Only a few days ago, I juggled a pineapple on this very deck. My wager with Jamie and Bo was a simple one, the players evenly matched. Somehow, it feels like a wager is still on. Only I’m no longer a player, but a prop, along with two thousand other souls. The ship has laid a wager against the sea, and it’s clear who’s favored to win.
At the top of the stairs, the gate to the upper decks remains locked. A middle-aged gent scales it, uses his life belt as a pad, and swings his legs over. He grips a woman under the arms and hauls her over, too. Others crawl along the jib of the cargo cranes, bypassing the gate altogether.
Why won’t they open the gate? It’s as if they’ve locked us in a cage and hung the key just out of reach. Will there be a line in heaven, too, with the tin plates barred from the table until the gold ones are set? If so, the Chinese at least have an advantage. In Chinese heaven, there’s no line, only stars, which, through forces of push and pull, regulate when you are born and move you back to heaven when you die.
Sometimes I picture Mum up on that terraced hill with Ba and the ancestors, where I hope she can visit when she pleases. An afterlife without one’s loved ones doesn’t seem like a place I’d want to go. Maybe that’s why Jamie likes to study the stars. Whatever the answer is, surely it’s written up there.
Beyond the gate, the rearmost lifeboat is being lowered, occupied by a dozen men and women. The scrape of hull against hull as it inches down reminds me of a spoon against an empty bowl.
As we maneuver to a spot at the bottom of the stairs, Jamie stares out to port, where others are beginning to look. A tiny prick of light flashes from somewhere on the horizon.
“’Tis a boat,” a young mother behind us tells the babe in her arms, her voice high and cracking. “And ’tis comin’ ter save us, me love.”
I hope that’s true, and that it makes haste.
The gate finally breaks, and I hold Wink as close as his lifesaver will allow. People press in toward the lifeboat, held back by shouting crewmen.
“Women and children only!” cries an officer. “Men, stand back!”
Some of the men do as they’re told, but others, whether because they’re afraid or because they don’t speak English, still manage to board.
“Hold boarding!” a crewman with the darkened complexion of a fireman bellows from inside the lifeboat. “We’re at limit. You’ll have to wait for the next boat.”
“There is no next boat!” wails a man. “They’re all gone!”
The news sets my heart rattling against my rib cage. If this is our last chance, we’d better make it good.
“Act helpless,” I drop in Wink’s ear. “Maybe cry. Can you do that?”
His eyes become flinty, and he nods.
“Smartly,” Jamie orders hoarsely.
“Please let us through!” I cry, pushing Wink along past a couple of men, Jamie at my back. “I got me baby brother!” The Cockney wench bangs to be let out, apparently sensing a charade brewing. So I let her take over, careful not to overdo it.
Last time I tried to get Wink on a lifeboat, I was too polite, too quick to play by the rules, and that won’t happen again. This time, I’ll be as pushy and streetwise as the gangs in Cheapside, who’ll beg, barter, or beat the shadow off you if they want something badly enough.
The officer in charge, a pale young man with a haunted face, holds up a hand to me. My feet halt, but my mouth keeps going.
“He’s a wee one, barely seen life, and it’s been hard, with Mum gone belly-up.” I glance at Jamie, who quickly transforms his astonished face into one of mourning. “She dropped her teeth looking over the pier and fell in trying to catch them. Drowned right in front of his eyes. Come on, sir, give us a chance.”
Wink, whose face has begun twitching, squeezes out a tear, a good fat one that takes its time rolling down to the tip of his nose, where it bravely hangs on.
The officer scratches his blond whiskers. From the boat, a man with a paunch like a bag of flour puts his hands to his mouth and bellows, “We’re at capacity. Any more will sink—”
“You wanna let a child what seen his mum drown in front of him go down the same way? That would just be evil. Come on, sir, have a heart. Take us with you.” I grab Jamie’s arm. “We’re family. You can’t break up family. Please, we’re no trouble. You won’t even notice us.”
“Officer, lower away!” a man calls down from the Boat Deck.
From the back of the lifeboat, a figure rises, someone with the stocky build of a trimmer, and a shaved head. “Wink!”
“Ming Lai!” cries Wink, maybe blubbering real tears this time.
Beside Ming Lai sits Dina Domenic with her parents squeezed in next to her.
“Blimey!” I cry. “Another of our bruv’ers. It’s a sign from God Himself, a sign we should be on this boat. Hallelujah!” I clasp my hands and shake them over my head, like a high roller on his last throw of the dice.
The young officer twists at the whistle around his neck. “I can’t let all three of you.”
“How about just the deuce of them, guv’nor?” Jamie cuts in.
I grimace, and not just because his Cockney is as tragic as burnt chicken. The first two boats in this quadrant are already in the water, and the third is on its way down. This is the last lifeboat here.
“You said birds and babes,” Jamie keeps on. “Far as I can tell, you got mostly blokes in your bucket. What do you say?”
The officer swivels between the boat and us. I keep my praying hands in front of me, nudging Wink with my elbow.
Wink squeezes out another tear. He begins to whimper and squeak, escalating to full-belly wailing. Now the tears are really starting to flow.
“I won’t be no trouble, sir!” he hiccups.
“Let them on. For God’s sake, man!” cries another voice.
The officer crosses himself. “Very well, the wee one and the girl. I’m sorry, sir, you’ll have to wait for the next one.”
With a nod, Jamie steps back. Wink legs into the boat, still wearing his lifesaver, looking like a cloth napkin pulled through a ring. Quickly, he works his way back to Ming Lai.
As I step onto the gunwale, a baby cries, a wail too thin to carry far. The young mother who was behind us fights to keep her bundle from slipping. A tiny leg sticks out, attached to a tiny foot that has yet to stamp a print on the world. The mother shrugs up a shoulder, wiping away her tears. They won’t make it.
Jamie sees me eyeing the pair and shakes his head no.
“Ming Lai, take care of Wink,” I call to him in Cantonese.