Before You

He wasn't even supposed to be on that ship.

...or maybe he was.

The more that I think about it, about him, the fonder and more hurtful the memories become. But I don't resent or regret them. Not a single one. When I left home, little had I known I would feel this way.

I had traveled a long way to Cherbourg from Nice with my family—my Maman and my two little brothers, eight and five. Maman's tuberculosis was getting worse, and Papa believed that a warmer climate would help her. He had made enough money to send the four of us to northern Florida in the United States.

Papa stayed behind to take care of his own mother, my Mémère. Before leaving for Cherbourg, he reminded me that I was a man, and to watch over Maman, Pierre, and Louis. I didn’t know how I was going to do that; nor could I express that to him. I didn’t know how to do much except work with my hands.

I was born a mute after all.

It was evening when we arrived to Cherbourg. Very crowded with people saying goodbye to their loved ones and boarding the ship.

That ship—the Titanic—what a sight it had been. So beautiful, majestic, and something crafted straight out of a storybook. I couldn’t believe that it was even real. It was the most gorgeous thing I had ever seen, and I wouldn't have stopped staring at it if it weren't for Maman nudging me.

This vessel would become where several stories were made.

Pierre and Louis were visibly excited—pointing and laughing as they each held Maman’s hand upon boarding the ship. Carrying our luggage, I followed them—all the way to our cabin where we would be resting on our journey toward a new beginning.

We had been fortunate enough to stay in the second class space. Maman had been a schoolteacher and Papa an engineer. Using his charm and smooth-talking skills that he had as a previous salesman, he was able to convince the agency to get us second class tickets.

Of course my poor Maman had to hide her sickness as best she could. Fortunately, she didn’t have many symptoms except for losing a bit of weight and some coughs here and there. Ironically, that was the scarier part because it was hard to tell when she was feeling better or worse.

Onboard, I felt out of place. I already felt out of place with my family. Pierre and Louis were little and carefree—they liked to play with the animals on Mémère's farm. They already knew how to tend to them while I never took an interest in farming, despite helping out where I could. I assisted Papa in building and designing things where I could, and most of all—I tended to Maman.

However, day after day, I felt more and more helpless around her. I suppose that was the only reason why I looked forward to arriving to America—in hopes that she really would get better.

Papa had already told me many times that, as a man, I shouldn’t feel so sentimental about this, and that I should get my head on straight. Sixteen was too old to be feeling without doing.

I was almost seventeen, and already failing him and my family in so many ways. It had created a well of despair inside of me.

So I promised to do what I could for Maman…even if the Titanic did appear to make my problems that much grander, regardless of its beauty. It was like an ominous presence, reminding me that although everything seemed pristine, it all really wasn’t.

Our cabin was bigger than I imagined it would be. When I thought of sleeping arrangements on a ship, I usually imagined a tight space with perhaps one bunk bed and a tiny drawer—a space where my family and I could barely fit. This room had two sets of bunk beds, two washbasins, and a curtained off area where the sofa was. We had enough space to move around, and my brothers could even play if they wanted. I was happy for Maman. She smiled upon seeing it, and made herself comfortable on the sofa within minutes.

I remember telling her that I was going to go explore as the ship started to set sail away from Cherbourg. Before I exited, I paused, and—as always—she knew what that pause meant.

“Go, go, Basti,” she said with a wave of her hand. “I will be okay with your brothers.”

My hands moved to sign the question: ‘Are you sure?’

She signed in return while also speaking her words. “Yes, of course. I have my book. Go and find something you like. Perhaps you’ll even meet a nice girl.”

She had smiled at me while I could only clear my throat. I never wanted to disappoint her, so that was a subject I liked to avoid or quickly change. I signed my response to her. ‘I’ll be back before bedtime.’

“Enjoy yourself, Basti. Maybe you can guide us around in the morning. I want to see how much more beautiful Le Titanic is beneath the sunlight.”

I recall warming up upon hearing her say that. When Maman fell in love with something, one could hear it in her tone and see it on her face. Even with her sickness, she only focused on beauty and joy…

…regardless if everything else seemed dreary or dismal.

