We embark in Cherbourg in the late afternoon of April 10th.
The room I share with Johanna Mason is cozy, furnished with a wardrobe, a sofa, a dressing table made of mahogany and a bunk bed. It's so much better than my impoverished house in the Seam. My roommate immediately picks the top bunk, so I have no option but to take the bottom one. When I hit my head on the bed she laughs at me.
"You're so clumsy with these things," Johanna says.
"You are aware I'm going to be your boss, right?" I ask, sounding more petulant than I intended.
"I know that," she says.
The night is uneventful. I sleep early and have to listen to Johanna Mason's rambles about Panem's politics until I fall asleep. Fortunately it feels better to be alone with Johanna than being with Johanna and our other companions as well.
On the next day, April 11th, Johanna and I leave the breakfast table earlier than the Mellarks so that the two of us can explore the ship. We walk mostly through the promenade and visit the library.
Then, after lunch, she suggests it would be polite if we made time for the Mellarks. Of course she doesn't know my story with the witch and I wouldn't trust her enough to tell her, but I try to refuse it anyway.
"They're travelling with us," Johanna insists, "Mr. Hawthorne believes their presence to be an asset to you."
I laugh to myself. If only she knew how Gale despises merchants. But it makes me wonder what he must have written to her.
We stay with the Mellarks for a while. The witch is very nice to me. The older sons are very interested in me as well. Even Mr. Mellark drops his quiet state for a while to make me feel comfortable. The youngest son sketches something in a piece of paper.
They talk about people from town, which is a subject I really don't care about. I may have traded game with most of them at some point, but their names and personal lives are meaningless to me. I must look bored, because Mr. Mellark decides to intervene.
"Mr. Hawthorne must be ecstatic to have you back again," he says, "I always used to see the two of you together when he lived in Panem."
"I guess," I reply with a tight smile, "We bonded over hunting."
"And I don't know what we're going to do without our huntress from now on. Your squirrels were delicious," he says playfully, "My youngest son loves eating them as much as I do."
Peeta Mellark, the boy in question, blushes and stares at the oak panels. I didn't bring my bow with me, but I can try to hunt more squirrels if it gives him pleasure.
"That's unfair," one of the other brothers say, "I like them too."
"I can still hunt after marrying Gale," I say. Gale is a hunter too, he understands the appeal of it.
"Of course you won't," Mrs. Mellark says, almost shocked, "Mr. Hawthorne won't allow it. He's a man of consequence, so he will expect you to entertain people and be a good housewife."
I'm dumbfounded when she says I'll have to entertain people when I marry Gale. Gale used to dislike people much more than I did, but he belongs to high society now, so he may have changed. And it's not just that I dread talking to people: I have no idea how to do it. Everyone thinks I'm rude when I speak. Perhaps having me around a lot of people is not really what Gale wants, but what Mrs. Mellarks thinks will be expected of me. Although, if it is indeed expected, I'll be miserable.
Thinking of it, I realize it's very possible. Maybe that's why he wants me to be with these people. To start practicing for my future. The odds don't seem to be in my favor.
"I'm a little bit tired of being indoors," I say, getting up quickly, "I think I'm going for a walk on the promenade –"
"You're pale," Johanna says, getting up as well.
"We're going with you," Mrs. Mellark promptly says.
"Oh, so I'm going to the Purser's Office," Mr. Mellark merrily says, "To rent chairs for us all."
I don't think it is a good idea.
"I'll be fast," I say, "There's no need for you to come."
While I wanted to be alone and think, I end up on the boat deck with Miss Mason, Mr. and Mrs. Mellark and one of their sons, probably the middle one. The other two brothers seem to have remained where they were. The Mellark son gives me his arm as a courtesy. As I can find no acceptable excuse to refuse, I take it.
"I believe we've never spoken before, Miss Everdeen," he says, "How do you feel about going to America?"
"I still haven't put much thought into it," I reply, confused and snappy from the overload of thoughts, "It's pointless to call me Miss Everdeen. You know very well I'm Katniss from the Seam and that we would never speak to each other in other circumstances. Some of your people might even call me trash."
He blinks in surprise, but quickly recovers.
"I'm wounded," he says with an amused smile, "There was no specific reason we didn't speak before, I just didn't think you were interested in it. Actually, in this family, we always took a particular liking to you."
I snort as an answer and shake my head, remembering Mrs. Mellark's face on that dreadful day nine years ago.
"You're a tease," I say.
"I mean it. At least the men of the family," he laughs heartily, "So, Katniss from the Seam, if you don't want to be called miss, can I at least call you Katniss?"
