Perry Scrimshaw's Rite of Passage (39 page)

He glanced down the wharf, but
knew he would not be fast enough. He’d rather face and fight then
feel the blade in his back. There was no way out.

Joel was no longer smiling or
walking in a cocky way, he looked like thunder.

‘
I’ll leave. I
promise I’ll never come back,’ Perry pleaded.

Joel feinted left with the
knife. Perry twisted away and was met with Joel’s fist in the side
of his skull. Pain exploded on the side of his face. He stumbled
back with the momentum of the blow and regained his footing. The
side of his head was hot, smarting, his head ringing. He was at the
end of the wharf. The water, he was a fair swimmer. But the cold,
his injuries…he wasn’t sure he could make it.

Joel was watching him. ‘Don’t
worry, you’ll be in there soon enough. Only at the bottom, sunk
with all the holes in your hull.’

‘
Even if I’m
dead. Eva will never truly love you!’ Perry gasped.

Joel charged at him, Perry, all
the time watching the knife hand, but he didn’t wait, he leapt
towards Joel, taking him by surprise and clasped his hands around
Joel’s wrist. He yanked Joel’s knife hand and pulled Joel down to
the floor with him.

‘
No!’ Joel
spat, trying to wriggle his hand free. Perry strangled the wrist
with all his might, the blade being held tight by them both. They
rolled over, each struggling for advantage, their breath misting
the night air. Joel punched Perry with his free hand, short
powerful jabs, once, cracking into his jaw, the second a glancing
blow over his eyebrow. Perry took the blows, not letting his hands
slip from Joel’s wrist. Blood cascaded over his right eye, blurring
his vision.

‘
Arggggh!’ he
yelled and with a force of effort bent Joel’s wrist back with a
sickening snap. The knife clattered onto the wooden
decking.

Joel screamed out in pain and
desperately reached out for the dropped blade with his other hand.
Perry brought his knee up with all his force and connected with
Joel’s stomach, Joel folded in half and grabbed out wildly, finding
a bunch of Perry’s hair. Perry felt himself be yanked over towards
the edge of the wharf and Joel’s grip was iron, pulling at the root
of his hair. He couldn’t fight the agony and rolled to the edge of
the wharf, his foot hanging over the side, with nothing but water
below.

Joel shoved him with his good
hand and Perry felt himself shift backwards.

‘
No!’ he
yelled, grabbing desperately onto Joel’s hand, trying to pull
himself back away from the water. He glanced down into its shadowy
depths, ‘No!’ he edged closer to the water, head and shoulders
hanging off the wharf with Joel’s palm pushing him away and he knew
he was too far over. He took a deep breath, clamped his hands onto
Joel’s arm and resisted no more. He leant back and with all his
might pulled Joel into the deathly water with him.

4
3

The cold cut worse than Joel’s
knife, the icy water burned into his cuts and gripped his head like
it was in a vice. He kicked his legs, pushing himself deeper and
deeper into the blackness below, each kick taking him a little
further away from Joel. His head throbbed, bubbles streaming from
his mouth with the effort of each stroke. When he could go no
deeper, he stopped swimming and let his limbs float. The last of
the pain eased, ebbing away, until he could feel no more.

Above and below there was only
darkness; his eyes drooped, blinking heavily under the weight of
the water. An image of Eva, yellow hair cascading down in curls on
a white dress, radiant, came unbidden to his mind. He kicked and
yanked the water as if pulling through some tunnel. Heat returned,
a desperate fire in his lungs, frantic for air. He kicked and
kicked until his face broke the silvery surface. Stars, that
beautiful moon and the open sky filled his vision. He gasped,
heaved in a deep breath and sprayed out water and hot mist into the
air. Joel was floundering nearby, splashing like a harpooned
seal.

Perry was shivering, his teeth
chattering. He swam a breaststroke to the wharf’s edge and reached
up. He clasped his trembling fingertips around the decking, then
the other hand and with every ounce of strength he had left, hauled
himself up, his feet kicking into the water for extra lift until he
could plant an elbow on the decking. He wriggled like an eel onto
the wharf, dripping and shivering from head to toe. He pulled
himself upright, resting on his knees, rubbing his arms with his
hands though it did little good.

