sick as the people aboard her. The malaise I felt was fear of Patience’s words. My sister, cursing God, brought this storm.
Yet, morning came. We crept up the ladder with something near jubilation into fresh air. August was near his post, exhausted and drenched, pale gray and drear as a heap of rope; he had tangled himself in heavy lines to save being washed overboard.
“On your feet, boy!” Aloysius said to him. August struggled but righted himself and stepped from a loop of rigging. I feared that the fool boatswain would deliver my brother a sound cuffing or worse, but all he said was, “That was a right williwaw if I ever seen one. Go below and sleep for the first watch and let that be a lesson. Never speak back to the officers of this ship.” As August passed Aloysius, the man slid something into August’s hand. It was a carrot-sized slice of dried beef. My throat went dry for the want of that beef, though glad I was that August had food. Had I known the man was capable of that sort of tenderness, I would have taken all his words differently.
On we went, forever it seemed, heading so that the sun rose at my right hand and set at the left as I faced the bow of the ship. As we moved, we found ourselves wont to huddle together at night for warmth. During the day my tattered gown did little to keep me warm, save for the heaviness of Ma’s quilted petticoat.