"Of course."
"So you'll have no option but to call me Rye," he says with a winning smile, and I feel relieved to finally learn his name. I realize it was a big faux pas for me not to know it.
"Deal," I say, looking up to study his features.
His eyes are a greyish blue and his hair, covered by a hat, is a straight blonde. He's the tallest of the brothers and, although he is lean in comparison to the bulkiness of the other Mellark men, everything in his features screams he's not hungry or in need of anything. So, why would he leave the safety of Panem in favor of an uncertain destiny?
"Why are you going to America?" I ask.
He laughs heartily.
"That's a bold question even from you."
"I don't see why it's bold. You know why I'm going."
"I know what you're thinking, we are a privileged family because we don't lack food," he smiles, "But we want more than just being able to eat. We have ambitions too."
"I see," I say, waiting for him to elaborate.
"My parents shall open a bakery there. My brother Graham and I are expected to get rich like Gale Hawthorne. I mean, if he can, why can't we?"
"And your other brother?" I ask.
His expression becomes clouded.
"He'll be fine."
"Right," I say, "And how exactly do you expect to become rich?"
He laughs loudly.
"Maybe I'll take the lesson from you, Katniss. I will use my charms to secure a rich wife."
I don't know if he's serious or joking. I think it's both.
"I'm getting jealous," Johanna says behind us, "No one wants to accompany me."
"I apologize, Miss Mason," Rye gives her his other arm and she promptly takes it.
"She's all yours," I say, disengaging myself from him, "Miss Mason loves having someone's full attention to herself."
I walk by the promenade and lean against the railing, taking in the salty wind. When I close my eyes I can almost feel that I am in the woods back at home. I don't seem able to stop doing this - it's so pleasant to feel that I am in the middle of a windstorm.
I think about Gale. The day before he left Panem we went hunting in the woods and at some point he asked me to give myself to him, as a farewell and a promise to the future. I wince when I remember I let him uncover and touch my breasts. I felt nothing except disgust and eventually made him stop. I still feel so dirty when I think about it. He wasn't pleased by that, but he accepted my awkward explanation that my body still wasn't ready after so many years of hunger.
The only reason why I considered allowing it in the first place was because we had a particularly rough winter on that year and I wouldn't have been able to feed my family without the money from his work at the mines. As I had no other way to repay him, I tried to do it, but I was too weak to go on.
Now I'll have a chance to repay my debt by being the perfect wife to him. Next week we'll be married and I'll be supposed to let him touch me again but, if I want to be honest with myself, I still don't like the idea. I'm not ready. And I still will have to entertain guests. These thoughts give me a headache and a sense of doom I can't understand. My fingers rub my temple and my eyes to relieve the tension. Suddenly a hand touches my arm.
"Are you all right, Miss Everdeen?"
I open my eyes to see everyone sitting nearby and staring at me: Johanna Mason and the Mellarks, all of them now. I blush when I realize they followed me and must have been here the whole time. I finally look at the person who is trying to talk to me and I see the blue eyes of another Mellark brother.
"What?" I ask him stupidly.
"I'm sorry, Miss Everdeen. You seemed disoriented," he says.
"Graham, it's not Miss Everdeen," Rye says, "She's just Katniss from the Seam. Some of us might even call her trash."
Her mother throws him a deathly glare, but Rye doesn't see it. He winks at me; he's playing a game and being a tad too provocative, even if the idea is just to soften my discomfort.
"I would never do that," Graham replies dismissively, turning to me, "Did you tell that rascal to call you by your name?"
"Yes," I say, "It's Katniss to everyone."
"Does that include me?" Johanna asks. I don't reply, "I'll take that as a yes."
I understand at this point that I will have to endure these people every day for the remainder of my journey. Between Johanna Mason and the Mellarks, I have been given literally no space to breathe since we boarded the Titanic. At least everyone seems to have forgotten my moment of distress. Too bad they watched me in such a weak moment; I hate being watched in any way, but this was worse.
I know they all corresponded with Gale to prepare for the trip, maybe even more than I did. Is it possible that he asked them to protect me at all times? What if this suffocation doesn't end when we disembark in New York? Will I always have someone to watch me for the rest of my life?
Suddenly I feel the need to cry. I want to be alone in my room.
"I don't feel well," I say, "I'm going to rest before dinner."
"Maybe you're seasick," Mr. Mellark suggests in concern.
"I'll go with you," Johanna says.
"No!" I reply, louder than I intended to. Everyone is startled and I start to think that, since I'm not going to win this battle, maybe I could take the chance to ask Johanna what orders Gale has given her, "I mean, Miss Mason, that would be nice. Thank you."
