THE CABIN BOY

Werner cracks the door open an inch and peers into the small antechamber outside Heinrich Kubis’s cabin to make sure it’s empty. Once he’s certain that the coast is clear he steps out of the room, shuts the door behind him, then wiggles the doorknob to make sure it’s locked. Kubis is the only steward who gets a cabin to himself. Not that anyone would want to bunk with him, Werner thinks; the man has neither a pulse nor a sense of humor. But he does have privacy and access to the ship’s manifest, and that is something Werner very much wants to see. The results of his little investigation have left Werner bewildered, however.

The chief steward has the first stateroom on B-deck. The location enables him to better serve the wealthiest passengers. The room is accessed by a door that leads into a small antechamber off the keel corridor. Lunch is almost over and Kubis could come through the door at any moment, so Werner wants to put as much distance as he can between himself and the cabin before anyone discovers what he has done.

The antechamber is little more than the size of a closet and is lined entirely on one wall with shelves holding wicker baskets, brushes, and shoe polish. It smells of perfectionism. Werner opens the door to the corridor and walks directly into the broad chest of Max Zabel.

“What are you doing in there?” the navigator asks.

“Shoes!” The word comes out higher and squeakier than he’d like. But at least the lie was prepared in advance. He clears his throat. “I came to check on the shoes. It’s my break, and I thought I’d get a head start polishing them so I wouldn’t have to do it tonight. Kubis keeps shunting the job off on me.”

Max sets a large, heavy hand on the bony point of Werner’s shoulder. He bends down six inches so he can speak directly into Werner’s ear.

“You were in Kubis’s cabin.”

“No—”

“Don’t. You’ll save yourself a great deal of trouble if you can refrain from lying. I was just in that antechamber. And you were in the cabin. The only way this situation can go well for you is if you choose to tell me the truth right now.”

It’s a quarter to three, and Werner doesn’t have much time left on his afternoon break. He gets thirty minutes in the afternoon once his first shift ends at 2:30. Yesterday he spent it napping in his cabin after being up half the night shining shoes for Kubis. He has sacrificed the sleep today in order to satisfy his curiosity. It’s a choice he regrets now, looking up into the navigator’s angry gaze.

Max gives his shoulder an abrupt shake. “Why?”

“The manifest!” he squeaks.

“What about it?”

“I wanted to see who owns the dog.”

“That Schwachkopf Joseph Späh owns the dog. Everyone knows that. He turned the boarding process into a fiasco.”

“No. The other dog.”

Max takes a step back at this. He tilts his head to the side. “There are two?”

“They’re both in the cargo area.”

“How do you know what’s stored in the cargo area?”

Werner blanches at this but decides it’s best to tell Max everything. “The American passenger. I don’t know his name.”

“What about him?”

“He paid me to feed the dog. No one has been doing it, and it’s a sad mess back there.”

“Why was the American in the cargo hold?”

“I don’t know,” Werner hedges. “But he knows about the dog.” He pauses, afraid to say the next thing.

“What?”

“He saw us yesterday. When we went out the hatch.”

“He said that?”

“He said that he wouldn’t tell anyone we were back there if I agreed to feed the dog. He said he’d give me ten dollars, American money.”

Max snorts. “I hope you got it up front.”

“I did. I’m going to buy my mother something when we get to Lakehurst.”

Werner can’t tell whether Max is angry or disappointed. But Max steps away and tucks his hands into his pockets. It’s the look he gets when he’s thinking about something. Finally he says, “Come with me.”

“I have to get back to work.”

“This won’t take long. Five minutes at most.”

Werner follows Max down the keel corridor, around the gangway stairs, and toward the officers’ quarters. He stops in front of his own cabin. “Open it.” When Werner hesitates Max says, “I know you have a key. You got in this morning. What I don’t know is where you got the key. You’ve been making good use of it though.”

Werner pulls the key from his pocket and holds it lightly in his palm. “Balla gave it to me.”

Max steps aside. Motions toward the door. “After you.”

Werner lets himself in and Max follows behind, shutting the door. “I’ll take that, if you don’t mind. I’m sure Balla will be needing it back.”

Good riddance, Werner thinks, but he says nothing aloud. The key has felt like a ten-pound weight in his pocket all day. He has been aware of it even when he hasn’t used it. “Why did you bring me here?”

Max opens his closet and pulls out an olive drab duffel bag and sets it on the floor.

“I’m sorry I went through your things. But I didn’t have a choice. I had to get you up. And you had to be dressed.”

“Listen, kleiner Bube, I don’t care about my socks or my underwear. I want to know why you took my gun and what you did with it.”

“I didn’t—”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not lying! I swear!” Werner hates it when his voice rises and cracks and sounds like a girl’s. He hates that he can’t control when and where it happens. But his heart is hammering, and his breath is short, and he is terrified that he has stumbled into some kind of trouble that he doesn’t understand. “I never saw a gun. It was dark and I found your clothes. That’s it.” An entire litany of curse words flies into Werner’s mind, but he doesn’t say them. He’s crying. Stupid boy, he thinks, you look like a baby. So he wipes his nose and stands as straight as he can. “I didn’t know you had a gun. I didn’t take it. I promise.”

He isn’t sure whether Max believes him, but the navigator relaxes. He puts a hand on Werner’s shoulder. “You have to think. Was it there? Did you see it?”

“I don’t remember. I don’t think it was. But I can’t be sure. It was dark.”

Max gives him a gentle shake. “This is important.”

“I didn’t see a gun.”

“Damn it!” Max rips his cap off and throws it across the room. He yanks on his hair until it’s standing on end in clumps. “Someone took it.”

A thought occurs to Werner and with it comes a flutter of unease. “I can help you find it.”

“How the hell are you going to do that?”

He hesitates, then nods at Max’s clenched fist. “That key will get me into any cabin on this ship.”

Max unclenches his fingers and looks at the key as if it is some piece of incriminating evidence. “That would be wrong.”

Werner doesn’t argue. He just waits. This decision is Max’s to make. The navigator ponders for so long that Werner worries he will miss the start of his next shift. But finally Max hands him the key. “Don’t get caught,” he says.

The cabin boy is muttering assurances, backing toward the door, when Max stops him. “Wait. You never told me who brought the other dog on board.”

Werner blinks at him for a moment, confused. “You did,” he says.