The Waking (15 page)

“
What’s wrong with that?”

“
The other servers are gonna be angry is what’s wrong. She give you a twenty?”

I hand it to her. “How’d you know?”

“
She tips that much at
every
meal. She’s an easy sixty bucks a day, the servers say. Your taking her away from them is trouble.”

“
Oh. Well, I don’t have to—”

“
Yes you
do,
” Rose interrupts. “You got a girl back home about to have your child. You need all the money you can get. Come on. Let’s get your money in the bank.”

Setting up a bank account isn’t as hard as I thought it would be. Counting my little tips from last night, I deposit thirty-seven dollars into a checking account. That way I can send checks to Mary and to Auntie June as soon as I get a decent paycheck.

As we’re walking away from the little bank in the Purser’s Lobby, I ask Rose, “When’s payday?”

“
Friday.”

“
Um, what day is it today?”

“
You don’t know?”

I shake my head. “I’ve lost track.” I’ve been kind of busy getting my life back in order.

“
It’s Thursday.”

“
I get paid tomorrow?”

She nods. “Just in time for the big city of Cincinnati, which is about the same size as Pittsburgh, isn’t it?”

I know what she’s saying without saying it. “I, uh, I don’t plan on leaving the boat except to go with Rufus to a tattoo parlor, you know, to make these scars less noticeable.”

“
And I’ll keep you company.”

“
At a tattoo parlor?”

She shrugs and laughs. “I’ve been to worse places. I may not be as bad as you, but I can be pretty bad when I want to be bad.”

I smile. “It’s a date.”

“
Never date the boss,” she says, and she checks her watch. “Break’s over. Gotta get dinner started.”

While we walk, I say, “I’m gonna have to borrow that watch of yours sometime.”

“
So you won’t be late and will know what day it is?”

“
No. So you’ll stop checking it.”

She sighs. “Everybody got to be some place sometime, right?”

Dinner is especially grueling because the passengers had worked off lots of fat walking through Huntington, and everyone wants seconds on just about everything. I spend most of the time peeling and mashing half a ton of potatoes, and after serving Mrs. Walker and pocketing a twenty-dollar tip, I get mean looks from the other servers. They’re just jealous that I have an older, white,
rich
girlfriend.

When the last pan hits the bleach water, I am finally free for the day. At Rose’s suggestion, I stop by the Emporium for some stationery, even though I haven’t written a letter since I wrote to Santa when I was a kid. I’m going to write two letters and mail them from Cincinnati since I’m really not ready to talk on the phone to either Auntie June or Mary, so maybe I can talk to them better in a letter.

My cabin smells like a quarter ton of Alabama country boy, but I don’t mind because I don’t smell so good myself. I
do
mind not knowing how to begin either letter. I have so much to say to Auntie June and Mary, but the words just won’t come. I eventually crank out the shorter letter first:

How do you spell that word? I erase “to” and write:

PS Thanks for praying for me.

That wasn’t so bad. Short and sweet, just like Auntie June. But wait. If I get paid tomorrow, I can put a check in with the letter. I tear up the letter and write another:

The letter to Mary, though, is so hard to write. I start and stop until the floor’s full of little paper balls. I should have bought more stationery. I’m down to my last two sheets, I’m frustrated, and the boat rocks so gently that I’m getting sleepy …

Yeah. That’s how I’ll start.

Should I tell her about Slade or Rose or Rufus? Mary might get jealous if I talk about Rose. No. I have to tell her about these wonderful people face-to-face. Otherwise, she might not believe how wonderful they are.

Is that enough? I have so much more to say, and this stank room is no place to write anything romantic. I wish I had other clothes to change into so I wouldn’t be so noticeable to the passengers if I went out. Something from Rufus? A T-shirt for my entire body maybe? Wait. I still have the captain’s pants and shirt. I have to start remembering stuff, paying attention more. I find the pants and shirt crammed into the bottom drawer under a pile of Rufus’s socks and put them on. And they fit better, even without the belt. I take Mary’s letter down to the Mark Twain Gallery and find a plush chair to sit in. I slide a paperback book under the stationery and continue:

I stop and wonder whether it’s the distance between us talking or my heart talking. I mean, I’ve said “I love you” to Mary a thousand times, but it was usually in the hopes that I’d get some. I don’t think I’ve ever meant it. Until now. I underline “I love you” three times, once for Mary, once for me, and once for our son.

“
Good book there.”

I look up and see an old white guy sucking on an unlit pipe. “It’s just a letter.”

“
No, the one you’re writing on.”

I lift the stationery and see
A Collection of Quotable Quotes
by Mark Twain staring up at me. “Oh. You want it?”