Before we leave, though, something odd happens.
I hear a slapping sound of something falling on the floor. Drawings and paintings fly through the promenade and a few go to the sea. I look back and see the leather portfolio the youngest Mellark always carries with him fallen on the wood planks. Around it are pieces of paper, pens, pencils and other painting objects I don't recognize.
Peeta gets down on his knee to gather his pencils from the floor; Johanna Mason and the Mellark brothers run to catch the drawings. I don't feel well at all, but I'm able to catch one that almost flies to my hand. Looking at it, I see it features part of the boat deck and it's unfinished. Probably this is what Peeta was drawing when his things fell.
I walk up to where he is and extend the paper to him. Still kneeling down, he looks up and seems scared before I give it to him.
"Thank you," he murmurs.
I walk away. The Mellark older brothers have gathered the papers respectfully, but Johanna snorts as she studies one of the drawings.
"Very accurate, Lover Boy," she giggles mockingly to Peeta, "Can I have this one for myself?"
Mrs. Mellark takes a look at it as well.
"You're a shame to your family," she says in a harsh tone of voice, glaring at her youngest son. She rips the paper in one hundred shreds and I regret not having seen it.
After that, Johanna and I go rest in our bedroom. I don't find the courage to ask her about Gale because the mocking expression hasn't left her face, so I pretend to fall asleep.
During dinner, it's clear something has happened between the Mellarks. They are all remarkably quiet and Mrs. Mellark seems to be shunning Peeta. Everybody except the witch is grim and pale. Johanna tries to start a conversation several times, but no one responds. They are only solicitous towards me and the needs they attribute to me.
We all go to bed early, but I can't bring myself to sleep. I think about Gale and the feelings I used to have towards him when I lived in Panem. They were not romantic, like the small deeds I used to see between my mother and father. However, although I didn't want to kiss him or let him touch me, we had a good basis for a marriage. We always were good hunting partners, at least. I was happy to be with him in the freedom of the woods. But will we be happy if we live sheltered in a house with other people around us all the time? Who are we together when we're not hunting?
I'm too nervous to stay still. I've made a decision for my entire existence and probably I've lost my freedom because of it. There's a big chance that my life will be wasted and I'll spend the next decades waiting for death to take me away. I start pacing around the room and try to sit on the sofa, but I resume the pacing once I realize my heart is beating a lot faster than it would be comfortable.
"Be quiet," Johanna moans gruffly.
I get dressed and leave the room. Maybe a walk to the public bathroom will do me well, I think. Except nothing happens in regards to calming down. I walk a little bit more and follow the voices of the stewardesses. But the passengers are not allowed into certain parts of the ship, so I'm alone again. I find myself on the way to the promenade already, so I take the chance to check how it looks at night.
I see someone in the slumber and there's no denying who he is: medium height, stocky build, ashy blond hair that falls in waves over his forehead. Leaning at the railing, Peeta Mellark sees me and immediately looks away. He's pretending he didn't recognize me, but I know he did.
Something happened years ago. It was after my father was killed in the mine accident. My mother was left locked in a dark world of sadness, not doing anything but sitting propped up in a chair or huddled under the blankets on her bed. I had to fend not only for myself, but for her and my sister as well, although I was eleven years old.
There was no money, food was hard to find and we were slowly starving to death. For three days, we'd had nothing but boiled water with some old dried mint leaves. I tried to search for food in the merchants' trash bins, but they had been emptied. When I lifted the lid to the baker's empty trash bin, a woman - who later I got to know is Mrs. Mellark - left her house to scream at me, threatening to call the police.
I accepted in that moment that I would die in their backyard. The next thing I heard was the woman screaming again and the sound of a blow. I thought she was coming back to drive me away with a stick, but it wasn't her who was coming. It was the boy, Peeta.
He carried two large loaves of bread that must have fallen into the fire because the crusts were scorched black. He never even glanced my way, but he took one look back to the bakery as if checking that the coast was clear and then threw the two loaves of bread in my direction.
The recent red weal that stood out on his cheekbone and his mother's insults have made me feel guilty all these years. I wonder up to this day if Peeta might have burned the bread on purpose, knowing it meant being punished, to deliver it to me. Still, just throwing me the bread was an enormous kindness that would have surely resulted in a beating if discovered.
Although he is the reason I'm alive, I could never bring myself to thank him.
I think he resents me for it. Whenever I look at him since that day, he looks away. There's a chance he's still angry that he took a beating for me and I didn't even thank him, although I'm almost sure he has forgotten about it. He was a kind boy; maybe he did kind deeds every day and they would be hard to remember. Sometimes I wonder if he grew up to be like his mother and despise me for my poverty, but I don't believe it to be true.
