Storm of the century
As the Mako approaches the Tsushima Strait, heavy clouds gather on the horizon. Esperanza takes to her bed with a throbbing headache, ready to swear in court that her head has suddenly become three sizes too small and is destined to explode at any moment. The wind picks up, snapping the Mako’s sails violently as the crew attempts to trim them. The sky goes a sulphurous green-yellow, and a heavy rain beings to fall. The two Ellipsoids can see massive arcs of lightning flashing across the sky, followed by the loudest thunder either has ever heard. Just as they reach the slick steps, they can see a spiraling cloud descend from the sky, and suck vast quantities of water up to lower level of the clouds.
Shirley stops to watch, fascinated, until a violent yaw of the ship
throws him hard onto the railing. Margaret stops in her tracks, clutching Shirley’s arm. “My G-d, Shirley! Have you ever seen anything like that?” For the first time since he’s known her, her face is white and her eyes wide. She is genuinely frightened by this evidence of the power of such a storm.
Rubbing at a bruised side, Shirley tears his eyes away from it to reassure her. “I never have, no, but I cannot say I am sorry; it is an impressive phenomenon,” he says calmly. Blue-white lighting forks across the sky, briefly illuminating the purple-grey clouds. “Come, now, we need to stay out of the sailors’ path. My cabin is just under the stairs, and I can wedge the door open; come sit with me, and we will be able to hear what is happening. Unless you need to look in on Esperanza?”
“Yes, yes of course.” His calm demeanor allows her to collect herself. “I should check on her; I would not want her to be injured as the ship tosses.” And she heads for Esperanza’s cabin to secure anything loose from flying around. When she is done, if she can, she will do the same in her own cabin. Her face is still rather pale, but she is in command of herself.
The good news is that the Mako’s crew—and Stafford and Sheffield’s warehouse employees—have done a very good job of packing, and there is very little in the way of loose items to secure. Almost everything can be quickly deposited into the trunk secured to the
floor of the ship at the end of the bunk.
The bad news is that Esperanza appears to be in abject misery. She has reverted to Spanish, and fights back tears as she explains to Señora Doctor that her head aches so; she can feel immense, throbbing pressure behind her eyes and in the roots of her teeth. She is
apparently unaware of the severity of the storm; she has mistaken the pitching and rolling of the ship for her own faintness and vertigo. She begs Margaret not to leave her, to give her something for the pain. Her
dark eyes are hugely dilated, and she seems on the verge of a very uncharacteristic panic. Across the narrow corridor, Shirley can hear her shaky, fearful voice.
Shirley braces himself in the doorway of his cabin, unwilling to enter Esperanza’s unless invited. “Can you put her to sleep?” he asks Margaret in English, pitying the Spanish girl’s misery and fear. “It might be kindest.” The ship yaws violently, nearly tossing Shirley into the corridor. Margaret is left reeling, and Esperanza clutches the edge of her bunk, realizing for the first time that perhaps it isn’t all in her head.
Margaret has set her own fear aside entirely; Esperanza needs her, both as physician and as foster-mother. She responds first to Esperanza in Spanish, taking her hand and sitting very carefully on the edge of her bunk. “Of course I will stay with you, dear heart. Do not be afraid. There is a bad storm on the sea; it affects some people with headaches like this. I know you feel as if you would have to get better to die, but it truly will do you no lasting harm.”
And then to Shirley, in English, “In the normal course, I would; laudanum is the specific for this type of headache. It dulls the pain and puts the patient to sleep, and usually the headache is gone by the time they awaken. But I am concerned that it is not safe. Should we need to abandon ship, she must not be insensible. I shall try a reduced dose first, I think, and then we can stay with her. Will you please get my medical bag out of my cabin? I dont want to make her let go of me. And if anything is lying about loose, would you toss it into the trunk? That would be a huge help, and one less thing to worry about.”
“As quickly as I can,” Shirley answers, navigating the treacherously
swaying floor. Several stumbles and bruises later, he returns with the bag.
