Sounds of footsteps. "Captain says you need to get out. You're part of the crew now. You must work to earn your room and board." It was Dinnington's voice, muffled by the closed door.
I lifted my head a little and looked at the doorway expressionlessly. "May I refuse?"
"No."
I got out of bed and threw open the door. Mr. Dinnington stared at me, surprised by my expression filled with anger. "What if I did?"
"I guarantee it's not a good idea, Miss Adler."
"You are holding me here against my will. I have now become your slave, but I will not accept becoming nothing of the sort. So, no, Mr. Dinnington, I will not agree to work for this crew."
"Please, Miss. It's no use rebelling. You'll only hurt yourselves."
"You will hurt me. You are already hurting me. "
"Listen carefully, I know this situation is very difficult for you. I can't even imagine how you feel. But there are times when you can fight and there are times when it is best to give in. And this, Miss Adler, is the time to give in," he spoke, obviously distressed. "Trust me. Just this once. I know you can."
"No, no! What kind of person would I be if I gave in like this?"
"A person with excellent self-preservation instincts."
I swallowed hard.
"Believe me, Miss Adler, it is better to lose your dignity than your life. You know perfectly well what the alternative is. Either this, or being sold to a brothel. And you wouldn't last long in such a place."
There was a brief moment of silence, after which I lifted my gaze into his eyes and spoke in a harsh tone. "All right. "
"You will join Quinn. You'll clean the deck with him." Dinnington retrieved a scrubbing brush, a rag, and a bucket full of soapy water for me. Quinn greeted me with a wave of his hand. I tucked up my skirts and knelt on the ground, then dipped the scrubbing brush in the water. I did not speak. I stood with my head bowed for hours, my back bent and my arms rubbing hard on the wooden floor, scrubbing every spot of dirt, every crevice, plank by plank. I don't know where I could find all that energy. My arms ached terribly, yet I kept scrubbing, never asking for a break, never stopping for even a minute to catch my breath. Anger. Oh, that anger that inflamed my soul was like a propellant that never ended.
"Miss," Quinn spoke. The sun was setting. The air was growing crisp. "We're done for the day. We'll continue tomorrow."
I didn't stop. My fingers, calloused and dry, trembled with the effort.
"Miss." Quinn tried to get my attention, to get me to stop somehow, unsuccessfully. "Stop."
"I'll go on alone," I told him. "You may go."
"But..."
"You may go."
Quinn, uncertain, took a few steps backwards. Then he walked away, leaving me alone. I didn't stop rubbing until it was too dark to see anything. The sailors who passed by me watched me with interest. I could feel their mischievous eyes on me, as if amused by my insistence on obeying their demands. They loved to see me so meek and obedient.
"Hey, milady, wouldn't you feel like rubbing something else instead? Something softer, perhaps?"
Laughter ensued.
I pretended not to hear.
The man whistled. "Hey, I'm talking to you."
I squinted and kept my eyes closed for a long time, until the voices disappeared completely. I stood as still as a statue, the soaked rag in my hands. My fingers were frozen.
"Miss Adler," Dinnington greeted me when he saw me the next day. "How are you doing?"
"I don't want to do it."
He frowned. "Do what?"
"I don't want to work for you. I don't want anything to do with you... I-" I felt my eyes burning. "Please, I just want to get back to my family. Please."
Dinnington shrugged, bitterly. "Miss Adler, I can't-"
"Try to convince the Captain. She listens to you, doesn't she? You are the quartermaster."
"I'll try, but I highly doubt she'll change her mind."
"I just want to go home..."
"I know. I'm sorry. But try to hold on. Be strong. Be strong for your family."
The sun on my face gave me a slight numbness. "...for my family."
"What should we have the woman do?" asked a man with a full beard to his companion. The two exchanged a fleeting glance.
"A job suitable for women," chuckled the other. "Milady, milady! Come here! You'll clean all the chamber pots today. Properly. I want to see them shining like never before!"
