Everything happened within the blink of an eye. Taro and Fabrizio had been sucked down with the ship, had come up and struggled out of the cold onto a door that seemed like it had belonged to one of the entrances to the lower decks passages, "crew only". It was a wonder how no one saw it before they did but it could only be luck in such a time.
It wasn't big enough for both of them so they had half each, their upper bodies freed from the water while their lower halves were forced to suffer. Enduring the night with violent shakes and collapsing lungs. Their hands clasped and tightly tucked in against their bodies, getting as close to a ball as they possibly could while they waited for someone to rescue them or waited for the cold to take them like so many others.
Minutes had passed and the noise made by people splashing, screaming for help, desperately crying to the boats, believing with blind hope that the boats were still there – that they had not been completely abandoned, had quietened down so quickly. Silence had patiently waited and now it sat comfortably over the Atlantic, the odd voice ringing out over the open air in one last effort before it too, gave up. Charlie had screwed up her eyes tight, her shoulder had gone numb; from cold or blood loss, she didn't know – she didn't care.
Fabrizio was shivering incessantly, his beautifully tanned skin was now blue and his lashes, eyebrows and hair were caked with ice. His eyes were also shut tight - an endurance mechanism: if you close your eyes and tense up enough, warmth will find you again, an inbuilt theory.
"H-h-hang in there, Fabr-rizio," Charlie stuttered through the cold, her breath steaming out with every word like an upside down waterfall. He nodded and opened his eyes briefly, smiling ever so slightly,
"Ho-ow is your sh-sh-shoulder,"
"C-can't f-f-feel it,"
"Oh," he frowned, returning to the task of trying to keep warm in vein. Taro let him be and tried to look around: She saw the Pastor, she saw an Officer who she'd never met, she saw a man frozen to a barrel, she saw a wife…and she saw hundreds of silently bobbing people stretched out beyond her immediate vicinity. Where was God now? Had he so cruelly turned his back on them, truly? Or was it the world that refused to be conquered? So many had waited for a lost miracle, but no God was there to redeem them, the ocean would not change for them, no boats awaited them – no rescue had come. They were utterly alone now, with the abyss below them, so innocent as if the Titanic had never been there at all. Taro looked up at the night sky, so bright it was. The constellations so unaffected by the occurrence and yet it was probably so small a thing. For it didn't happen to the night sky, it didn't even happen to the rest of the world; Asia, Africa, South America? No, it happened to them, Fabrizio, Charlie, Jack, Tommy, Rose and the countless others. So what were they now? Waiting to live? Waiting to die?
OoOoOoOoOoO
Murdoch and Wilde had managed to find two deck chairs and had pushed them together to make a miniature raft which enabled each of them, on opposite sides, to also keep half their bodies out of the water. Murdoch had suggested that despite the pain of moving in such cold water, it was probably better to keep doing so rather than to settle in it. Wilde had accepted the suggestion and so there they were, in the middle of the Atlantic, with hundreds upon hundreds of lifeless people bobbing around them, swirling in gentle circles as they kicked to keep themselves moving. They spoke in gentle tones too, too cold to say too much, too tired to make good the conversation,
"I have th-th-three girls a-a-and h-had one son…b-b-but he died at s-six months," Wilde rattled on
"H-how?"
"In-n-nfluenza,"
"I'm-m s-sorry,"
Wilde tried to wave it off but it was half-hearted and barely seen for his hand didn't do much more than rise and fall. Murdoch wasn't quite sure what he was doing.
"Y-you?"
"A woman. M-met her n-not long-ng ago…"
"And?"
"I d-don't…..know,"
"W-what? M-more s-story, W-will. I'm-m dying, here, I n-need to be en-entertained,"
But William Murdoch had nothing to entertain him with; he had said he was born in Glasgow and dared to explain his 15 years at sea with an entire family stretching as far back as the early 19th century involved in seafaring but that was all he could endure. In honest truth over his lady love however, Murdoch had no idea what happened to Charlotte Taro after he had told her and her friend to make a clean get away – as far as clean goes aboard a hopeless, sinking ship of which now, there seemed to be nothing left of.
If not for the bits of broken iron and wood, it might have been said that these people had been dumped in the middle of the sea and told to survive for as long as possible for no reason. Minus the fact that the Titanic was expected on Wednesday morning, that theory may well have been pulled off and all sorts of exciting stories could have started up, alas, the failing of the largest ship ever to sail the Atlantic coming into Port in New York would undoubtedly be questioned…at least a little. Above all, Wilde had the right of it too; he could feel his body shutting down. They were dying.
