Wednesday, June 8, 2011

Trouble! ~ Johanna (Sorry for not posting on time!)

               Klara has Scurvy! That is a sickness you get from not getting enough fruits and vegetables, I think. No wonder, though! We have only bread and water, plus some soup to dip the bread in. Smells of glorious different foods drift down from the upper deck. One time, a boy from our deck snuck up there to steal a cabbage. Delicious it was too! Anyways, besides stealing food, there was no way to help Klara. I'm pretty sure no one here is a thief, though Annieke taught me how to pickpocket.
              Sneaking upstairs, I could see the light filtering down the door window. So close, I thought, yet so far. Suddenly, voices boomed down as the captain and a sailor shuffled down the stairs in front of me. I held my breath, squishing against the wooden wall, as the men walked closer and closer.
          "Do you hear that?" the sailor questioned, as he stopped directly in front of me. I was nearly out of breath, needing to gasp for air.
          "Hear what?" the captain replied, his breath stinking of gin.
           " Must be the waves. Could've  sworn I heard a mouse or something." answered the sailor, though he spoke German, he had the most distinct Cockney accent. The two men quickly walked off, to the second-class floor. After they had gone, I rushed up the stairs, my heart beating like a jackhammer. I opened the door, slithering through the crack that released the burning June sun into the dark hall. 
            On the first-class deck, fancy clothed women danced to their well-groomed husbands, while children in expensive suits and dresses ran around and played. I spotted a food table that was over-flowed with fruits and vegetables and delicacies so fancy that I, a young girl from a small, poor country village, had never even heard of. I hung my head, so no one could see my face, as I scuttled towards the buffet table. Just as I reached out to steal an orange, a girl's hand shot out and gripped my arm. I looked up, my clouded blue eyes into her brisk ones, her hair an angelically white blond ringlets, my dusty, caramel hair in straight, pained tangles.
         "What are you doing here?" jingled her soft feminine voice in perfect Swedish.
          " A child, a toddler, in my cabin, has Scurvy. They feed us only bread with vinegar for every meal. Please, please, PLEASE don't turn me in." creaked a voice in the back of my throat, dirty, and stinking of sickness. The girl stared, just stared. A crumble of worry embedded itself inside her brow. Slowly reaching out, she grabbed apples, tomatoes, oranges, peaches, pineapples, whatever fruits she could hold in the silk blue skirt of her long dress. She nodded, and I gathered fruits into my gray tunic that cut off just above the knees of my tattered old jeans. We bolted downstairs, into the steerage deck, looking out for sailors or guards.
         When we finally got to my cabin, she and I plopped the food on the floor, letting it roll to Klara, her skin paler than ever. The girl retreated upstairs, after promising to try to bring food every day.
              It is late, and I am tired.

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