When the Night Comes (24 page)

A photo taken from up high, maybe from a helicopter or from the top of a steep hill.
Nella
looked like a toy ship, listing on her side in the shallows below. A painted toy ship built to sail in a pond, in a child's bath. A ship that I could hold in my hand.

I had never seen her look so small.

MV
Icebird

1987/1988 Season

9th December 1987

POSITION:
54° 30.000' S, 158° 57.000' E

CAPTAIN'S NOTE:
Detour to pick up the stranded crew and passengers from MS
Nella Dan.

We stand together on the deck of
Icebird
. We pull away. We are leaving our ship behind.

Klaus is next to me. His arm brushes mine, and I can feel the full weight of him there.

“My father and your father,” he says, “they worked together for a long time.”

I can see my father sitting out in the sun smoking his pipe, his eyes closed.

“You are like him,” Klaus says. “Yes. I was sorry to hear about him passing so young.”

“Thanks,” I say. I suddenly remember that the only photo I have of my father is there in my cabin, stuck on the bulkhead next to my bunk. My father standing at the top of the gangway holding me up in his arms. Me, just two, my hands outstretched trying to catch the colorful streamers that were falling from the sky.
Nella Dan
's maiden voyage—twenty-six years ago.

I look back at her now and she looks completely fine, like there is
nothing wrong. But at the base of her bow there are rocks where there should be water. Rocks that have cut into her.

“He loved that ship,” I say, and maybe it's right that the photo is still there in my cabin, staying with her. He would like that.

Klaus nods. I can see the burning in his eyes. He has spent the past thirteen years with her and he knows her better than most.

“It's been a pleasure working with you,” I say. I shake his hand. We pull out farther into deep water.
Icebird
feels so foreign and strange and none of us wants to go inside. We stay out on the trawl deck together and the air freezes our faces and our hands, we stay for our captain and bosun, we stay for our ship.

Someone yells, “See you soon,
Nella
.”

“Home by Christmas.”

I look up at that gigantic mountain reaching for the sky, Macquarie Island. One of the most amazing places I have ever seen.
Nella Dan
is just a red dot now at the bottom of it all, her body half in the calm water, her body half on the land.

Giant petrels circle over her, looking down.

Good-bye.

I say good-bye.

MS
Nella Dan

1986/1987 SEASON

26th August 1986

POSITION:
42° 53.000' S, 147° 19.000' E

CAPTAIN'S NOTE:
Arrival in Hobart for commencement of 1986/1987 season. We are two full days ahead of schedule.

The light is coming—just early light.
Nella Dan
sails up the Derwent, our Little Red Ship. The hills are rugged and wild and rocky, and soon houses cling on along the banks. It's getting lighter but the sky is gray. The rain comes, but I stay outside. The rain is soft and I do not mind. I want to see it all. To take it in.

The smell of trees, not pine but a new smell—a tree I don't know. Soon a small city grows, a town of hills that climb up to the face of a stone mountain. A large concrete bridge ahead.

Hobart.

Many of the crew have friends waiting and know this place. But not me. This is a new place.

“You will love it,” they say, excited to be back.

The Red Lion, the Dog House, the Hope and Anchor, the Ship Hotel—places I will be taken, live music and dancing and beer on tap. I will be able to walk in a straight line for as long as I want. Pizza and sweet-and-sour pork and not having to cook so much, not having to work so hard. A few days. A welcome rest. Our home away from home.

Nella Dan
turns in, slows down. She knows the way, finds her place.

The wharf is old, like ones from home. Wooden and aged, the harbor black and deep and still. The rain comes harder now, but I stay outside on the deck.

Across from me on a small jetty, a child is standing in the rain. The hood of her raincoat is down over her head and it seems like she is sleeping—
early morning, early slumber
. Hidden there, almost invisible in the rain, but I can see her.

I can see.

She looks up suddenly. She looks at
Nella
as if the ship called out to her,
Hello!
W
ake up! I'm here!

And for no reason at all I wave to her. I wave again and keep on waving and she waves back. A beam of light breaks through the clouds and hits the bow and everything shines red. I take a deep breath of this fresh air and go inside to start the breakfast.

I am filled with hope.

T
he sunroom was filled with people, Mum's friends and crew from
Nella
, and food filled our round table. My brother had a plate full of cheese and he was walking around eating one slice at a time. He had no bread or crackers, just cheese.

Bo put a record on the stereo and the speakers crackled, that moment of anticipation before the needle found its way to the first song.

An organ, in rhythm. A chord. “I Heard It Through the Grapevine.”

Mum cheered. It was her favorite, the soundtrack to a movie called
The Big Chill
. It looked like a really stupid movie, but the music was okay. My brother and I had to listen to the album for years and years until we knew every song off by heart. My brother really liked the one about a bullfrog called Jeremiah.

“Joy to the World.”

Christmas Eve.

There were biscuits and cakes and puddings on the counter in the kitchen, but people were still eating the savory food on the table. We had to wait. We had to be patient. My brother told me he was going to have a piece of everything all on one plate.

“Even the rice pudding?” I asked.

He squashed his nose up, thinking. “Maybe not that one,” he said.

He didn't like rice, and he didn't like nuts. There were almonds in the rice pudding. I had watched Bo making it with milk and cream and almonds
and sherry and sugar. It smelt like fresh custard. Like vanilla ice cream.

He'd made some kind of hot red wine for the adults that was full of spices. Cinnamon, nutmeg, Christmas spices. He said that there were twenty-five ingredients in the recipe, but the only one that was important was the bottle of rum.

He'd come back on
Icebird
with the others and they were tired. They were wrecked. They had only the clothes they were wearing and nothing else. Mum went to Target and bought them all underwear and T-shirts and they had to stay at a hotel until they had been interviewed for the inquiry about the accident. Once that was over they were free.

Now we waited for
Nella
to come back. To see how bad the damage was. To see what would happen.

Bo found my brother and me standing by the piano. He said he had a present for us each and they were waiting in the living room.

“It's Christmas Eve,” he said. “This is our Christmas. You have to open at least one present.”

My brother put his plate down on the piano lid. There were still two pieces of cheese left but cheese didn't matter now that there were presents.

We didn't have a tree. The empty and cleaned fireplace was where the presents and Christmas decorations were. A few presents, a few decorations. Silver and red tinsel.

Bo handed my brother a wrapped-up box. Something inside hit the sides when my brother shook the present. It sounded like a jigsaw puzzle. He ripped the paper open. It was a Lego set.

His face busted open into a smile.

“Thanks,” he said. He went to shake Bo's hand.

Bo smiled, shook his hand. “You're a real little gentleman,” he said.

I held my present. It was rectangular and heavy and I opened it carefully. I undid the clear sticky tape and didn't tear the paper. My brother looked away from his Lego set then.