I walked my way along the deck, unable to help myself in glancing around at the other passengers that were staying on the same level. I saw a couple clergymen, a number of solo passengers, but not too many families. I assumed the majority of them were still getting situated or were on another level. I had felt silly when a young lady asked me where I had been traveling from because I couldn’t exactly answer her. As most other people did, she found me to be rude or stupid, so she turned away.

None of that mattered to me when I reached the ship’s deck. My eyes gazed out at the waves forming behind the vessel as we left Cherbourg and my home country. I could still see the faint images of people waving to the ship.

Though many others were around me, I paid no attention to them for my vision was fixated on the awe and nervousness I felt at my situation. The farther that the ship sailed away, the smaller the city became…

…making my permanent departure from it that much more real and palpable.

My heart raced at the thought, and I felt a stinging sensation in my left eye. Water clouded my sight, which caused me to rub it quickly to stop any more moisture from forming. Men couldn’t cry, right?

Well…that was at least what Papa told me since I was no longer a boy.

My chest started hurting at how much faster my heartbeat became. My dogs, my clay figurines, my piano, my neighbors, my schoolmates, my memories—all of them were left behind…becoming an infinitesimal speck along the evening’s horizon.

It wasn’t like I hadn’t thought of all of that before. I did. But now I knew I couldn’t just think about it because it was actually happening.

I could have sworn that I heard someone asking me if something was wrong or if I was okay. I nodded to nobody in particular, and set off to return inside the ship. Maybe rejoining my family would ease my mind and dull away the hole that was growing bigger in my heart.

No, I probably couldn’t even do that. Maman would just go on, urging me to go back out and explore and try to communicate with others—saying that there definitely had to be somebody who knew sign language as well. Then Pierre and Louis would want to join me…and I didn’t want them to witness me wallowing in my own thoughts.

As I turned and began to weave my way through the throng of people, I heard a sound from the small staircase that led to an upper level where I saw lights glittering and shining from a couple windows. It was a sound that pierced through the air and over the voices that surrounded me.

A sorrowful, tender note from a violin. A note that followed that one. Then another and another until a flowing melody formed.

Though the violin was joined by a cello, my ears captured only the violin’s message, though no words were spoken. I followed the tune and made my way partway up the staircase until…

…I saw him.

Standing slender and graceful stood a dark-haired man with a violin at his shoulder. His eyes had been closed, the music clearly speaking for him. The ocean’s breeze blew through the loose hair strands along his forehead, creating an extra layer to the symphony that he was creating. It created an aura about him that I couldn’t explain in words, but that I could feel.

Everything about his presence was perfection in my eyes.

Alexandre Desvernine was his name. Not that I knew that then, but I would certainly learn it sooner than later on my voyage.

He had stopped playing, opening his eyes to glance toward an older man beside him—a man with a cello.

“I think we should start a little differently,” I heard the gray-bearded man utter. “Tomorrow is the birthday of one of the socialites, and they want us there early in the morning.”

“Differently how?” Alexandre asked. “I played exactly as it was written.”

“You added a little too much. Here…let’s go find and join the others. We haven’t much time to practice.”

They said more as they made their way inside the vessel, and after standing motionless on the staircase for as long as I had, I was surprised and relieved that they hadn’t noticed me. My hand gripped more tightly onto the railing as I replayed Alexandre’s music in my head over and over again. And his voice—by his accent, I could tell that he was Belgian. I mentally replayed his song, his words, his measured cadences. The gloomy thoughts I had earlier had all but disappeared.

The message he conveyed on the violin: it spoke to me that night.

It was also what commenced my own journey aboard the Titanic.

The next morning, I spent my time in the library, reading about the ship herself, the amenities, the structure. I made it my business to learn more about the famous people onboard and especially about the musicians. Though the latter played for those on the upper levels, they did not stay there. They stayed in second class like my family did, which made it all the better for me.

Maman had seemed joyed that I was already finding morning activities to do. I had made her some tea, given her some medicine, and escorted my brothers to the playroom before taking off again during lunch hour. My mother wanted to be alone, and had waited until the ship arrived in Queenstown to exit and view the harbor.

Meanwhile, I had used our second stop to search the deck where the musicians stayed. Most people were indeed enjoying their lunch while others chose to gaze out to the Queenstown passengers and families as my mother did. In retrospect, I feel bad for leaving her alone, even if she wanted to be. I was just on a search of my own, and I needed to know what it was that I was looking to find.

