By the Bay Ch. 12

When they reached the port, Jay alighted first then turned to help the women down. He lifted Anita by the waist and set her on the ground, whereas Meera completely ignored his extended hand.

The driver, a short Chinese man with thick eyebrows, helped them with what meager baggage they had. Jay carried most of their luggage while Anita held the basket which Beau slept in. They'd had a little fight this morning over the little dog. Jay didn't want him to come along, whereas Anita wouldn't leave without him. How was he to fend for himself if he was left alone? He was just a puppy. Needless to say, Anita won the argument.

There were several ships lined up at the port, mostly Chinese junk ships, but there was a fair-sized steam ship floating on one end of the port. When Jay pointed the ship out to her, Anita was thrilled. What a grand ship, she said, and walked briskly towards it to get a better look. Jay followed closely behind with their baggage while Meera dragged her feet, her cloth bag slung over her shoulder.

Anita was standing a few feet away from the ship, looking up at it in awe. Gods, the ship was huge! Far bigger than any ship she'd ever seen sail pass the bay. And she was going to be on it! What an exciting prospect that was.

"It's not that grand," Jay commented from behind her.

"Oh, but it is," she insisted. "I've never seen a ship so big."

"There are bigger ones, sweetheart. I'll show you some at the port in London."

She gifted him with a wide smile and he felt his heart stop for a second. If he hadn't been bogged down by the baggage, he would have kissed her, public place or not.

He asked her to wait on the wooden extension plank as he climbed the steep steel staircase and set their bags on the ship. Then he gave her a hand as she climbed on after him. He looked about for Meera and saw her lingering in the port, looking over a few goods. Shrugging, he once again gathered their bags and entered the small lounge space on the ship.

"Wait here, sweetheart. I'll be right back."

Anita nodded, already looking out the window to take in every bit of the scenery. There were large houses lining the bay, and she knew that this was where most of the white people lived. Ah, everything was so beautiful here! How come she'd never come to this side of the island before?

She heard low voices in the room next to the lounge, then Jay returned with two brass keys.

"The ship won't sail before noon. We've an hour to spare," he said.

"I don't mind. It's so beautiful on this side of the island. Everything seems brighter, prettier. I keep wondering how come I've never had the opportunity to come here before."

He chuckled, coming up behind her. "That's because the white people, selfish bastards that they are, claimed this land for themselves a long time ago. When my father wanted to build a house here, he couldn't even find a plot of land for it. That's why our house is all the way on the other side of the island. Father wanted a view of the bay, and that was the only place that was available."

"But the view is breath-taking here. The water's so clear and the trees are so green and..."

There was a loud thump and both Jay and Anita turned to find that Meera had entered the lounge and promptly dropped her bag onto the floor. She looked around the room thoughtfully, taking in the burgundy and gold theme that was distinctly masculine. The couches looked quite comfortable though, and Anita knew her sister was thinking that she wouldn't spending time curled in one, writing the day away.

"Meera," Jay said, reaching into his pocket for the key he'd been given. "This is the key to your room. It's the first door at the top of the stairs."

Anita turned to face Jay, frowning. "Aren't I staying with Meera?"

Jay shook his head slowly. "You're staying with me, sweetheart."

She began shaking her head too. "It wouldn't be proper-."

"I don't mind staying alone. Really, 'ka," Meera said, picking up her bag again. She started for the stairs.

"But I sure as hell do," Jay whispered into Anita's ear, and she felt her cheeks heating. Even so, she shot him a disgruntled look.

"Is our room near hers at least?" she asked, not going to let the matter drop easily.

"The ship's too small for her room to be far away from ours."

She sighed. "Next time we travel, I'd like a room with Meera."

It was Jay's turn to frown. "Why?"

She shrugged. "It just doesn't seem proper is all."

"Sweetheart, nothing about our relationship is proper... or haven't you realized that yet?"

"Yes, but-."

"But I like it. I like you. Now hush. I haven't kissed you all morning, have I? That must be why you're so churlish today."

She shook her head as his lips descended on hers for a very thoroughly satisfying kiss. When he pulled away, she said, "You always get your way, don't you?"

