I was exhausted. Living toughly, roughly, with my roommate Ann, who seemed certain to loose her job any day to the delicate balance of money and desperation during the Depression.
Part of my mind was tempted to turn cheap tricks to the lads on the street, with their slicked hair and smooth manners, still living highly amid other's poverty, who would pay a sordid sum for a night with a pretty girl.
But I had been brought up European, with my Austro-Hungarian mother and father still standing strongly as ghosts behind me, and the shame of these thoughts kept me from that last final step to despair. Besides, Ann was still good and sweet amid her vaudeville temptings, and I vowed to be as strong.
Though money was scarce and food scarcer, I was determined to find a trade – other than that of my body – to deliver me from a life on the street.
Our one-room flat was terrible enough, but we were lucky to be on the third floor, away from the pestilence most sewage; only rats and a few cockroaches crawled as high as us. I was content with that, and proud of myself for not feeling too overwhelmed with the scanty conditions in which we lived. Sometimes yet, memories of the past would well up, reminding of what life used to be like before the crash. These were the worst torment of all.
Ann came in one eve, breathless in the night, filled with a story of a potential movie deal; I was shocked and dismayed – she left for Singapore that evening, and I was distraught without showing her, but she read my eyes, and hers immediately filled.
"Oh Sasha – I'm so sorry – I don't –I'm –oh God!" she gulped her sorrow in huge breaths, but I was already manufacturing options, as my hardworking parents had shown me to do before we left the Old Country, before the outbreak of war, and then before the crash.
"It is fine. There are other ways."
"But you can't keep this flat – you can't, with hardly any work!" She was appalled for my sake – a proven trait of her goodness, which I loved in her, and her loyalty.
My jobs were hard to find – I hired myself out as a seamstress, and chapped my fingers and strained my eyes to find the needle to thread against the finest silks and the hardest sailcloth to find pennies for our rent – still I needed Ann's meager earnings from the theater to keep the landlord from removing us.
I glanced around, and remembered my knack for sewing sailcloth, and my ability to cook. There was a chance it was possible I was needed, so I pulled a sack with me as Ann moved to her small chest of belongings.
"I'll see if I can go with you…if anything, as your chaperone?" The idea came along as I spoke it, and Ann's sad eyes brightened.
"Oh I do hope!" was all she said as we packed in silence. There was always no need for words between us – we were both silent by nature, though if there was a comparison, Ann was the chattier of us.
As we left the key at the landlord's hand, who scowled at us – while he harped on us for rent, he hated to lose tenants in these hard times – Ann finally admitted her passion for this film.
"It is written by Jack Driscoll – you know how I admire him."
I gave a small laugh. "You do not admire him, you have a little love for him, Ann."
She blushed, but her joy did not meet her eyes. We were a sad pair, both caught in the misery of poverty and hard knocks. Ann, having no family, had loved her theater lot until the past evening when it had closed. I myself had lost my parents to disease in the first winter of the Depression, and had only one desire – to return home...what they now called Poland - now that war was over. I thought it would be easier to be at home – in the Old Country – but it took money to make a passage.
We found the pier with slight difficulty, for it was cold and dark.
However, a smooth man saw Ann and beckoned her near. He made to speak to her, and ignored me completely. I did not mind, and took the time to see the action of the steamer next to the pier – it was an old boat, but sturdy. I did not like to see her in such sad shape, but I thought she was made of enough iron to handle most waters.
The Captain was now speaking to Ann – he was nearly threatening her – "It is not every woman who agrees to go on a journey such as this."
I thought I saw a flicker of softening in the seadog's face; most men felt pity and were stirred by Ann's translucent beauty. But I was distracted by his German accent – this was a man who was from my land – he was a neighbor to my kin!
When he turned away, demanding paperwork from the slick man, this Carl Denham, I was compelled to leave the docks. This Captain had things in order, and it was obvious I was not going to be noted, nor needed. Ann hesitated, but I gave her a small shake of the head. No need for her to rumple feathers so soon. I would fend for myself.
She came toward me. "I can't leave you alone! What would become of you?" I know from her face she feared for me to become a used woman. It was definitely something that could happen.
The skipper, after arguing with the Mr. Denham, turned, and was seemingly surprised to see Ann still on the dock, holding to my fingers and pleading.
"What is this?" He ignored Carl's sputters and addressed the two of us women directly. Ann's tongue seemed to freeze, and I said haltingly, in the old German I knew from my family,
"I am Anastasia, Ann's flatmate. I had hope to help. I sew and cook for you? You need not to pay me I am happy for simply a room."
Ann, unable to understand me, turned to the Captain. "She is my roommate – she cannot possibly survive on one salary. Please, do allow her passage – she promised to work—."