Wilde, minutes before, had blown his whistle twice to alert the drowning, freezing people to board the boats, conveying the promise that so many people had clung on too but as was said, that was minutes ago and now it was a broken promise with nothing to redeem itself with and neither Wilde nor Murdoch had the breath or energy to blow it a third time. This seemed to be it, seemed to be the end. With that in mind, Murdoch was overcome with emotion, and reached over with a shaking hand and grasped Wilde's arm. Wilde looked at him with chattering teeth and grasped Murdoch's hand back without a word. And though they circled on, they saw no lights looming in the dark and so it was, they had sailed the ship together, with a pause they had eventually dispatched boats together, they had run up the ship together, they had saved each other, they had taken the plunge together; it seemed only right that they should freeze together in the very environment they loved so much. It couldn't be so bad now could it?
OoOoOoOoOoO
"B-boat,"
Charlie looked up; Fabrizio was squinting out over her shoulder into a light that made his face look like a ghost except for an astonishingly large grin beginning to make its way over his thinned lips,
"Wh-what?" Taro frowned, disbelief in her tone but Fabrizio pointed, with half a finger poking from underneath his chest, out towards a bright light moving steadily through the water, voices like distant echoes in a half remembered dream wafting to her ears. When she saw it, words could not convey the relief that washed over her. Fabrizio spared her the pain of calling out by doing it himself and gradually, while clutching his arm, the light settled on his face and grew larger as they approached. It wasn't long before she felt hands grip her tightly beneath her shoulders, and though it did hurt but a little – thankfully, it meant her bullet arm was not completely lost - it was nothing compared to the feel of having her body rested on a dry surface, bombarded with warmth such as none she'd ever known.
Fabrizio was pulled up next, a blanket for him too and the three other people they pulled out of the water. Nothing could be more attractive than human tragedy but then again, nothing brought people closer together than that and so, before long, the 5 survivors on that boat, found themselves huddled together for warmth and support – they had survived.
In the distance, on the other side of the masses, another light swept over the grave site, scanning. Other voices sang out over the silence and to Taro's dumbfounded and yet utter amazement, a warm fuzzy feeling welled up in her heart. Not one, but two boats had come back – more could have, should have, of course but in the core, human kindness had not been abandoned just yet. Many boats would have been overrun by their passengers (or not) and thus refused to come back, but these two boats decided against the odds. It was the timing that was the pity. The human spirit had yet to fail.
OoOoOoOoO
Wilde and Murdoch floated, oblivious to their surroundings now, too cold to care, too tired to try, so close yet too far. Murdoch and Wilde were still grasping each other, unwilling to let one or the other go, though Murdoch did become vaguely aware of the water about them beginning to ripple and spread causing their little raft to bob against the waves despite the fact that they had stopped kicking, what seemed like, ages ago.
"I see them!" Came a voice, loud, deep and baritone, "Get closer…stop – stop it, don't hit the bodies! Carefully now, get to them,"
Murdoch raised his head to be met by a blinding light, so blinding that he actually cursed Lightoller for shining it in his face,
"B-bastard!"
But he heard Lightoller's laugh of relief as if it were music. Relief and genuine amusement mixed into one,
"Yes, alright, William,"
And Murdoch found himself being heaved from the water, a maze of hands and arms that weren't his, clutching his body as he was pulled over the side. He lay down with a blanket being tucked around him and Lightoller's reassuring words,
"You're alright, now, Mr Murdoch,"
Seconds later, Wilde was placed beside him, having the same procedure done to him but he didn't expect Lightoller to say what he said next – to Wilde no less,
"We found you, Mr Wilde, we've got you,"
Murdoch opened his eyes one last time, to see if Mr Lightoller was being genuine and was greeted by the sight of the 2nd Officer clasping Wilde's blue hand with such an ardent sense of assurance that it would be the utter essence of betrayal if Wilde did not make it. And with that picture in his head, Murdoch fell into a deep sleep, deeper than the depths that lay beneath them.
OoOoOoOoOoOoO
The Carpathia seemed to appear out of nowhere, unmoving in the quiet of the dawn and before she knew it, Fabrizio and the other 5 passengers saved from the wreck had left her side and were either helped up over the railings of the ship or guided into the hatches in the hull that lead into 2nd class passages.