I soon saw Alexandre sitting at the corner of one of the tables with a couple sitting some seats away from him. The sight of him caused me to stop in my tracks almost immediately, my breath softly hitching as well. He appeared to be in some sort of thought as he sipped his water over a plate of nearly untouched corned beef and vegetables.

What was he thinking about? I remembered wondering. Why did he look so pensive? And why was he alone?

I nipped at my bottom lip and pulled out a sheet of paper that I had torn from my notebook earlier. I leaned over the end of one of the dining tables, scribbling away as neatly and as quickly as I could. When I glanced up again, I noticed that Alexandre had gotten up to address the couple at his table who appeared to recognize him. I used that moment to fold up the sheet of paper and smoothly dash by his table to drop off the note by his plate.

Once again, I hadn’t been noticed by him.

I stood near the dining room’s exit, watching as Alexandre finished up his conversation to return to his seat. When he noticed the paper, I saw him pause before unfolding it. What he read was:

‘I hope your performance for the socialite’s birthday went well. You played beautifully last night.’

Alexandre had slightly lowered the paper, looking around afterward, probably wondering who could have left that note so quickly and unnoticed. The expression on his face had softened though—softened from the heaviness I saw earlier.

And before he might have a chance to glance toward the exit, I vanished.

Later that day, I had dinner with my family. I had already prepared my next note in case I caught sight of that mesmerizing violinist again. For all I know, he could be performing with his group on the first class level. I had a strong feeling that I wouldn’t see him that night.

And I had been right.

Maman knew that my mind was preoccupied. She had looked at me from across the table. “Basti, what are you thinking about? Are you finally excited to go to America? You’re looking different today than you did last night.”

I signed my answer to her: ‘The ship is even bigger when you’re on it. So much to do and find here.’

She smiled. “Good. I hope you find more during the rest of the days that we’re here. I was afraid that you’d get easily bored.”

As a matter of fact, I was afraid of the same thing. In fact, I had expected it. But that changed as soon as I heard the music that spoke to a part of that I hadn’t even known existed yet.

That night, I hadn’t seen Alexandre.

But I did see him the next morning at breakfast where he and the other musicians surprisingly gave a performance for the second class passengers. It was lovely, and apparently I hadn’t been the only one to think so. Plenty of people personally complimented the performers, some even praising Alexandre for his exceptional skill. A few ladies had blushed under his gaze, and at the time, I didn’t know why that had caused a pang in my chest.

Still, I had successfully delivered another note. This time it read:

‘I loved the show you put on today. It might seem strange, but I heard and felt the elements of water and air speaking through your instrument as though you’re expressing to be as free and changing as them.

If you want to respond to this sender, you can leave me your own note in the library on the table by the globe.’

It was my only chance to potentially communicate with him. As he glanced over the note, he must have wondered why this mystery person simply didn’t show up and talk to him. It had to be why he glimpsed about the dining room again, right? This time, I could discern a distant smile in his eyes accompanied by curiosity.

Perhaps it was my nervousness. Maybe it was my desire not to look like a complete fool in front of him. Whatever the case, I couldn’t just approach him. That little smile would have just faded from him, no? And I couldn’t let that happen. That barely registered smile of his had already given me some semblance of contentment…

…and I have never forgotten it.

What happened later that day caused my contentment to rise. I had gone to the library and found a folded letter placed not too far from the globe. In my own rush of excitement, I hurriedly unfolded it and read what it had to say.

‘Dear Mystical Listener:

I may not know who you are, but your brief and kind words have resounded with me. They are more than mere compliments because it seems that you have heard the musical translations behind all the glamour. My name is Alexandre Desvernine. I am from a small town in Belgium named Crupet. I was fortunate enough to attend music school where I met Monsieur Georges who was registered to perform aboard the Titanic. I don’t know why I am telling you this. Probably because no one else knows that about me. I am the only one left with my story, and it appears that you have heard some of it already.

Thank you for your thoughts. I will be performing in the upper levels tonight. I hope that your journey is as perfect as your ears are.’

At the bottom was his signature and his room number.

