Luck of the Titanic

by Stacey Lee

One comet in, one comet out. But two years away is more than enough time to clear his head, even in the coal-thickened air at the bottom of a steamship. Since he hasn’t come home, it is time to chase down the comet’s tail.

to the Chinese, death is just a continuation of life on a higher plane with our ancestors.

When you live with someone whose mistress is the bottle, you say your goodbyes long before they depart.

Of course, when you need a rat, there is none to be found.

“I never cheat,” the lad closest to me growls in the highly offended manner of someone who does cheat.

The Chinese can be suspicious of foreigners, who rarely do them any favors.

People stare as I pass, and it occurs to me that the first class is no better at containing their curiosity than the third class. In fact, they stare even longer, as if it is their right.

“Oh, but I must. Someone’s head will roll, believe it.” I grimace. May the head in question not be the one on my shoulders.

The rhythmic hiss of the ocean sounds vaguely like the tsk of a tongue. Don’t you start, too.

I haven’t gone to church since Ba died and Reverend Prigg told me it was God’s will I join the convent before my feet led me down Jezebel’s path. I told him that if God had such a lack of imagination, then I wanted no part of His religion.

Then I sink into the thick feather comforter, which is how I imagine sitting in a cloud might feel. It turns out the wealthy sleep higher than us, too. Before long, my eyelids grow heavy.

Luxury is like good news, hard to enjoy without someone to share it with.

Don’t spend too long looking behind you, or you’ll miss out on what’s ahead,

The English love all things Chinese—silk, tea, plates—just not if it comes with a beating heart.

She extends her gloved hand, and though all the horses leading my rickety sleigh rear up, I take it. Unlike the dead-fish hands that wealthy women usually offer, her grip is solid, a grip that could open her own doors.

The afterlife certainly features prominently in the decorating here. But is a vessel in the middle of the ocean really the place to be constantly reminded of death?

The Chinese avoid the number four, but Westerners like even numbers.

The lifeboats stand pale and motionless, ghostly cradles held by skeletal arms. Four in each of four corners. I shiver. This deck is full of bad luck, and I bet Fong would steer clear even if he was allowed up here.

“This is top of the line. Clinker-built, elm rudder. But there are only sixteen lifeboats—plus they store a few ‘collapsibles’ up front. That’s only enough for about half of the two thousand–something passengers. Yet they say it meets regulation.”

“Sometimes you can’t forgive because it cheapens the people you love.”

Jamie seems to have grown heavier, and not just from his new coal-shoveling muscles.

We were still grieving over Mum when he left, and I hoped the boiler rooms would at least give him a place away from the memories to heal. But perhaps down there, without enough air to vent them away, his troubles only compounded.

But one night, our parents were quarreling in the kitchen, and a dandelion just wasn’t handy. Jamie, lying next to me in our half bed, said that if we blew anyway, the heavens would still hear us, even without the dandelion, and maybe grant our wish.

Jamie and I competed for our mum’s affections, but he adored her the most. We both picked her flowers whenever we passed a good patch, but he did it even in the pouring rain.

Surely Mr. Stewart could help us put that one out, being a man of influence and money. Isn’t that how the world works?

Still, pain for the sake of fashion seems twice as wretched since no one will be tossing coins at me afterward.

Didn’t Ba always tell us that one boot leads the other, and when one lags behind, the other must pull its twin forward?

Yet, a vague sense of disappointment washes over me, and I screw my cap on tighter. Being in the same boat does not make us the same.

“It’s a shame how working at the bottom of a boat lowers one’s standards.”

Luck wears many faces. The number four for Fong, twins for Ba, a crane for April. Are we all just looking for the heavens to speak, to assure us things will turn out right? As far as I’m concerned, the best way to counter bad luck is to make some luck of your own.

A one-degree shift in my appearance might’ve changed my whole journey. Mum gave up a lot to marry Ba—not just her parents, but the underrated power to be invisible.

Getting clean even when I don’t feel dirty is one of the best parts of first-class living.

“When Jamie told us his twin sister was here, Tao was not surprised. He said twins always come together like ginger and garlic. They can stand by themselves, but they are always meeting in the same dish.”

“There are many ways to make music. You do not need a drum to drum. Just like you can smile without smiling, and cry without crying.”

Unexpressed thoughts hover like the brown clouds that collect over London in the summer when breezes are in short supply.

But even as I say it, I can’t help but hope that once he remembers how good it feels to fly, to defy the laws of gravity in the space of a breath, he will change his mind.

“How did you cut the shell without breaking it?” “Rubbed it against a stone. It takes patience, and sometimes they break. Not every shell wants to be changed.”

“How come you never told us that, little captain?” he asks in his conch-shell voice. Jamie shrugs. “It was another life.” Ming Lai grins. “You’re not old enough to have more than one.”

“There is a saying: If you always give, you will always have. Thank you, little captain.”

Before moving on to a bunch of knee-biters at the next table, I can’t help noticing that the Syrian group’s basket is filled with bread heels, too. Somehow, it makes me feel better that we aren’t the only ones who receive poor treatment, but also worse that something as mundane as a bread heel can have so much power.

I hope goodwill is like bay leaves, where just a few are enough to flavor a whole pot of stew.

All children need their mothers, even ones they never met.

“Grudges are like heavy skirts—they’re just extra weight. I design my clothes to be fluid and easy to move in, so that when life takes unexpected turns, you won’t get stuck.”

After his bath, he spent all night hammering their lids into a concave shape, despite having worked a full day in Boiler Room 6. Mum always said God gave us two hands, one for helping ourselves and one for helping others. But as the marvelous boom-badda-boom shakes the walls, I can’t help thinking that Drummer is the rare sort born with a pair for helping others.

Time to give them something they’ve never seen before. We shall strike our feet upon the wire, and light a fire in the sky.

Life is a balancing act, and the better you get at juggling, the better you get at living. You could be killed walking down the street, but you don’t let that fear stop you. You just practice until the fear is no longer part of the equation.

We never encourage each other out loud, because fate has big ears.

Then Jamie does a handstand in the middle of the beds. Letting his legs spread, he carefully lifts one hand from the floor and holds his position, looking like a seabird flexing its wings. The lads clap and holler, and hope rises in my chest. Jamie is remembering how it feels to fly.

“When your family falls apart, it’s a knife twisted in slowly.”

I was never tempted to try the stuff after seeing what gargle juice did to Ba. But this wine, elegantly tipped from a long-necked bottle so that it pours out like a ray of sunlight, seems worlds apart from the jugs Ba swilled.