“Does Ayen?”
Bee grinned, and the scars on her cheeks—like rows of pearls—curved with particular mischief. “She misses the dancing. She says there’s a warehouse party in Red Hook tonight. House music. What is house music? She tried to explain, but I’ve never heard anyone play a house.” Bee shook her head dramatically, but she winked at me.
I couldn’t help but smile back. Bee was Na’ath, from a tribe in Northern Africa where cattle were both kith and currency. Ayen was her wife who’d been killed years ago, before Bee had come to the ship. But in accordance with their beliefs about death, Ayen was still with her, doing those little annoying things ghost wives do, like make you drop your breakfast or trip over a coil of rope. Or bother you about going to warehouse parties in Brooklyn. “Admit it, you would take her to the party if we weren’t sailing at dawn.”
“The worst part is, she already knows it.”
“Well. There’s not much dancing on the ship, I suppose.” My eyes returned to the captain’s door. “Do you wish you could go back?”
“Back where?”
“To Sudan. To before Ayen died.”
“Such an odd idea. We were already there.” She stroked the necklace of her scar. “He does not think before he acts. Would you like me to burn it?”
“To—what?”
“The map. I should have done it with the last one, but the idea came to me too late. Ach.” She flicked her hand over her shoulder as though a fly had buzzed her ear. “Yes, yes. To be honest, it was Ayen’s idea. But I would gladly do it.”
“Burn it?” For a moment my heart leaped at the idea, and I was shocked I hadn’t thought of it before. It would be so easy. Then I bit my cheek, ashamed. I had already taken her away from him once. “No. No, but thank you. I . . . thank you. I’m certain the map won’t work,” I lied. “None of them have.”
“Ah, well, good. Otherwise, I imagine you might worry.”
Downtown, a glass monolith seemed to blaze, catching the slanting sun as it crept toward the sea. She waited for a response, but I made none. Finally Bee dropped her hand onto my shoulder for a moment, then let it fall away. “I’m going to go organize the deliveries. You come too.”
Bee recommended hard work as a cure for any emotional turmoil. I followed her down into the hold, which still smelled of tigers, although the cages had been replaced by a handful of boxes scattered haphazardly. Instant coffee; my father lived on the stuff. A crate of toilet paper. Aspirin and iodine and antibiotics. Bleach and bamboo toothbrushes and toothpaste with fluoride.
We broke down the cardboard boxes and repacked their contents in the wooden chests we kept for the purpose. Then we piled all of the crates against one wall and scrubbed the hold till the teak gleamed. Bee was polishing the floor with beeswax when a box of vitamins tumbled down from the top of the pile; she scolded Ayen under her breath. The faint smell of honey filled the air. By the time we finished, I did feel better. And hungry.
“Must be nearly dinner.” I pushed my fists into the small of my back; the hatch framed a sky tinged with pink.
“Or past it,” she said. “It gets dark late here in summer.” At the mention of summer, she smiled like she couldn’t help it.
“What did you do?” I asked, but I didn’t bother to wait for her answer. She followed after me as I raced upstairs to the deck.
Kash and Rotgut had been just as busy as we had. A table was laid on the deck, and on the table, all the culinary delights New York had to offer: pungent halal chicken and rice doused in hot sauce, pork dumplings in Styrofoam clamshells, a cardboard box marked DI FARA’S PIZZA, pastrami sandwiches thick as dictionaries, creamy cheesecake covered with glistening scarlet strawberries.
Kashmir flung his arms wide. “Happy theft day!”
“Glad we stole you,” Rotgut added, raising a bottle of Brooklyn Lager in his bony fist.
I cast my eyes about, but it was only the four of us on deck. I lifted my chin as Kashmir patted the seat beside him—the one with its back toward the captain’s cabin. We dined like New Yorkers on the deck while Manhattan’s skyline shimmered in the water like the Milky Way and my father shut himself in the map room, conspicuous by his absence.