Only three days had elapsed, and I understood that these people had every intention of humiliating me in every way possible. They were making me do the heaviest and most abject work; washing every inch of the ship, cleaning dishes soiled with grease and hardened food residue, lifting heavy crates full of gunpowder and carrying them to the gun rooms. My back was sore and the skin on my hands was peeling. And they laughed at me. They laughed to see me stagger as I carried the heavy crates up the stairs, they laughed if I made any grimace of disgust as I tried to grind up chickens or pork legs. Grinding meat was the task that sickened me the most. Tongues, livers, hearts. My fingers constantly smelled of blood.
I had become a pastime for them. Something to dabble in from time to time to beat the boredom and monotony of each day. Watching me struggle and fail was the funniest thing. Sometimes, in the evening, I would lie on the floor in my cabin. I wished those wooden planks would swallow me up and take me away from there.
I went into the dormitory with a bucket of water in one hand and a sponge in the other. About ten men were sleeping on their bunks; they had been on the night shift. I placed the bucket overflowing with water on the floor, but I let it go too recklessly, so that it made a loud thud. Suddenly, the men's snoring stopped. I sensed their ravenous eyes peering at me with interest. I felt as if I had just entered a den of wolves. Without looking up, I made my way to an empty bunk and bent down to retrieve the still-full chamber pot. I emptied the contents through a porthole. The smell of piss and excrement invaded my nostrils, yet I tried to convince myself that chopping meat was far worse.
"You know? You're such a pretty little thing!" exclaimed Smith from his bunk. I recognized him now. He pestered me every time he saw me. I always made sure not to be alone with him. I was afraid of his insistence, of his eyes running over my body and lingering on my breasts. He did nothing to hide his interest; it was visible to everyone, especially me. I was frightened by his presence, his constant provoking, that way he had of teasing me and telling me he wanted me in his bed.
"Why don't you come over here and keep me company?"
"No," I said.
"Oh, come on! Make this poor sailor happy."
"Stop it, Smith! You're terrorizing her to death!" It was Jackie Jay's voice, thundering from the back of the room.
I bent down and began to rub the chamber pot with the wet sponge, ignoring them.
"Why do you meddle? Leave me alone."
"All you do is harass her all the time. If you don't stop, I swear to God I'm going to warn the Captain."
"You goddamn pansy! Do you hear yourself? I didn't do anything to that woman! I never touched her! What? It's not against the rules to poke her!"
Smith lay back on his bunk and turned his back to me, muttering nastiness under his breath. He went back to sleep and took no further interest in me.
I was like a circus animal to them. They expected me to make a mistake. They were clapping their hands in hilarity, giggling loudly. They circled around me like vultures, with their loud voices and uncontrollable laughter. I never looked at them directly; I didn't dare provoke them for fear that I might make things worse. Cold shivers ran down my spine. My body was shaken by fear, mixed with the deepest disgust. I considered these people the dregs of humanity. Insensitive, cruel, murderers, thieves, bandits. It still amazed me that there was a woman in charge of that rabble. If those barbarians were willing to be commanded by a woman, then it meant she had to be worse than they were. I would run into her from time to time, especially when I was in charge of cleaning the deck. I would spend hours scrubbing those boards full of dried bloodstains. No matter how hard I tried, they wouldn't go away. And I wondered if that was my crew's blood, or Phillips', or Captain Jones'. Arenis wouldn't even look at me. She walked past me without lingering her gaze on me, as if I were invisible. Her indifference to me was not surprising. She had only agreed to keep me on her ship because her crew had decided so. I was no use to her. I was nothing but her men's favourite plaything.
Someone knocked on my door. It was early in the morning. I pulled myself up in my seat and let the covers slip off me.
"Who is it?" I asked, unable to hide the nervousness in my tone of voice.
"I'm Jackie Jay."
"What do you want?"
"I want to give you an assignment in the kitchen."
"I can't cook."
"I'll tell Mr. Harris to give you the simplest tasks, then."
"Why do you want me to work in the kitchen?"
"Because... well, there's only Mr. Harris in the kitchen. No one else. No one can bother you there."
"It's because of Smith, isn't it?"
