of his neck. He
feels a sudden urge to frustrate their plans.
“I say, waiter, ” he calls. The man’s eyes grow alarmed
and it seems for a moment he plans to pretend he hasn’t
heard. Then, as though following direction from someone
behind Ismay, he nods and approaches the table. He
bends, with his ear close to Ismay like a conspirator. “We’d
like to see the dessert menu, please.”
The waiter, still with ear close to Ismay’s mouth,
makes a low sound as though considering how to respond.
He raises himself a little and shuffles backwards, aiming
his own comments somewhere just behind Ismay’s head.
“But, sir, we wondered whether you and madam
wouldn’t be more comfortable in your suite.”
“No, we would not, ” Ismay says.
He sees that Evelyn is beginning to shift, and already
has her gloves on the table. He throws her a slight frown
to make her stop.
“But as you can see, sir, we are very busy.”
“And as you can see, we have not finished.”
The waiter moves away without another word and
Evelyn obediently folds away her gloves.
Ismay catches a glance or two from adjacent tables.The band returns, and he wonders at the shortness of the
break, whether they’ve been instructed to recommence to
smooth over the unpleasantness between Evelyn and the
Grimsdens. The leader waves his violin bow like a conductor’s stick and they strike into a mid-tempo waltz Ismay
doesn’t immediately recognize. It’s not “The Blue Danube”
but something quite similar.
“We’re both misbehaving tonight, aren’t we, Father?”
“Well, you know, one may as well be hung for a sheep.”
The image, ironically, makes him think of the ocean,
perhaps because it evokes notions of courage and
manhood, perhaps because it’s accompanied by a waltz
that feels like the motion of waves. He’s bent at the winch
handle once more, hearing the pat and splash as the
lifeboat touches down upon the water’s surface more than
sixty feet below. In a moment more the lifeboat is freed
and he’s racing with some other sailors to launch one of
the two collapsibles stored upon the boat deck.
Sounds of distant panic rise and fade, but mostly there
is an unreal sense of quiet and order even in the rush. It’s
a stomach-heaving calm because he knows it can’t possibly last. Soon there will be panic and agony beyond
anything he has ever imagined. Life doesn’t depart peacefully, even if it is one life trapped within the body of one
long-ailing. This will not be one, or ten, or a hundred, and
those to die are not ailing. They are merely aboard a ship
that cannot remain above the surface of the water.
Ropes are slung aside with a slap. Ismay helps throw
them clear. Carter, the friendly Philadelphian chap,
appears at his shoulder and throws him a sympathetic
look that makes Ismay wonder. On the one hand, there’s
hardly time to consider everything, on the other, there are
oceans of time. Every moment lasts forever. As a seaman
reaches his long spanner to a nut high on the davit and
turns it with a grunt, it seems that—in that swift glance—
Carter, a recent acquaintance, has suddenly acquired the
ability to read his thoughts. It feels as though he knows
Ismay is thinking of the decks below and the peace that
likely reigns in that place now that all the life of the ship
must have swarmed upwards. Boiler rooms, post rooms,
swimming pools, steerage, and many cabins aft will be
submerged and silent. His kingdom. The urge to go down
there tugs him so hard he almost feels himself dissolve
into the darkness between the cabin lights, making his
escape from the scene in a trail of vapour.
Carter catches his eye for a second time as collapsible
boat C shifts from its blocks with a yelp. Chief Officer
Wilde hands a lantern to a seaman on the far side and he
places it inside the lifeboat hull. The lifeboat sways from
its ropes as it hangs precariously from the deck. All the
boats so far have made it down, but this seems altogether
harder. The
feels a sudden urge to frustrate their plans.
“I say, waiter, ” he calls. The man’s eyes grow alarmed
and it seems for a moment he plans to pretend he hasn’t
heard. Then, as though following direction from someone
behind Ismay, he nods and approaches the table. He
bends, with his ear close to Ismay like a conspirator. “We’d
like to see the dessert menu, please.”
The waiter, still with ear close to Ismay’s mouth,
makes a low sound as though considering how to respond.
He raises himself a little and shuffles backwards, aiming
his own comments somewhere just behind Ismay’s head.
“But, sir, we wondered whether you and madam
wouldn’t be more comfortable in your suite.”
“No, we would not, ” Ismay says.
He sees that Evelyn is beginning to shift, and already
has her gloves on the table. He throws her a slight frown
to make her stop.
“But as you can see, sir, we are very busy.”
“And as you can see, we have not finished.”
The waiter moves away without another word and
Evelyn obediently folds away her gloves.
Ismay catches a glance or two from adjacent tables.The band returns, and he wonders at the shortness of the
break, whether they’ve been instructed to recommence to
smooth over the unpleasantness between Evelyn and the
Grimsdens. The leader waves his violin bow like a conductor’s stick and they strike into a mid-tempo waltz Ismay
doesn’t immediately recognize. It’s not “The Blue Danube”
but something quite similar.
“We’re both misbehaving tonight, aren’t we, Father?”
“Well, you know, one may as well be hung for a sheep.”
The image, ironically, makes him think of the ocean,
perhaps because it evokes notions of courage and
manhood, perhaps because it’s accompanied by a waltz
that feels like the motion of waves. He’s bent at the winch
handle once more, hearing the pat and splash as the
lifeboat touches down upon the water’s surface more than
sixty feet below. In a moment more the lifeboat is freed
and he’s racing with some other sailors to launch one of
the two collapsibles stored upon the boat deck.
Sounds of distant panic rise and fade, but mostly there
is an unreal sense of quiet and order even in the rush. It’s
a stomach-heaving calm because he knows it can’t possibly last. Soon there will be panic and agony beyond
anything he has ever imagined. Life doesn’t depart peacefully, even if it is one life trapped within the body of one
long-ailing. This will not be one, or ten, or a hundred, and
those to die are not ailing. They are merely aboard a ship
that cannot remain above the surface of the water.
Ropes are slung aside with a slap. Ismay helps throw
them clear. Carter, the friendly Philadelphian chap,
appears at his shoulder and throws him a sympathetic
look that makes Ismay wonder. On the one hand, there’s
hardly time to consider everything, on the other, there are
oceans of time. Every moment lasts forever. As a seaman
reaches his long spanner to a nut high on the davit and
turns it with a grunt, it seems that—in that swift glance—
Carter, a recent acquaintance, has suddenly acquired the
ability to read his thoughts. It feels as though he knows
Ismay is thinking of the decks below and the peace that
likely reigns in that place now that all the life of the ship
must have swarmed upwards. Boiler rooms, post rooms,
swimming pools, steerage, and many cabins aft will be
submerged and silent. His kingdom. The urge to go down
there tugs him so hard he almost feels himself dissolve
into the darkness between the cabin lights, making his
escape from the scene in a trail of vapour.
Carter catches his eye for a second time as collapsible
boat C shifts from its blocks with a yelp. Chief Officer
Wilde hands a lantern to a seaman on the far side and he
places it inside the lifeboat hull. The lifeboat sways from
its ropes as it hangs precariously from the deck. All the
boats so far have made it down, but this seems altogether
harder. The
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