Call of the Kiwi (19 page)

“I want to get home,” Gloria said. “More than anything in the world. But how? Am I to hide?”

The man shook his head. “Nah, girlie, there aren’t many hiding places on the ship. And with the limited provisions we take along, every hungry mouth stands out. I was thinking more of camouflage. Our cook is looking for a scullion.”

Gloria’s face brightened. “You mean, I’d disguise myself as a boy? I can do that, no problem. I used to always wear pants. When I was little, I mean. And I can do the work. No one will suspect a thing.”

“We have to let the crew in on it. For compensation purposes too. You’ll have to, well, if I arrange this for you, and everyone keeps their mouth shut, you’ll have to be a little nice to us on the way.”

“Of course I’ll be nice,” she promised. “I’m not catty like most girls.”

“And I’ll pocket the money,
capisce
? That’s why I’m looking out for you. I’ll make sure no one takes more than belongs to him.”

“You’re welcome to the money,” she said generously. “But do you really make that much as a scullion?”

She did not understand why the sailor roared with laughter.

“You’re a funny one. Well, come on, let’s see if we can find a few rags that’ll fit you. Over by Fisherman’s Wharf there’s a Jew who deals in old clothes. What’s your name anyway?”

“Gloria. Gloria Ma
r . . .
” She stopped short. She needed a new name. Suddenly the name of one of Lilian’s ridiculous love songs shot through her head: “Jackaroe.” It had to do with a girl who pretended to be a man to look for her love on the other side of the ocean.

“Call me Jack,” Gloria said. Jack should bring her luck.

An hour later Gloria was standing in front of the cook, a fat, unctuous-looking man wearing what had once been a white apron over his sailor’s outfit. Gloria was dressed in similar fashion. Harry, her new friend and protector, had selected for her a pair of worn woolen, loose-fitting blue pants, a white shirt, and an old black sweater. She had hidden her long hair in her collar since it would not fit under the peaked cap Harry had picked out.

“The hair’s got to go,” the cook declared after looking the girl over closely. “Even if it is a shame. With it down, she probably looks like a real doll. But otherwise you’re right, Harry, she’ll pass for a fella.”

Though the cook had initially laughed at Harry’s proposal, he’d subsequently proved willing to consider it. For whatever reason, this included pinching Gloria’s butt and breasts. She found it unpleasant, but she had seen behavior like that among maids and servants before. If that was what it took to get the job, she could certainly endure it.

“Let’s get one thing straight: I get three goes a week for free, and half the take. After all, I’m taking the biggest risk.” The cook fixed Harry with a stern look.

“The ones sharing a cabin with her are taking the biggest risk,” Harry countered. “She might have fooled you. Or do you follow your kitchen boys into the bathroom?”

The cook shook his arm threateningly.

Gloria looked around the galley while the men finalized the terms. The countertops, pots, and pans did not look very clean. The galley master really needed the help. Next to the greasy kitchen was an equally uninviting mess hall for the crew. Everything below deck was dark and constricted, and the crew’s quarters were likely no nicer. But better to be bound for New Zealand in stifling quarters than trapped in her mother’s luxury hotel suites or her father’s town house.

“I can cut my hair off,” she said calmly.

The two men appeared to have come to an agreement.

“All right, fine, I’ll tell the paymaster the boy’s coming tomorrow—or better the day after, just before we sail. Can you be here at five in the morning, Jack?” the cook asked with a leer.

The girl nodded. “I’ll be right on time.”

“Where can I change?” Gloria asked Harry as they left the freighter. It had just occurred to her that she would not be allowed to use the back room at Samuel’s secondhand shop again.

Harry looked at her, astounded. “Can’t you go home like that? Don’t you have your own room?”

Gloria turned red. “Yes, no, well, I can’t be seen in the hotel looking like this,
I . . .
”

“In the hotel!” Harry grinned. “Fancy word. Almost sounds like an upscale cathouse. But then again you have more class than other girls. Are you running from something, girlie? Damned if it don’t look that way. But what’s that to me? Just don’t get caught.”

Gloria said nothing.

“This,” he laughed, “calls out for a colleague’s help. Let’s have a look where Jenny’s roaming about.”

Gloria followed him through the alleys around the docks. She sensed they were drifting into the red-light district, and she swallowed when she saw several girls on the street. A haggard blonde with a rodent-like countenance similar to Harry’s was on display with a half-open bodice in front of a seafood restaurant from which issued the rank smell of fat.

