India Dark by Kirsty Murray

the passengers a show ever since we left Melbourne. Before the sailor died, I’d been looking forward to it, but knowing there was a corpse in a cupboard on the upper deck made the ship feel like a morgue.
    Yada’s voice kept echoing in my mind: ‘Acting and theatre are cheap folly, only ritual is important.’ I didn’t want her to be right but it didn’t feel seemly to sing a ‘Chorus of Welcome’ when someone was passing over into the other world. It made me shudder to think of the poor dead sailor’s ghost wandering the ship as we sang and danced so gaily.
    If we had to do a show, I was glad Mr Arthur had picked Florodora . It was set in the Philippines and there were lovely songs for the chorus of Florodora girls and even some good parts for the boys. Max was the detective, Tweedlepunch, and Freddie played the villain, Gilfain. Charlie played the romantic lead, Frank, to Ruby Kelly’s Dolores. I’m sure he hated having to pretend to be sweet on Ruby. She was too big to be playing opposite him but Mr Arthur was trying to make up to her for losing his temper by giving her a lead role.
    Charlie looked so dashing, dressed as a captain in a lovely uniform with gold braid and a blue-and-gold captain’s cap set jauntily on his dark hair. Halfway through the first act he sang a duet with Ruby. It gave me the strangest feeling when he swept off his hat and knelt before her. I had to shut my eyes. I couldn’t bear to see him holding her hand and staring into her face with a sloppy expression. I tried to imagine that it was someone else, not Charlie, making love to Ruby. My stomach began to churn. My chest grew tight, as if I might suffocate. When we reached the finale of Act 1, I slipped out of the dining hall.
    I was standing on the rear deck when I saw two sailors taking the dead man out of the cupboard. The steward put his finger to his lips. ‘We have to dispose of the body before the ship gets any closer to shore, Miss, otherwise they’ll know it’s from the Ceylon .’
    â€˜What are you going to do with him?’ I whispered.
    â€˜Slip him over the side.’
    The sailors carried the body aft. If you didn’t know, you would have thought they were throwing a bag of rubbish overboard. I heard a ‘plop’ as the body hit the sea and was swallowed into the watery darkness. I couldn’t help myself. I ran to the side and stared at the place where the corpse had disappeared beneath the waves, but it was as if the man had never lived.
    Back in the dining hall, I was in time to put my costume on for the closing scenes. When we started singing ‘The Island of Love’, part of my mind was out on deck, at the stern of the steamer, gazing into the black waters of Singapore harbour, thinking of the sailor’s corpse and his bitter, lonely end.
    I wanted to say a prayer for the sailor’s soul. Even if no one else heard it, I wanted to help his ghost find peace. I looked into the laughing, happy faces of the passengers and my mind was so jumbled with song lyrics that I couldn’t find the right words. As I curtseyed to the audience, a scrap of a poem that Yada used to read to me filled my head. Even though it wasn’t a prayer, I hoped it held the right thought.
    No more the wild confused main,
Is tossed about with storms of fear.
    The sea is singing; and the rain,
Is music to the ears that hear.

22
    PLAYING FAVOURITES
    Tilly Sweetrick
    Feeling earth beneath my feet was heavenly.
    I hooked my arm through Poesy’s as we waited for Mr Arthur to organise a dozen rickshaws to take us to our hotel.
    â€˜This is more like it,’ I told her. ‘I feel so much safer now we’re in the British Empire again.’
    â€˜But they have cholera here in Singapore too,’ said Poesy.
    I gave her arm a little pinch. ‘Don’t be like that, Poesy. Don’t spoil things.’
    â€˜How can you not think about that poor