When he lost his leg, five years after our incident, it felt that my heart had been ripped away and I had lost something as well. I would have given everything for him to be all right. There was no way it could happen to someone like him.
I don't care about the other Mellarks, but I always worry about the youngest one. My life is intertwined with his until my debt is paid off. It doesn't matter if he dislikes me: I owe him everything I am and I know my life will never be dignified while I don't repay my debt. Ultimately, I would give my own life for his if that was what he needed, so that we are even.
I'm standing, unable to move until I decide if I should join Peeta or go away and pretend that I was never here. The last option won't do; he may tell his parents and brothers that he saw me wander through the ship alone at night. I need to act normally and convince him to keep his mouth shut, so I walk in his direction.
Seeing me get closer, Peeta's eyes show the alarm I've seen so often in prey. Does he think I'll throw him overboard?
I lean at the railing, next to him, and look at his watch. It's midnight.
"What are you doing here at this time of the night?" I ask him.
"I could ask the same," he replies with a fleeting look in my direction, "I'm just looking at the sea."
My eyes gaze at the horizon. Outside of the ship, everything is black except for the starry sky.
I laugh. "Peeta, you can't see anything."
He chuckles for the first time since we left Twelve. Dimples form in his cheeks and I catch the first glimpse of his famously dazzling smile in years.
"You're right," he looks at me with amused blue eyes and a hint of curiosity, "How do you know my name?"
"You probably don't remember, but we went to school together," I say.
"I remember that," he replies with a questioning smile, "But there were so many of us in our year and we never spoke to each other." Looking down, his smile fades. He gives a quick nod of understanding, accompanied by a dark laugh. "Oh. Well, I guess that everyone knows the name of the town's cripple."
His words are harsh, but his eyes register disappointment. It stings on me. I had always thought about him as a joyful boy, and it shocks me to see how he pathetically wallows in self-pity. If he can have this kind of self-hatred because he lost part of his leg, he can also despise me for being a destitute girl searching for food in trash bins.
I look at his leg again, supported in his crutch, and back into his eyes.
"I wish you hadn't said that," I confess in a dry tone of voice, "It's not true at all."
My eyes remain locked to his in defiance. He looks down guiltily.
"I'm sorry, Katniss," he replies, and tries to change the subject. "Can I ask you what you're doing here?"
I smile wryly and point my chin to the abyss in front of us.
"Just looking at the sea," I say.
He laughs and looks down, shaking his head. We can see none of us will be getting an answer for this question tonight. I don't know why, but my answer seems to have amused him nonetheless.
"Oh, it's a secret," he says with a sweet smile. "I will devise my own theory then."
"Which is?"
"You're running away from Johanna Mason because the two of you fight like cats and dogs," he tries.
I giggle. It could well be true, but Johanna sleeps like a log.
"Wrong," I say.
"That or you miss the cold winter in Panem and decided to come here and freeze anyway," he smiles.
"Very wrong," I reply.
"Too bad I don't know you enough to be right."
"You're right about the weather, though. It's colder than I thought," I say, "I should have brought my coat."
"I wish I had mine," he replies, "At least I could put it on you."
None of us says anything for a while.
"Congratulations on your marriage," he finally says, "I had always thought you and Gale Hawthorne were cousins."
"Cousins?" I chuckle, "No, just neighbors and best friends. But I haven't seen him for two years now."
"Have you kept in touch all this time?"
"Yes, for the most part. He promised to marry me on the day he left. We sent each other about two or three letters per year."
"Two or three?" Peeta asks, shocked, "How do you cope with the distance with only two or three letters in a year?"
I take my time to think about it. Receiving letters from Gale has always filled me with pleasure, but I didn't feel the need to receive or send more than that. There was really nothing else to say.
"I don't know," I say awkwardly, "It's how it's always been. I don't really have the means to send lots of letters."
He nods.
"I see," he replies, "At least the two of you can now make up for the lost time."
"We'll see what happens," I reply, dismissively.
He gives me a faint smile and actually looks to the sea.
"What will you do in America?" I ask.
Peeta snorts.
"I have no idea. Everyone else is making plans, but there's really nothing I can do," he says, "My parents wanted me to stay in Panem and keep working at the bakery," he looks at me in the eyes, "But I really didn't want to be that far, you know?"
"I see."
I don't see anything, but it doesn't matter. It's impossible to understand why Peeta Mellark wouldn't want to be far from his witch of a mother. She's too aggressive and controlling for my liking, but her husband and sons seem to cope just fine. They just shut up when she's around.
