Eight standays out of Neris I began to synchronize with the rhythm of being underway. My days while in port had not prepared me for life with a full crew and the leisurely pace I had become accustomed to evaporated. Meals became more elaborate, serving lines grew, and clean up took exponentially longer. In addition, sandwiches and snacks in the self-service coolers disappeared at an alarming rate now that more than just late watch standers came to the galley throughout the night.
Mornings were the hardest because we started early. Pip and I now woke at 04:30 to prepare breakfast and help with bread preparations. We managed the biscuits and even did some of the batches of tortillas, pitas, and other unleavened breads for lunch. But Cookie was responsible for all the yeast varieties. We had a wide selection, made fresh daily. We usually had rolls or crusty loaves for dinner and long, square loaves were required for sandwiches.
Breakfast clean up often took until mid morning and segued smoothly into lunch. Most days, we got a couple of stans off in the afternoon before setting up for dinner. Pip and I alternated evening clean up so every other night one of us had a short shift. I found myself looking forward to these quiet times when I had the galley to myself.
I learned a great deal from watching Cookie, and became fascinated with how he could take the same basic ingredients and yet made something different time and time again. While Pip might have seen Cookie as a taskmaster, I began to admire him as an artist-the unquestioned maestro of the galley.
My own skill with the coffee turned me into a kind of celebrity. After seeing just how much of the brew the crew consumed when everyone was aboard, it made Cookie’s words about it being the lifeblood of the ship make more sense. Still, I knew most people only from seeing them in serving lines. A mess deck attendant is not terribly high on anybody’s radar-even ones who knew how to brew. Bev, however, turned out to be a good bunkie. After recovering from my initial embarrassment, I discovered she had a wicked sense of humor, which I appreciated most when it wasn’t directed at me.
The coffee urns were an albatross or, perhaps more appropriately, the stone of Sisyphus. Every other stan I had to make more. I learned to grind a full bucket of Arabasti at the start of the shift and measured it into air-tights. That gave me three full pots each morning and seven spares in the chiller. Most days I had to grind a second bucket in the afternoon. While it still wasn’t up to the standard my mother would have insisted on, it was better than that first cup of bitter sludge that Cookie had given me. Just cleaning the containers had made a big difference and I devoted time each day to scrub one of the three urns.
I discovered techniques to minimize clean up time such as keeping the steam tables at the right temperature or lining the serving trays with peel-away whenever we served something sticky. This last trick meant items could go right into the upright san unit without having to be scrubbed by hand. Pip and I alternated sweeping and mopping chores and worked together to clear the mess deck after each meal until we had it down to a science. He showed me how to use the protective gloves, first sprinkling a bit of talc in each, and leaving an inch or so of the cuff folded back to prevent water from running up my arms. The insulation saved my fingers from the scalding water we used for dish washing. Something I counted as a good thing.
As Cookie, Pip, and I began to mesh as a team. I found I could tell the time of day just by what the others were doing. Slowly, I found myself acclimating to the schedule and could stay awake for as much as two or three stans after work before nodding off.
Of course, that brought another problem. There didn’t seem to be anywhere to go except my bunk, the galley, or the mess. I needed to find things to occupy my mind or I would begin wondering how soon before we got where we were going. With only a third of the passage to the jump behind us, I knew that dwelling on are we there yet would lead to no good end. Given that I had signed on for two stanyers, I really needed to find something to do with my time. Cookie found me in this mindset one evening after dinner.
I was wiping down the counter in the galley and he surprised me since he usually spent his evening playing cards with the other senior crew. “Mr. Wang,” he started, but stopped and smiled at me. “Ishmael, you seem to be taking to life aboard very well.”
I smiled back. “To tell the truth, Cookie, I’m not sure how well I’m really doing, but I’m trying. I really need to make this work. I don’t have a lot of options.”
“Yes, Captain Giggone spoke with me. You seem to be adapting to your recent loss.”
His mention of my mother’s death caught me out of the blue and I turned back to the pot I was scrubbing to give myself a tick to regain control. “Thanks. It’s been…” I paused to think, “over a month now. I spent almost three weeks on Neris trying to figure out what to do.”
He patted me on the back. “You’ve done well and landed on your feet after a terrible blow. I’m sure she’d be proud of you.”
I nodded my thanks, not trusting my voice to remain steady. I worked silently for a time.
“What will you do now?”
“Now? I just got here. You’re not planning to put me ashore in Darbat, are you?”
“No, young Ishmael. You misunderstand me. You’re too good to stay at quarter share. I want you to think about going for half share as soon as you can.”
“Will I be able to remain on the ship?”
He pursed his lips and cocked his head in consideration. “Well, you’d probably have to change vessels. The Lois isn’t rated to carry a food handler, but you could switch to another division and stay aboard if a half share berth opens up.” He folded his arms and leaned against the prep table. “I want you to start thinking about those kinds of possibilities.”
“Wait a minute. I’ve been on this ship, what? Ten days?”
He smiled and nodded.
“Pip is in his second stanyer and he’s still at quarter share.”
“But you are not Mr. Carstairs. For you, staying at your current rating would be a waste. You have done more in your ten days than Pip has done in the seven months he’s been aboard. I gave him the same test I gave you and he failed.”
“You didn’t give me a test-” I started to object, but then remembered. “The coffee?”
“Yes.”
“But that’s not fair. My mother was a snob when it came to coffee. She drilled that stuff into me. How was Pip supposed to know?”
“You continue to misunderstand me, Ishmael. It wasn’t that you knew how to fix it. That, I confess, was a happy serendipity. What you did was take responsibility. You showed pride in a job well done and addressed the problems systematically. When you knew the solution, you acted. When you didn’t, you sought help. You’re contributions have made the ship a better place.”
I’m pretty sure I blushed then. “But I don’t know anything. Pip knows how everything works.”
“And he proceeds on the basis that things must always work as they have, despite what his intelligence tells him.” He raised an eyebrow. “Did Pip know the coffee was bad?”
I nodded in reluctant agreement.
“And his advice to you was to keep your head down and your mouth shut, was it not?”
Again, I nodded. “But-”
Cookie smiled and held up his hand to stop me. “But me no buts, Ishmael. Yes, you have knowledge he did not. And he knows things you don’t. The difference is you use yours to help us all. That is what I look for in a shipmate.”
“This is unfair. He’s helped me so much and I don’t want to come in here and leapfrog over him.”
“Then perhaps you can help him in return. You could be a good influence.”