afternoon, a school of dolphins frolics in the wake of the big ship. The news spreads, and the entire crew is soon at the stern, watching the animals arc, like shooting gallery targets, through the air.
Later that day, one of the engine’s pistons stops pumping. Juanito and the second engineer investigate, and find that the piston case has cracked so badly they’ll have to wait for dry dock to repair it. With only seven operating cyclinders, the engine now runs at higher revolutions, the noise in the engine room a high-pitched whine. The extra strain on the engine leads to other problems. A day or two later, Juanito is welding a damaged exhaust manifold when he feels a needling pain in his chest, directly behind the heart. He takes a deep breath, the pain neither diminishing norworsening. He continues welding, though throughout his shift he occasionally massages the sore spot, at times wondering if he has eaten something that has disagreed with him, or if perhaps he has somehow pulled a muscle. Yet after his shift has finished, and he’s had a supper of spicy Filipino stew, he notices his chest is no longer bothering him. For this reason, he doesn’t mention it to the others.
The next day, shortly after descending into the chaotic rumbling of the engine room, he feels it again, a highly focused pressure a little to the left of the centre of his sternum. He stops, winces, and massages himself, wondering if the pain is really worse that day or whether he’s just more impatient with it. Though he continues working, he finds he’s having trouble concentrating—he keeps manipulating his posture and the way he holds his tools, so as to lessen the discomfort. Finally, he turns and spots the pipefitter working on one of the boilers that are lined, like sentries, along the back wall of the engine room. He walks along a grated catwalk, directly above the bilge pool, and reaches the opposite side of the room. Here, he taps the fitter’s shoulder.
Alfredo turns, and the two men remove their hearing protectors. Over the noise of the engine block, Juanito asks, in a voice just below yelling, if the fitter’s chest hurts. Alfredo’s eyes widen, and when he yells, “Yes, Oiler, it does!” the two men understand they are not suffering from indigestion, or muscle strain, or heartburn, and that they are suffering from the pain caused by a gas leak. Together, they cross back over the platform and spot Ariel Broas heading toward them. He motions toward Juanito’s chest, as though posing a question. Juanito answers with a bobbing of his head.
“Yes!” he shouts. “It hurts!”
The three take a set of stairs to the top level of the engine room, where Broas suggests the two crewmen get some fresh air while he talks with the second engineer in the control room. The fitter and oiler step outside the accommodation and onto the deck. To the north, the sky is beginning to darken and roil, and the wind swirling over the boat has turned cool. They shuffle their feet, and curse their luck, and wish they were home. Juanito lights a cigarette, turning his body to face the breeze, for as every sailor knows the worst way to light a match is with your back to the wind, the air having a tendency to whip around your body like a whirlpool.
There is the creaking of metal hinges. They turn to see Broas step on deck. He approaches them, rubs his eyes, and explains what they will do.
For the rest of that shift, and the shift after that, the three men search for splits in the exhaust systems servicing the main propulsion engine and the smaller auxiliary engines. They also comb the tubes servicing the compressors and condensers, thinking some errant CO might be seeping into the coolant systems, where it is then circulated throughout the engine room. It is long, tiring work: their chests ache, the heat radiating from the engine makes them perspire, and their detector is old, the needle fluttering like a loosened moth over the gauge. Still, they put
Later that day, one of the engine’s pistons stops pumping. Juanito and the second engineer investigate, and find that the piston case has cracked so badly they’ll have to wait for dry dock to repair it. With only seven operating cyclinders, the engine now runs at higher revolutions, the noise in the engine room a high-pitched whine. The extra strain on the engine leads to other problems. A day or two later, Juanito is welding a damaged exhaust manifold when he feels a needling pain in his chest, directly behind the heart. He takes a deep breath, the pain neither diminishing norworsening. He continues welding, though throughout his shift he occasionally massages the sore spot, at times wondering if he has eaten something that has disagreed with him, or if perhaps he has somehow pulled a muscle. Yet after his shift has finished, and he’s had a supper of spicy Filipino stew, he notices his chest is no longer bothering him. For this reason, he doesn’t mention it to the others.
The next day, shortly after descending into the chaotic rumbling of the engine room, he feels it again, a highly focused pressure a little to the left of the centre of his sternum. He stops, winces, and massages himself, wondering if the pain is really worse that day or whether he’s just more impatient with it. Though he continues working, he finds he’s having trouble concentrating—he keeps manipulating his posture and the way he holds his tools, so as to lessen the discomfort. Finally, he turns and spots the pipefitter working on one of the boilers that are lined, like sentries, along the back wall of the engine room. He walks along a grated catwalk, directly above the bilge pool, and reaches the opposite side of the room. Here, he taps the fitter’s shoulder.
Alfredo turns, and the two men remove their hearing protectors. Over the noise of the engine block, Juanito asks, in a voice just below yelling, if the fitter’s chest hurts. Alfredo’s eyes widen, and when he yells, “Yes, Oiler, it does!” the two men understand they are not suffering from indigestion, or muscle strain, or heartburn, and that they are suffering from the pain caused by a gas leak. Together, they cross back over the platform and spot Ariel Broas heading toward them. He motions toward Juanito’s chest, as though posing a question. Juanito answers with a bobbing of his head.
“Yes!” he shouts. “It hurts!”
The three take a set of stairs to the top level of the engine room, where Broas suggests the two crewmen get some fresh air while he talks with the second engineer in the control room. The fitter and oiler step outside the accommodation and onto the deck. To the north, the sky is beginning to darken and roil, and the wind swirling over the boat has turned cool. They shuffle their feet, and curse their luck, and wish they were home. Juanito lights a cigarette, turning his body to face the breeze, for as every sailor knows the worst way to light a match is with your back to the wind, the air having a tendency to whip around your body like a whirlpool.
There is the creaking of metal hinges. They turn to see Broas step on deck. He approaches them, rubs his eyes, and explains what they will do.
For the rest of that shift, and the shift after that, the three men search for splits in the exhaust systems servicing the main propulsion engine and the smaller auxiliary engines. They also comb the tubes servicing the compressors and condensers, thinking some errant CO might be seeping into the coolant systems, where it is then circulated throughout the engine room. It is long, tiring work: their chests ache, the heat radiating from the engine makes them perspire, and their detector is old, the needle fluttering like a loosened moth over the gauge. Still, they put
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