"There's also still a chance this ship sinks and takes me down with her," he laughs darkly. "Since it is unlikely, my plan is to spend the next decades closed in my room, waiting to die."
"I don't like it when you say those things," I tell him.
"Why?" he asks. His voice is soft and tranquilizing like a breeze, "There's no need to deny it if everyone knows it's true. I don't want your pity, Katniss. I hate it when people pity me."
"So you must hate yourself," I say dryly, "Because, so far, you seem to pity yourself a lot."
He blinks twice in shock. Then he looks concerned all of a sudden.
"I do apologize. I didn't mean to upset you," he says sheepishly, "I think my manners with ladies are a little rusty, but I'll try to behave better."
"Well, just don't say those things about yourself again," I insist.
"I'll try not to," he promises. "It's so ingrained now it may slip, though."
The mood is somber again, so I say the first thing that comes to my mind.
"Thank you for calling me a lady."
Peeta laughs heartily at this, all darkness dissipated from his voice. He should be saying that I'm indeed a lady, since I implied I'm not, but he doesn't. I like it that he doesn't try to say lies. If I were a lady, I wouldn't be alone with a man way after midnight.
"It's just… I have to laugh or I'll go mad," he explains sheepishly.
"Perhaps you need to find new things to laugh about," I suggest.
He smiles boyishly and it reminds me of seeing him at school with his friends.
"What, for instance?"
"I wouldn't know. I rarely laugh myself," I say with a shrug, "But your brothers seem to laugh a lot."
"Oh, they are idiots," he says, "And their main subject of laughter is me."
"What is so funny about you?"
He laughs gruffly and says:
"Never mind."
A tipsy man, wearing an outfit that could be attributed to either a cook or a baker, passes us by. He falls on a wooden-slatted wrought iron bench and gazes at us for a while. Peeta rushes to help him up and the man stumbles away saying thanks.
"Looks like a baker," Peeta says.
"I didn't know bakers could drink this much," I say, trying to tease, "Do you drink?"
"Sometimes."
"Have you even been this drunk?"
"Once or twice. Lucky thing I couldn't even get myself out of my own bed."
I feel horrified at the thought of the golden boy with the bread behaving like the baker we've just seen.
"You shouldn't drink in the first place. It's a disgusting habit."
"Okay," he shrugs in acceptance.
"I'm serious. You have a future. Don't destroy it by being a... a –"
"A drunk cripple?" he giggles, but looks concerned once he realizes he broke the promise, "I'm sorry, I didn't –"
"I was going to say a quitter," I say softly, letting my voice translate the disappointment I feel.
I move away from him. I came to the deck to find peace and not to burden myself with his pathetic problems.
"I should go. Do you think this ship has a curfew time?"
"Do you mean there's a chance they'll lock us out of our rooms?" Peeta chuckles nervously.
"If such a thing exists here, then we're already out," I smile. I'm not worried about it at all, I've been through much worse things.
He gives me his arm.
"I think we should go back in. Before someone makes us sleep in this cold," he says, sounding surprisingly tender.
"You really don't need to escort me," I say, "I can walk on my own."
"Oh, I know," he replies with a chuckle, "I just want to prove to myself and to you that I can still act in a gentlemanly manner."
I take his arm. He moves incredibly fast and agilely with his crutch, although I try to walk slower to avoid exhausting him. Back to the dorms, he accompanies me up to the point where he's allowed to go.
"Have a good night, Katniss," he says.
"Good night," I reply with an absent nod. He is stopped in place, probably to make sure he leaves me in safety, so I walk to my room.
The meeting was disappointing, I think. For so many years I had idealized the boy with the bread and what he would say if we ever talked. I had imagined him to be brave and inspiring but, instead of feeling hopeful and encouraged in his presence, I almost let myself drown in his pool of self-pity. After talking with him about his lack of hope for the future, I'm utterly discouraged about the course of my own life.
Leaving my bedroom tonight was the waste of a trip.
But, before disappearing from his sight, I have a question for him. I turn back and we lock eyes. He looks surprised at first, but as his surprise dissipates it is replaced by the sweetest grin. If he can still smile this way, I think there's hope for Peeta Mellark.
"Will you tell anyone you saw me?" I ask.
He shakes his head. "It will be our secret."
I nod but don't turn to go away. Instead, I lock eyes with him again.
"Yes?" he grins.
"You won't spend your years in a room waiting to die," I say, unable to avoid a smirk, "You don't even stay there right now."
I don't wait for his answer.