And then, turning her entire attention back to Esperanza, she tells her, “I have sent Mr. Addam to get my bag; I have some medicine in it that should help. In the meantime, close your eyes; the light will only cause you more pain.” And with her free hand, she rubs Esperanzas temples gently, trying to ease the pain by easing the tension and panic.
When Shirley returns, she will gesture him in. My dear? She will be calmer if she can tell by touch that one of us is near. Will you come sit by her and hold her hand, while I ready a dose?
“Certainly,” says Shirley, resisting the impulse to question the propriety of Margaret’s term of address—all that can wait until after the storm. Margaret tells Esperanza “I need to pour the medication, but Mr. Addam is here. He will sit with you a moment, and then I shall be right back.” She trades places with Shirley, talking quietly to Esperanza in Spanish the whole time, trying to reassure the girl with her voice and Shirleys hand. He perches on the edge of the bunk, bracing his foot against the wall by the head of the bed to keep his balance, and very gently teases Esperanza’s hand away from Margaret. “Oye, ni a, no te preocupes de nada,” he says kindly. “Nosotros dos cuidaremos de ti.”
Margaret moves quickly and carefully, pouring a half-dose of laudanum into a small glass, which she hands to Shirley, turning back just long enough to stopper the bottle and wedge it back into its padded nest in her bag. She is trying to get everything set and done before the next roll of the ship.
As soon as she has her bag secured, she crosses to Esperanzas bunk. “All right, little one. I shall help you to sit up a little, so you can swallow this. It tastes dreadful, but it will help. Sitting will make the pain worse, for a second; do not be ashamed if you cry a little. You have been very strong and brave, but it is alright. Now,” slipping her arm behind Esperanzas shoulders and head, and taking the dose from Shirley “up, and drink.” And when Esperanza is done, she lowers her back to her bunk, seating herself and taking the girls hand again. She nods to Shirley to take a seat in the chair by the desk. “Best if we stay together, I think.”
Shirley is a little less than sanguine about sitting in anything not fixed to the floor, but he conceals his minor worries and does as Margaret has asked. He cocks his head to listen to the shouts abovedecks. Another earsplitting burst of thunder convinces him that he will not be able to hear enough of the sailors’ shouts to get a sense of the proceedings. He turns his attention back to doctor and patient. “How is she getting along?” he asks. “For that matter, how are you?”
Margaret looks down at Esperanza. Her breathing has evened out considerably, but when she touches the girl’s forehead lightly, there is still a lot of tension. “She’s better, but still fairly uncomfortable. I think she’s dozing. It would be the best thing for her.” Then she looks up, a trifle embarrassed. “As for me… suffice it to say that I do not care much for thunderstorms.”
“Really? That is too bad. I rather like them. A few nights before I went up for the bar, I went and studied myself into an absolute stupor. If not for a providential thunderclap, I might not have Esquire after my name today.” His smile is a little tight, but it is something that he can smile at all. She smiles back, as best she can. “How about a Russian verb or two?” he suggests. “I shall start—let me see, how about gavarit’, present tense. Ya gavaryu, ti…” He is quite capable of drilling her unmercifully by way of distraction until the storm blows over or some other action is needed.
This time the smile is more genuine. “Ya panemayu, y spasebah.”
The ship rolls sickeningly, and everything that is not fastened down slides across the floor and attempts to climb the wall. Margaret and Shirley suddenly realize that it must be nearly on its side. The ship teeters on the brink of rolling over, then slowly rights itself.
Margaret braces herself hard against the wall, entirely in control of herself again… as much as anything because there is no time to be otherwise. She turns her body so that she herself braces Esperanza from falling. Shirley tucks his feet into the chair legs, and reaches out to hold
Margaret’s shoulders against the wall.
A massive bolt of lightning is followed, barely a heartbeat later, by the loudest thunder yet. The entire ship shudders with the force of it. The ship rises precipitously, as if riding a storm swell, leaving Margaret with a touch of vertigo. The rise is followed by an equally sudden drop, a surge forward… She turns to scoop Esperanza up, grateful that the girl is so slight for her years. She doesn’t know what to expect, but she is preparing to head up to keep them from being trapped belowdecks. To Shirley she shouts “get my medical case if you can, but don’t risk your life for it. We can replace anything but ourselves.”