“
I read it on my last voyage. You’ll enjoy it. Have a good evening.” Then he moves on to a shelf full of books.

I don’t read that often. Maybe the newspaper or a magazine if I’m in the bathroom. What was the last book I read? Probably something from way back in the day, something like
A Hero Ain’t Nothin’ But a Sandwich.
I flip to a random page, just to see, and read:

I have to think a bit on that one. Yeah, births are happy times, for the most part I guess. If you have five kids already, though, it might be a different story. I wonder if Mary wants that many kids. And sometimes folks don’t grieve at funerals. They’re actually glad to see a person out of pain or just simply gone. But that last part. We’re happy that we’re
not
being born, and we’re sad that we’re
not
dead? That’s messed up. I’d do anything to start over. I’d be overjoyed to be born again.

Now I’m sounding like a holy roller like Auntie June. I flip a few more pages and read:

Ain’t that the truth. Only the bad kids ever did anything fun on the Hill. The good kids were locked up inside doing their homework or their chores— Hmm. Now the bad kids are locked up, and the good kids are out having fun. These quotes are deeper than they look. I read another:

That’s probably why it’s so hard to tell the truth sometimes. It always costs me something when I tell the truth. What was Auntie June always saying? “The truth shall set you free.” Try telling the truth to a judge, and watch the judge lock you up. And since truth is so expensive, no wonder more people aren’t free. I keep reading:

That makes me immediately think of Mrs. Walker. She must have smiled an awful lot during her lifetime. Of course, she was rich, so she has had a lot to smile about. But not Rose. Her face is still so smooth. I can’t wait to tell Rose that she needs more wrinkles to be happy. I look at a little mantel clock and see that it’s nearly ten. Just a few more:

A white guy, a famous writer used “ain’t no”? I need to show this to Auntie June. She was always correcting my English. I’d say, “I ain’t never,” and she’d fuss and say, “It’s ‘I
have
never,’ Emmanuel.” I don’t know how true this saying is, though. I mean, I haven’t really traveled that often. So far, I guess, I’ve been lucky, with the possible exception of Penny. I’ll have to see how true this is the longer I go on this little journey.

I read the note underneath it, and it tells me this was one of Twain’s last statements before he died at sea on a boat. I close the book. Maybe your boat was too slow, Mr. Twain, but this one’s doing just fine, just fine.

In fact, as I settle to sleep in my stateroom, I realize that
two
boats have out-sailed death for me.

7: On the
American Queen,
Huntington to Cincinnati

I get to the galley on time the next morning, and we crank up breakfast again. This time I get pastry duty, and I have a blast icing them, making little designs.

“
You don’t have to be so precise,” Rose tells me. “Just swirl ‘em and get ‘em done.”

“
Is Mrs. Walker here yet, ma’am?”

“
Not yet.”

I figure I ought to clear a hundred and fifty on this check, and with sixty more from Mrs. Walker today, I’ll have over two hundred to send back to Pittsburgh. I look at my arms and remember I have to get a tattoo. I’ve never paid for one before. I wonder what they cost. I look around, and the only person I know in the galley who has a tattoo is Penny.

“
Penny.”

She has the duty I had yesterday stirring the pot of eggs, and she doesn’t look happy about it. “What?” She is definitely hating it.

“
How much does a tattoo cost?”

“
What?”

I move closer to her, even though every ear in the place is listening. “I’m getting a tattoo in Cincinnati tonight. I just wanted to know how much it’ll cost.” I see a few cooks with raised eyebrows and rolling eyes, but I don’t care.

“
Might cost you … fifty, sixty dollars, depending on what you get.”

Ouch. It’d be cheaper for Rufus to brand me. “That much?”

“
It’s what it cost me. And it also depends on how many colors you get.”

“
So a simple black tattoo will be cheaper?”

“
It ought to be, but you got to be real careful who you get ‘em from, you know? You never know where the needles have been.” She smiles a little, and I catch her meaning. “I got mine at Mysterious Tattoo last time through. It’s real close to where we land. You, um, you goin’ out alone?”

“
Rufus and Rose are going with me.”

“
Oh.” She cracks her gum. “It sounds like a
real
good time.”

What is it about this girl? “I guess I could use an expert to go with me, you know, to make sure everything’s done right.” We are fueling a day’s worth of rumors now, but I don’t care. Penny’s just a lonely girl who doesn’t quite fit in.

She smiles. “I’ll, uh, I’ll think about it.”

“
Okay.”

I pull sandwich duty with Rose again while the others get a break, but I don’t mind. It’s nice not to have to rush, and Rose knows so much about a little of everything.