The Captain, staring at me after my terrible German attempt, waved a hand and Ann silenced immediately.
He said, in his thick accent, "I am sorry, there is no room."
"Of course." I lifted my chin, answering likewise in my accented English. "I understand."
Ann's eyes filled with tears, but before further protesting came, she was taken by the elbow by a domineering Carl Denham.
Her face turned back to me, and I called, "Do not feel guilty for this, Ann, I am happy you have the work you have dreamed to find!"
And so I watched them finishing their loading, and the final splashing of waste into the harbor. Orders were barked, and I saw the Captain stalking the pier for last minute changes and additions to wares.
My skirt hid a bin of salted fish, and I moved aside so that he would see it and decide upon its need.
He halted in front of it, and looked at me with his clear blue eyes. I met his with my dark ones, and gave a small smile, gesturing wordlessly to the crate.
"Crusty, take this one here," he pointed at my feet, and moved away. I watched his unbending back, and looked back at the rusty steamer, where there was no sign of Ann. I sighed, and finally allowed myself a moment of panic.
Without realizing where I was, I sank to the crate at my feet, and put a hand to my chin, looking out over the dark waves. I wondered what it would be like to sail east, and to find my feet on European soil, scarred though it was, and walk across the vast fields to the hills and valleys of Poland. What was it like, now that it was a country of its own. Surely there would be much work. Would I find a husband there? I thought I might, if I could only get there. But that did not help me now.
"Fraulein – I will ask you to move?" It was a demand with a question at the end, an unusual combination, and I saw the Captain standing over me. His face was unreadable, but he was pointing at me, until I realized I sat on the very crate he wanted to load.
I stood hastily and moved away, holding my small bag to my side, as if to fade into the night out of his way.
But instead of lifting it, he stared at me.
"You speak German?"
"Ja, a little," I said, without emotion. His eyes once again met mine, as if waiting or searching.
"But you are from...Hungary, it sounds."
"Yes, that is my home. Or, it was. Now I believe my family lives in the new Poland," I acquiesced.
He looked at me hard. I didn't mind his questions, and instead bent to try to lift the crate.
"Here- you mustn't be delayed."
He squatted with me, and pulled crate away from me without lifting it, so that our faces were close enough that I saw his eye color was indeed the clearest softest blue, without a fleck of amber or green in the center.
"You will be alright if I leave you?"
I saw already how he took responsibility for me. By denying me passage, he saw how he cast me into poverty.
"I will find my way. There is always a way," I said quietly, without meeting his eyes.
He made a hard sound, and lifted the crate away from me. I stood slowly, and watched him walk away from me, marveling at his quick uptake, of his sympathy and sense of moral in my case.
Shaking my head, I turned my back on the steamer. There would be no one to wave to, and it was night and chilly.
Suddenly, there was a hand on my shoulder. "Where do you sleep tonight?"
It was the Captain, still detaining his boat for my safety.
With honesty and without pretentiousness, I said simply. "I don't know."
Slipping out of his hand, I continued to move away, back resolute, considering my options. Still, his step was behind me, and this time the stubborn Captain took my elbow, as a gentleman would.
"Please, it would hurt my honor to think my…inability...to help you has left you on the streets."
"There are ways for a young woman to make money. I can sew. And if all else fails…I am still young and perhaps desirable. I perhaps can auction off my—." Fear had made me speak out of line, but his grip on my arm tightened.
I saw he was angry.
"You would force guilt upon me?"
I shook my head. "It is you who continues to ask the questions and follow me. I am telling you truthful answers – it is not up to you whether or not they will happen."
His mouth twisted.
I took his hand from my elbow with force. "I am not your responsibility, Captain. I appreciate you considering me as such, but please do not detain your departure for a simple girl."
He stared at me, but a sharp call from the deck of the ship made him spin on his heel. I took the moment to continue to walk away from him. He had made me feel protected for a moment, and yet I was not one to press my luck when I was so obviously unneeded and unwanted.
The steamer whistled behind me, and I fought the urge to see if Ann was on deck, watching for me. She was moving onward and I was not. There was no jealousy within me – it is luck sometimes, and other times it is not, but it is not controllable.
"Miss—Fraulein! Anastasia!—wait!"
The call was almost desperate, but I did not realize how quickly he ran after me, for when I turned around swiftly, the Captain nearly fell at my feet. He skidded to a stop and grabbed my arm without ceremony.
"Hurry – the boat must leave at once, I am ordered!"
He half dragged me back, and nearly carried me up the gangplank in his speed, and dumped me on the deck without pause as he ran up to the bridge to steer the boat out the harbor.
I slowly picked myself up, and watched New York's lights disappear slowly from the stern of the ship. Police sirens rang through the echoes. My mind was relieved, yet I was worried, for I wondered what desires the Captain had for keeping me close and for insisting – after his refusal – of my presence on his ship.
