North Again

We sailed north into bright heat and a calm South China Sea. After Singapore's density of cranes and movement, the widening water felt almost implausibly simple. The light had a clear, hard edge to it, and the warmth reached through my clothes without needing much encouragement. I stood outside long enough to remember that brightness and comfort are not necessarily identical.

Singapore remained behind us as a pale band of cranes, then vanished. Its disappearance was gradual and entirely without drama, which seems unfair to somewhere that had occupied the view so thoroughly. One moment there was still a recognisable suggestion of port. Later there was only sea, and my new supplies had become the more tangible evidence that we had been there.

Container has begun waiting outside my cabin each morning before I wake. I do not know where she goes at night now. Her private arrangements remain private, and I doubt an enquiry would be welcomed. By 06:30, however, she is ready for the day and expects me to be as well. The expectation is remarkably clear for something communicated without a clock or a sentence.

I am less naturally prepared for purposeful activity at that hour. Still, there is something agreeable about opening the door to find that my appearance has been anticipated, even if chiefly as a delay in proceedings. The ship has its rhythm, the cat has hers, and mine is being adjusted by external authority. I used to think travel offered freedom from routine. Apparently it also offers better supervision.