"I've seen how he treats you. I know you're afraid of him."
"So... you are trying to help me?"
"I am, yes."
And that's when I threw open the door. Seeing the look on my face, Jackie Jay knew definitively that he had convinced me. His lips stretched into a relieved smile.
"Why?" I asked.
"Why not?"
I asked no further. "Just give me a few minutes to change my clothes."
"Of course."
Dressing myself still presented me with some problems. The petticoats and countless articles of clothing were difficult to fasten and adjust. Once I was ready, Jackie Jay accompanied me below deck to the kitchen. Harris, a plump, bald-headed man, was carrying sacks full of potatoes up the narrow winding steps into the hold.
"Jackie," he said by way of greeting, turning to face the man. "What brings you here?"
"I bet you need an assistant."
"Oh, sure... I could use a hand. There are pounds of potatoes to peel."
"Well, Miss Adler will be delighted to help you. Won't she?"
He looked at me.
"Yes," I replied.
Once I was alone with the cook, we stared at each other for a moment. I was completely embarrassed while he stood there studying me as if I were a showpiece. He pointed to a stool and invited me to take a seat. He then placed two buckets of potatoes next to my seat. The chair was small and wobbly, but I managed to sit down anyway. I was usually used to peeling fruit, but I soon noticed that the potatoes were much harder. Half an hour later, when Harris came to pick up the potatoes I had peeled, he furrowed his brow, annoyed.
"On some there's still the peel on! On others you've peeled off half a potato! I've never met a woman who couldn't peel potatoes!"
I pretended not to hear and continued my work as if nothing had happened. Harris did not speak again for some time. When he lit the fire to start cooking the meat and potatoes, a strong smell of burnt oil, meat and gravy wafted through the air. Smoke flooded the small room and I began to cough, feeling suffocated. I got up and went to open the two small portholes next to the pantry, without even asking Mr. Harris for permission. Fortunately, the man ignored me completely.
After the buckets of potatoes were finished, Harris put me in charge of cleaning the kitchen.
"Go into the hold; you will find brooms, rags, and water."
I soon realized how dangerous the spiral staircases leading to the hold were. They were wooden, frightfully steep, and creaked ominously at every step. I lifted my skirts, and, one step at a time, began to descend carefully. The hold was dark, lit only by the dim light from a small window. It was full of boxes, crates, and baskets. I had to be careful not to trip over one of them. I found the water barrels and hurried to fill a zinc bucket. The climb up, then, was even more difficult. The bucket was heavy and the skirt got in the way of my steps. When I finally surfaced in the kitchen, I breathed a sigh of relief. I dipped the rags in the clean water and first began wiping down the countertop. Harris was busy checking the meat and let me clean the knives and a slew of dirty dishes.
When the cook went down into the hold to fetch some more salt, he came out a few moments later, looking so threatening, that I recoiled in fright.
"What barrel did you use to get the water?" he asked, hissing.
"I don't know."
"Which one!?"
"Second on the left."
"That's drinking water, for fuck's sake! For cleaning you must never, ever use that!" he ranted. "Drinking water is the most precious thing we have on the ship right now, do you understand that? If we lack that, we all die. Wasting it like this is disgraceful, a blasphemy. And if you'd hurriedly peeled the damn potatoes we'd all be eating by now!" His scornful eyes were on me. He walked up and down the room unnerved and with his hands clasped behind his back. "Get out of here. You're done for now."
When I came on deck, I noticed that the crew was waiting impatiently for lunch. The Captain stood on the bridge, looking out over the horizon. From time to time she cast an annoyed glance at the door leading to the galley, hoping to see the food come out. Her men were growing restless.
I took a deep breath of fresh air, glad to be out of that smoke-filled room. I could feel my clothes sticking to me, my skin was sweaty. My hair smelled of burning and cooking.
When Harris came out from below deck with the food ready, assisted by young cabin boy Quinn, there was a great exclamation of satisfaction from the whole crew. I watched them distribute the food to the men, and when it was my turn, Harris handed me the plate so abruptly that I almost tipped it over.