Taro's arm was not to be argued with so she was helped by Mr Lowe, the young officer who had rescued them – or so she discovered, up into one such hatch. As she was guided in, she saluted Mr Lowe, a gesture that seemed to strike home and he gazed up at her unwaveringly for a moment, before returning it. She smiled and then the hatch was closed and Mr Lowe was gone.
She was given new clothes, tea (or soup, she didn't quite know and it makes you wonder, doesn't it?) and was given time to recuperate. Her arm was wrapped up in a sling and so a little while later, with another dress on (much to her horror), courtesy of those kind enough, and the blanket back around her shoulders, Taro started up towards the decks where she found Fabrizio and Rose leaning over the side to watch the survivors come aboard.
When they turned to greet her, it was not at all as one might have expected. Instead the reunion was somewhat more…quiet. No jumping into one another's arms, no tears for Rose seemed to be all out and Fabrizio was numb. She had recounted the tale to Fabrizio who later retold it to Taro with the tears that failed to arrive earlier but at this particular point in time all that was required of any of them was to be in the company they now stood in, looking over the side to watch the survivors come aboard. America was still in their midst, so was Ireland, so was Italy, all was not lost…not yet.
And Scotland…Scotland was still there too. Looking over the side, Rose pointed to one boat in particular,
"That's the boat that picked me up,"
She was pointing at Mr Lightoller's boat; empty save for three; Lightoller and his crew had rescued two other officers that sat under the same blanket and both were reluctant to move despite Lightoller's offered assistance.
As she gazed down, in apparent feigned disbelief, for of course she believed it she just couldn't believe that it was the correct belief…if that makes any sense at all. Wilde was the first to be helped aboard, the same as many before him, slipping through the secret James Bond hatchets in the hull. Murdoch, however, seemed like he was going to brave the ladder.
He got up by means of the steady hand of Lightoller and placed a firm grip on one of the steps. Oddly enough, the crowd seemed to be gathering – come hither all who seek adventure and watch the last passenger of the Titanic, the master of heroics, Mr Murdoch perform his daring climb to safety from out the cold clasp of the Atlantic, one…last…time.
Lightoller seemed to be watching intently too though his watchfulness was probably for the sake of catching him should he fall. Charlotte Taro smiled as her heart swelled with the stubbornness of the man, he was an Officer of the Titanic – nay, the White Star Line, and he would climb up this ladder to the very top and over, not through some hole in the ship no one was meant to be aware of. The Atlantic had conquered many in a fight against trying to be conquered but not Mr Murdoch.
Taro left Rose and Fabrizio then, to be front and centre when Murdoch finally arrived at the top. She could feel the crowd pressing against her back as more people tried to see what was happening but she remained unmoved, waiting for his hand to place itself in her view.
It was a slow ascent and he didn't look up or down once to find out how far he'd come, or how far he had to go. It was one step at a time.
OoOoOoOoO
One…one…another one…Murdoch was literally counting only one step at a time. His legs were burning, his arms even more so, his lungs were on fire – never mind burning and he was exhausted beyond belief despite his deep sleep which, according to Lightoller, he was lucky to wake from. Keep going, Mr Murdoch…one…one…
He reached up once more and found wood instead of rope, his heart leapt, his blood overflowed with relief as he looked up for the first time – he had made it. But what he didn't expect to see were the many faces looking down at him with encouragement, with admiration, with pride – doing this, was what his job was meant to be. Climbing the last few steps of a giant hill that offered escape routes just to show those who could only follow, that he could still lead.
But namely one, a face he thought he'd never see again, a face that was smiling warmly at him, a face that offered her hand to help him for even heroes need help. When he took it, it was joined by more…and more…and still more until Murdoch was not climbing but flying over the side onto the deck with all sorts of gestures of support. Amazed he was, after all they had all gone through, after what he had so ashamedly done – people were still able to forgive stupidity so quickly and despite their own pain, could still hold up those other than themselves and could see the better rather than the worse. This was the naked human spirit and indeed, it had yet to fail.
But she was here, in the flesh, before him and if she was as bewildered as he, she didn't show it.
"Miss," he finally managed a smile back but before she could say anything, he was led away from her into the heart of the ship where he received new clothing; Officers clothing for technically he was still on duty, tea-soup; as it was now affectionately called and a debriefing of what was to come: They would make port in New York three days after the Titanic should have done and then hell would commence. The coming weeks would contain gruelling court enquiries into the how and why of the sinking in which a random selection from all alive and involved would be required to attend in order to give statements and then each White Star Line Officer would be on duty again, sailing another ship or other back to Southampton at which they would endure another gruelling few weeks of the same procedure. Murdoch learned his passage home would be aboard an American ship called, The Conquest (Why that name? Because it was young and naïve) aboard which he'd be serving as Chief Officer. This was all confirmed by 12 noon that day.
