Sea of Poppies

Paulette cut him off before he could finish. 'Mr Reid,' she said proudly, 'you are yourself trumping very much if you imagine me to be in search of a husband. I am not a lost kitten, Mr Reid, to be sheltered in a menage. Indeed I can conceive of no union more contemptible than one in which a man adopts a wife out of pity!'

Zachary bit his lip. 'Didn't mean no offence, Miss Lambert. Believe me: wasn't pity made me say what I did.'

Squaring her shoulders, Paulette tossed the ghungta of her sari off her head. 'You are mistaken, Mr Reid, if you imagine that I asked you here to seek your protection – for if there is anything that Bethel has taught me it is that the kindness of men comes always attached to some prix…'

The word stunned Zachary. 'Avast, Miss Lambert! I didn say nothin like that. I know to watch my mouth around a lady.'

'Lady?' said Paulette scornfully. 'Is it to a lady that an offer like yours is made? Or rather to a woman… who sits in the window?'

'You're on the wrong tack, Miss Lambert,' said Zachary. 'Never meant nothin like that.' He could feel his face colouring in mortification now, and to calm himself, he took the oars out of Jodu's hands and began to row. 'So why did you want to see me then, Miss Lambert?'

'I asked you here, Mr Reid, because I wish to discover whether you are fit to bear the name you have been given: Zikri.'

'I don't take your meaning, Miss.'

'May I then rappel for you, Mr Reid,' said Paulette, 'that a few nights ago you told me that if I ever needed anything, I had only to ask? I asked you here tonight because I wish to know whether your promise was a mere bagatelle, lightly uttered, or whether you are indeed a man who honours his parole.'

Zachary could not help smiling. 'You're wrong there again, Miss: many a bar I've seen, but never those of a jail.'

'Word,' said Paulette, correcting herself. 'That is what I mean. I want to know whether you are a man of your word. Come: tell the truth. Are you a man of your word or not?'

'That depends, Miss Lambert,' said Zachary cautiously, 'on whether it's in my power to give you what you want.'

'It is,' said Paulette firmly. 'It most certainly is – or else I would not ask.'

'What is it then?' said Zachary, his suspicions deepening.

Paulette looked him in the eye and smiled. 'I would like to join the crew of the Ibis, Mr Reid.'

'What?' Zachary could not believe that he had heard aright: in that moment of inattention his grip slackened and the current tore the oars from his hands and would have swept them away but for the vigilance of Jodu, who snatched one from the water and used it to pole the other one in. Leaning over the gunwale to retrieve the oar, Zachary found himself exchanging glances with Jodu, who shook his head as if to indicate that he knew perfectly well what Paulette had in mind and had already decided that it could not be allowed. United by this secret understanding, each man took an oar for himself and they started to row together, sitting shoulder to shoulder, with their faces turned towards Paulette: no longer were they lascar and malum, but rather a confederacy of maleness, banding together to confront a determined and guileful adversary.

'Yes, Mr Reid,' Paulette repeated, 'that is my request to you: to be allowed to join your crew. I will be one of them: my hair will be confined, my clothing will be as theirs… I am strong… I can work…'

Zachary leant hard against the oar and the boat surged forward against the current, leaving the Burnham estate in its wake: he was glad to be rowing now, for there was a certain comfort in the hardness of the wooden handle that was grating against the calluses of his palms; there was something reassuring, even, about the dampness on his shoulder, where his arms were grinding against Jodu's: the proximity, the feel and smell of sweat – these were all reminders of the relentless closeness of shipboard life, the coarseness and familiarity which made sailors as heedless as animals, thinking nothing of saying aloud, or even being seen to do, that which elsewhere would have caused agonies of shame. In the fo'c'sle lay all the filth and vileness and venery of being a man, and it was necessary that it be kept contained to spare the world the stench of the bilges.

But Paulette, in the meanwhile, had not ceased to make her case: '… Nobody will know who I am, Mr Reid, except for yourself and Jodu. It is now only a matter of whether you will honour your word or not.'

An answer could no longer be delayed, so Zachary replied by shaking his head. 'You've got to put this out of your mind, Miss Lambert. It just won't do.'

'Why?' she said defiantly. 'Give me a reason.'

'Can't happen,' said Zachary. 'See: it's not only that you're a woman – it's also that you're white. The Ibis will be sailing with an all-lascar crew which means that only her officers will be "European", as they say here. There are only three such: first mate, second mate and Captain. You've already met the Captain; and the first mate, let me tell you, is as mean a hard-horse as I've ever seen. This isn't a kippage you'd want to be in, even if you were a man – and all the white berths are taken anyway. No room for another buckra on board.'

Paulette laughed. 'Oh but you don't understand, Mr Reid,' she said. 'Of course I don't expect to be an officer, like yourself. What I want is to join as a lascar, like Jodu.'

'Shitten hell…!' Once again Zachary's grip went slack and this time the oar caught a wallop of a crab, dealing him a blow to the stomach that left him gasping and spluttering.

Jodu tried to keep them on a steady course, but by the time Zachary recovered, the current had dragged them backwards and they were again within view of the Burnham estate – but Paulette was as oblivious to the sight of her former home as she was to the groans of pain issuing from the centre of the boat. 'Yes, Mr Reid,' she continued, 'if only you agreed to help me, it could be quite easily done. Anything Jodu can do, I can do also – that has been true since we were children, he himself will tell you so. I can climb as well as he, I can swim and run better, and I can row almost as well. As for languages, I can speak Bengali and Hindusthani as well as he. It is true that he is darker, but I am not so pale that I could not be taken for an Indian. I assure you there has never been a time in our lives when we could not persuade an outsider that we were brothers – it was always just a question of changing my pinafore for a lungi, and tying a gamchha around my head. In this way we have been everywhere together, on the rivers and in the streets of the city: ask him – he cannot deny it. If he can be a lascar then, you may be sure, so can I. With kajal in my eyes, a turban on my head and a lungi around my waist, no one will know me. I will work below deck and never be seen.'