Crossing on the Paris (29 page)

Before leaving the lavatory, she pulled the necklace out from her dress and, in the mirror, looked down at Mary's face. The Melter of Hard Hearts. Perhaps it was a good thing they'd had words last night; now she knew how much he cared about her.

When she came out, Nikolai was standing with his back to her, staring at the empty hatcheck room. Buzzing with excitement, she reached out and touched his arm. He whirled around.

“There you are!” he cried, picking her up to kiss her firmly on the mouth. “I was worried you'd already left!”

“Now why would I do that?” she said, beaming back at him.

He was neater than she'd ever seen him, recently showered, his engineman's uniform slightly less rumpled, his hair combed. He leaned against the hatcheck counter and drew her close.

“Don't you look pretty,” he said, pinching her chin. “I've been thinking about you ever since we met in the stairs.”

“I've been thinking about you too.” She smiled. “Sorry it's gotten so late.”

“So, how was it up here in first class? Did anyone check a boater as admirable as mine?” He winked.

“You mean as airborne as yours.” She laughed shyly. “No, no boaters tonight. All the hats and coats were dark and serious. And, according to their owners, extremely delicate and very likely to disappear—right from under my nose.”

“Did they give you a hard time, Juliette?” he asked. “Or did they try to flirt with my girl?”

“Not at all!” She blushed. “In fact, most of them were terribly grouchy. And I thought the people on the upper decks would be so refined!”

“Money has nothing to do with class,” Nikolai pronounced.

“It's true, the passengers down in steerage are much friendlier; we chat with them and sometimes have a laugh. Up here, they were just worried my hands weren't clean enough to touch their precious things.”

“I wonder what they'd make of mine.” With a grin, Nikolai held up his hands, the lines permanently stained with engine grease. “Hey, don't give those snobs another thought. Tonight is for us!” He took Julie's arm and began to lead her down the empty corridor. “Now, what do you want to do?”

For the workers on board, there was not much in the way of entertainment. When they were on break, they were not allowed in the passenger areas of the ship; in their own quarters, they only had same-sex dining halls that became makeshift lounges between meals. In third class, the help occasionally mingled with the passengers: clapping their hands to the impromptu music or dancing a reel. However, whenever this came to Mme. Tremblay's attention, the offender was seriously reprimanded.

“Shall we take a walk around the deck?” Julie suggested weakly. She hated to offer up such a boring idea—always the same!—but she knew no other.

“Whatever you want,
mon amour.
”

Before stepping outside, he stopped next to an enormous bouquet of birds-of-paradise. Half-hidden in the hallway, he pulled her beside him and gave her a long kiss. She went limp, a rag doll in his arms. When they finally emerged from the corridor, the cold, damp air made Julie gasp. In the cozy cloakroom, she hadn't realized how chilly it'd become. She crossed her arms over the thin uniform as they walked out to the rail. The fog had lifted, allowing them to see the choppy waters below.

“It's stirring up down there,” Nikolai said, looking over the side.

“You think we're in for a storm?” Julie asked. She'd seen the consequences of heavy weather back home—broken masts, cracked hulls, missing sailors—and had a healthy respect for it. Her brow crinkled with worry.

“Let's just say that, come morning, you may be needing that ginger tea.” He smiled and put his arm around her. “Hey, you're trembling. Let's go in. It's cold out here.”

As there was nowhere else to go, they began heading down the stairs.

“You want me to show you around the engine room? At least it's nice and clammy down there.” He grinned down at Julie. “It'll warm you up awful fast.”

“Why not?” she said cheerfully, though she didn't relish the idea. When she'd been down there earlier, the depth and the heat had made her feel queasy again, recalling her nauseating first day aboard.

He took her hand and, at each stair landing, gave her a kiss. In the well-lit stairwell of the upper decks, he touched her lips briefly. Toward the bottom, where it was emptier and darker, he held her longer, pressing himself against her. She arrived to steerage breathless.

“Let me look around here a moment,” she whispered. “I'd like to see if any of the service crew is still up. I don't know what time Madame Tremblay expects me back.”

