Call of the Kiwi (20 page)

Gloria was relieved but apprehensive when land finally came into view.

“Just stay here,” Harry directed her when the ship had weighed anchor and the cargo was being unloaded. “I’ll be back. We’ll figure something out.”

When Gloria was finally allowed to go on deck that evening, she ladled up some sea water and washed herself thoroughly. She hoped that she had finished with her services to the men once and for all. On the new ship no one would have to know that she was a girl.

Harry and the cook were in high spirits when they came back to the ship late that night.

“The, the very last time,” the cook slurred. “Tomorrow the wares’ll be unloaded, wares sold well!” He laughed.

“What wares?” Gloria asked. The goods the
Mary Lou
had carried had long since been unloaded.

“You, my sweet. Who else? Your boy sold you well, sweetheart, and I got my cut.”

“Sold? Me?” Gloria turned, confused, to Harry.

“He means I’ve found a place for you on a ship,” he explained reluctantly. “You’re in luck, the ship goes all the way to Australia. Immigrant ship sailing under a British flag but full of Chinese. The steward who oversees steerage will cover for you.”

“So does he need a cabinmate?” Gloria asked anxiously. “Will they hire me?”

The cook rolled his eyes. Harry glared at him and made him hold his tongue.

“Sweetheart, you don’t need to hire on there. Like I said, it’s swarming with people in steerage. One more mouth to feed won’t draw any attention.”

“And you’ll have plenty of customers,” the galley master chortled.

Gloria looked fearfully at Harry. “I have to be good to the steward, is that it?” she asked.

Harry nodded.

“But otherwise, in steerage there are a lot of women too, right? Immigrants usually travel with their whole family, don’t they?” At least that’s what Gloria had heard.

The cook laughed, but Harry frowned. “That’s right, sweetheart, crowds of all sorts of Chinese. And now be especially good to me. Tomorrow we’ll go into town and you’ll meet the steward.”

Gloria nodded. He would probably want to “test” her like Harry had in San Francisco. She steeled herself for a shelter as sleazy as Jenny’s.

Canton was a confusing mix of narrow alleys and crowded markets. Some of the women scurried about strangely; they seemed to have very small feet. The men and women alike were tiny, and all of them seemed to talk without pause. Harry guided them through a market where spices, strange pickled vegetables, and animals—alive and dead—were for sale. Gloria winced when she saw desperately whining dogs.

“The cook on the ship is an Englishman, though, right?” she asked nervously.

Harry laughed. “I assume so. Don’t worry, they’re not going to feed you dog. Come on, we’re almost there.”

The steward of the
Niobe
was waiting in a sort of tearoom. There was no real furniture, however. Instead they kneeled around small lacquered tables. The man stood up respectfully to greet Gloria, but directed his speech toward Harry.

“Not exactly a beauty, is she?” he noted after looking Gloria over thoroughly.

“Hey, what do you want? An English rose? This one’s more of a Polynesian type. Much better without clothing. And it’s not like you have much to choose from.”

The steward grumbled. He was no beauty either. Gloria did not even want to imagine what it would be like when he was on top of her. She forced herself to think of Australia. Australia, that was almost home.

“And she isn’t used up? Still somewhat clean?”

Gloria looked to Harry for help.

“Gloria is very clean,” he explained. “And she hasn’t been in the trade long, a good girl, who just wants to get to the other end of the world for some reason. So take her or leave her. I can also give her to that Russian who’s headed to Indonesia.”

“Fifty dollars,” the steward said.

“Do we have to go through all this again? And in front of the girl? Didn’t we already reach an agreement yesterday?”

“She should know just what she’s worth.” The steward tried once more to assess Gloria’s figure. “Then she won’t cause me any trouble. What did we say again? Sixty?”

“Seventy-five. And not a cent less.” Harry glared at the man and then gave Gloria an apologetic look. “I’ll give you ten,” he whispered.

Gloria could not even bring herself to nod.

Reluctantly the man pulled out his wallet and slowly counted out seventy-five dollars.

Gloria tried to meet Harry’s eyes. “I
s . . .
is it true? You’re selling me?” She was stunned.

Harry turned away from her reproachful look. “Look, sweetheart, it’s not like that.”

“What is it then?”

Gloria’s new owner raised his eyes, annoyed, to heaven.

“Of course he’s selling you, girl. This can’t be new for you. If the fellow wasn’t lying to me, you’ve already whored yourself to him for fourteen days. And now you’ll do it for me, simple as that. So don’t play the innocent country girl. We need to buy some rags for you first. My customers don’t like girls in men’s clothing.”

Uncomprehending, Gloria allowed Harry to embrace her in parting. As he did, he slid ten dollars into her pocket.

