In the galley eating with some seamen. Soup, bread, potted meat, cheese, coffee. A dinner, lunch, breakfast. It’d be dinner. Distress signal was picked up late at night, or early morning. But ship hours are all hours. While some sleep, others watch. Possibly divided into thirds, engine down there always going. The galley. Food’s almost beginning to taste good after three days and lots of work. When big crash. Men and chairs fall, breakage. Sirens, bells, shouts, alarms. Told to get life vests on, over heavy sweaters, heavy socks if they got them in their pockets, but no one return to his cabin. Everyone including the engineers on top deck. Whatever the deck’s called. Flight deck because they’re in flight. He’s especially confused because he’s so new at this and doesn’t recognize all the signals. Follow someone. He’s climbing the hatchway stairs when a ton of water comes down it. Someone’s near the top, someone behind, all climbing when the water knocks them to the floor. Ship seems to be shivering, then turning over. They don’t know what to do, can’t do much. Decks below filling up fast. Water’s pouring down the hatchway, preventing them from swimming to it, getting up it. Men struggle around him. One can’t swim and is held up by a man who can. The current carries Alex back to the galley. He treads water, looking for something high up to hang on to or something floating to hold him up. Two chairs, which he tries pulling together to make a float, but one flips out of his hand and goes out the galley. A table, which keeps rolling over when he tries climbing on top of it. Can’t feel his feet anymore. Lights go. Several of them yelling help from different rooms. No strength left to climb on top of the table anymore so just holds on. Maybe the ship will turn rightside up. Surely the radioman’s sent signals. Maybe some men above will do something to help get them up. A line’s all he needs with a loop at the end of it. Ships are always near, aren’t they? Even fifty miles away, a hundred, they’d be here — at least one would — in hours. Stick it out till then. More than try. Water’s so cold. He’s going to die, what’s there to do about it? Someone shouts something about the aft exit. At the other end, may as well be a mile from him. Table rolls over and he loses it. Reaches out, can’t feel anything but blank wall and water. Fingers the wall for a hook. Tries treading while doing this but forgets how to. Dear God, save me. Takes a deep breath, loses most of it, huge rumble from someplace, then a sound like spouting. No use, hasn’t got thirty seconds. Puts his arms straight up, opens his mouth wide, says to himself as he sinks “Dear Mother,” tries not to squirm and kick but for a few seconds has to.
Sleeping. Top bunk of a double- or triple-decker. Weren’t that many men aboard, so maybe they all had single bunks, two or three to a cabin. Dreaming he’s back home, having coffee in the kitchen with his mother, when three men run in with tommyguns and start shooting at the ceiling. His younger brother and sister are in the bedroom right above. Blood pours through the holes the bullets made. He lunges at the men when they aim the guns at his mother. Alarm clock goes off in the upstairs bedroom. To wake the kids for school. Ship alarm. He wakes up, says “Huh, what’s wrong?” “Emergency, man,” his bunkmate says in English or Spanish. “Big one. Only goes off like that when it’s the most serious. All-hands-on-deck kind of thing, ship going down, could be. Hurry.” Can’t be as bad as the guy’s saying. Where are his shoes? Gets his sweater and pants from the end of his bunk. Socks are in his shoes. Lights go on and off, alarm continues, men running past their cabin, someone throws open the door and shouts “Out, up.” Suddenly the ship’s being shoved back and forth. Way it’s been for days, but side to side while now if s fore to aft, motion he’s never heard of on so large a ship. “My damn shoes, where are they?” “Forget them, man. We could be sinking this minute,” and runs out, clothes and vest on. Alex gets two pairs of socks out of his locker and pockets them, vest off the wall, last look under and around his bunk, runs to the stairs putting the vest on. On deck everyone’s dressed for very cold weather and rain. “Ship’s being abandoned,” the first officer says. “We caught something, no time to find out what it is. Nobody fret. We’re still radioing and we’ve time to lower boats and get extra provisions and equipment in.” Alex says “TO freeze without shoes. I’m freezing now.” His feet are in an inch of water. “Anyone have extra shoes for this man?” the officer says. Shaking of heads, some say no, wish they did, sorry. “I’ll be right back,” Alex says. I’m sure I’ll find them this time, or someone’s.” Runs to the stairs. “Come on back,” someone shouts. “You’ll hold us all up.” Has to hold on tight to get below, brace his hands against the corridor walls as he runs to his cabin. Two to three inches of water already. Shoes are on the unused bunk above his. Doesn’t remember putting them there. Someone must have while he slept. Or he did just before he fell asleep exhausted, though he doesn’t know why he’d do it. Grabs them. Also another sweater and a watch cap out of his locker. Starts for the stairs. His manuscripts. Hell with them. If any are worth it he’ll remember them and rewrite them. Water pours down the stairs. Crunching sound from the deck below his. Ship tips straight up and he falls on his back. Tries crawling upstairs. Ship’s righted somewhat, then tips up again. He’s thrown downstairs, thinks he hurt badly or broke a leg. Can’t stand on it. Ship’s also shaking too much. Then vibrating, and a few places in the walls crack. Shoes are gone. Sweater and cap he held on to without knowing it and lets them float away. Lights have gone but he can see the hatchway hole as they may be shooting off flares up there. Enough water below now to swim in. He tries to get to the stairs. Lots of pain but screw it, he’s able to swim if he digs in hard and doesn’t kick. Orders from above, shouting, constant stack blasts, crunching noises from the sides now too. Ship seems to be rolling over, then tips up but from the other end, dropping him by the stairs. Water’s up to the middle steps. He grabs the stair rail, tries pulling himself upstairs, is thrown against the wall, head banging it so hard he’s knocked out. He awakes underwater, at the other end of the corridor, water in his lungs, spits out a mouthful, tries to swim, can’t, cough up water, can’t. Can hardly breathe it seems. Tries, takes in a little water stuck in his nose. Corridor wall rips open and he’s sucked out.