“Harry, old boy! Back in the country again? Tired of them Chinks in Canton?” The girl laughed and embraced Harry in an almost sisterly fashion. Then she cast an eye over Gloria. “And what do you have there? Fresh meat, how nice. Where’d you pick up this baby face? He some country boy?”

“Jenny, sweetheart, if I were to push him into your bed, you’d be in for the shock of your life. But the illusion is working perfectly if even you don’t notice anything, and you probably see more men in a week than our old paymaster does in a year.”

“As God made them no less, my friend,” Jenny snickered. “Well, what’s wrong with the boy? Hmm. One second.”

She turned serious as she examined Gloria more closely.

“This boy’s a girl! Are you sleeping with the competition?”

Harry raised his hand appeasingly. “Jenny, no one compares to you. This girl here is more in the way of traveling wares. At any rate she’ll be pleasing us on the ship. She wants to make it to the other end of the world more than anything.”

“Why are you dressing her as a boy? Does that turn you on these days?”

“Jenny, darling, I’ll explain everything later. But right now the girl needs a roof over her head while she turns back into a girl. Come on, have a little heart and let us into your room for a minute.” Harry stroked Jenny’s hair tenderly. She purred like a cat.

“So you can fuck someone else in there?”

“Now, Jenny, even if I lay her flat for a minute, just to test things out, tonight belongs to you. I’ll take you out like a queen, Jenny dear. Lobster, shrimp. Whatever you want. Just fifteen minutes, Jenny, please!”

Gloria, who had barely followed the conversation, smiled gratefully when Jenny finally nodded and dropped a key into Harry’s open hand.

“Is Jenny your girlfriend?” Gloria asked as she followed him into a run-down building that stank of urine and rotten cabbage. “She looks like
a . . .
”

“You really do come from another planet, don’t you, girl? For someone in your line you’re awfully naïve. Of course Jenny sells herself. But she has a heart of gold. But be quick. If she finds a john, she’ll need the room.”

The room was really a tiny shelter in an apartment that was divided up into several partitions. It contained a primitive stove, a table, a chair, and, most importantly, a bed. The sheets were far from clean. Gloria wrinkled her nose.

“Aren’t you going to leave?” she asked as Harry let himself gingerly down onto the bed, eyeing her expectantly.

The sailor frowned. And for the first time an indignant expression crept onto his face.

“Sweetheart, prudery is sweet, sure, but you need to hurry a bit. So forget the theater, strip, and be good to me. Think of it as a down payment. Thanks to yours truly, you’re halfway to China already.”

Gloria looked at him, confused. Then she finally understood. “You mean, you want me to, to, give myself to you?” That was the only expression that came to her. Lilian liked to use it when the characters in her wild stories fell together into bed or, more often, into a haystack or the tall grass.

“You got it, sweetie. You have to pay for a ship passage. Or don’t you still want to go to China?”

“New Zealand,” Gloria said. She hesitated for a moment, but then she considered the alternative. What difference did it make if she slept with Harry now or with a man her parents picked out for her later? Besides, it sort of flattered her that Harry wanted her. In all the stories she had ever heard, people gave themselves to each other out of love. And Harry was prepared to undertake considerable risks for her. Gloria undressed—and was relieved to see him smiling again.

“Aren’t you pretty,” he said admiringly when Gloria was standing in front of him in her brassiere and hose. “Some flowers in your hair and a little grass skirt and you’d look like a Hawaiian girl.”

In spite of her embarrassment, Gloria managed a little smile.

“Hawaiki is paradise,” Gloria said.

“Then take me there, sweetheart.”

Gloria screamed with shock when Harry lunged for her and pulled her onto the bed. But then she was quiet. She held still, utterly terrified, as he stripped the last articles of clothing from her body. Not bothering to undress himself, he yanked down his pants. Gloria froze when she saw his member looming in front of her. She closed her eyes and bit her lip when he penetrated her without ado and began thrusting forcefully. Something in her tore. Gloria gasped in pain and felt fluid run down her thigh. Was that blood? Harry moaned, and then collapsed on top of her. A moment later he righted himself, sobered and surprised.

“You were still a virgin? Tell me it isn’t true. My God, girl, I though
t . . .
Man, a virgin, I would have gone about it differently. Exchange a few kisses first and all that.” Sounding contrite, he awkwardly caressed Gloria’s defiled body. “Sorry, girlie, but you should have told me. I’d also like to know what you’re running from. I thought you had a mean pimp or something. But yo
u . . .
” He brushed the hair from her face with the same, almost tender gesture he had used on Jenny before.

Gloria glared at him.

“I paid, didn’t I?” she said. “You wanted me to be good to you. So don’t ask any questions.”