"Mostly. I almost didn't with you."

"But now you have me here, going to England with you."

"And sharing my room."

She grinned despite herself, then pulled away when the sound of footsteps came from the deck. Jay quickly reached down to pick up their baggage to head to the room; she did not miss the sudden hurry in his movements.

But before they could leave the lounge, another couple entered and Jay stopped to exchange pleasantries, though she could see the reluctance plainly in his frame.

When he introduced her simply as 'Anita', she noticed the subtle curiosity reflected in the other white man's eyes.

But she was sure that her eyes reflected curiosity too, for behind the old white man stood a young girl with fair oriental skin and dark slanted eyes. She was beautiful for a Chinese girl and Anita found herself wondering what such a young beauty was doing with a man old enough to be her father, maybe even grandfather.

When Jay was done exchanging pleasantries, he led the way out of the lounge and Anita followed closely behind him, quite grateful to be out of the stranger's curious stare. But she did not, however, stop thinking about the young girl for a long while.

*

The ship set sail an hour later, around the peak of the morning when the sun made the water impossibly reflective to look at directly.

Meera stood at the edge of the ship with her notebook pressed to her chest, watching as the only home she'd ever known drifted further and further away from her. She should fear for the future, she knew, yet the bubble of excitement overrode all other emotion. She'd never thought she'd have such an opportunity as this to tour England -- England! The mysterious, faraway land of England that was one of the most powerful countries in the world. She could not imagine what lay in wait for her. And thinking about it made her skin tingle.

When she could no longer see the island, she turned to take a seat on the small but windy deck of the SS Londonderry, letting her mind wander. They would be on their way to London first, and that presented a whole range of opportunities for her. For one, she would be able to try and get her book and essays published, and two, maybe she'd meet someone that would help her get over Rae. She was, however, more optimistic about the former than the latter.

She chewed on the end of her pencil as she thought about the prospects. How nice it would be to see her words printed in ink and set in a leather-bound book that people buzzed about on the streets, perhaps even over the radio! She smiled, thinking about how that would feel -- the world reading her book!

She looked down into the almost-finished pages of her book, thinking of how she could improve her vocabulary, storyline -- anything! -- that could make the novel better. Her pencil tapped a rhythm over the pages as she edited her own writing, looking for even the slightest mistakes.

The novel was long, almost three hundred pages in length, and when she was finally done with picking out all her careless errors, she realized she was squinting at the shadowed pages. Looking up, she saw that the horizon had bled itself of the orange of the sun, and the moon hung high. A lamp on the deck was the only source of light. She was not surprised that she hadn't noticed the day passing. More often that not, nothing could break her concentration after she'd begun writing.

Sighing, she closed her notebook and rose, wondering if dinner was being served already. She was starving.

It didn't take her long to realize that she wasn't alone. The breeze carried a womanly scent and she looked around for the source which it came from.

To her left, at the far corner of the deck, was the petite yellow-skinned girl that she'd seen wandering around the port with an older white man earlier that day. But the man was nowhere in sight now; she was standing alone, her long, impossibly straight jet-black hair blowing in the wind. She looked very preoccupied with her thoughts, but she also looked very sad.

Meera picked up her skirts and walked towards the girl. She didn't know why she did it -- perhaps because she couldn't stand misery on such a beautiful face -- but she stopped at the railing beside the girl and said hello.

Slanted dark eyes turned to her, and Meera could read the grief displayed in them. Gods, what had made this woman so unhappy?

"Hello," she returned, her soft voice heavily accented.

"Would you like to go in?" Meera asked, "Dinner should be served soon and it's getting a little cold out here."

The woman shook her head, staring out into the ocean now. "No, thank you. I am not hungry. I haven't been hungry in a while."

How odd, Meera thought. How interesting.

"Is something wrong?" she asked, curious.

The woman was silent for such a long time that Meera thought she wouldn't receive the answer to her question. Then she heard a small sigh.

"Sometimes, the things you have to do to feed yourself and your family does not give you much of an appetite."

Meera made a small sound at the back of her throat, trying to get her head around the woman's words.

