Saturday, Twice

I can now confirm where Container was this morning. She was on my pillow, facing me, at a distance I would describe as conversational. I can also confirm that I woke up on Saturday, which was expected, and that tomorrow I will also wake up on Saturday, which was not.

We crossed the International Date Line in the small hours. Travelling east, you get a day back. The ship's clocks, after a short and slightly smug announcement from the Captain, have simply declined to move on. Today is Saturday 17 October. Tomorrow, on paper, is also Saturday 17 October. I have been given a spare day by the Pacific Ocean, and I intend to treat it with the respect it deserves, which is to say I am going to waste it carefully.

The calendar

The mess has a wall calendar, with a photograph of a ship on the top and a red circle around today. Marco drew the circle at breakfast with great ceremony and then drew it again, on top of itself, to represent the second Saturday. It was a lovely gesture.

It was also, I noticed while waiting for my toast, last year's calendar. On last year's calendar the 17th is a Friday. Nobody had noticed this for ten months. When I pointed it out, Marco looked at it for a long time, then said that on a ship, a calendar is more of a suggestion, and walked away. I have decided he is right and I have decided not to mention it again.

The Order of the Golden Dragon

I had been warned there was a tradition. I had been warned in fragments, with smiles, by people who were clearly enjoying the fragments more than they would enjoy the whole.

The whole, it turns out, is this. Anyone crossing the date line by sea for the first time becomes a member of the Domain of the Golden Dragon. There is a ceremony. The ceremony is held in the mess after lunch, and the person being initiated is the only person in the room who does not know what is about to happen.

Captain Halvorsen presided. He wore his ordinary uniform and a paper crown, which he did not acknowledge at any point, and which made the whole thing far more frightening. Marco acted as herald. He read out a list of my crimes against the sea, which included "excessive biscuits", "occupying the Chief Officer's dawn", "failure to share a key lime pie in front of witnesses" and "being a passenger". The room agreed with all of it.

Then Elena came out of the galley carrying a covered plate.

I want to be clear about the next thirty seconds. Elena knows my position on eggplant. Everyone on this ship knows my position on eggplant, because my position on eggplant was made very public in late July, at length, over several days. She placed the plate in front of me, lifted the cover, and there, glistening, was a single slice of grilled aubergine.

The room went silent. The Captain said, "Eat. The. Dragon." Which was technically three words and I respected it.

I picked up my fork. I looked at Elena. Elena looked at me with her completely neutral galley face, which I now know is the most dangerous face on the ship. I cut a piece. I lifted it. And at the last moment she reached over, took the fork out of my hand, ate the piece herself, and replaced the plate with a bowl of fried plantain. The room cheered as if I had personally done something brave. I had done nothing at all. It was the most popular I have been since the birthday pie.

The certificate

Priya presented the certificate. It is printed on thick cream card, with a golden dragon in one corner and the ship's position in the other, and it states that I have entered the Domain of the Golden Dragon at the 180th meridian and am entitled to all its rights and privileges, none of which are listed.

She signed it in front of me with a flourish. Under her signature, in smaller writing, she had added: "For services to biscuits. Conditions apply."

"What are the conditions?" I asked.

"You will find out," she said, and handed it over, and her fingers stayed on the card about half a second longer than the handover needed. I was too busy reading to take the card from her properly. That is my story.

The certificate is now on the wall above my desk. Container sat beneath it for most of the afternoon, which I am choosing to interpret as an endorsement.

The second Saturday begins

As I write this it is late evening on the first Saturday. When I wake up it will be early morning on the second Saturday, and I will have no ceremony, no certificate to receive, and no aubergine to fear.

I have already decided how to spend it. Tiny has offered to show me the engineering workshop, which on a Saturday is quiet, and he has hinted that there is a lathe, and that I may be allowed near it if I am good. I do not know what being good means in this context. I intend to find out.

A spare day. Who knew the Pacific gave refunds.