The Biscuit Inspection at Dawn

I was on the bridge before sunrise with a tin under one arm and my tea in the other hand. Carrying both up the stairs required more concentration than I had budgeted for at that hour. Priya looked up as I arrived and said, "Good. You brought the proper ones."

I have no idea how she knew there were improper ones. There are, of course, but I had hoped to keep that between myself and the desk drawer.

We were still alongside in Busan. Beyond the windows the harbour was a dark arrangement of cranes, navigation lights, and shapes waiting to become buildings. A pale strip of orange was developing behind the hills. The terminal had been working all night and showed no sign of regarding dawn as a reason to change its plans.

Priya had coffee. I had English breakfast tea. The tin occupied a small side table well away from the equipment, because even I understand there should be some separation between international trade and crumbs.

Three biscuits and a sunrise

We began with the sesame biscuits from yesterday. She liked the first one, distrusted the chocolate coating on the second, and asked whether the third had been bought for its taste or its packaging. I admitted the packaging had played a role. She nodded as though a suspected weakness had now been formally confirmed.

I explained the collection's geography. Rotterdam had supplied the dependable foundation. Colombo had brought coconut and ginger. Singapore had broadened the range. Hong Kong had contributed a tin I continue to admire independently of its contents. Busan was now making a strong opening argument.

"And which would you rescue first?" she asked.

"From what?"

"A hypothetical biscuit emergency."

I thought about this for longer than she probably expected. She watched me think, which made thinking considerably harder.

Eventually I chose the ginger biscuits. She took another one without comment. I believe that meant I had passed, although with Priya it is generally wise not to assume the assessment is over.

There were quiet gaps in the conversation. She attended to her work, checked something with the officer of the watch, and returned without needing to explain the interruption. I looked out at the light becoming daylight. We are getting better at this, the business of being in the same place without manufacturing a conversation to justify it.

Before I left she pushed the tin gently back towards me.

"Keep some for sea."

"That was the plan."

"I mean for us."

She had already turned towards the windows when she said it. I stood there for a moment with the tin in my hands, behaving exactly as competently as you would expect.