"And what is it that you do?"

Another sigh.

"Perhaps it is better if you do not know."

"If it's anything to do with the white man you came with, then I believe I can guess."

The woman closed her eyes, and even in the dark, Meera could see the shame coloring her cheeks. Standing this close to her, Meera realized that the woman's skin color was not the yellow she'd become used to seeing on the Chinese people on the island, but a creamy white. There was no mistaking, however, that she was not of the white race.

"Why do you do it if it shames you so much?" Meera asked, frowning.

The woman's voice sounded strange when she said, "I do not have a choice."

Meera's voice sharpened perceptibly. "You always have a choice."

"No, I do not."

The ball of irritation that unfurled in Meera's stomach took her by surprise. "This is the problem with women these days. You don't think you have a choice; just do what a man tells you to do and you'll be taken care of. You'd rather give up every ounce of dignity then fight to survive and support yourself. Its women like you that drag the liberation movement to hell."

Furious, Meera was about the walk away when the woman reached out to grasp her wrist.

"You had no right to say that to me," the woman said, her own fury glinting in her eyes. "You do not even know me."

Meera stepped closer to the woman. "I doubt I need to know you. You're no different from any other woman who's had to sell her body because she had no other means to survive. Open your eyes, woman. Open them wide. This is a new century. There are many more ways for women to make a living, other than selling their bodies."

Both of them stood mere inches from each other, Meera's eyes glinting in fury. Then she wrestled her wrist free and turned away again, walking stiffly into the lounge.

*

The dining room was a small space not much larger than the lounge and barely fit the eight people that gathered around the table. He sat with Anita opposite the Mr. Ames they'd met this morning. A seat was empty beside him, no doubt for the young oriental girl that was his escort. There was a seat empty on Anita's side, too, waiting for Meera to make an appearance. The last he'd saw her she'd been sitting cross-legged in one of the deck chairs, scribbling in her notebook and refusing to get a bite to eat for lunch. Anita had given up asking after a while, and they'd had their lunch without her. Jay was sure they'd see Meera this evening, for hunger and the lack of light would drive her off the deck and into the ship.

Just as he suspected, she entered the dining room just as the soup was being served. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair was in disarray, prompting Anita's fussing as Meera took her seat. Jay ladled some soup for himself and Anita, then asked Meera if she wanted some before filling her bowl as well.

Dinner was a tedious affair. Other than Mr. Ames and his companion, who finally made an appearance halfway through the meal, the rest of the men were solo travelers who were obviously wary of Anita and the oriental girl. What they thought the women would do to them he wouldn't know, but he noted that their eyes frequently traveled between the two women, prompting Jay to stare each man down. They were wise enough to look away once they'd caught his eye.

Meera excused herself before dessert was served, citing a headache. Anita rose to accompany her, leaving Jay alone with the strangers. He watched as Mr. Ames poured himself another glassful of island rum from the near-empty flask. Jay pushed the pie around his plate, watching as the man drained it without pausing for breath. The girl beside him excused herself too a few minutes later, and the three other men slowly followed suit. Jay pushed his plate aside and strode out onto the deck, feeling the brisk breeze chill his bones.

Ah, the breeze reminded him of England. Even on the hottest of summer days, a stray breeze could freeze a body solid. He settled himself on the deck chair Meera had vacated and looked out into the sea, thinking to give Anita some time with her sister before heading back to the room.

He didn't know if it was the rocking motion of the boat or the warmth of the food that settled in his stomach, but minutes later, he fell asleep.

*

Meera asked her sister to leave her alone. She wasn't up to speaking with anyone, and she didn't want to end up snapping at Anita when she knew she would regret her words later.

When Anita left with a sigh, Meera sat atop the bunk bed and wrapped her arms around her knees, still furious over the woman's words earlier. She'd read and heard enough about the feminist mission in the white countries to know that there were women -- women like her -- who were dragging it to hell. Women who didn't want to fight for their rights were bad enough, but the women whose actions tried to reverse the successes of the movement were just... Urgh!

She fiddled with a loose thread on the hem of her sari, pulling it in her anger. The hem unraveled, making her curse out loud.

