The Son of Every Man

Chapter 9.2

The rest of the day crawled by, never quite feeling like real life, owing to the substantial constraints of his new experience. He noted where both fresh water and food supplies were kept, guarded at all times by a rotation of volunteer gatekeepers. As he roamed opportunistically around the cramped vessel through gaps among the throng which were constantly opening and closing, he listened to every word he could discern. He heard many worries and fears expressed in doubtful tones. But he also witnessed more than a few expressions of joy from those who dared speak excitedly of a future completely unknown...or gratefully for their improbable escape from a fate otherwise certain.

As he watched strangers share amongst each other what little personal provisions they had brought on board, laughing and commiserating and making new friendships, he hoped that those assigned to guard the food and water supply participated only as a token measure. He wanted to believe their services would not be needed here, among good people.

All the while—constantly, in fact, since he had first noticed her—he was aware of the location and the movements of the young pregnant woman. His concern over her culminated at the hottest part of the day, when he resurfaced from a delirium, panicked, unable to spot her. He looked frantically aft in time to witness her being led by a young mother into the driving compartment to shelter from the sun. It pleased him very much to see this.

The afternoon heat drained all but the most able-bodied of their energy. Nearly everyone grew quiet and exhausted. Even the boy, who had never in his life experienced an aversion to the sun, became first resentful of it, then afraid of it as he panted through the worst moments, snugged in his spot halfway beneath the rail. Finally it began to let up in the early-evening, in time for a second meal (more of the same) to begin preparations.

The portions were smaller than in the morning. There had been talk that if they continued rationing based on the size of the first meals, they would not have enough to last the remaining days to Malaysia. Some argued they could always fish for more, but others countered that it was a dangerous assumption; there was no guarantee of catching anything in these waters.

Hot slurry of rice and fish directly in hand, he found the young woman and sat next to her again. It was the first time they had spoken to each other since the previous meal. Again, she had been lent a bowl to use. She looked unwell and not very hungry, but she began to eat anyway.

"Are you okay?" she asked him.

He was surprised to be asked such a question, especially from a person in her condition. He did not have an answer ready.

"Don't worry," she said, swallowing with some effort (embarrassingly, he had already finished his), "we don't have to talk."

"Who is the father?"

She straightened and her eyes widened for a second.

"I'm sorry," he stammered, all at once aware of his rude abruptness.

"It's okay," she said. "The father is someone who is not suitable. I would rather not talk about him."

He was so embarrassed for having asked that he momentarily could not bring himself to speak.

"Are you still hungry?" she asked him. "I should eat this, I know. But I don't feel hungry and I may get sick later."

Of course he was still hungry, but not for a second would he consider accepting the half-finished bowl now thrust toward him. "I can't take it," he said. "Please understand."

She drew the bowl back toward her chest.

"And I think you should try and finish. Even if you throw up again, it will still help you."