pen on its flat end.
They continue to be separated for most of the evening, which creeps along glacially. Gnüss sorts glassware for storage upon landing, and Meinert lends a hand back at the engine gondolas, helping record fuel consumption. The time seems out of joint, and Gnüss finally figures out why: a prankster has set the clock in the bar back, to extend the length of the celebration.
On third watch he takes a break. He goes below and stops by the crewâs quarters. No luck. He listens in on a discussion of suitable first names for children conceived aloft in a zeppelin. The consensus favors Shelium, if a girl.
Someone asks if heâs seen Meinert. Startled, he eyes the questioner. Apparently the captainâs looking for him. Two machinists exchange looks.
Has Gnüss seen him or not? the questioner wants to know. He realizes he hasnât answered. The whole room has taken note of his paralysis. He says he hasnât, and excuses himself.
He finds Meinert on the catwalk heading aft. Relief and anger and frustration swarm the cockleshell of his head. His frontal lobe is in tumult. Before he can speak Meinert tells him to keep his voice down, and that the party may be over. What does
that
mean? Gnüss wants to know. His friend doesnât answer.
They go hunting for privacy without success. A crossbrace near the bottom of the tail supports a card game.
On the way back forward, theyâre confronted by their two room-mates, Egk and Thoolen, who block the catwalk as though theyâve formed an alliance. Perhaps they feel neglected. âDo you two
ever
separate?â Egk asks. âNight and day I see you together.â Thoolen nods unpleasantly. One is Hamburg at its most insolent, the other Bremerhaven at its foggiest. âShut up, you fat bellhop,â Meinert says.
They roughly squeeze past, and Egk and Thoolen watch them go.
âIâm so in love!â
Egk sings out. Thoolen laughs.
Gnüss follows his friend in silence until they reach the ladder down to B deck. Itâs a busy hub. Crew members come and go briskly. Meinert hesitates. He seems absorbed in a recessed light fixture. It breaks Gnüssâs heart to see that much sadness in the contours of his preoccupation.
âWhat do you mean: the party may be over?â Gnüss demands quietly.
âPruss wants to see me. He says for disciplinary matters. After that, you know as much as I,â Meinert says.
The radio officer and the shipâs doctor pass through the corridor at the bottom of the stairs, glancing up as they go, without stopping their quiet conversation.
When Gnüss is unable to respond, Meinert adds, âMaybe he just wants me to police up my uniform.â
At a loss, Gnüss finally puts a hand on Meinertâs arm. Meinert smiles, and whispers,
âYou are the most important thing in the
world right now.â
The unexpectedness of it brings tears to Gnüssâs eyes. Meinert murmurs that he needs to get into his dining room whites. Itâs nearly time to serve the third breakfast. Theyâve served two luncheons, two dinners, and now three breakfasts.
They descend the stairs together. Gnüss is already dressed and so gives his friend another squeeze on the arm and tells him not to worry, and then goes straight to the galley. His eyes still bleary with tears, he loads linen napkins into the dumbwaiter. Anxiety is like a whirling pillar in his chest. He remembers another of Meinertâs war stories, one whispered to him in the early morning after theyâd first spent the night together. Theyâd soaked each other and the bed linens with love and then had collapsed. He woke to words in his ear, and at first thought his bedmate was talking in his sleep. The story concerned Meinertâs captain after a disastrous raid one moonless night over the Channel. Meinert had been at his post in the control car. The captain had started talking to himself. Heâd said