was now great ambition in his voice.
Cabot scrambled past him. The door slammed shut. Morgan dragged MacDonald off the
floor and held him up. He lifted a fist and the man whimpered like a child. Disgusted,
Morgan flung him bodily away, as hard as he could, into the great man’s mirror screwed
onto the wall, in which he had so often studied his own sorry face.
You too, Morgan said eventually. It sounded like he was talking to himself. He sat
down on the edge of his bunk. Get out, he said mildly. Get out of my sight.
He sat on the edge of his bunk, waiting for the news, like a condemned man in his
cell. DeHaven was in MacDonald’s cabin now, on the other side of the wall. Waiting,
Morgan felt neither fear nor impatience. What he felt was a curious kind of inertia,
a physical resistance, his body’s refusal to move. Strangely, he seemed to have been
waiting for this moment for years. The braver part of him already knew it was true.
In his mind he was already rehearsing the announcement, testing the words. The right
words seemed not to exist. Somehow, to announce they were to have a child aboard.
No, he thought, reaching for the brake. Not a child. A pregnant woman. It was not
necessarily the same thing. No matter, these were words should never be pronounced
on a ship. They were a betrayal. Of what kind, he did not know. He wondered who should
be most disappointed with him. Who had earned that right. He himself was not particularly
outraged. Merely surprised it had taken so long – thirty-six years – for such an
indignity to come to light.
Sooner or later they would come to summon him, to appear before his captain. All
he wanted now was for it to be done. The news unparcelled, set adrift, irretrievable.
He sat staring at the calendar, giving it one last chance to prove her wrong.
The door opened and DeHaven stepped in. The man looked slightly ashamed, as though
he had a tale to tell on himself.
Well? Morgan said.
She wants to see you.
Fine. But the examination?
She wants to tell you herself.
I’ve been waiting long enough.
She made me promise.
With an insubordinate sigh, Morgan stood up and strode out into the corridor, banged
hard on MacDonald’s door.
Who is it? asked a woman’s voice.
He flung the door open and slammed it shut – but slammed too hard, and the door bounced
back at him.
You don’t need to tell me, he said. I already know.
He told you? she said. She sounded nicely surprised, nothing more.
If it was good news you wouldn’t have asked him to keep his mouth shut.
She had nothing to say to that.
In any case, Morgan told her, she – they – would have to wait for the end of the
month, the second month, whenever that was going to be, before she could even begin
to be sure.
One week next Monday, she said, but Morgan hardly cared, the exact delay did not
matter, all he wanted now was something to hold the danger at bay.
Well, we’ll have to wait and see, he said. As though the decision ultimately resided
with someone else, in some other place. As though no one aboard, not even DeHaven,
had the proper authority.
How can he be so sure? he said, pointing at her belly. A quick examination like that?
Just lying you up on the bed?
He’s a doctor, she said.
That’s what he keeps telling us.
Inconvenient, isn’t it?
There was a knock on the door, and Morgan opened it instantly. Showing them that,
from the first, he refused to hide.
It was Cabot. Dinner is served, he said, then turned his head slightly, to nod. Mademoiselle,
he said.
They listened to him go.
Dinner is served, Morgan told her.
Go then, she said. Go and eat.
Morgan stood in the open door, behind Myer’s back, as Myer ferried his soup spoon
from bowl to mouth. MacDonald was sitting at the end of the table, head down. Myer
would have been told, of course, but Morgan wondered would the man force him to make
the announcement himself, here, in public. Myer finally set his spoon on the table
and twisted round to face his
Cabot scrambled past him. The door slammed shut. Morgan dragged MacDonald off the
floor and held him up. He lifted a fist and the man whimpered like a child. Disgusted,
Morgan flung him bodily away, as hard as he could, into the great man’s mirror screwed
onto the wall, in which he had so often studied his own sorry face.
You too, Morgan said eventually. It sounded like he was talking to himself. He sat
down on the edge of his bunk. Get out, he said mildly. Get out of my sight.
He sat on the edge of his bunk, waiting for the news, like a condemned man in his
cell. DeHaven was in MacDonald’s cabin now, on the other side of the wall. Waiting,
Morgan felt neither fear nor impatience. What he felt was a curious kind of inertia,
a physical resistance, his body’s refusal to move. Strangely, he seemed to have been
waiting for this moment for years. The braver part of him already knew it was true.
In his mind he was already rehearsing the announcement, testing the words. The right
words seemed not to exist. Somehow, to announce they were to have a child aboard.
No, he thought, reaching for the brake. Not a child. A pregnant woman. It was not
necessarily the same thing. No matter, these were words should never be pronounced
on a ship. They were a betrayal. Of what kind, he did not know. He wondered who should
be most disappointed with him. Who had earned that right. He himself was not particularly
outraged. Merely surprised it had taken so long – thirty-six years – for such an
indignity to come to light.
Sooner or later they would come to summon him, to appear before his captain. All
he wanted now was for it to be done. The news unparcelled, set adrift, irretrievable.
He sat staring at the calendar, giving it one last chance to prove her wrong.
The door opened and DeHaven stepped in. The man looked slightly ashamed, as though
he had a tale to tell on himself.
Well? Morgan said.
She wants to see you.
Fine. But the examination?
She wants to tell you herself.
I’ve been waiting long enough.
She made me promise.
With an insubordinate sigh, Morgan stood up and strode out into the corridor, banged
hard on MacDonald’s door.
Who is it? asked a woman’s voice.
He flung the door open and slammed it shut – but slammed too hard, and the door bounced
back at him.
You don’t need to tell me, he said. I already know.
He told you? she said. She sounded nicely surprised, nothing more.
If it was good news you wouldn’t have asked him to keep his mouth shut.
She had nothing to say to that.
In any case, Morgan told her, she – they – would have to wait for the end of the
month, the second month, whenever that was going to be, before she could even begin
to be sure.
One week next Monday, she said, but Morgan hardly cared, the exact delay did not
matter, all he wanted now was something to hold the danger at bay.
Well, we’ll have to wait and see, he said. As though the decision ultimately resided
with someone else, in some other place. As though no one aboard, not even DeHaven,
had the proper authority.
How can he be so sure? he said, pointing at her belly. A quick examination like that?
Just lying you up on the bed?
He’s a doctor, she said.
That’s what he keeps telling us.
Inconvenient, isn’t it?
There was a knock on the door, and Morgan opened it instantly. Showing them that,
from the first, he refused to hide.
It was Cabot. Dinner is served, he said, then turned his head slightly, to nod. Mademoiselle,
he said.
They listened to him go.
Dinner is served, Morgan told her.
Go then, she said. Go and eat.
Morgan stood in the open door, behind Myer’s back, as Myer ferried his soup spoon
from bowl to mouth. MacDonald was sitting at the end of the table, head down. Myer
would have been told, of course, but Morgan wondered would the man force him to make
the announcement himself, here, in public. Myer finally set his spoon on the table
and twisted round to face his
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