Quick, soft knocks on her door had her growling for the person to go away. She knew it couldn't be her sister, because Anita knew when to leave her alone. But the knocking continued even after Meera growled at the unwanted visitor.

When the open door revealed a pale, frail-looking visitor, Meera felt her head start to pound from the blood rushing to it.

"What?" she snapped, a hand curling over her hip. "Did you come here for more verbal lashing?"

"No."

The soft, almost defeated voice had Meera pausing. The woman looked more pale than she had a few hours before. She had exchanged her dress for a loose-fitting silk nightgown and her hair was held back with a ribbon.

She didn't understand what churned through her, but with a sigh, Meera felt her anger at the woman's ignorance slowly receding. Perhaps it was her frailty or the vulnerable look Meera caught in her eyes.

Her voice lost its edge when she asked, "What do you want?"

Hesitant eyes flickered to hers before looking away again. "Can I come in?"

After a long moment of consideration, Meera stepped aside. The woman brushed past her with her head bowed and walked straight to the small, round window in the cabin. Meera settled herself on the bed with her back to the wall and watched her visitor.

"What is it?"

The small expanse of shoulder seemed to sag. "I did not want for you to..." she seemed to struggle for words, "think the worst about me."

Meera raised a golden eyebrow. "So are you going to tell me that you don't whore for a man as a way of life?"

A slight stiffening of stance. "I told you I did not have a choice."

"What you did not have was gumption. Wait, let me reword that. What you do not have is gumption."

The woman whirled around, and the emotion -- a mix of fury and righteousness -- was shocking in such a pale face.

"You judge me yet again! I have told you that it was not my choice to make this my life, yet you still judge me!" She took a breath to try to control herself. "I was sold! I had no choice. My father took money for me and I had no right to stop him. Just as I have no right to stop that white man from making me his... bed partner!"

Meera was amazed at that impassioned speech, but she could not appreciate its contents. "You had a right, damn it! You just think you don't! Every woman has a right to choose! Maybe not by law, but as a birthright!"

"So you say! My family believes otherwise. That man believes otherwise. Who cares what I believe?"

She brushed a tear from her cheek.

"I did not come to see you to shout at you. I wanted to make you understand that I'm not like those other women who willingly spread their thighs for a few coins. I cannot bear people thinking such things of me."

"If you're not happy, leave him."

The pale figure turned back to the window. "It is not that simple. I cannot make my way in this world alone."

"Why?"

The question took the woman by surprise. She turned to find Meera standing by the edge of the bed.

"I don't understand," she said, shaking her head.

"Why can't you make it one your own?"

The woman shrugged, sending silk sliding over skin. "It is impossible. Who would give me a job? How could I earn a living?"

"But you can," Meera said, coming closer to her. The moonlight shimmered through the window, illuminating the woman's sinfully pale skin. Meera thought she looked like someone had lit an oil lamp under her skin.

Meera reached out to take her hand and pulled her to her traveling bag. She took out her most prized possession -- a leather folder given to her by Ms. Drewberry in the ninth grade. Inside, she had stored every newspaper, brochure and note sent to Ms. Drewberry by the Women's Social and Political Union and other women's suffragette unions in Britain. The old lady had noticed Meera's interest and had kindly donated every scrap of paper to her.

Now Meera pulled out every wrinkled sheet and passed it to the woman; but the notes were declined because the woman could not read. So Meera read to her. They settled on the floor, shoulder to shoulder, as Meera read out loud the effects of the suffragist movements, women earning the right to vote, jobs being created especially for women...

Meera noted the awe on her visitor's face. The joy, the excitement, the hope. It was almost palpable, the way it filled the air around both of them. Meera showed her several pictures of women she admired -- Emmeline Pankhurst and her daughters; Mary Allen, Mary Richardson and Norah Elam who were the three suffragists who inspired Meera the most.

The woman ran her hands over the picture of Emmeline Pankhurst almost reverently. "I did not know women could do so much."

"Yes," Meera countered for the lack of anything else to say.

"It takes... gumption." A smile trembled on the frail woman's lips.