Ilija Trojanow - The Lamentations of Zeno

THERES NO WORSE nightmare than no longer being able to save yourself by waking up.

Whenever we set sail from Ushuaia, we gather the evening before in one of the local dives thats a little ways uphill and off the main streets, just when the last band of light is slipping from the sky. We havent seen one another for half a year, so were in the mood to celebrate as we crowd around a long wooden table. The man waiting on us is old, and judging by his face not very adventurous, although at one parting he confessed to me that he was getting along well apart from an occasional urge to puncture his hand with a knife. His place doesnt have much on offer, but hell fill your glass for very little and Im content to sit here holding my drink, surrounded by the hardworking Filipinos that make up most of the crew, now smiling broadly at our reunion. Every payday brings them closer to settling down to a home and the sheltering shade of a large family, and so they soldier on, slogging through their working days with an astounding ease. For me they will always be an enigma. Ushuaia is incapable of dampening their mood, as is any echo of the butchery, any painful reminder of the pasttheir ears are simply not tuned to that frequency, that legacy belongs to Europeans, those are the scars of the white man. They drift through this place just as they do through all the other places that have been defiled, all our ports of call (what a pretentious phrase from some liturgy of advertising), seeming not to touch the ground when they go ashore. That is what separates us, we have no common past: what paralyzes me seems to fill them with life. Apart from that, theyre easy to handle, as our onboard hotel manager never tires of repeating (by which he means: much better than the unruly Chinese), as if he had personally trained them to be so diligent so patient so tame. The Filipinos zeal would bother me were it not for Paulina, who at this moment is probably busy giving a personal touch to our shared cabin, equipping it with artificial flowers and photographs depicting an entire menagerie of relativesthe numerous grandmothers perched in front on dilapidated rattan armchairs dragged into the garden just for the occasion, and standing behind them all the daughters and sons, loyal to a man except for the one who ran off and is rumored to be chopping vegetables in a New York restaurant. I raise my glass to Paulinas countrymenmechanics, cooks, pilotsand to Ricardo, our dining room manager, as unobtrusive as a shrink-wrapped suitcase, but watch out, his true power will be revealed during the course of the trip, every passenger will get to know him and a few will appreciate him (Howzit going, Mr. Iceberger? he says, giving me a thumbs-up, always concerned to clear potential misunderstandings out of the way before they happen). Its a sight for the gods, the way the millionaires from the northern hemisphere line up in front of his desk, eagerly bowing as they slip him an envelope to thank him for the coveted starboard table with a box-seat view of ice floes and leopard seals. My recent years at sea have taught me that rich people are prepared to pay considerable sums for little privileges. That sets them apart from the masses, feeds Ricardos confidence, and finances the expansion of his guesthouse in Romblon. Hes no more interested in fur seals, leopard seals or penguins than he is in glaciers or icebergs, but he takes advantage of every scenic opportunityWhat a view, fantastic, fantastic, please take your seats,as he parades his teeth in a broad grin. Im sure hed squeeze in just as many fantastics in front of a garbage depot as long as there were people willing to pay for a premium seat. All he really cares about is whether something is sellable or not. Whenever were all together he flirts with the blonde whale lady now sitting to his left, always resorting to the same lines, which he polishes like a fingernail, You know some day Im going to sit in on your lecture, I mean it, I really want to learn all about these fish, now that Ive watched them from the restaurant and seen them spouting, they really are very beautiful creaturesbut when it comes to the beautiful Beate he has a hard time understanding why she prefers whales to people, which is why hes going to sit in the first row during one of her next lectures and write down every single word she says. He promises this before every trip, when were gathered at the long wooden table thats pitted and scored with random dents and notches. This time I mean it, he says, I swear to heavenand the whale lady pinches his arm. She speaks English with a German accent, German with a hint of Spanish, and Spanish with Chilean intonation. Despite his assurances, nothing will come of Ricardos cetacean education. But what he will do for certain at the end of the trip is pass a chefs hat around on behalf of the men in the kitchen, while they line up in front of the curved buffet and perform a song in Tagalog that sounds like the Hymn to the Unknown Server and is always received with thunderous applause.