Stars On The Atlantic

VII

"Jerry, bloody Christ! Where the devil you been yesterday!"

The boiler room chief was fuming with rage. Anger contorted his facial traits as blood flushed all the way up to his large forehead. Jerry had left his boiler unattended for one whole day and as a result, the excess of unevacuated steam nearly caused it to explode.

"My sincere apologies, sir," murmured Jerry in a trembling voice. "I was feeling ill the whole day yesterday. It's probably the vibrations of the ship. I still can't get used to working on the Atlantic onboard the fastest ship in the world."

"Some folks down here said they seen you sneak up the staircase leading abovedeck yesterday," said the chief in a voice charged with accusation and animosity.

"Why, how could that be? I was lying on my berth like a dead man!" replied Jerry.

The chief fixed a pair of untrusting eyes at the boy and exhaled deeply like a locomotive, making his moustache vibrate in an inappropriately comic way.

"You better get used to the Atlantic fast. Otherwise, you'll have to get used to starving to death on firm ground."

"Aye sir!" answered Jerry promptly. "I shan't be ill again, sir. I promise."

"I'll get Edgar to keep a close watch on you," said the chief. "You better catch up with the delay you caused yesterday!"

After the chief walked away mumbling curses, Jerry breathed out at length. Oh crap, he thought. That was close! He'd better go back to work and show that he was sweating his life out doing so. However, as he shoved cart after cart of coal into the burning furnaces, his heart had remained abovedeck. Ever since the day before, this restless heart was inhabited by a new, strange feeling which Jerry could not comprehend.

« Homme libre, toujours tu chériras la mer! » he whispered with a smile on his lips.