MAIDEN VOYAGE: THIRD CLASS
If it weren't for the fact that they were just a young couple within an Italian-speaking minority surrounded by a mostly English-speaking environment, one could say that the experience so far had been unbeatable. The hustle and bustle of the kitchens working three times a day with British precision in an almost airtight environment with claustrophobic dyes did not bother them as much as the menu they were served.
"And is this worth four hundred American dollars?" - they wondered, laughing.
No one who has had the luxury of dining in Naples or Rome would ever doubt the fact that the palate of an Italian and his wife should seem quite demanding to any Irishman or Swede sitting in the same dining room, as if it were some sort of international convention of people from countries with deplorable economic conditions looking for a better life. Whatever happened, almost everyone had their hearts open to the same reality: to leave without looking back.
Later, after a short recreational walk and back to their suite, which was the smallest and yet most luxurious piece of steel they could have ever dreamed of, Clara Morricone, typist, and her fiancé, Giorgio "Gigi" Ferrau, a day labourer with a driving licence, a luxury at the time, although it is worth clarifying that his truck was not his, but that of the owner of the company he worked for. Tired of being trampled underfoot by their respective bosses, and after obtaining the blessing of Bagheria's most venerable elderly neighbors, the couple had decided to emigrate. Luckily, they had enough money to pay for two third-class tickets, because instead of two, three were migrating: the girl had been pregnant since early April. A scandal? No one could say. If the ship was really as fast as its owner boasted, then there would be no major inconvenience. Neither of them would be alone, no matter what: she had relatives in Hellskitchen among whom her older sister stood out, and he, numerous cousins in Brooklyn.
The young man's voice resounded within the four walls of their temporary residence, located on the starboard side of the floating palace, a few meters away from boiler number 6.
"It seems that it was yesterday when we met, and yet I feel as if every day I was discovering you, as if every time we talked I learned more about you, and instead of knowing you more I realized that you are really still a mystery to me, Clara, a mystery that I love to unravel every day of my life.
She mocked his words, and called him "an idiot," with a sweet, clear tone.
"I can't wait to get to New York. Seeing the sun, walking with you through the streets of the city. See my cousins... and your family, of course. I can't wait to marry you and baptize the child in gala dress."
The girl, upset, asked him, smiling:
"What makes you assume it will be a boy?"
And Gigi replied:
"The way it hits the walls of your belly... is a boy. I know.
She smiled again, and said:
"My mother always told me that when I was pregnant with me she thought I would be a child because of the way I turned. None of my brothers stole as many nights of her sleep as I did."
Then," he pointed out, "I am not surprised that I have taken hold of you in such a way; if, as I think I understand you, I certainly do, I don't see how I could convince you to cross the ocean... I (...) only regret that I couldn't do better than this for you.
She smiled one last time as he sought the shelter of her chest, sliding fourfold so as not to crush her with his weight, sheltering her body with his arms, kissing her tenderly.
***
The rudder was vibrating in the hands of officer Robert Hichens but the jolt was not felt so strongly on the upper decks. No one realized what was happening.
The sound of ice water at -2º C licking the skin of boiler nº 6 caused a frightening sound that shattered his ears.
Their room was shaken with enormous violence as they prepared to sleep; a chain of human errors driven by vanity had resulted in a cut of ninety-one meters in the length of the ship. The pressure differential between the black water entering at a rate of more than one thousand cubic tons per minute, pushing the air upwards, buried his paradise in a few minutes.
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