Shirley’s long arm hooks the case with no difficulty whatever; he drops it between his feet as he stands up. “Nonsense,” he tells her. “You mustn’t be separated from your tools. Take it; I will mind your ward for a bit.” He gets Esperanza into an awkward shoulder-carry—the best he can do given the bizarre motions of the ship—and shoves Margaret’s case toward her with his foot.
“You first,” he insists. “We are behind you—go!” She stands not upon the order of her going.
He settles Esperanza on one of the lower steps, her poor aching head pillowed on his own hastily-folded coat. He leaves her feet to dangle off the side, mindful of what Margaret said about sitting upright causing pain. Margaret takes a place on the step above, medical case under one arm, the other reaching once more for Esperanza’s hand. She takes the chance of putting the case down for a minute, to give herself the opportunity to check Esperanza carefully.
The ship’s gravity-defying motion slowly subsides, although Shirley and Margaret can hear that the intensity of the storm has not slackened. The ship still rises and falls considerably, but stays upright. The extreme pitching and rolling has lessened considerably. Clearly, the ship has, at least for the moment, found a protected area. The various loose items settle on the floor, rolling around underfoot.
This frees Shirley to creep up the stairs and listen for activity. When he thinks it safe to do so, he opens the hatch and looks about the deck.
A waterfall of rain pours down the stairs as Shirley opens the hatch. Rain is still coming down in sheets outside, with lightning arcing across the chartreuse sky, followed by booming peals of thunder. Wind howls across the deck, occasionally blowing the raindrops sideways.
Through the pounding rain, Shirley sees no obvious disaster on deck, although the sailors are drenched and shivering. A couple of small spars appear to have been broken off, but the masts are intact. The storm
makes it hard to see much further than the deck of the ship. The captain is waving his arms, giving signals to supplement his voice as he strives to make himself heard above the storm.
Shirley closes the hatch quickly, hoping he himself caught the worst of the drenching. “If you will believe it,” he says, “we do not seem badly off at all. The ship is in rather better condition than I would have thought, and the crew looks lively; I saw no injuries. I suspect, Margaret, that as usual one may have confidence in the judgment of your brother and of Stafford and Sheffield.” Margaret simply nods and gives a heartfelt sigh of relief. He sits on the highest step he reasonably can, wrapping one arm about the railing and the other around his knees.
Margaret leans back against his knees. Appearances be damned. “Are you sure you care to do that?” he asks. “I am wet through.” His actions tell a different story: the hand that had been on his knees reaches down to caress her cheek and rest on her shoulder.
She laughs a little. “I’m not exactly dry either.”
Esperanza is dozing lightly in fits and starts. She has relaxed as much as possible under the circumstances, and has quieted down. She murmurs in Spanish “I’m sorry, Mama. I didn’t mean to be a bother.”
Margaret smiles, and does not correct her. “Shh, dear heart. You’re no bother, and I’m here.” Her thoughts tangle around themselves; the only one that is clear is the realization that she has indeed treated Esperanza as a daughter, and loves her as if she were. She has, as she told Shirley, resigned herself to the likelihood that she will never bear a child, but—it is a revelation—it no longer matters. She already has one.
Shirley offers the lightning-riven darkness a thoughtful smile. “Voilà tout,” he murmurs. Margaret looks up at him. She’s glowing again; it’s obvious even in the dim light of the stairwell. “Careful, heart of my heart,” he cannot forbear to warn. “She is not entirely lucid, and may have a different tale when this is through—ow!” A lurch of the ship slams his shoulder into the railing. “I need not have spent so much time in the sun; much more of this and my skin will be another colour entirely!”
Margaret winces in sympathy, even as she moves to keep Esperanza from being battered about. “I think we’ve all taken a few knocks. I’ve some ointment in my bag we can all use, once this settles out. It’s good for bruising.”
The ship still rocks rather more than is comfortable, but nothing like the earlier extreme pitching and rolling. The thunder is no longer directly overhead, nor does the ship shudder with every thunderclap. Margaret and Shirley can hear that the rain is still coming down heavily, but they can also hear the shouts of the crew.
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