All Aboard
Opal grasped the wooden handrail of the ship and stared down into the choppy sea below. Another sickening wave welled up and she leaned helplessly over the rail and threw up, closing her eyes so she didn’t have to see the yellow spray against the side of the ship, which just antagonized her churning belly. She gasped between heaves, her head swimming. Celine stood next to her with a glass of water, steadying her as she crumpled down on the deck while holding on to the thin metal railing to try to keep her bearings.
Opal waved off the glass Celine offered and tried to focus on the horizon, willing the motion in her head to still. But she continued to swoon, so she lay on the wooden deck and stared up at the blue sky. Celine sat down next to her, her knees drawn up against her chest, watching Opal with genuine concern.
“How much longer?” Opal asked her with great effort, as if Celine had made the sea journey to France before.
Celine looked at the vast ocean around them, hoping beyond reason that it would offer any information. “I don’t know, cousin. But I think we passed Corso a little while back, so maybe in theory we are already in France,” she said hopefully.
Opal groaned, rolled over, and retched over the side again, before rolling back onto the deck, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Celine moved up and placed Opal’s head on her lap, and again offered her the glass of water.
“You really need to drink something.”
Opal took a small sip of the slightly salty water, which tasted like home, and let it moisten her mouth a little before turning and spitting it into the ocean. She took a deep breath. Feeling somewhat better, she tried to sit up fully, still bracing herself with the rails. She looked up just as Lulu pushed her way out of the wooden port-holed door to join them. The pitying look on her face as she plopped down on the deck beside them told Opal how terrible she looked.
“I think it will be about five more hours,” she murmured apologetically.
In response, Opal leaned over and retched again, thankful that her empty stomach held no more sour bile for the moment.
“I think I’m actually starting to feel better,” she said, lying back again. Her white dress with the tiny red roses was long since defiled. She’d been unable to change into her nightgown last night, fearful to take her face away from the bucket the crew had provided her with, long enough to put it on. Now the dress was dirty after she had crawled up the stairs last night and lain on the boat deck so the others could sleep. She was thankful that she could experience her misery in the privacy of the night, as well as for the cool air that soothed her burning mouth and throat. She had lain under the thick blanket of stars until the light of day extinguished them one by one. Now her head throbbed.
“You are as green as your eyes,” Lulu said, laughing softly, a wry smile on her face. “Just a complete sheet of green.”
“I’m just glad this is a one-way trip,” Opal said with a smile that matched Lulu’s. She closed her eyes again. Celine looked away, over her shoulder in the direction they had come from, drawing her knees closer to her chest.
The hours crept by like that until the rocking of the boat decreased as they moved onto the smoother waters of the Riviera. Opal was finally able to sit up and tentatively sip some water. This time, she allowed it to slide down her throat and into her cavernous stomach, which answered with a tremendous growl.
“Ahhh,” she said, looking out at the ocean and the shoreline that had come into view. Her hand shook as she held the glass of water.
“Do you want to try to change your clothes before we get there?” Lulu said encouragingly, looking at her dress.
Opal nodded slowly and started to make her way to her feet with the assistance of the girls, but as soon as she was upright, she pitched forward over the rails, lost the small amount of water she had taken in, and lay back down on the floor. “I’ll just wait here,” she said, defeated, throwing her gangly forearm over her eyes.
Celine and Lulu looked at one another, and Celine held up her hands, indicating she wasn’t sure what to do. Lulu pushed herself up and set off. “Don’t worry, I’ll make the arrangements.”
What felt like eternal hours later, the boat finally knocked against the buoys of the dock in Marseilles. Opal breathed a deep sigh, and the rise of her chest filled her with a newfound energy. Celine helped her to her feet, and they gazed over the railing at the business below. Dockhands were unloading impossible numbers of steamer trunks while elegantly dressed women and men strolled down the gangway to the dock below and made their way to where shiny cars and horse-drawn carriages awaited them.
Opal looked at the fortress that protectively wrapped around the port, much like the one in Malta, where they had just sailed from, but on a much larger scale. There was a variety to the buildings around the port, and their pitched rooflines deviated from the blocky structures of her homeland. A red, white, and blue French flag flew majestically in the harbor, and Opal felt a wave of excitement rise up through her exhaustion and fatigue.
She turned, probably too quickly, toward the stairs to disembark, but weakness suddenly overwhelmed her enthusiasm and her legs collapsed under her. Her lips began tingling and her hands went numb as the world turned black around the edges. She knew she was going to lose consciousness and twisted awkwardly on the stairs to grab Celine’s arm before falling backward into darkness.
As she came back to consciousness, she heard voices above her and recognized Celine and Lulu talking, but it took her a while to orient herself. She was bouncing on a hard seat in the back of a car with her head resting on Celine’s lap. Lulu was on the seat across from them. Her mouth was completely dry, and she moved her tongue around a little to try to moisten it as she listened to the girls.
“We can’t go to a hospital,” Lulu said definitively. “If they think she’s sick, they will send us home, and that is the last thing she would want.”
“What if she dies?” Celine asked, her voice cracking.
