The North Pacific Has a Word

The weather came in overnight, as forecast, and it was not interested in negotiating.

I had been told it was coming. A low pressure system out of the north, a deepening one, the kind the North Pacific produces in late autumn with what Priya calls "professional enthusiasm". The Captain adjusted course a little south to take the worst of it on the bow, and at dinner last night Tiny's deck crew were still out checking the lashings with torches.

By breakfast we were in it.

What a big ship does in a big sea

A ship of four hundred metres does not toss about. It is too big to toss. Instead it leans, slowly and with great dignity, one way, pauses as if considering the matter, and then leans slowly and with great dignity the other way. Every now and then the bow meets a wave at the wrong moment, and the whole ship shudders, and a few seconds later a wall of white water explodes over the forward containers and rattles against the bridge windows like gravel.

I was allowed up to the bridge for exactly ten minutes, standing in my corner, holding on to a rail. It was the most magnificent thing I have seen on this voyage, and I have seen the Suez Canal and a cat walk through a locked door. The sea was the colour of slate, the sky was the colour of slightly darker slate, and the waves were the size of houses. Rain came sideways. The wipers worked like mad.

Then my ten minutes were up, and Priya said, very kindly, "You are green. Go down."

I was green. I went down.

Plain toast

Elena did not even ask. A plate of dry toast and a mug of weak tea were waiting at my place at lunch, with a small bowl of plain rice beside it for later. She knows. She has always known. She has a sixth sense for queasy passengers that I imagine she developed over many years and many rough seas.

I ate the toast. I did not eat the rice. I went back to my cabin and lay down with my eyes closed, and that is mostly how I spent the afternoon.

Container is unbothered

Container does not get seasick. Container regards a gale as a minor administrative matter. She spent the day lying on my chest, which on a rolling ship is quite something, because she simply shifted her weight every time we leaned, like a surfer, without opening her eyes.

At one point a particularly large wave sent a shudder through the whole ship, and a book slid off my shelf and landed on the floor. Container lifted her head, looked at the book, looked at me as if I had dropped it on purpose, and went back to sleep.

A phone call

Late in the afternoon, the phone in my cabin rang. I had not known it could. I have been on this ship for more than three months and nobody has ever called it.

It was Priya, from the bridge.

"Just checking the passenger is still aboard," she said.

"The passenger is horizontal, but present."

"Good. Elena says you did not eat the rice."

"How does she know?"

"She knows everything. Eat the rice."

There was a short pause, filled with the sound of the wipers and somebody saying something about wind speed in the background.

"It will ease by morning," she said, more quietly. "Try to sleep."

And then she hung up. I lay there holding the receiver for a few seconds longer than was strictly necessary, and then I got up, went to the mess, and ate the rice.

As I write this, the ship is still leaning, but the leaning has a tired quality now, as if the sea has made its point and is beginning to lose interest. I am told the deck will need a full check in the morning. I have asked Tiny if I can come. He said, "If you can stand up, you can watch." I intend to stand up.