Harry made a defensive motion with his hand. “All right, sweetheart, I don’t even want to know. You come to the
Mary Lou
the day after tomorrow, and the rest is between us. I won’t tell anyone, and well, I’ll make sure you learn slowly. No hard feelings, right, sweetheart?”

Gloria nodded with clenched teeth.

“If you’d care to leave now,” she said, “I’d like to dress.”

Harry nodded. “Of course, princess. I’ll be seeing you.” He blew a kiss at her as he left.

When Gloria walked downstairs, Harry was standing in front of the building.

“I have to give the key back to Jenny,” he said.

Gloria nodded. “I’ll be seeing you.”

8

G
loria slunk back to the hotel. Her stomach churned with disgust, and her body hurt, and she hoped her parents were not back yet. The last thing she wanted was to account for herself to Kura or William or even come up with a good story for Tamatea about where she had spent half the day. Thankfully, the suite was empty when she walked in. Breathing a sigh of relief, Gloria stowed away the men’s clothing in the furthest corner of her wardrobe and ran a bath.

She slid into the hot water and scrubbed off the awful experience. She did not want to think anymore about it, nor about possible reprises on the ship. If there was no other way, she would let herself be at Harry’s disposal. It was a relatively small price to pay for her passage home. Though it had been loathsome and painful, it had been over quickly and Gloria thought she could endure it. She clung fast to Harry’s friendly words: “Aren’t you pretty?”

No one had ever said that to her before.

Gloria could hardly rein in her impatience the next day. She returned to the docks to acquire another pair of pants, two shirts, and a warm jacket from Samuel. On her way home, she got lost and ended up again in front of the seafood restaurant where Jenny plied her trade. The whore glared suspiciously at her.

“You again? I thought you were disappearing across the ocean?”

Gloria nodded. Then she thought she ought to thank Jenny. “I really don’t plan to compete with you. I’ll be working as a cabin boy on the
Mary Lou
.”

Jenny laughed. “A cabin boy? Well, Harry said otherwise. Come on, girl, you can’t be that naïve, no matter what nonsense Harry tells you. He even tells me you were still a virgin yesterday. You’ll have to teach me that trick.”

Gloria blushed. Harry should not have talked to this girl about her. “But it’s true,” she said. “I, I didn’t know.”

“Didn’t know what? That fellas never do anything for free? Did you think that Harry had plucked you off the street out of pure chivalry?”

Gloria did not answer.

“Do you at least have a shadow of a notion where little babies come from?” she inquired.

Gloria blushed again. “Yes, no, well, I know about sheep and horses.”

Jenny laughed. “Sure, and yesterday Harry showed you how people go about it. Now, now, don’t go pale, sweetheart. Not every shot’s a hit. There’s a bit you can do to prevent it. Beforehand and after. But afterward it’s expensive and risky, and there aren’t any abortionists at sea. I’ll tell you what, sweetheart: I won’t be able to whore myself up another meal here today, not before dark. How about you buy me, let’s say, some good crab soup and sourdough bread, and in exchange I’ll tell you what a girl needs to know.”

Gloria hesitated. She didn’t want to share in Jenny’s disgusting secrets. On the other hand, the girl in front of her was clearly hungry. Gloria felt a twinge of sympathy. She nodded. Jenny smiled broadly at her, exposing two missing teeth.

“Good, then come along. No, not this shack. There are better places.”

A short while later the girls were sitting in a dark and cramped but relatively clean cookshop. The food was surprisingly good, and Gloria even began to enjoy Jenny’s company. Jenny didn’t tease her, but simply explained the peculiarities of her profession.

“Don’t let them kiss you on the mouth. That’s disgusting, and if they want you from behind, or French-style, then charge them more. Do you know what French-style is?”

Gloria turned crimson when Jenny explained, but the girl didn’t mock her. “I looked the same when I learned, dear. I didn’t grow up in a cathouse, after all. I’m from the country, wanted to marry properly. But my father liked me too much, if you understand what I mean. In the end my sweetheart found out.” Gloria expected to see tears in Jenny’s eyes, but she seemed to have long since forgotten how to cry.

The girl gulped down three servings of crab soup, and, as she did, she casually enlightened Gloria on the feminine cycle and, most importantly, how to prevent conception. “Get a hold of some condoms. That’s still the best. The fellas don’t like to put one on, so you have to insist, and the whore who taught me swore by vinegar douches. It’s not a sure thing, though.”

Gloria eventually ceased blushing and even managed to ask a question. “What can you do so that it doesn’t hurt so much?”