She could feel Celine’s belly convulse against the side of her head and felt a wet tear splash onto her forehead, then the cool touch of Celine’s hand on her brow. Opal’s mouth spread into a grin, and without opening her eyes, she began laughing, quietly at first and then harder as she heard Lulu laugh with her. Cracking her dry eyes open, Celine’s red, burning ones met hers in horror and relief. A fresh wave of sobs erupted as Celine reached up to cover her mouth. The momentum of hysterical laughter had clearly set in, and Lulu and Opal laughed until they were unable to catch their breath. Celine stared out the window and swiped the tears away from her face.
Opal breathed deeply, trying not to devolve back into laughter, the muscles in her stomach still aching from the endless purging. She sat upright and scooted next to Celine, wrapping an arm around her. Her voice came out dry and raspy. “I’m OK, cousin. So sweet of you to worry about me.”
Celine kept her gaze fixed on the outside whizzing by but nodded acknowledgement.
“Do you want to go home?” Opal asked.
Celine paused for a second and then shook her head vigorously, seeming afraid that the older girls would seize the moment to disentangle themselves from her.
Opal looked at Lulu. “I’ve got to get some water.”
Lulu nodded and knocked on the glass window dividing them from the driver, who reached back and slid the window open.
“Yes?” the man said, keeping his eyes steady on the road ahead. He was brown skinned, bearded, and wore a tall white turban.
“Preet, can you please pull over in the next town so we can get some food? Opal needs some water.”
“Next town. Yes.”
“Thank you.” Lulu slid the window closed.
Opal tossed herself back in the seat. “I’ve missed everything!”
A mischievous grin spread across Lulu’s face. “Oh no, we’re just getting started.”
She and Opal held each other’s gaze as unspoken plans passed between them.
“You almost went down!” Lulu laughed.
“I just don’t remember anything.”
“Preet caught you,” Celine said, nodding her chin in the direction of the driver.
Opal knew arrangements had been made for a driver to meet them at the boat and accompany them during their time in Paris, but she had never met the man.
“And he carried me off the boat?”
The girls nodded in unison.
“In front of all those people?”
The girls nodded again.
Opal shook her head and crossed herself. “I’m so glad Mama wasn’t here to see that.”
Celine pointed out the window excitedly as the car slowed. “Look! A town!”
The girls looked out the window as the car wound around a few streets and then up a hill and came to a stop in front of a small café in a courtyard. It was painted a cheerful robin’s-egg blue.
Preet got out and opened the back door to let the girls out. “Clermont-Ferrand, mademoiselles.”
Brimming with excitement, the girls looked at each other and got out of the car. Opal went last, helped by Preet’s strong hand. He towered over her, with wise dark eyes, and thick lashes. Opal steadied herself as he let go of her hand. Preet intuitively moved behind her, ready to catch her fall, his presence emboldening her enough confidence to walk across the sidewalk to the café. He held the door for them as they entered and then went to wait at the car as the girls sat at a small table.
A woman bustled out from the kitchen and took stock of the group of adolescent girls, her eyes lingering too long on Opal, whose skin turned from alabaster to crimson, knowing she must look terrible. She looked down at her filthy dress and hands and momentarily wished she could be back in Malta in the safety of her mother’s kitchen. But she sat up taller, stretched up her long neck, and dropped her shoulders.
The woman grabbed a carafe of water and brought it to the table, pouring a glass straight away and handing it to Opal first, with obvious concern.
“Bonjour,” the woman started, and then paused as if to see if the girls would respond in kind, which they did. The woman continued slowly in French, pausing every once in a while to ensure comprehension. The girls nodded along, although Opal had really stopped listening as soon as the water touched her tongue and the cool liquid slid down her throat in a satisfying wave. Before she could set the glass down the woman took it and filled it again, then handed it back.
Opal absently heard Lulu conversing with the woman in perfect French, and then, surprisingly, Celine chiming in confidently. Opal’s belly gurgled, but the nausea had thankfully passed. Before the woman walked away, she filled the glass a third time.
Opal looked after her and then at Celine and Lulu, shaking her head. “I didn’t get any of that.”
Lulu laced her fingers together and rested her chin on them. “It’s a set menu. It will be very good.”
She was right. A small bowl of mushroom soup arrived first, followed by a quiche, a small plate of cheese, and fruit salad. The food was so nourishing that by the end of the meal, Opal’s strength began to return. The girls were chatting and laughing, excited to be in France.
The woman came over as they finished a small chocolate souffle and looked at Opal. “You are feeling better?” she asked in French.
Opal paused, allowing her brain to translate the words from her native tongue. “Oh, oui, oui,” she said reassuringly, and then continued in French: “Madame, do you have a powder room where I can change before we continue on? I had a very hard voyage.”
Lulu began to laugh, then Celine giggled along too.
“Yes, I thought as much,” the woman replied with a soft smile. She walked to the door and flipped the café sign to Fermée. “Come on, come on,” she said, waving them upstairs.
