Leaving New York

Chapter 4

My roommate tossed and turned all night. I hardly slept a wink either—shock is no laughing matter. Insufficient blood flow can cause hypoxia or a heart attack. Several times I pulled his bedclothes back over him; Mrs. Rogers said to keep him warm. At one point, I had to turn the overhead lamp on, which illuminated his face for the first time. He had copper-colored hair, a million tiny freckles, and muscular arms, big enough to strangle someone.

Marisio knocked on the door early with breakfast. Two nice trays with omelets, orange juice, and coffee. The guy didn't wake up when I jostled him, so I let him sleep. I thought I had to start my shift after wolfing my breakfast down. Marisio sat in the big easy chair, looking at the tough guy.

"Carlos told me to tell you to stay with him until he wakes up, then text him. He'll then come to ask all the I.D. questions. Lars will cover your shift in the galley."

"Okay."

The captain knocked softly then peeked in, "Still asleep, huh?"

"Yes, sir."

"Kinda a big fellow?"

"Yeah."

"Carlos said he has no I.D.—we'll have to see who he is, who we need to notify. I'll be on the bridge if you need me—you guys did a wonderful job last night."

"Thank you, sir."

I stayed in the cabin while the guy slept. Mrs. Rogers stopped by several times to check his vitals. After she left the last time, the man coughed then woke up.

I said, "Hi."

"Where am I?"

"You're on the S.S. Delusen. We picked you up last night—from your S.O.S. call."

"Where's my boat?"

"I . . . I'm sorry to say your boat sank. I know it's a huge loss, but you're safe now."

He threw the covers back, staring at his leg.

"You got a nasty cut; a retired nurse stitched you up."

"Where are we?

"About a thousand miles from Halifax, on our way to France."

"Hell!"

"It's a freighter."

His head jerked to look at me, "My money, my passport, where is it?"

"I guess it's on the boat . . ."

"I had eight thousand dollars cash with me!"

"We didn't find anything—no money, I.D. Do you have insurance?"

"No."

"I'm sorry."

"So, I just stay on here until we get to France?"

"Yeah."

"Goddamn! My boat sank, no money! Jesus."

"You want something to eat?"

"No."

He fell back with closed eyes.

"I'm Jack, by the way."

"Whatever."

There was a knock at the door.

"It's open."

It was the captain again. The guy looked up.

"Son, I'm the Captain. I'm sorry about your loss, but you're alive—just barely. May I ask your name?"