Chapter Four- the boy who never drowned

That morning the windows were laced with a thin veil of ice, for we were straying through the Atlantic. It was early when I woke. The ship was encompassed with a silence that came from the drunken sleepers of the third class, and the drunken sleepers that the entertainment room conceived. Silence also came from the Atlantic, the thick ice burgs that lay outside the window, the whole world a soft pearly silver. Victoria had come into the room a few hours before I woke; I assumed she had gone back to the deck to clear her mind because she sounded as though she had caught a cold. I hoped I wouldn’t catch a cold. I looked to her as I sat up in the sunken bed, she was curled in a white sheet, her sharpened collarbones peeking through the thin material that cloaked her. I could not see the blood red dress slumped on the floor, but she was naked. A creak in the corridor distracted my mind and I was pulled to the door. Through the slim horizontal window I saw half of my Mother, wrapped in a blue shawl, disappearing from the quiet of her room. Her grey eyes were wide and unblinking and a shiver of dread crept through my entire being. I knew I had to follow her, because you should never leave a child unattended. It was like following a magical creature, I felt like Alice chasing the rabbit, but I intended to catch it before it reached the rabbit hole. We had brought Mother out from Wonderland and I would not let her go back home. She floated along, her shawl trailing behind her. I knew she wouldn’t see me or turn around for she wasn’t even here, she was focused on a place that didn’t exist. She opened the door to the deck and wondered forward until I thought she might keep going to the horizon. She stopped, sat down ever so slowly, her back completely straight and rocked. I sat down next to her, approaching her with caution, scared that she might not recognise me in her dreaming state.

“Mother?” I whispered, the frozen air carrying my voice away. I stretched a shaking hand to her shoulder, landing on her like a butterfly. She jolted as if waking up from the dead.

“Oh,” her eyes, that looked like they encircled the whole Atlantic Ocean, darted over to me. A look of confusion ran over her delicate face. I wanted to sooth her and brush her hair so it was all aligned and people would no longer stare at a woman that appeared so normal, but under further inspection frightened them in some way they couldn’t explain. “Where- where am I?” Her bottom lip trembled, the Ocean in her grey eyes growing into a storm.

“You’re here, on the Titanic. Remember? You said you wanted to be here.” I tried to stop my voice from shaking, but not even Father had that kind of control around her.

“Oh, yes.” She nodded, no change in her eyes. “I remember.”

“Do you remember me? Mother?” I almost pleaded, worried that this mask she had upheld was falling down.

“Of course, darling.” She said suddenly, wrapping half of her fur lined shawl around me. She smelled sweet, like old perfume. “Very cold. This must be the Atlantic.” Her voice was as sweet as her smell, soothing. I felt warm, something my goose-bumps contradicted.

“It is.” I said. “I’m glad you’re here.” I mumbled. She rested her head on mine, we both stared at the Ocean.

“I remember when you were very little, before any memories.” I could feel her smiling, and was suddenly attentive, attracted by the prospect of a time when I was with her. “And I would tell you stories, long ones, at bedtime. You cried all the time, and your Father had this genius idea to leave you in the cradle and smoke cigars outside. I had never cared for cigars. I did, however, enjoy telling stories. I used to write, I bet your Father didn’t tell you this. I was very good. But when the writing stopped and the story telling stopped I had no more of myself to give. And that made him very sad, seeing me an empty shell, wondering around the house. I started to hate your crying… I knew- I knew that I would not be able to help you because I couldn’t tell you any stories. I was too sad. Too overwhelmed by the world. I had too many questions and no one to answer them and I thought- I thought I don’t want to live in a world that doesn’t make any sense.” Her voice hadn’t changed, apart from the trembling. “I tried to kill myself.” My throat froze, and my body tensed, but somehow my mind stayed calm, for she had been dead while in that room, and I had grieved and I had recovered. “I didn’t want my children to feel the way I did or live in the same world I did so I-!” A shriek. She curled up, her head in her knees, rocking frantically. The hurt noises that came from this woman sounded like a wounded animal and I didn’t understand what it was required for me to do. I wanted to wrap her in blankets and put her to sleep.

“Mother? Mother please don’t cry, it’s okay. I forgive you.” I begged, small drops of the Ocean falling from my eyes. She became still. I wrapped my arms around her, my face buried in her hair. “I forgive you.” I chorused, sobbing. I wanted her to forget. I wanted to take her back to Wonderland so she did not have to confront her mistakes she made here. She wanted to protect us from the cruel world she had brought us in to. I understood; it was a cruel world. “Tell me a story.” I whispered into her dampened cheek. She composed herself, didn’t check to see who would might have happened to see this weak expression of emotion in the middle of the Atlantic. Of course no one was there, we were wrapped in the ice bubbles of our untrodden world that had always been reserved for us.

“On the 20^th of September 1589, a ship full of pirates set off for the Atlantic Ocean on the concealed rumour that there were mermaids, lurking under the frozen surface.” Her eyes explored the landscape, suddenly alive. I watched her. She painted the picture with a hand, white as the icebergs. One hand held mine, she loosened her grip slowly, as she relaxed into the story and didn’t feel afraid that I would leave the creation she was gradually designing. “The slaves rowed for days, tired and ill. The ship’s Capitan grew impatient, no sign of even a tail. They became cold, their bodies a frozen frame, teeth chattering, breath a thin icicle in the air, arctic dragons!” She giggled, her eyes dashing around her scene. “The fierce and mighty Captain was beginning to lose hope, furious that he would capture no mermaids to bring back to England. But on a particularly intense night, when each breath of wind would freeze the sailors’ skin, the Captain sent his son to adjust the mast.” She looked into my eyes, a peculiar squint from her expression almost made me feel uncomfortable. “The Captain’s son had no companions, no one to share his abstract thoughts. He thought he would have more in common with a mermaid than a real human being. While adjusting the sales, he heard a low hum coming from somewhere overboard. He leaned over the edge, scanning the murky waters. The humming grew louder, deeper, like from a deathly beast lying below. Then, a glimmer of a snake like movement brought his eyes down directly below him. The tail glimmered, almost transparent, but the silver outlines of the scales told him that this was no reflection from the clouds, but a creature.” She stopped, her eyes had drifted to the softened yellow sun that was awaking behind thick icy clouds.

“Well?” I prompted. “Was it a mermaid?” She laughed, rested her face in the palm of her hand.

“Of course it wasn’t a mermaid.” She brushed the story away with a careless hand, and stood up, the shawl leaving my arm and shoulder cold. “The Captain’s son was crazy.” And she walked away, giggling to herself, the frozen breath of the Atlantic dragon carried by the wind.