After they had fed patients who wanted to eat anything, at six o’clock Jeanne went with Katya to get Lisa and Skip, and they all headed for the school cafeteria with the other refugees. A tall, skinny young man with glasses, apparently Katya’s boyfriend, joined them at their table.
The food was fried fish, onion soup, and water. The cafeteria was packed, and the refugees elbowed into line as if they were scrambling for tickets to a first-run movie.
“I’ve been here almost three days,” Katya said when Lisa asked her about the food. “We had some meat the first day, but since then it’s been all eggs, fish, and a few vegetables, mostly onions. I think we had some apples the second day, but otherwise no fruit.”
“And the portions keep getting smaller,” commented the young man, whose name was Sky. He cleaned his plate of fish away with amazing rapidity and eyed Jeanne’s plate with interest.
“I’ll give you a joint for half your fish,” he offered.
It took Jeanne a moment to absorb the suggestion.
“No… thank you,” she replied. “What I don’t finish, I plan to save for my children.”
“That’s cool,” said Sky, although he was clearly disappointed.
“Where are you working?” Jeanne asked him, more to make conversation than out of genuine interest.
“What do you mean?” asked Sky.
“Katya and I are working with the people in the fifth-grade classroom,” she explained. “I wondered—”
“Oh. No. Katya likes to keep busy,” Sky said. “I like to take things easy.”
“Oh,” said Jeanne.
“Actually I volunteered to help in the kitchen,” Sky continued brightly. “But they had enough people there already.”
“What… what about military service?” Lisa asked.
“Medical disability,” Sky answered.
“Oh.”
“My mind’s all screwed up,” Sky explained.
Katya was eating quietly as if she were indifferent to the conversation.
“Do you plan to stay here?” Jeanne asked, trying to address her question as much to Katya as to the young man.
“Long as the food holds out,” Sky answered, grinning.
“Not me,” said Katya, her eyes flashing. “The first two days I felt safe here. No more. I’d be out in a second if I could figure a way.”
“Where would you go?” Jeanne asked, scraping the last of her fish from her plate onto Lisa’s. Skippy was having trouble finishing his.
“As far away from where the bombs are going off as I can get,” Katya answered. “If it’s like this now,” she went on, motioning at the crowded cafeteria and by implication at the whole refugee center, “I hate to think how bad it will get.”
“Perhaps we’ve already seen the worst,” Jeanne suggested.
“All I know,” Katya replied, “is that the alive people seem to leave this place after only a day or two. Most of those who stay have already given up.”
“What about me?” asked Sky with a sly smile.
“You gave up so long ago you can’t even remember when.”
“Thanks.”
“But… then why do you work so hard here?” Jeanne asked.
“Where there’s work to be done, 1 do it,” said Katya.
“Where there’s work to be done, I avoid it,” said Sky, grinning.
Frank suddenly appeared at their table, standing behind Katya and across from Jeanne; on his face was a look of relief that he had located her.
“Jim’s been drafted,” he announced. “No punishment, but they were marching him through the street when I was on the way here. I ought to be happy… I feel like shit.”
“Where will they send him?” Lisa asked, looking up wide-eyed.
“No one knows,” Frank said. “He’s alive, he’s being fed, eventually he’ll be able to serve: that’s all that counts.”
“How can we see him?” Lisa asked. Frank glanced at her painfully and shrugged.
“Sit down, Frank,” said Jeanne. “I’ll go get you something to eat.”
“It’s too late,” said Sky. “They’re closed up for the night. You’ve got to get here early.” He turned to grin up at Frank, who merely walked around the end of the table and came over to Jeanne. “You okay?” he asked, after a cold glance at Sky.
“I’m tired,” she said. “I’d like you to meet the woman I worked with most of the afternoon. This is Katya. Katya, this is Frank.”
“Glad to meet you,” he said.
“You own the trimaran, right?” Katya asked immediately.
“Yeah, I do. How’d you know?”
“Jeanne’s been telling me her adventures,” Katya replied. “If you decide to sail again, I’d like to join you.”
“I’m afraid I don’t think we’re going to be sailing.”
“You plan to stay here?”
“It seems that way,” said Frank neutrally.
“I’m getting out of here if I have to crawl,” said Katya, her eyes again seeming to flash angrily.
Lisa and Skip had gotten up by now, and Skip was pulling his mother’s hand to lead her away. As they started to leave, Sky looked up at them glowy-eyed and grinned.
“Never knock a place that serves free food,” he said.
The two U.S. Navy ships moored to the deepwater pilings in the turning basin had both been disabled on the first day of the war. The larger of the two, a destroyer, looked like it had felt the effects of a not-too-distant nuclear blast. Its paint was blistered, portholes shattered, struts and rigging broken. The second, a subchaser about two-thirds the size of the destroyer, was less visibly damaged, but it was listing to port like an old man with a bad back. Two Navy men, a petty officer and his messenger, stopped Neil at the gate. Both wore sidearms.
“Captain Neil Loken reporting for duty,” Neil said.
The petty officer eyed him skeptically. Neil was still dressed in his jeans and boat shoes.
“You have a pass, captain?” the petty officer asked.
“I’ve got nothing,” Neil replied. “All my papers were destroyed in Washington. Let me speak to the officer of the deck.”
“You say you’re reporting for duty?”
“That’s right.”
“Where’s your regular unit?”
Neil shook his head.
“I’m presently unassigned,” he answered. “Let me speak to your duty officer.”
The petty officer stared a moment longer at Neil and then went back into a small makeshift guardhouse and spoke into a walkie-talkie. When he came out, he said to the other sentry, “Take this guy… Captain Loken… to Lieutenant Margolis.”
Neil was then forced to precede the guard across the open dockyard area to the boarding ladder of the subchaser, the Haig. It felt strange to be boarding a combat vessel in jeans and a T-shirt rather than regulation Navy attire. The ship seemed to be in good order, and the sentry, as was proper, turned him over to the petty officer on watch, who walked Neil briskly forward. The officer of the deck, Lieutenant Margolis, was on the foredeck supervising the unloading of munitions from the large forward hatch.
“What is it, Mr. Haynes?” he asked. Lieutenant Margolis, a slight, pinch-faced man, looked at Neil with distaste.
“This man asked to speak to you, sir. He says he’s reporting for duty.”
“He does, huh?” Margolis said. “Well, sailor,” he went on, turning to Neil. “What’s your story? Where have you been for the last five days?”
“I’m Captain Neil Loken,” Neil replied. “Annapolis, Class of 1971. I just got in from sea. I want to be of service.”