Nikolai waited in the stairwell and Julie crept down the third-class hallway. She could hear sounds of conversation coming from the common room; although she didn't understand the language, a group of men seemed to be playing dice. She debated peeping into the dormitory to see whether the head housekeeper was asleep. But, what if she wasn't? Julie wanted to spend more time with Nikolai. Turning back to the stairs, she decided to risk getting in trouble.

As promised, the engine room was hot and humid. Julie, already somewhat dizzy, had to walk with care; the pitch of the ship was much more pronounced than it'd been before. Nikolai led her through, waving at a couple of sniggering colleagues as they walked by.

“I don't know what you saw when you came down before,” he shouted over the racket of the motors.

She looked around at the huge engines, cylinders, generators; she wasn't interested in any of it. Her uniform was sticking to her and she was beginning to feel faint. After stepping into a puddle and soaking a foot, she squeezed his hand.

“Nikolai,” she called up to him, cupping her hands around her mouth. “Is there anywhere we could sit down?”

As he nodded, a slow smile spread across his face.

When the ship was being equipped for its maiden voyage, one mattress too many had been delivered to the male dormitory. A few quick-witted enginemen had snuck off with it, storing it in a dark corner behind the auxiliary engine, propping it up on four crates. In the three days out to sea, it had already proven invaluable: for catching a few winks on duty, sleeping off hangovers, or as a table for a furtive card game. To Nikolai's knowledge, none of the men had brought a woman there. Not yet, that is.

He brought Julie round the corner and gestured toward the bed. She gave him an uneasy look and he shrugged.

“There's no lounge down here, Julie,” he shouted. “Not many places to sit.”

Although the mattress and linens had been brand-new only a few days before, they were already showing signs of wear. The men obviously slept here with their boots on. She straightened the sheets nervously, whisking a smudge with her hand. Julie had never before sat on a bed with a man who was not her brother. With a chuckle, he plopped down, then sat her on his lap. Although it was a relief to be off her feet, her heart raced; she folded her hands together modestly and looked down. Nikolai picked up the necklace.

“It makes me happy to see you wearing my pendant, Julie,” he said. In the corner behind the engine, the noise was particularly loud. He spoke in a near yell, but she mainly understood by gestures. He let go of the Virgin medallion to weigh her breast in his hand. “I'd like to see what it looks like against your skin.”

Her mouth dropped open; wide-eyed, she saw he was already unbuttoning her uniform. With his other hand, he pulled up her chin, then distracted her with a long, slow kiss. Moaning slightly, she closed her eyes and fell into his embrace.

The front of her uniform undone, he found a camisole. After a light caress, he called into her ear, “Let me see what you look like.” He gestured for her to take it off.

Julie was shaking. Was this what girls did with their sweethearts? Having no experience with men, she'd assumed only married couples did such things. However, as she wanted to please him, she pulled her arms out of the uniform sleeves and lifted off the camisole. As children, when she and Loïc had gone to the shore, they had always waded in their drawers. However, at twenty-one, she knew exposing her breasts was improper. The necklace slid down the line of her cleavage, shiny gold.

He stroked her skin lightly, marveling at its smooth paleness,
and grazed her peaked nipples. With a smile, he gently pushed her breasts together, hiding the necklace underneath.

“You are so lovely!” he gushed, gazing into her eyes. “Absolutely beautiful!” Then, rubbing his stubbled face against her neck, he stroked her hair, his lips nipping at her ear. In a low growl he added, “I want you!”

A glowing warmth was spreading through her body—no one had
ever
called her beautiful—and she liked the idea of being wanted. But, what exactly did that mean?

Nikolai laid her on the mattress and hovered over her. She felt his heat on her, his bulky weight. His lips were on hers again, kissing her greedily. She moaned again, but this time, it was not excitement; her head was spinning, she needed air. She was relieved when the kisses stopped. Her eyes still closed, she tried to control her breathing, to not throw up.

Now his mouth was exploring her breasts, licking and sucking, as he gripped them hard in his hands. She squirmed on the mattress; this was all going much too fast! She poked him on the arm.

“No, Nikolai!” she cried. “Stop! I've never . . .”

