The Many Daughters of Afong Moy(73)
Lai King squinted as she went higher and when she emerged, a seed in a fallow field, she stretched toward the afternoon sun, which seemed brighter than she remembered. The breeze felt cleansing, refreshing, the closest she’d had to a bath in a week. She heard crooning seabirds and dozens of gulls trailing the ship, swooping down as buckets of bones and offal were discarded from the galley. The birds reminded her of life, at least until she saw sharks and dogfish rise to the surface to contend with the birds for the chum that had spread out across the waves.
As Lai King’s wobbly legs adjusted to the back-and-forth rhythm of the ocean, she fixed her gaze on the horizon. She tried to find her bearings, searching for any sign of land, then gave up, resigned to the fact that they were now somewhere in the middle of the Pacific. She held on to the taffrail and watched crewmen on their hands and knees holystoning the wooden deck and sprinkling sand on the whitened surface so passengers wouldn’t slip. She heard deep, melodious singing among the sounds of the ocean and peered up at sailors—some of them as high as eighty feet in the air—who clung to the masts or stood on the booms and spars, barefoot, belting out a sea shanty, “Wives and sweethearts, don’t you cry. Amelia, where you bound? Sons and daughters wave goodbye, across the Western oh-shun.”
Lai King’s heart raced when she saw men walking effortlessly across the swaying timbers. She imagined their view, then felt dizzy and looked away, trying to think of something else: her parents, the note inside her coat, the little boy whom she’d seen days earlier, who was now watching her from the starboard rail. He removed his cap and she saw his curls of dark hair. He regarded her with a gentle smile. Lai King smiled back, then heard a commotion as a man in a tie and morning coat was escorted to the quarterdeck.
“Found him, Mr. Cappis,” a crewman said as two others, their faces covered in sackcloth with holes for their eyes, held on to his arms. “He rabbit-punched the doctor, then he hid in a wardrobe.”
The man fought against the sailors holding him. Then began hacking so hard they let go and he dropped to his knees, coughing into a rag. The men on deck, even the riggers in the foretop above, all covered their mouths with scarves and kerchiefs.
The crowd parted and Mr. Cappis appeared. He looked stern but weary. “Don’t make us waste a bullet, sir,” Mr. Cappis said, as though dying were a minor inconvenience. “After all, an aged man is but a paltry thing. W. B. Yeats.”
“Please,” the man pleaded, “I’m feeling better. You’ll see.” Then he coughed again as he struggled to speak. “I can pay.” He spat blood.
Everyone on deck, on the masts, on the rigging froze like statues, watching the scene unfold, a one-act play, knowing this drama would end in tragedy. No one spoke in the poor man’s defense. They knew what one sick person could do to all of them.
Lai King and the boy stared at each other, unwilling to watch, as the man was dragged belowdecks. His pleading diminished and all was quiet. The passengers on deck all stood like stone statues, no one wanting to cough or sniffle, or move an inch in the wrong way. Except Lai King, who crept to the railing. She peered down at the roiling ocean. Then she felt the boy next to her as the passengers slowly dispersed, grumbling, chatting, reciting prayers. The sailors and jacktars went back to work.
Lai King stared at the water. Then she glanced at the boy.
He glanced back and for a moment she marveled at his eyes, blue-silver, like Tahitian pearls, then they both continued gazing out at the water as though this were a wake and they were sitting vigil with the body of the deceased. They stood mesmerized by the sea, feeling the wind and the salty spray, until the boy said, “That man is my uncle. He became my guardian after my mother died six months ago and my father left.”
Lai King listened, thinking about the man who would be locked away for the next forty days. She had little doubt that the man would suffer the same fate as her father.
“His name is Albert,” the boy said, clearing his throat. “I’m named after him, even though most of my family considers it bad luck to be named after a living relative. I’m not sure why. He’s a merchant of dry goods. He traveled to the Orient many times and would bring me stories about life at sea, like ‘The Oblong Box’ and ‘MS Found in a Bottle.’ He was taking me to learn his trade. Now he’s dying and I don’t know what’s to become of me. I suppose they might auction me off as a bond servant when we arrive.” He sighed. “You probably don’t understand a word I’m saying, do you?”
Lai King watched the sun emerge from the clouds. Felt the warmth on her cheeks, saw the tops of the waves shimmer as though crested with diamonds.
She turned to the boy, “How do you do, Albert?”
The boy looked surprised, a bit embarrassed. Then he tried his best to stand up straight, which was challenging because of the lameness in his leg. He held out his hand, though it trembled. He looked down as he said, “Call me Alby.”
* * *
While the lonely days at sea drifted into lonesome weeks, Lai King was grateful to have found her sea legs, and also a friend. Though as she lay in her bunk, waiting for the weather to relent, she grew restless and wondered what Alby was doing to pass the time.
“What’s it like up there?” Lai King had asked.
“Sad, mostly,” Alby said, an answer that surprised her. She found that he could be shy at times and wasn’t sure if that was because of his withered leg or because she was a girl. Though on occasion he could be direct, even awkwardly blunt.