I lay beside Matthias all night, watching the world’s slow turning until the stars died in the sea and dawn rose flaming in the east, a bonfire sucking air from sky. The men began to stir as soon as the sun shouldered the horizon, sleeping forms rousing into unkempt beards and coughs and yawning arms. Daniel Simmel rose and stumbled to the edge of the ship to relieve himself, arching his back as an arc of piss flew downwind. He returned to the group behind the barrels, stepping on Hans Pasche’s fingers. Hans sat up, tousle-headed, and shot Daniel a dirty look.
‘Sorry.’ Daniel waved a hand at him in apology. ‘Here, toss me my cup, would you?’
Hans flung the mug at his face. I noticed that something had changed in him since our days in Kay. His skin was a deep golden brown, pale lines around his eyes showing days of squint and sun above deck. His hair, too, had yellowed, and he had started to grow a beard, which was patchy and ruddy, and gave him a roguish, off-centred look. I realised that there was nothing of his father about him. None of Elder Pasche’s fastidiousness, his gaunt furrows of criticism. Looking at him, watching as he reached into his blankets and gently removed a small black kitten, its tail tipped in white, I realised I had never stopped to think how lonely Hans might have been, raised by a father so caustic in temperament.
Daniel returned, draining his cup. ‘Another night with the missus?’
‘She keeps me warm.’ Hans brought the kitten up to his chest, nuzzled it with his chin.
‘Up now, Matthias.’ Daniel nudged my brother with his foot, the toe of his boot passing through my body. I felt sick at the strangeness of it.
Matthias grunted and buried his head in his elbow.
‘Are you going to take her with you?’ asked Daniel.
Hans unfolded a handkerchief and fed the kitten with bacon fat. He smiled as the cat licked grease from his fingertip. ‘She belongs to the ship.’
Matthias lifted his head. ‘Looks like she belongs to you.’
‘Animals always like to be fed.’
‘Give us a hold?’
As Matthias sat up and reached for her, her tiny body went rigid with fear. Her eyes grazed over me. My stomach lurched. The cat opened her mouth, needle-teeth bared, and hissed.
‘What did you do to her?’ Hans asked.
‘Nothing!’ Matthias exclaimed. ‘I haven’t touched her.’
She sees me, I thought. She knows I am here. I leaned towards the kitten, staring her full in the face. She did not take her eyes off me. I extended a hand and the creature suddenly spat and fought her way out of Hans’s grip by scrambling up and over his neck.
‘Ow!’ Hans winced. ‘Hey, what’s the matter?’
She leaped onto the deck and bolted away. Little spots of blood beaded on Hans’s neck where the kitten had clawed her way to freedom.
‘Guess it didn’t like the look of you.’ Daniel grinned, taking out his pipe.
Matthias’s face fell. ‘I guess not,’ he said.
Within the hour passengers emerged from tween decks for morning services, but for the first time in my life I did not join in the prayers and singing. I sat away from the congregation as they kneeled, rose again, kneeled once more. If they were devotion’s tide, I was rock. I was unmoved. Each assurance of grace felt like a lie.
After prayers my brother wandered to the side of the ship and spent some time staring into the water alone. My heart swelled with affection for him. I wanted to ask him what he was looking for. Was he thinking of me, of my body now absorbed by the ocean? I was unsure how much time had passed since I had died.
Hans approached starboard and joined my brother at the gunwale. He leaned out as far as he was able, lifting his arms wide.
‘Do you ever wonder how deep it is?’ he asked, eyes staring down, as though he planned to dive.
‘Three foot,’ murmured Matthias.
Hans snickered.
‘Did you find her?’ my brother asked.
‘Who?’
‘The kitten.’
‘Not yet. But I will.’ He gestured behind him. ‘It’s not like she has any place to go.’
They both looked back down to where the hull cut through the filmy water. There were dolphins racing alongside the ship, sleek and twisting below the surface.
‘Did I ever tell you about when my mother died?’ Hans said.
Matthias shook his head. ‘No. I don’t think I even know what she died of.’
‘A weak heart. I was eight.’
‘I remember her funeral.’ Matthias glanced up. ‘It must have been hard for you.’