Joel, weighed down by his heavy
coat was thrashing in the water with his good arm, each stroke a
little slower. The water would cloak him in its sleepy grasp at any
moment. It was what he deserved and Perry knew that if the roles
were reversed, Joel would just watch, as he was now doing. But was
he not a better person than Joel? He thought of Martín, the best
person he knew. What would he say to this? If Joel went under, Eva
would not suddenly love him, no, she would blame him, hate him
even.

‘
Joel! Over
here.’

The splashing stopped for a
moment. Joel’s eyes glistened with panic.

‘
Here!’ Perry
knelt on the edge and lowered his arm down. ‘Give me your good
hand!’

With his one good arm Joel
splashed towards him, though only a couple of metres away, he was
so slow, Perry thought he might sink at any moment,

‘
Hurry!’ he
urged.

After a couple more strokes,
Joel desperately reached out his hand, and Perry caught it, not
waiting a moment to lift.

‘
Kick your
legs! Come on!’

Perry heaved Joel’s limp body.
His black coat dripped like he’d pulled up a mound of seaweed.
Perry hauled him onto the wharf and Joel lay sprawled on the
decking, only his chest rising and falling with his panting
breath.

‘
Damn you
Scrimshaw,’ he mumbled.

Perry’s teeth were chattering.
‘Wh-a-t?’

Then he saw it, lying right by
Joel’s good hand. The knife.

Joel snatched it and pushed
himself to a seated position using his elbow.

He held Joel’s cold, grim
stare.

He’d made a mistake, he should
have let him drown - what was he thinking?

‘
Don’t do it
Joel!’ Perry said. ‘Enough!’

Joel looked down at the blade
in his shaking hand and tossed it into the water with a plop.

Perry felt the relief wash over
his icy bones. He cradled his arms for warmth, the blood from his
cuts mingled with the water. He slowly got to his feet.

‘
Perry!’

The yell echoed through the
night.

‘
Joel!’

The same voice. He turned and
looked back down the wharf. A figure in white was sprinting towards
them, yellow hair bouncing with her steps. His heart leapt.
Eva.

She neared and padded to a
stop, breathing heavily, looking from one boy to the other with
confusion on her face.

Finally her gaze rested on
Perry.

He was still shaking with the
cold and forced a wan smile. ‘Eva…’ he said softly, ‘it’s
over.’

Her face darkened in a way he’d
never seen before, she took a step towards him and slapped him
across his cheek.

The surprise of it stung as
much as the force.

‘
What have you
done to him?’ she pushed him out of the way and knelt down beside
Joel.

‘
My poor
Joely,’ she ran her hand over his face and removed the white
cardigan from around her and draped it over Joel’s quivering
body.

‘
He did it Eva,
he admitted it!’

‘
Shut up! Shut
up!’ she screamed, ‘I’ve had it with your lies Perry. You’ve broken
his wrist! What is wrong with you? You’re an animal!’

Perry couldn’t bear it, heat
returned into his swimming eyes, tears stinging and running hot
paths down his frozen cheeks. She had chosen. It wasn’t possible,
after everything he’d been through for her. He stuffed his hands
under his armpits, cradling himself for warmth. He turned,
desolate, bloodied and bruised, and limped alone down the
wharf.

44

Perry spent the next three days
recovering at the inn, replaying the evening by the wharf over and
over in his mind. One moment wishing he had let Joel die, the next
believing he’d done the right thing. He tended to his cuts as best
he could and he kept the swelling at bay with a cold rag. But there
was nothing he could do to abate the pain of Eva’s decision.

He had to leave as soon as he
could. He could not bear to see her with Joel nor accept that she
would never be his own. Distance and time. Was that all he could
hope for now? New York was no longer a fanciful notion; it was all
he could grasp on to.

On the fourth day, the sky was
clear and the sun shone. Perry’s bruise above his eye was an ugly
yellow knot ringed with violet, still tender to the touch. He
dressed in his overcoat and a cap and headed out. He kept his eyes
to the ground, not wanting to look around in case he saw them. He
hired a driver near the station and kept his eyes on the carriage
floor until they were well outside Southampton.