He smothered her words with a messy kiss, straddling her with his legs. Immobilized, she struggled below him, cramped and awkward, beating his massive chest. His meaty tongue was gagging her, rendering her both sick and mute; nearly retching, she tried to make him look at her, to understand that she wanted him to stop. If anything, her panic excited him. His hands were everywhere at once: pinning her arms, grasping her hair, ransacking her torso, grabbing her buttocks. Then one of them, the size of a bear's paw, reached between her legs; its rough fingers prodded around for openings.

His kisses stopped again as he tackled his trousers, unfastening them with one hand. She couldn't see his face, only his half-buttoned shirtfront exposing another hairy, blue tattoo. Julie shouted into his chest.

“No, no, no!” she yelled, her words almost lost in the engine din. “No!”

He yanked down her drawers and, holding her tightly with both arms, thrust himself inside her.

“Nikolai!” she cried, then bit her lip. It felt like she'd been ripped apart.

He pumped her, up and down, to the pitch of the ship, to the rhythm of the bellowing engine. Gritting her teeth, she clasped her eyes tightly, too spent to fight any longer. He rammed himself inside her, again and again, until he cried out in what seemed like agony. He quivered, splattered her stomach with warm jelly, then slackened his hold on her in near collapse. Breathing heavily, Nikolai pulled her up onto his broad, blue chest and held her gently.

“Ah, Julie! My girl!” he cried, pouring sweat and panting. He bent down and licked her birthmark; he wiped his sperm off her belly with the soiled sheet. “That was fantastic!”

She rose up to look him in the face, her elbow digging into his ribs. He was beaming at her with affection. Between her legs was sticky and sore; she was bruised and bleeding. What had happened? Had he not heard her cries, not felt her blows? She stared into his eyes in astonishment; he gave her a peck on the tip of her nose. He seemed completely unaware he had hurt her. Should she try to explain? What could she say?

“Do you want to sleep here tonight?” he asked loudly, cuddling her with half-closed eyes. He seemed ready to take a nap after all his exertions.

Her whole body ached, her groin pounded; she was unbearably hot and so, so sick. Julie rolled off him, leaned over the edge of the cot, and vomited out a long, thin trail of black bile. When that was spent, dry heaves shook her upper body, tears squeaking through the lids. Finally finished, she rested on the vacant strip of bed, her arms wrapped protectively around her naked breasts. Why had she taken off her camisole? Had he understood that to mean that she
wanted it? Had she somehow given him permission to tear into her? She stared at the wall, almost numb.

“I guess I'd better get you back,” he shouted into her back, nudging her with balled-up clothes. “You don't look so good.”

Half-hiding herself, she got dressed: the loathsome camisole, then the first-class uniform, now crushed and torn. Her wadded drawers were treading in the dirty seawater on the floor; she did not retrieve them. Creakily, she stood, then nearly fell; not only was she weak and unwell, but the ship was rocking much more than before. He jumped up next to her.

“Let me help you!”

With his arm around her shoulders, without speaking, they sloshed back through the engine room. She moved slowly, painfully, leaning on him to limp up the stairs. Steerage was silent. When they were outside the dormitory door, Nikolai finally opened his mouth. Julie stared at it, wondering what it might say.

“I'll come by to see you in the morning,
ma chérie,
” he promised in a low whisper, respectful of the newfound quiet. He lightly kissed her cheek as she reached for the doorknob. When she was halfway through the door, he called out softly. “Hey, Julie . . . tonight was special. I love you, you know?”

She saw him wink with a smile as the door closed behind her. There in the dark, she was surrounded by the sounds of a hundred sleeping women. Was that Simone's bunk squeaking lightly? Julie sat down on her clean bed and took off the uniform. It reeked of Nikolai: his sweat, his hands, his hair. She checked the pocket; the lacy cap was lost. She desperately wanted to go to the bathroom, to wash herself, to clean her teeth, but she didn't dare make any more noise. Shaking, fearing trouble, she pulled her nightdress over her head and lay down. Hesitantly, she reached down between her legs; it was tender and raw.

Trying not to cry, she put her head on the pillow, feeling the Virgin dangle between her breasts. Julie curled up tightly, hugging
herself in disbelief. It had all happened so fast. She thought of her catechism classes: the nun drilling the girls about purity and honor, repeating that Mother Mary had never been touched by a man. She reached up for the medallion—the proof of his love—and rubbed it in the dark like a good-luck charm.