For the rest of the journey on board the Carpathia however, all Officers, staff and crew of the Titanic were to be relieved of their duties on the grounds that the night of April the 14th and morning of the 15th was more than enough work to last them their lives. So Murdoch slept for a while in peace.
When he woke, Murdoch strolled the decks of the Carpathia, doing a head count as best he could, lost in thought over the events that had so suddenly happened and had so suddenly past with the time in between being the longest time of his life not to mention squids. There was a list going around, he kept passing it, a list of survivors at which some laughed with relief and others cried inconsolably. He left it all and headed aft, down the first class stairs onto the second class decks and down again to 3rd class and on still. The Carpathia was tiny in comparison – he already knew his way around whereas aboard the Titanic, it had taken him four days just to make sure he could make it out of the crew's quarters and on to the decks…and that was barely the interior. Aft at the stern he arrived where he stood with his hands behind his back, the endless ocean stretching as far out before him as it did behind him though in his sailors mind he was aware that the expanse of the sea towards America was decreasing rapidly. He took in a breath, smelling the salty, icy air and feeling the breeze on the back of his cap-less head for it had been lost, as was mentioned before, taken by a squid, perhaps. He smiled sadly, recalling the moment he first started thinking about squids – Mr Lightoller's shoes. He sighed, yes, life seemed vastly different now.
"Good evenin', Mr Murdoch,"
He turned briskly to find Miss Taro looking at him inquisitively. He was struck dumb by bewilderment once more as Taro stood before him in a dull brown dress and her red hair in a messy bun, strands falling about her soft face as it had been when he had first met her and an injured right arm in a sling. He lifted a hand to tip his cap but at the last moment remembered it wasn't there and covered the error with an awkward salute. He watched her approach him and still as she arrived by his side looking out over the same sea he had been considering moments before.
OoOoOoOoO
He looked handsome in his new uniform, not that it was too different, maybe it was because she came so close to never seeing him again that even so small a thing as a new Uniform struck her as wonderful and gorgeous upon his broad shouldered, rough of face, seafaring body. He was quite lovely. And it became so abundantly clear when she tried to speak but stammered on first try,
"I – uhm – I g- uhmm –" Damn.
But he didn't laugh or smile or scorn or ignore instead he waited patiently for her to speak. His hands behind his back and at the stern with sea around him, Mr Murdoch was in his element.
"Ehm…" damn, damn, damn, "Will…I'm glad yer alive,"
She sighed, a failed attempt at charm and romance but in essence that's what it came down too.
"Me too,"
She glanced at him and there, gracing his thin lips was the same warm, mischievous smile he'd given her when she'd first walked into him. She blushed under his gaze and inched closer.
"Yoo're wearing another dress, I see," he continued lightly, amusement in his husky voice,
"Aye and its brown," she grimaced down the length of her body, "I can't seem to escape them now,"
"Well, I wouldn't call it a shame,"
"I would,"
"I know but whether yoo like it or not, Miss Taro, it suits yoo,"
"Thanks," and she gazed out over the ocean once more. Mr Murdoch opted to say nothing to urge the conversation on so they stood in silence and the turmoil that was happening inside of Taro's head and heart seemed like nothing compared to the disaster. She was a child against a man, or so she felt; age 12 to be exact.
"What are yoo thinking about, Miss?"
Murdoch's voice broke into her thoughts right in the middle so what she said was an involuntary automatic reply, a continuation of said thoughts,
"I feel like I'm…12," she thanked the high heavens for not saying something worse.
"Yoo don't look like it. I hope yoo're not,"
"No, ha, fonny. 28, 10th of December, 1884,"
"Ah, 39, the 28th of February, 1873,"
"And yer story?"
"Family of seafarers,"
"Really?"
"Yup, my father was Captain Samual Murdoch and he was a master mariner, so was my grandfather and his brothers. I went to school in Dalbeattie until '87, got my diploma and followed the family into William Joyce and Coy,"
"Who?"
