He fell back against the door, and his arms raised, prepared of their own accord to fight, for he was not, found themselves supporting her, sobbing in weak broken cries which were caught up in desperate gasps for breath. But even these sounds so close that his own chest shook with them seemed far away as he dragged her across the steel plates, staggering, catching his foot on a riveted seam, and ready to smash his head on the floor before her weight could pull him down on the bed with her distant sobs, for the sound of his own heart engulfed them both, the steel room shuddered with its pounding, a half-measure and then a full one, and both of them shut inside it, locked in the riveted steel enclosure, a heart in motion with no direction.
— Let me out! she screamed, and he pushed her, catching himself on the sharp corner of a metal bureau as she fell back on the bed, the port side rising behind him, and she hit.her head against the rivet row, and the crucifix fell and stabbed her shoulder.
It was the crucifix Stanley recovered first, and he stood there with it in his trembling hand staring at the drawn yellowed legs, rigid, hard-muscled straight to the toes, and then, the chest raised stiffly motionless, the chin thrust up and the unseeing eyes wide open. He had stopped breathing. The trembling crucifix lowered from his fixed gaze and he was staring at her, only a blur before him.
Her head lay over on one shoulder, lolling gently against the steel behind her, eyes closed, and she whimpered. Faint streaks and blotches had begun to show on her pale face, and Stanley bent over her. He started to talk loudly as his heart took up again with the engines and the whole thing of metal angles straining against each other enclosed overtook him, — Listen, listen. . listen to me. . He dropped the crucifix beside her and took her shoulders. Her head fell forward. — Listen to me. . He laid her back on the bed, got her legs up, and then pulled the crucifix out from under her and put it over beside her head. He stared at her still face for a moment, then got up and got a glass of water. He looked for a towel, found none, and so he dipped his fingers in and drew them over her forehead, saying now, — Listen, you can't have… I didn't mean. . you can't have hurt yourself, you. . listen. .
She opened her eyes staring straight, at him, and said finally, — Will you always keep me here?
— No, no, I… because even I, I can't stand. .
— Will we go to him now?
— Yes, I… no, you. . now, now you have to rest for a minute for a little while. Now we, listen, both of us have to… where did I… Where did you put that. . that rosary I gave you, that. . those silvery beads I gave you, where are they?. . because we…
She just stared at him. Stanley got up and started looking frantically round. In a pocket, a hand as frantic as his eyes found the tooth, and two sticky pills clinging to its wrapping.
The rosary was Italian, of silver filigree beads, with a filigree cross at the end of it. He saw it in a heap on the bureau where he'd just come from, and brought it back to her, going down on one knee beside her. — Listen, now we both. . after what we've both. . listen, the Angelic Salutation. The An-gel-ic, Salu-tation, do you remember it? Ave. . listen, repeat it with me. Take this. . He thrust the rosary beads into her hands, still on her belly. — Ave Maria. .
Her torn dress was pulled to the tip of her breast, which lay still as though she were not breathing. The beads lay over her motionless fingers with their colorless nails. She stared at him.
She stared at him through four repetitions, her breast just as still, the beads unmoved by her fingers and their colorless nails, the streaks on her face reddening. Then she burst into laughter.
The port side came down with a shudder; and Stanley went back on his heels: he'd never heard such a sound, thrown down on him from every side from the metal walls. All he could say was, — No!. . No!. . until he did manage to get hold of the crucifix. — No, now. . now listen, you. . Him who. . He who. . whose love was so great. . whose love for us was so great that He gave up His life… He… He…
— He!. . she cried out, — then take me to him!
— No, I mean, not him, I mean. . here. Stanley thrust the crucifix into her hands raised before her, the beads in a heap in her lap. For the moment his hand held it, his fingers trembled on the rigid yellow figure. The new significance his own body had given it made him dizzy, and he swallowed with the effort sea-sickness cost him.
She was staring at it too. Her eyes shone brilliantly, and she gripped it with great excitement. Stanley stood up before her. He watched her, waiting for her to confirm him in some transfiguration of faith, what, he did not know. She raised her eyes. They were glittering from her hollow face.
— This h-horrid thing, she said, and threw it at him.
Stanley reached automatically to catch it, but the instant his fingers touched it, they stiffened and it fell.
— Your terrible little man with nails in him, she cried, — your muttering and your muttering, and that. . terrible thing. She stood up. — For love? For love? Oh never, never, never. I know whose love must save me as I must be for love. And you cannot keep me from him. You cannot keep me from him. You cannot, nor Him dead with nails in, not for love.
There was a knock on the door, and before Stanley could open it or hold it closed, there was the fat woman filling the doorway. — My dear boy, my book, I lost it and I must have lost it here. My book about our little Spanish saint?
She stared at Stanley and beyond him. Stanley found the yellow three-penny pamphlet on the floor, and got it.
— But I won't take it if you're reading it, the fat woman said, standing curiously still in the rocking doorway. — The lovely child!. . preferring death to sin. I liked the part. .
— Here, take it! Stanley said.
— I liked the part like where she's getting ready, for First Communion? "Take care of your tongue," the priest told her, "for it's the first part of you to touch the body of Our Lord. ."
The fat woman stood there, filling the doorway. She had a small mouth, lips lined with a coral shade, which she pursed impatiently. She stood there, curiously still.
The rosary flew through the air.
— Go fuck yourself!
Stanley turned his head slowly. He saw no features, only livid red streaks. The silver filigree beads rolled all over the floor. He leaned over to pick up the crucifix.
— You are possessed, said the fat woman. Stanley brought his head up slowly before her, as he recovered the crucifix, afraid of the expression on the coral lips, afraid the fat woman would knock him down in an attack on the figure behind him, whom she'd just judged: but the fat woman was looking straight at him. She watched what he was doing, and as he stood, fixed her small eyes on his. The coral lips continued to twist silently. Then she turned from the doorway and went up the passage, the yellow three-penny pamphlet in the hand with the two mean pearls.
Stanley bolted the door, and turned his back against it. The cross he held was whole, but the figure mounted there was broken across the knees, and the chin was gone. He laid it face down on the bureau and turned with a hand in his pocket, where he felt the tooth and the two pills stuck to its wrapping.
Then he was grappling with her again. At one point they were thrown a hand or two apart, and Stanley looked up to the mirror in the cabinet door for reassurance, but he saw only himself. The ship heeled over, the door swung gently to, and the mirror embraced them both again but he did not see, for at the moment he was forced to renew the struggle, with the single mirror image before his eyes.