Signed A Paddy Excerpt

Excerpt from Signed, A Paddy, Chapter 4:

Boudica was sick the minute she stepped onto the ship. But I felt alive. I spent my days up on the deck, out of the way of the crew, letting the wind blow my hair. I watched the steady rhythm of the waves carelessly smacking up against the side of the ship, which did not put up a fight at all.

I tried to drag Boudica out of the dark for some fresh air, but she said looking at the waves and the uneven horizon made her stomach turn even worse, so she crawled back below and I was on my own again.

On the third morning, I noticed I had company. I was surprised to see it was the young man who’d stared at me when I boarded the ship. I got nervous. Maybe I wasn’t supposed to be up on the deck so much. I was the only one who dared to stay up here, even though no one told us anything. We were left on our own and given food twice a day. But his presence was heavy, weighing on me. I started to fidget.

“How do you like it up here?” he asked.

“Better than down there,” I said. “Will you report me?”

He laughed. “No one to report you to. Regular captain is on leave. I’m in charge, I guess. We’re really just hauling those logs down below. You’re not even here on this ship. Not really.”

He came closer. He stood right next to me, watching the water. After a while, I looked up at his face to see if I could figure out what he was thinking. But his eyes were closed. He looked peaceful. So far away that I thought when he opened his eyes, he would be surprised to see me. But when he did open his eyes, he didn’t even look at me. He just walked away.

What was he thinking and seeing? Was he picturing his dead mother? Or smelling the burning peat of home before the stench of rotten potatoes and disease gagged his memory? Could he taste hand-rolled sausage and fresh eggs? Or only moldy bread and salted cabbage stew? Was everyone who would survive these horrors like me? Were they trying desperately to hold on to the past, the good memories, or were they trying to escape any whisper of a good life they once had, because it was just too painful?

I woke to a jerk the next morning. Vomit, urine, and seawater sloshed on the floor around me. Blinding rays of light escaped through the holes and cracks here and there, and the men above yelled to each other. The rock of the boat had changed. It was shorter and quicker.

My boots had slept next to me so that the vomit wouldn’t pool inside them. I slipped them on and prepared to walk through the swamp of human waste. Up on deck, everyone was rushing around. I watched from the stairs, afraid of getting in the way or getting shoved overboard. They were readying to dock the boat.

I had never seen a port like this. Boats lined up yard to yard along the coast, as far as I could see. Big ships, small boats, fishing vessels, passenger boats, cargo ships, shiny new ships with towering tubes coming out of the top deck. The sun was just rising into the sky, but already I had to squint, it was so bright. There were people on the ships’ decks, people waiting on docks, on the land, people arriving by horse and carriage. It had been so long since I had seen so many healthy people moving so quickly with something to do and somewhere to be. It was overwhelming. The sun and the smells and the noise and the shouting were too much. I thought I might get sick.

But before I could think about retreating below until we were called, someone grabbed my arm and pulled me.