"William Joyce and Coy, the equivalent to the White Star Line, but in Liverpool,"
"Ah, right,"
He nodded with a wink,
"Got my second mate's certificate after four voyages – 1st try mind yoo," he rocked on his proud heels at which Charlie chuckled, "That lead me to my first voyage to South America where our ship sank off the coast of Uruguay,"
"Oh," she frowned, as did he,
"Then I landed up aboard the J. Joyce and Co which took me to New York and back 'round to Shanghai and then I finally made it to White Star Line and the infamous Atlantic run. Aboard the Medic was where I first met Officer Lightoller and then aboard the Olympic was where I first met Chief Officer Wilde and Captain Smith but that was a million and one disasters in itself – no, it didn't sink," he answered her before she could ask, "Then came the Titanic,"
He sighed, "I was going to be Chief Officer but the Captain wanted us all in our previous ranks because he wanted things to be perfect and those tasks we were already comfortable with," he paused, remembering, his eyes glazing over as he did so, "Then it sank…how about yoo?"
She wasn't prepared and her eyes widened, she had been enjoying listening to Murdoch's account of his life, learning about him a little more, this conversation was one they somehow missed aboard the Titanic.
"Well, I'm not as well learned as ye, I might start off but I'm from Cork, Ireland. I never went to school, ma made me brother an' I work in the factory as soon as we were old enough because we needed the money and then when she died, I was thirteen an' my brother was nine, we left the factory. Beat us fer no reason…or rather my brother and I would get involved and we'd both go home in pain. So we resorted to…uh…begging," she stole a look at Murdoch to gauge any reaction but he was calm and attentive, his face soft and so she carried on.
"But my brother, then on one of his long walks came back and told me about the circus that had jost come to town and the people he had met. We ended up working as cleaners, cleaning up after the animals and soch when the show was done, looking after the animals and stoff but I couldn't bear the treatment of them so I left and found a small job as a cleaner at the local pub. One day, me brother came home and told me the circus was leaving fer India in the next two days. I didn't think moch of it until he was gone. Landed op there one time myself and, in vein, tried to find him. 'Twas a stupid thing to do but I did. I haven't seen him since. Anyway various tram steamers and things took me to Europe – Paris and Begium and all the way down to Southampton where I met Mary, who offered me a job as another cleaner at a pub she was workin' at, offered me a place to stay in her modest little house – needless to say, she became my closest friend. I can't remember how I landed up in many places, it just sort of…happened. That includes my ticket…I think I found it on the street. Somebody dropped it…and then…it sank,"
She blinked up at him with a shrug. Murdoch was looking at her, his eyes boring into her depths as he took in all that she had told him,
"Well we know of yoor Grandfather," he smiled briefly, "But where was yoor father?"
"I don't know," she regarded him as he regarded her, his expression made it seem as if he were desperately trying to grasp something but couldn't so Taro took a guess and answered it, "I'm not quite like ye, ye know. I don't have a family trade to follow, no education. The only thing we really have in common is a dream ship we both boarded but dreams don't last, do they? I'm sorry,"
"What are yoo trying to say nou, I wonder," he turned to her fully, his brow furrowed as he waited for her to reply.
"I'm just saying –"
"Yoo're saying codswallop. Dreams end? Well that's a morbid thought for someone like yoo. And yoo're not like me?" he smirked, "Thank God. So yoo're from nowhere land and I'm from Kirkcudbrightshire -(*1), Scotland, how does that make us so different?"
She looked at him and then over the sea, throwing her arms out in defeat,
"I don't know! I was trying…to…be dramatic," she wasn't – she was terrified of rejection now that he knew the whole story. Murdoch seemed to get that, seeing straight through her defence,
"No, yoo weren't. Yoo were scared," Murdoch dared,
"Ye think so…" she hadn't risen to the challenge though; her voice was yielding and thoughtful. Murdoch raised his hand to the palm of her cheek and stroked it gently before tucking a strand of hair away,
"I do. I think yoo were worried I wasn't thinking about squids anymore,"
She looked at him, a new radiance in her as she tried to read him. He stole a kiss then and she blinked in shock,
"And yoo're partially right," he winked at her as her shoulders dropped, "Just before yoo arrived I was thinking about Officer Lightoller's shoes,"
He grinned at her and was ready when she folded into his arms, embracing her fully as she burst into tears.
We are woman – our hearts break and mend themselves on a whim and be it joy or sorrow, tears always accompany such extremes.
In the setting sun, Murdoch and Taro were just fine; the Titanic was slowly being left behind, left to the mercy of the ocean, an ocean that rose to the challenge of an unsinkable ship and yet let those who could, simply climb out of its grasp without protest. What else but the sea would do such a thing?
(*1) Kudos to the person who can pronounce the name of that town - without staring at in terror at the prospect of trying to do so, first.
