Whatever direction Anna went—as far as she could go and still get back in forty-five minutes, allowing for a brief pause to wolf down lunch—she was drawn inevitably onto the piers: A to the west; G, J, and K across Wallabout Bay to the east, far from her own building. She bicycled onto them hesitantly at first, hair jammed under a cap, determined not to be singled out for mockery, as Nell had been. But it turned out that Anna’s brown hair was unobtrusive even when it came loose. Her complexion was “Italian,” and years of carrying Lydia had given her the flinty, taut-shouldered bearing of a man. With her eyes under the brim of a cap, she could cycle the piers incognito.
A familiar smell engulfed her: fish, salt, fuel oil—a brackish, industrial version of the sea that was so complicated, so specific, it was like the smell of a particular human being. It evoked an earlier time that she no longer quite remembered. Her father’s suits still hung in his wardrobe, lapels sharp, shoulders brushed, painted neckties reinforced with whalebone. They looked like the suits of a man who would return at any moment to put them on. He’d left behind an envelope full of cash and a bankbook for an account her mother hadn’t known about. These preparations had made them believe at first that he was merely girding them for a longer than usual trip—he’d begun to travel for work. For months his absence had remained volatile and alive, as if he were in the next room or down the block. Anna had awaited him acutely. She would sit on the fire escape, grinding her gaze over the street below, thinking she saw him—trusting that thinking so would force him to appear. How could he stay away when she was waiting so hard?
She had never cried. When she’d believed he was about to return, there had been nothing to cry about, and when at last she’d stopped believing, it was too late. His absence had calcified. When she caught herself wondering where he might be, doing what, she forced herself to stop. He didn’t deserve it. That much, at least, she could deny him.
She presumed her mother had made a similar passage, but she wasn’t even sure. Her father had slipped from their conversation as ineffably as he’d dropped from their lives. It would feel odd to mention him now. And there was no need to.
One lunchtime, as Anna was taking the bicycle from Nell, she said, “Say, you can keep it sometimes and ride it yourself.”
“Not for all the tea in China.”
“Because of one fall?”
“Have you fallen?”
“You looked as if it didn’t bother you a bit.”
“That was the idea.”
Anna walked the bike alongside Nell toward Pier C, though whether she was following Nell or the reverse, she wasn’t sure.
“So,” Nell said with a sly look, “the snapper’s letting you go out, even without lipstick.”
“So long as I’m not late.”
“Think what you might get if you wore some.”
Men’s voices fell away as they ambled past. It was very different, walking with Nell—what must it be like to be Nell? There was no ship berthed at Pier C today, and when they reached the end, Nell pulled a silver cigarette case from the pocket of her jumpsuit. It flashed in the sun; a gift from a beau, Anna supposed. “Is smoking allowed here?” she asked.
“Men smoke on the piers. I don’t see any ‘Danger’ signs. I mean—mmm, good, you’re blocking the wind—we’re surrounded by water, for Pete’s sake!”
With a coarse expertise that contrasted sharply with her general air of slinky refinement, Nell struck a match on the bottom of her boot and used it to light a narrow white cigarette pursed between her lips. The smoke she exhaled looked creamily delicious, as if she’d found a way to eat the chocolate wind. “If they’re going to make us wear these plug-ugly outfits, they’re going to have to let us smoke,” she said. “Care for one?”
Only boys had smoked on Anna’s block—the girls had thought it dirty. “Thank you,” she said. “I will.”
Nell placed a fresh cigarette between her lips, held the smoldering tip of her own against it, and drew on it until both tips crackled orange. The sight of her dewy face arrayed around the burning cigarette was jarring, exciting to Anna. The end of the fresh one Nell handed her was moist, red with her lipstick. “Don’t inhale at first,” Nell said. “You’ll get dizzy. Although I like being dizzy.”
Anna drew on the cigarette, enjoying the dry heat inside her mouth, and let the smoke scatter into the wind. It was dirty, but a dirtiness she liked—akin to the girl welders eating their lunches sitting on the floor. She and Nell smoked in silence. Anna looked across Wallabout Bay at the hammerhead crane bent against the sky. A few days before, she’d watched it lift a cement truck off the ground as if it were a die-cast toy. Beyond the crane sprawled the Williamsburg Bridge and then the low buildings on the shore of Manhattan, windows like gold flakes in the dusty sky.
“You should come out with me some night,” Nell said.
“Where do you go?”
“Shows, pictures. Restaurants. Don’t you ever go to supper in the City?”
Anna had sipped beer with Brooklyn College boys at the Fraternity House, on Third Avenue, but she sensed that college watering holes were not what Nell had in mind. “I’ve led a sheltered, virtuous life,” she said.
Nell rolled her eyes. “Too bad. You won’t know how to dress.”
“I’ll manage something. I won’t damage your standing, I promise.”
Nell’s blue eyes curved with delight. “How about tonight?” she said, tossing the end of her cigarette into the bay. “It’s Friday, after all—even if we have to work tomorrow.”
As they walked back along Pier C, Anna noticed a barge off the end of Dry Dock 1 that was different from the usual dredging barges with their hooks and tackle and filthy lean-tos. This one was bare. At one end, two men were helping a third into a heavy canvas suit, like squires fitting a knight for battle. Nearby, two more men turned cranks on a large upright rectangular box.
“Say, what are they doing?” Anna asked.
“That one in the big suit is a diver, I think,” Nell said. “They work on ships from underwater. Maybe he’s learning—I think they train them on that barge.”
“A diver!” Anna had never heard of such a thing. She watched, spellbound, as the helpers lifted a spherical metal helmet over the diver’s head, encasing him within it. There was something primally familiar about the diving suit—as if from a dream or a myth. Nell watched, too, persuaded by Anna’s riveted attention that something worthwhile was taking place.
“How did you know he was a diver?” Anna asked, not taking her eyes from him.
“Roger, from my shop. They’re looking for civilian volunteers. He wants to do it for the hazard pay.”
The diver rose onto his feet and moved hulkingly toward the edge of the barge, then stepped backward onto a ladder leading into the water. The bay looked impenetrable as stone, yet he lowered himself into it until only the bulbous helmet showed above the waterline. Then he was gone, leaving behind a coruscation of bubbles.
At some point, Nell had gone to the canteen and returned with two boxed lunches. She handed one to Anna. “You’d better eat fast.”
Anna ate her spaghetti and meatballs with her eyes fixed on the water. She was waiting for the diver to surface, but he did not. He was breathing underwater. She tried to picture him at the bottom of the bay—would he walk or swim? What was down there? Jealousy and longing spasmed through her. “Would they ever let us do that?” she murmured.
“Would you want to?”
“Wouldn’t you?”