Daffodils bloomed bright as the
sun at the churchyard in Eastleigh. Through the scattering of
bean-pole crosses, Samuel Scrimshaw’s new headstone stood proud.
Perry smiled when he saw it, the first smile he’d managed in days.
He tended to the area around the grave, pulling out weeds with his
hand until the space looked tidy and even.

‘
Not quite as
good a gardener as you I bet,’ Perry said and smoothed his hand
over the stone.

Samuel Scrimshaw

1851 - 1892

Master Gardener,

Guddler & Father

He knelt and said a prayer for
his father and his mother, hoping they were together now, watching
over him from heaven. A light breeze whispered amongst the leaves,
swaying the long grass in the graveyard.

‘
I’m going to
make something of myself Pa,’ he promised. ‘I’ll make you and Ma
proud, you see that I don’t.’

Back in
Southampton, there was nobody left to say goodbye to and though he
was paid up until the end of the week he wanted to put as much
space between himself and the port as quickly as he could. He had
soup and bread at Mrs Drew’s café and then headed down to the
ticket offices. There were still plenty of spare tickets on the
Inman Line’s sailing on the
SS City of New
York
that very afternoon. The only thing
that could make him more miserable was spending ten days cooped up
in Steerage, so he indulged in a Second Class ticket.

Perry returned to the lodging
house and informed the landlady he would be leaving that afternoon
for New York and no, it was fine, she could keep the money for the
rest of the week and rent the room out to someone else if she
wished. He folded up his few effects in the valise and wondered if
he’d ever own enough things to warrant a bigger suitcase. If the
first seventeen years were anything to go by, then probably not,
but for now it suited him alright.

At embarkation, Perry queued
amongst the hopeful families and young men. They were all abuzz
with hopes and dreams of America and he felt lost among their
smiles and excited chatter. All he wanted was to get lost somewhere
new and try to forget her. New York was as good as anywhere in that
regard, its only advantage was the safety net of some work with Mr
Roebuck if he needed it. He was done with having hopes and
dreams.

The ship was
bigger than the
Olinda,
and newer too. Perry’s cabin was small, two double
bunks on each side of the room. On one of the beds a set of folded
blue pyjamas lay above a pillow - claimed territory already. He
placed his items in one of four wardrobes, more akin to lockers.
Perry remembered the Irishman who’d slept above him at the lodging
house on
America Street
in Buenos Aires and how he’d slept in fear that
the sagging weight would crush him in his sleep if the springs
gave. He took off his cap and placed it on the top bunk above the
pyjama bed. Better to do the crushing, he thought.

His position in
the cabin settled, he went on deck to see Southampton off. There
were scores of people moving here and there; porters carrying the
last of the luggage on trolleys, a couple of young boys in caps
playing catch - weaving in and out of the
New York’s
white supports.

‘
Excuse me,’ he
edged his way out into the stream of flowing people and shouldered
his way to the rails. Already a dozen or so people stood ready to
say their farewells and shake a white hankie at the toy sized
people standing on the dock below them.

Gulls hung in the azure sky
above, soaring against a backdrop of fat loafy clouds. Southampton
sprawled, the tip of St. Michael’s just visible above the rooftops.
The old castle walls protecting the town like an arm around a
belly. This was no longer his place. It belonged to Joel and Eva
now.

With a long
pull on the horn, the
New York
shunted away from the dock. Everyone around him
waved and a thousand hands waved back from the shore. He felt numb,
spent of sorrow. Southampton, so wide and imposing, slowly shrunk
until he could blot it out with his finger. By now he was alone and
supposed it time to go back to the cabin and meet his new cabin
mate. He didn’t expect anything like his last voyage, where he’d
met Mr Roebuck but he hoped the sort who travelled Second to New
York might be interesting enough to lift his spirits. Then again,
the blue pyjamas on the pillow came to mind; they perhaps hinted at
an uptight sort. Still, he shouldn’t judge. Not yet
anyway.