The three masts towered over him as the sails were being set. The boys manning the yards clung on for dear life as the ship pitched in the fresh weather. From where he stood he could now see – painted on the scarlet mainsail – the broken hip bone and the maiden. It appeared to him reversed as he stood behind it, on the aft bridge, visible only because the clear sun shone through the coarse fabric. The sun that made his eyes water and his stomach churn.
A moment earlier he had been below decks – the only reason being that he had to. The stench down there was terrible. The galley slaves had drawn in the oars as the wind was plentiful, and now sat on the tofts, playing games or reciting melancholic epics from their homelands. Everything below was painted red, and in the dim light it had reminded him of a womb. Two boys in burgundy uniforms, the ones that were allowed into the cargo holds and were called shrimps, had approached him to get permission to get some fresh air. He had refused – discipline had to be maintained. If he granted permission, the upper decks would swarm with little boys.
Down there – in the cargo holds – he never went there.
The Red Ship was a room in the Roxy Hotel. Not a cheap room, he could afford luxury. It had air conditioning, cable TV, complimentary crackers and a mini‑bar. Not that he ever touched alcohol. Outside, in the hall, a lift would take him down to the cargo hold. Frozen meat and large slabs of lead inscribed with graffiti was all that were down there except for – his office. He used to write the controversial and heretical articles for his periodical when he was in his office. Sometimes, she came by to visit. She always wore a vermilion dress that suited her wonderfully. In exchange for some frozen meat she would tell him about the time she had lived in freedom. He enjoyed hearing about it, but he couldn't quite believe it. She overdid it. It sounded too fanciful, too brisk. Once she even showed him a scar on her left breast to prove it all. But that scar could be anything – mean anything.
An hour later the wind had risen, the sun had disappeared, and the Red Ship cleaved through the water.