Catrina: A Les Miserables Story

chapter 2: ibang mundo

ibang mundo : [sentence] another world

pictured above: galleon ship

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~translations will be at the bottom of the chapter~

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If you had asked her, the months that Catrina had spent at sea went by in a flurry of windy days and chilly nights. She woke up early with the rest of the crew, with permission from Mang Rodrigo, to climb up the crow's nest to watch the sunrise over the blue horizon. Then, she would spend the morning being as productive as she was allowed. The men at first were wary of her, the young woman's presence intriguing yet worrisome. It was common lore that having a woman on board a ship brought bad karma, likely resulting in tragedy. Catrina had once spotted one of the older gentlemen clutch a rosary tighter to his chest as he passed by. The memory of it still made her snicker.

But eventually, they just sort of accepted the fact that she was around. She was one to provide riveting conversation, well-educated and spoken for. But enough so that, in their words, they didn't consider her too much of a snob. The fact that it was a merchant's ship, proved no surprise that its passengers were a mixed bunch. The galleon had come from the Philippines, with the obvious captain and the working crew. A handful of the merchants also came from home, but many of them were made up of men from continents like Africa, mainland Asia and even the North Americas. And of course, with its end in France, numerous Europeans too.

Catrina had made an acquaintance with a certain Monsieur Mehdi, a tradesman who sold fine cloths and silks. He was reaching well past his forties, grey hair peeking through in patches along the sides of his head and along the sides of his goatee, but he was well-fit and in fitting shape for someone who spent much of his life on the water. When he learned of her voyage to Paris, he had jumped at the opportunity to tell her all that he knew of the country. Although born in Avignon, he had traveled the country top to bottom, and with it an array of stories that helped a great deal in passing the time. Thank goodness that Basile had provided her with a French tutor, insisting that Catrina was to learn the language and be able to speak it fluently.

"A woman of your status, you will be blessed that you will not find the opportunity of being around the slums often," Mehdi spoke one day, taking a swig of whiskey he had stored in a flask around his neck. They were in the ship's galley, late in the evening after the passengers had finished dinner.

Catrina sat across from him, raising an eyebrow at his words.

"You speak as if I am averse to seeing the unfortunate people who live there, Monsieur." She replied, bracing her elbow against the table and resting her chin in her hands. "Poverty is not something that I turn a blind eye from."

"But it is something that you have never really experienced, yes?"

"I cannot say I have." Tracing the chipped wood of the table, she met his eyes as he looked at her from the corner of his own. "But I implore you not view me in the same light as someone indifferent to the current unfair status of my fellow citizens. I'm well aware of my privilege."

"Forgive me, Madame. I did not mean it in a way to shame you." He chuckled. "I believe my nephew would like you, the two of you share the same views. Partly the reason why he's currently studying law in Paris as we speak."

Catrina's brows knitted together in confusion. "Is such a view not considered common?"

"Well with the vast amount of us barely getting by, you'd be surprised to find it isn't an idea that most of the high and mighty might warm up to."