“No hard feelings, sweetheart,” he said, winking. “Do a good job, and they’ll treat you well. In a few weeks’ time, you’ll be counting sheep in Kiwi land again.”

Harry turned away. Gloria thought she heard him whistle as he left the tearoom.

“Don’t shed any tears for him,” remarked the steward. “That man found a golden egg in you. Now let’s go; we’re in a hurry. We leave for Down Under tonight.”

9

N
ight was already falling as the steward led Gloria to the “Australia Dock.” Gloria asked herself how he meant to smuggle a foreign boy—let alone a white girl—on the ship, but that proved simple. The decks were swarming with Chinese who wanted to emigrate. They seemed to have hardly any baggage; indeed, most of them carried their possessions aboard in a small bundle. The shipping company must have counted on this and sold many more tickets than usual. Since there were no suitcases or portmanteaus, they squeezed ten or twelve into the tiny quarters, instead of the normal six. To Gloria’s amazement—and later horror—the passengers were almost exclusively men.

The steward steered Gloria through the throng and onto the deck—nobody bothered about the cabin boy with no papers—and then into the belly of the ship. He shoved Gloria into one of the cabins. There were six small berths on the walls. None of them were occupied. The steward pointed to a few folded blankets.

“You’d best make your bed on the floor so the fellows don’t bump their heads while you service them.”

Gloria looked doubtfully at her new master. “Am I going to live alone here? No one else is coming?”

She hardly dared hope, having assumed she’d have to share the steward’s bed after finishing her work.

“Who are you expecting?” he asked. Then he smirked. “But don’t worry. We won’t let you get lonely. Listen, I’m going to see to that chaos out there. Make yourself scarce for now in case one of the crew gets lost down here. Once the ship gets going, and the men have their first hangover, you’ll have plenty of company. Now make yourself pretty for me.”

He pinched Gloria’s cheek in parting and disappeared down the hall. Gloria could hardly believe her luck. Her own cabin! No more stinking male bodies at night, no snoring. Maybe she could undress unobserved for once and at least wash herself.

She spread the blankets on the floor, curled up under one of them, and slept, relieved and happy. When she woke up, she was headed for Australia, almost home.

The steward took no joy in possessing a woman in the normal fashion. The first night on board he forced Gloria to endure what Jenny had referred to as “other varieties of lovemaking.”

She attempted to ignore the pain and think about something else while the man wore himself out on her. She eventually succeeded in transporting herself to a shearing shed on Kiward Station. The bleating of the sheep drowned out the murmur of the men outside. The pervasive lanolin scent of the wool covered up the stench of the steward’s sweat, and Gloria counted the newly shorn sheep in her mind.

“Good girl,” the steward said when he was done. “That fellow in Canton was right. You don’t know much but you’re willing. Now sleep tight. Tonight everyone has their own business to see to. Early tomorrow you start work.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Gloria asked, confused. After all, she had heard she would not have to work in the kitchen.

The steward laughed. “What you do best, girl. At eight, when the night shift ends, the coal men like to wear themselves out before hitting the sack. Things go in three shifts here, sweetheart, which means you’ll be working around the clock.”

This seemed an exaggeration for the first few days as the crew was still sated from the whores in Canton, and the passengers were not so desperate that they would waste their small travel budget on a whore. But after the first week, Gloria rarely got any rest, and by the end of the second, her life had become an unending nightmare. The steward—his name was Richard Seaton, but Gloria could not think of him as a man with a name like any other—sold her without compunction to anyone who offered him a few cents, and he left her to the men without any ground rules. Though most of them did not have any special requests, no one hindered those who took their sadism out on her. Nor did anyone step in when two or three men shared the “ticket.” Gloria tried to handle everything as passively as she had on the
Mary Lou
, but there had only been two or three men at most per night then. Now the torture began in the morning when the machinists and firemen finished with the night shift, and only ended late at night after the kitchen crew had wrapped up.

After fifteen clients or more each day, the protective effect of the oil began to fail. Gloria was sore, and not only in her private places. Her naked skin chafed on the rough blankets, and the wounds became inflamed since she did not have an opportunity to wash. After a few days her improvised bed became clotted and crusty from grime and the bodily fluids of countless men, and what was more, someone must have brought bugs. Early on, she clambered into a berth when she was alone and found time to sleep, but as time wore on, she had neither the solitude nor the energy to leave her improvised bed on the floor. Though her body was wasted, Gloria clung to her mental health. Desperately she dreamed herself far away from her dark dungeon, picturing herself herding sheep in the sunshine on Kiward Station, losing herself in the vastness of the Canterbury Plains, only to find herself again in the choir room at Oaks Garden standing in front of the piano and failing miserably at singing. Her daydreams increasingly turned to nightmares. Gloria noticed she had a fever, which made it increasingly difficult for her to conjure pleasant images or even to imagine pleasant feelings. Instead, feelings meant pain, disgust, and self-loathing—and the loathing hurt the least.