Jenny laughed. “Vegetable oil, child. It’s like with machines: oil makes things go.”

That evening Gloria stole the oil and vinegar from the table at the St. Francis hotel; she also set out some scissors, and with a wildly beating heart, she removed her passport from the drawer where her father kept their documents. It was a long time before she fell asleep. Her parents returned home around three, both happily drunk after a late-night reception.

When Gloria slipped out the door at four in the morning, they were sleeping soundly. The night porter, too, was not exactly alert. Gloria escaped the lobby just as he was fetching himself some tea. She was already wearing her men’s clothing and had a bag with her change of clothes. As a girl Gloria had been fearful of walking the city streets at night, but as a boy no curious sidelong glances followed her. She ducked into a quiet residential street and cut her hair—without any regret—and tossed her locks into a garbage can. Gloria was gone. Here came Jack.

The harbor was already bustling, and no one noticed the cabin boy headed toward “China Dock.” Harry was waiting for Gloria on deck and seemed relieved when she appeared.

“There you are. I was starting to fear that, after the business the day before yesterda
y . . .
but forget it. Help us with the sails; the galley master won’t need you till we’re at sea. I did your job yesterday and stocked the larder for you. After all, you couldn’t exactly come by. You’l
l . . .
”

“I’ll be good to you later,” Gloria said. “What do you want me to do?”

The engines were running; the coal men had already been working for hours shoveling coal into the ovens to heat the water that produced the steam that powered the ship. The noise of the awakening ship filled her with anticipation. As the sun came up, the fully laden steamship lurched into motion. Gloria cast a relieved last look at San Francisco. Whatever awaited her, she must never come back here. From now on she would only look out over the sea—toward home.

After shoving off, however, Gloria had little opportunity to stare at the waves. If she came on deck at all, it was only at night, but often whole days passed without so much as a breath of fresh air. The work in the galley was hard; she carried the water and stirred the daily stew of salt meat and cabbage in gigantic pots; she scrubbed the stove, washed the utensils, and served the crew at table. She occasionally carried in food for the captain and his mates to the officers’ mess hall, always fearful that her cover might be blown. Yet the men were very nice to the shy cabin boy. The captain noted his name, and the paymaster asked a few well-intentioned questions about his origins and family. He did not pry, however, when Gloria hemmed and hawed. Once the first mate praised her for the properly set table in the mess, and Gloria blushed, causing the men to laugh. They did not seem as if they would summarily throw stowaways overboard, but Gloria was inclined to believe Harry. She tried to believe much of what Harry said, above all the sweet nothings he sometimes whispered to her. She needed something to hold fast to in order not to go mad.

Because when the last meal of the day was over and the dishes were clean, Gloria’s true work began.

Gloria could accept that she owed Harry and that the cook also wanted to be paid for his silence. But why she had to service all the other members of the crew remained a mystery. Not even the six men with whom she and Harry shared a cabin would have noticed that Jack was a girl since they did not undress for bed. But Harry insisted she make herself available every evening.

Gloria hated the cook’s visits the most. She held her breath every time he threw his fat, stinking, unwashed body over her. He took considerably longer than Harry and occasionally forced her to take his member in her hand and knead it because it would not get hard on its own.

Afterward Gloria used up half of her valuable drinking water just to scrub her hands. Though there was no water for washing and no soap, Gloria tried to scrub herself every morning with some water; she hated to smell like all the men and have that peculiar scent—of love?—about her. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t understand what the men got out of possessing her dirty, stinking body. Some even whispered to her about how good she smelled, and a few liked to lick her breasts, her stomach, or even the unspeakable parts of her body where they otherwise stuck their members. Harry limited himself to these activities on the days when Gloria was most likely to conceive. Other men would put on a condom, and a few insisted they would pull out before it got dangerous. However, Jenny had expressly warned against this method; thus Gloria would resort to the vinegar, with which she had begun to douche herself almost every day since there was plenty of it in the kitchen.

She tried to think as little as possible. Gloria did not hate the men who lay with her every night; she simply felt nothing for them. It had ceased to hurt if they rubbed themselves with oil first, and if it were not for the stench, the bodily fluids, and the shame, Gloria might have gotten bored. So she just counted the days and hours. The voyage to Canton would last roughly two weeks. She could survive that.

If only she knew what would come next. She would have to find a ship to Australia, but they did not sail as regularly as the cargo ships between China and San Francisco. It was a question of luck whether one would be at anchor when they arrived.

“If not, we’ll take you on a barge down to Indonesia,” Harry said nonchalantly. “You’ll just have to transfer again.”