Lulu ran out to the car to get clean clothes for Opal. The woman’s home above the shop was small and beautiful, with walls painted a deep green and a worn but plush tan velvet couch with ornate legs spanning the length of the living room wall. The woman showed the girls the bathroom and bedroom and said they could change there and then went out to the kitchen. Opal ducked into the bathroom and closed the door as Celine sat on the couch, surveying the room.
Alone in the bathroom, Opal looked in the mirror. Her face looked foreign and gaunt, like she had aged far beyond her seventeen years. The thick dark lashes and brows were familiar, but her eyes were sunken, with dark circles underneath. She tilted her head to the side and decided she liked them this way—filled with experience and maybe just a bit of torment. She tied her long, dark hair loosely up on her head and unbuttoned the placket in the back of her dress. As each small button slipped through the hand-formed hole, she remembered her mother patiently sewing them on, concerned whether this clothing would be suitable for her new life in France. The dress fell forward, and Opal pulled it down with her slip, which clung to her at first but then relented and fell to the floor.
Her barely developed chest had flattened, and she felt deflated after years of willing her breasts to form. She had applied the beeswax ointment nightly that her mother had assured her would grow her beautiful breasts, but after years of nothing except nightgowns with two greasy circles on the front she had given up. Just months before she had boarded the boat to France, hard painful buds had formed on her chest and promised her a future of womanhood, although her womb still lay dormant. Now each linear bone of her chest could be clearly defined, and her nipples stretched over a flat plateau of disappointment. She heard Lulu’s voice in the apartment and a knock on the bathroom door.
“You OK?”
“Yes, I’m just going to wash my face. Give me a minute.”
After washing up, Opal wrapped a towel around herself, and opened the door a crack. Lulu handed her a bundle of clothing. Opal unwrapped it and saw that Lulu had brought in her own dress, much finer than anything Opal owned. Opal sat on the toilet with the bundle in her lap, contemplating before opening the door a crack and passing the clothing back out.
“It doesn’t fit.”
Celine grabbed it from her.
“I’ll go get something else.”
Opal could hear her bustle out. After a minute, she peeked out the door, but the room was empty. Wrapped in the towel, she stepped out and walked along the perimeter of the room, looking at the small trinkets and pictures of the woman and some children.
Opal felt eyes on her and looked over to see the café owner leaning against the wall holding a small, delicate cup of tea over a saucer.
“Do you need some clothing?”
Opal looked at her for a moment and shook her head.
“Are you sure? My daughter left some things here that would fit you nicely.” Without waiting for her to answer, the woman walked into the bedroom and started rummaging around. “Come, come!” she said, encouraging Opal to join her.
Opal followed her into the bedroom. The woman had thrown the closet open wide and was tossing things onto the bed. She sat down to watch. Periodically the woman stopped and looked at something, looked at Opal to size her up, then shook her head and tossed it aside.
“I have clothes in the car,” Opal offered.
“Oh yes, yes, but with the trunks and packing, it may be hard to find just the right thing.”
Opal nodded in silent agreement, intrigued by what the woman might turn up from the clothing, which unlike her own, did not appear to be homemade.
The woman pulled out a skirt. “Ah ha! Yes. Try this,” she said, handing Opal a silk cream-colored, pleated midi skirt. Opal felt the fabric and ran her hand over the thick slubs of the yarn.
The woman pulled out a matching tailored jacket with short sleeves. “And this.” She handed it to Opal absently.
From a dresser drawer, she withdrew a silky green spaghetti-strap top that matched Opal’s eyes perfectly.
“I can’t take these things,” Opal said slowly.
“But I have no use for them anymore,” the woman replied matter-of-factly. “And it’s always so important to make a good first impression.”
For the second time in minutes, Opal sat with a pile of another person’s clothes in her lap, but this time she stood up and let the towel fall immodestly to the floor as she slipped the skirt up onto her hips and fastened the buttons. It fit surprisingly well, and the pleats fell perfectly down to mid-calf. The weight of the silk fabric felt luxurious and heavy. She slid the green slip top over her head, and the satin draped over her slim frame. She caught her reflection in the dressing table mirror as she tucked the camisole into her skirt.
The woman had turned and was looking for something else in the drawer. As Opal fastened the button of the wrap jacket around her waist, the woman turned triumphantly, holding up a patterned scarf in her hand. Pulling out the seat from the dressing table for her, Opal sat down just as Celine and Lulu entered the room.
“Oh my goodness,” Lulu said appreciatively. Celine beamed, but then looked down at her own plain cotton dress self-consciously.
The woman handed Opal a small gold container of rouge, which Opal applied in dabs to her full lips and rubbed them together. The gauntness of her face lifted. The woman tied her hair up in a neat bun and then wrapped the scarf around her head, knotting it at the base of her neck. Taking the container out of her hand, the woman dabbed her middle finger in, applying some along Opal’s cheekbones, blending in the color. Opal stared deeply into her own eyes and watched the amazing transformation.
“Now,” the woman concluded, “now you are ready to go to Paris.” She smiled.
As the girls exited the café, they each kissed the woman’s cheeks and thanked her. Opal exited last and, as she leaned in, the woman slipped the small tin of rouge into her pocket and tilted Opal’s chin up with her index finger. “Keep your head high.”