Gloria concentrated more and more on hatred. At first she directed her feelings toward the steward. She began to imagine killing him. Again and again. One way or another, the grislier the better. Then she transferred her hatred onto the johns. She envisioned the ship sinking and them all drowning. Or a fire that devoured their stinking bodies. When a man moaned on top of her, she dreamed it was from pain instead of pleasure. Only imagining their suffering gave her the strength to survive the indignities she endured.

She lost all sense of time, and she felt as though she had been on the ship for an eternity. But one day she smiled at one of the few men who still had a face to her.

“Today’s the last time,” the young fireman said. “Tomorrow we’ll be in Darwin.”

“In Australia?” Gloria asked. His voice plucked a long silent string in her. All but unbelievably, she felt a stirring of hope.

“Unless we’ve gotten lost.” The man grinned. “We’ll just have to see how you get off the ship. The immigration officials are really strict; everyone gets registered.”

“The, the steward will smuggle me out,” Gloria said, still dazed.

The fireman laughed. “I wouldn’t count on that bloke. My God, girl, there’s no reason for him to let you go.”

“You, you mea
n . . .
” Gloria sat up with effort.

“I mean the moment we reach Darwin, a key’ll turn in that door,” the man explained, pointing to the cabin door. “And not open up for you, if you catch my meaning. We’re only staying here a few days; then we head back to Canton. That bastard could just put a bucket of water and a little food in here for a few days, and quick as you like he’ll be making a profit on the return.”

“But I, the agreemen
t . . .
” Gloria’s head was spinning.

“You don’t mean to tell me that this here was part of an ‘agreement,’ do you? Seaton bought you, and he’ll get the most he can for his money. A dead whore can be easily thrown overboard, but if they catch you in Darwin and you tell them how you got her
e . . .
Well, like I said: try and get out of here as quick as you can. Even at the risk of running into the harbormaster.”

Gloria did not even manage to thank the man for his warning. Her thoughts tripped over each other as he left and two Chinese immigrants entered. Gloria ignored their pleasure and attempted to formulate a plan. It looked unlikely that the steward would let her go willingly. But she had not endured what she had only to be caught by the authorities and sent back to her parents in disgrace. Though they might send her to her relatives in New Zealand—it was closer and would perhaps be easier for the Australians to organize—they might not. And even in the best case, Gwyneira would learn what she had done on the ship. And that could not happen. No one could know. She would rather die.

She suddenly detected the sound of crates being moved and crew members hollering at each other on deck. It seemed that they were preparing to drop anchor. Gloria chided herself for not having noticed sooner. She had almost let the trap spring. She had to make her escape right away.

When the two Asians were done, she forced herself to stand up, and tied her few possessions into a bundle. She swapped her lousy, torn dress for her cabin-boy clothes. The pants and the shirt felt heavy to her, and she hoped she would be able to swim in them. But she had no choice. She would make it to land or drown.

On deck she met cool air. It was winter in this part of the world. She moved across the deck in the shadows of the lifeboats. She briefly considered taking one of them, but knew she would never manage to heave a tub like that overboard alone. Besides, it would be noisy and attract attention. Gloria glanced over the railing. Though the sea lay far below, it was calm. And the lights of the city were visible; it could not be far. The ship appeared hardly to be moving. Were they perhaps waiting on a pilot to lead the
Niobe
into harbor? In that case there was no great danger of being caught in the ship’s propeller. However, the pilot could seize her while she swam. But first she would have to jump. Gloria shuddered at the height. She had not swum in years. Nor had she ever leaped into the water before.

But then she heard voices. Someone came on deck, and she knew that if they found her, her fate was sealed. Gloria inhaled deeply. Then she threw her bundle out to sea and jumped.

From the ship the beaches of Darwin had appeared close enough to reach out and touch, but Gloria did not seem to be getting any closer to land. She felt as though she had been swimming for hours. Despite the cold water and heavy clothes, she was free of fear. Gloria had tied her things to her back—holding them in her hand had hindered her swimming—and it was pleasant after that wretched cabin to be enveloped in water. Gloria felt the ocean was washing away not only the filth but also the shame. She occasionally dipped her face in the water and then, growing bolder, her head and hair as well in an effort to drown the lice. And she never stopped swimming.

It took Gloria all night and half a day before she dragged herself onto a lonely beach below Darwin. Later she would learn that it was called Casuarina, and that there were saltwater crocodiles there. But none appeared, and Gloria was so tired that she could hardly have helped herself from sinking to sleep in the sand even if she’d known.