Emile was happy to resemble someone who had gotten a scholarship to college. Some of the stranger’s intelligence seemed to rub off on his shoulders. The rest of the crew began to straggle in and one by one they told him how much he looked like Paff. The first mate was a young man who knocked his cap to the back of his head like a ballplayer and who seemed cheerful, aggressive but not at all bellicose. The second mate was an old man with a thin mustache and a threadbare uniform who took a photograph of his daughter out of his wallet and showed it to Emile. The picture showed a girl in ballet costume, posed on the roof of a tenement. Then the cabin steward joined Emile and the cook. He was a young man with that identifiable gentility that is bred in the turf huts of Nebraska; a mode of elegance that is formed in utter despair. There were thirty-five in all. The last to come was a dark-skinned man carrying a bar bell.
Taxis took them out of the city. Emile sat in front with the driver and the cook, trying to make out Toledo. There were lights, buildings, a river in the distance, and there must have been a beach nearby because many of the people in the opposite lanes of traffic wore bathing suits. Emile felt with intense discomfort that he had not made his presence in Toledo a reality; that he had left the better part of himself in Parthenia. They crossed railroad tracks and went into a dark neighborhood lit by gas-cracking plants, with here and there a saloon on a corner. They stopped at a gate where a man in uniform sent them on at the sight of the cook and then they were in a wilderness until at a turn in the road they came into a broad circle of light and an uproar of engine noise where the S.S.
The passengers came aboard at midnight. The first was an old man with his wife or daughter. He climbed the long gangway directly but the woman with him seemed afraid. It was finally suggested that she take off her high-heel shoes and with a deck hand in front and one behind she was eased up the gangway. The next to come was a man with his wife and three children. One of the children was crying. The last to come was a young man carrying a guitar. At four Emile went on duty and hosed down the decks with the rest of the watch. He wore Paff’s waterproofs. The captain ordered a tug for five but when the tug was delayed he put two men overside in the bosun’s chair and warped the ship out into the channel with lines and winches. They blew their stack in the dawn and Emile wished on the morning star for a safe voyage.
The morning watch hosed down the decks and washed the superstructure and deckhouse with soap and water. The afternoon watch chipped paint. The work was easy and the company was cheerful but the food was terrible. It was the worst food Emile had ever eaten. There were powdered eggs for breakfast, greasy meat and potatoes for dinner and cheese and cold cuts every night. Emile was hungry all the time and his hunger took on the scope of some profound misunderstanding between the world and himself. The plate of cheese and cold cuts that he faced each evening seemed to represent, like a sacrament, stupidity and indifference. His needs, his aspirations and his time of life were all misunderstood and cheese and cold cuts exacerbated the fact. He left the galley in anger one evening and went back to the stern. Simon joined him there; Simon was the one with the bar bell. “This
“I’m hungry,” Emile said.
“I’m skipping ship in Naples,” Simon said. “I got four hundred dollars in travel checks. You come with me.”
“I’m hungry,” Emile said.
“There’s this American restaurant in Naples,” Simon said. “Roast beef, mashed potatoes. You can even get a club sandwich. You come with me.”
“Where,” Emile asked, “where will we go?”
“Ladros,” Simon said. “There’s this beauty contest I’m going to be in. The way I figure it is, you got just so many chances and I know one thing, I got my looks. I’m very good-looking. It’s the only thing I got and I better cash in on it before it’s too late. In Ladros you can pick up two, three thousand dollars in this contest.”
“You’re crazy,” Emile said.
“Well, there’s no doubt about the fact that I’m vain,” Simon said. “I’m a very vain man. I never go by a mirror without looking at myself and thinking there goes a very good-looking man. Never. But you come with me. We’ll go to this restaurant. Apple pie. Hamburgers.”
“Blueberry pie’s my favorite,” Emile said. “After that lemon meringue. Then apricot.”