I wasn’t able to describe the quicker heart palpitations that I had, but they were different from what occurred to me on the first night when I was watching my home fade away. It were as though Alexandre had been right here in front of me speaking these words. I could hear and feel his voice throughout the entire letter. I didn’t know what was happening or why my face burned or why my hands shook, but I wasn’t in any sort of despair.

I was joyful with anticipation.

I left a note with Alexandre’s name on it so that he knew it was for him. I placed it between the doorframe and the door to his room before skidding off to meet with Maman and my brothers. It was where I spent the rest of my day, and my mother clearly saw my uplifted mood and my eagerness to ensure her well-being.

I had even started crafting something out of clay—all into the shape of a horse figurine. I had spent most of the night and early morning working on it. I hadn’t crafted anything with this much enthusiasm in quite some time for I had previously grown bored with the hobby. Now I had a reason to return to it.

Partway through my project, I took a break to go to the library before the afternoon hit. My curious brother Pierre—the older one—had spoken to be before I stepped out.

“And where are you off to again, Sébastien? I’ve never seen you leave home this many times.”

I signed to him: ‘I’ve done everything there is to do at home.’

“And you haven’t done everything already on the smaller space on this ship? Where are you going this time? I want to go too!”

“Me too!” Louis shouted from the sofa.

“Now now, mes petits, leave your brother alone,” Maman said from her seated position beside Louis. “He is off to see a mademoiselle.” She smiled before facing me. “Aren’t you, my sweet Basti?”

I swallowed and cleared my throat lightly. I knew I wouldn’t be able to explain to her, much less my brothers, but I loved so much to see her happy and smiling instead of coughing and pale. It was why I cracked the faintest of smiles before signing: ‘You embarrass me, Maman!’

She giggled then. “Go on, go on. Just make sure to express how you feel. We haven’t gone much longer on this ship, you know.”

My heart swelled then before I nodded and replied: ‘Oui, Maman.’

I exited and made my way to the library where my breath hitched in my throat at the sight of another folded letter by the globe. Yesterday, I had left Alexandre a note that explained my adoration for Nature’s music and its various conductors—how I enjoyed spending my time listening in solitude while I was back home. I had thought about leaving my name at the bottom, but…uncertainty and second thoughts had taken over me.

Sébastien wouldn’t mean the same as Sébastienne, right?

Nevertheless, I unfolded the letter that read:

‘You speak about subjects that have always been after my own heart. I would like to get to know you and find out who is the one behind these wonderful words. Please meet me on the second level of the aft wall deck during tea time.’

I swallowed lightly after reading that. Lord knew that I’d love to meet this musician and hear him speak not just on parchment, but in actual words—in that flowing voice of his. I wanted so very much to communicate with him in person, but how could I? Exchanging notes the whole time? Watching him try to decipher my nervous hand signs?

No, no. The thought of it was dreadful, and I wasn’t brave enough to do that. I lacked that courage that my father told me to have with my family aboard this ship.

So instead, I returned to my family’s quarters where I resumed to working on my clay horse. Maman must have taken my brothers out for fresh air since they weren’t in the room. That gave me time to place more focus and energy into my design.

I finished a little after tea time, setting the horse outside of Alexandre’s door with no note attached this round. I was too afraid I suppose—afraid to express in words what I wanted to say—the chaos of all my thoughts.

I did arrive on the outside deck however. I blended in with the other people around me, even as I went to the second level where I saw Alexandre standing by the side railing, gazing out into the ocean a small distance away from me. After a moment, I witnessed him searching around his area, seeming to hope that someone appeared and exchanged glances with him in approaching. What I also noticed was that he particularly glimpsed among the women, not seeming to give much attention to the gentlemen who passed.

I couldn’t explain that second time that I felt that pang in my chest.

The thing was that I did end up coming back here with the intention to meet him at last. I did end up mustering up the courage after further exchanges of letters—after he saw the horse that I had left him—after Maman’s happiness grew into my own—after I heard his beautifully bittersweet music again.

But upon the Titanic—the supposed Ship of Dreams—it appeared to crush my own and those of so many people. And it was during that crushing where Alexandre displayed his true selfless magic with his music, teaching me what true courage and strength were.

And the night before that is where I continue my story…