I stood on the rail and watched the lights fade slowly, saw the screeching cars with police lights come to the harbor and halt alarmingly along the edge, but instead, I looked around me in wonder. The rust encrusted railing, the fishy floor, and the chill of the air that smelled strongly of salt and wetness clung to my cheeks and my hair. I was nervous, and yet felt strangely freed of worries. The sea, perhaps, did that to all people.
A brash man approached me, giving me a small startle. He gave me an odd look, and said briskly,
"You will follow me to your quarters."
I glanced at the bridge, where my "rescuer" was gazing over the unseen waters in the darkness. Without a word, I followed the young seaman to below deck.
In the dimness, I heard the clicking of a typewriter and swing of lanterns in a corner. A shadowy figure was in the darkness of what was obviously large cages. I felt my stomach recoil with the obviousness of my quarters.
The sailor turned to me.
"The Captain said you were to have your pick, save for the cage Mr. Driscoll has already begun to occupy."
I stared around me, unable to see far in the gloom, and gestured to my right. I felt comfort in being near the stairway out.
"This—here is fine, thank you."
The man turned away, and I called after him in a voice not entirely my own. "Thank you."
"'Nuthin' doin'," he said shortly as he climbed up and out. I longed to follow him to the lanterns of the main deck.
Finally I turned back, continuing to hear the hesitant tapping of the typewriter in the corner. Already Ann's Mr. Driscoll was working. I wondered how long ago he had found his cage. I thought of Ann, and felt myself needing to find her.
As I moved up, I heard a voice say quickly,
"I'm sorry to be rude, just trying to finish this screenplay, Miss—?" It was Mr Jack Driscoll, who had stood at the door of his respective cage.
"I am Anastasia. Please call me Sasha."
He nodded at my admission, and gave out, "I am Jack Driscoll, the playwright."
I smiled slightly at him. "So I have heard of you. My friend Ann, your leading lady, is my flatmate. She is…enamored of your writing."
He didn't seem to mind this, so I smiled again, and climbed up, to enter again the salty and dark air.
Moving through the narrow hallways, I was nervous to knock on doors, and saw a very good looking man disappear into one, which unnerved me. I simply wanted to find my friend and see that she was well.
"Miss—?"
I turned at the German accent. It was the Captain, who was coming out of the room at the far end of the hall. I was glad I had not walked in on him, for he looked to be changing, with his shirt untucked and his feet unclad.
"Please, I am best called Ana—Sasha. Sasha."
He gave me no smile, but confirmed. "No last name, then?"
I shrugged, a hand on the door nearest me. "Oh, of course, it is Zalinski, but—."
The door opened abruptly, so that I nearly fell into the arms of the slick Mr. Carl Denham. I recoiled immediately, afraid of his slimy touch, and flattened myself against the wall against his bulk.
I turned my face as he moved past, ignoring me, his arms full of clothing, he bellowed Ann's name, and then pushed open the farthest door with his foot without decorum to deliver the wardrobe to my poor friend.
When I opened my eyes and relaxed from the wall, I saw the Captain still looking at me without moving, and I said quietly,
"Thank you for the passage, Captain. I will repay you in full."
He waved his hand in that dismissive German motion so characteristic. "It was my duty, Miss Zalinski."
I frowned at his formality, but didn't get a moment to respond, for he disappeared inside his cabin, and Ann came following Mr. Denham out of her room, her hair askew, and her eyes wide, and she collapsed into my arms.
"Oh Sasha, I'm so sorry! This seems so insane! Where is your cabin?"
I hesitated, and said without a hitch, "Below, near Mr. Driscoll's quarters, I believe."
She accepted this without question, and we went together to the galley for some food, which was delicious to both of our starving stomachs.
As the evening meal finished, I took Ann to her cabin, and bid her goodnight, determined that she should not be horrified at my quarters. I moved to the hole, and saw above me, the white cap of the skipper. He saw me glance up, and leaned over the railing to me. It was conversation very alone, and our voices were carried away with the wind.
"I am sorry your quarters aren't standard."
"They will suffice. They are quarters – something I would not have had before, and I am grateful," I said honestly, and I saw his face twist into something I couldn't understand.
"But they are not good at all –are you sure—."
"I am perfectly fine, Captain."
Before he could continue his repetitious questions, I heard a deep voice command from the darkness behind him,
"Englehorn! Check the log for our next bearing against my measurements!"
When his head turned at this, I slipped down the hold to my dim cage, where a youth was hanging a lantern for me.
I smiled gratefully at him, and slipped down onto the extremely dirty straw for a fitful sleep, often awakened by the overwhelming stench and the rocking of the sea.