Comes the Quiet

“Of course we’re all going to die” shouted the stout black-haired man in the top-hat to the priest on the Bridge Deck of the Titanic as it pulled loose its moorings at Queenstown, Ireland April 14, 1912. But Jack Sullivan wasn’t interested in idle conversation at all. He was looking over his shoulder as the dock slowly receded from sight. Only then did he exhale and lean into the railing, fairly certain he had evaded capture.

People passed him excitedly, most of them first class passengers, including a pious looking older lady with a white parasol who exclaimed to her companion “DO look at the diamond buckles on my slippers, darling. They are the absolute most contemporary in fashion...” And she was swept into the crowd. And so it was for Jack Sullivan, alone at last in a mass of fragmented over-heard snippets of conversation; some here, some there, some right on top of him.

“My love, I am just over the moon about starting anew in New York.” Said the wispy golden haired girl with periwinkle eyes. “Just imagine” she gushed, “The Park House! You and I and all the babies we shall have to fill it!” She was alive with excitement.

Her male companion shrugged, then replied without expression “We are spinning our own fates, good or evil , and never to be undone.”

Her smile quickly faded. “Well that’s rather dreary, Arthur.” She scowled.

“But isn’t it true?” Arthur inquired. He waved his hands in the air. “Going across the world as we are. I can’t help but think my father was right. The world is moving too fast these days. Perhaps we should have stayed with our families rather than joining the more modern world?”

“Indeed,” thought Jack as he meandered away. He found a corner of the deck where there were fewer people, and he huddled against the cold. He hadn’t killed the man in Dublin for his heavy wool coat but he was grateful to have it. He was filled with a sickening feeling that stalled just shy of remorse as he thought about what he had done. But there was no un-doing it. He just had to get to New York and put it far behind him.

A shadow approached from his left and Jack was not happy to see the woman “Mrs. Rice” who he had met on the dock with a handful of her vagabond children. She had given him a gold watch for the use of his name so that her and the children would appear to have a husband and father and might go un-accosted in their 3rd class bunk. He held up a hand to signal that he was not interested in exchanging words with her. She looked down slightly and in a near whisper, impossible to hear in the wind, said “Thank you” and then walked away. He felt the gold watch, warm in his pocket and was struck with a pang of guilt for taking the only thing of value that the woman had. He knew his own fate was sealed and he would do whatever it may take to sail into the future.

There were young lovers, gushing their unrestrained affections. A portly man with a ruddy face and a permanent scowl. Children unfurling colorful ribbons on the breeze and squealing in delight as the ribbons whipped around. Dress hems caught by the gusts; flyaway hats, and young men with hands in pockets, leaning at the rails as though they may catch sight of mermaids below.

Jack waited for hours, until the deck was nearly emptied of others. He pulled the gold watch from his pocket and stole a glance at the time. It was near 10:00 p.m. when at last he saw the man approaching him. The one he had been waiting for. The one with the pitted complexion and auburn mustache covering his mouth. Edmund O’Connor. They had met at the Horse Head Pub in Dublin some months back and had ended up striking up an unusual business proposition over a couple of pints on a late and rainy evening when the winter equinox was nigh and the pipe smoke was so dense you could carve your name in it.

Edmund extended a meaty hand to Jack, staring at the woolen coat he wore, and said “Ye boy. The job is done then?”

Jack winced ever slightly and nodded in affirmation.

“Come here to me.” Edmund said. “It is the right thing.” He patted Jack’s shoulder.

“Look around you. All is well and all are happy. This is the future, right in front of our eyes. Those that oppose this; well, they would be stopped. If not by you, then by others.”

Jack looked at Edmund, extending a hand and said “My pay?”

“Of course your pay. But first, I must show you....” he trailed off.

Edmund led Jack by the sleeve across the deck and into the ship with its richly carved wooden rails hugging palatial staircases, luxuriant rugs covering tiled floors with inlaid black medallions, cathedral like ceilings and furniture that looked lifted from Buckingham Palace.

In his 38 years, Jack had never seen the likes of it.

Edmund laughed “Ah, she’s beautiful, is she not? But this is just her face. Come.”

And they descended further into the gallery of opulence.

They approached a corridor and were alone there. Edmund walked slowly and said “This is what I want you to see, my boy. I want you to see how you have saved the future.”

This made no sense to Jack, nor did it appease his conscience in the matter.

Edmund, as if reading his thoughts, stopped outside a door and said “Murphy was against this. He was thick in his thinking. He was a fool. He thought it better we all live and die on the family farm and venture no further than the village. He was coming here to destroy what Marconi and others have brought to life.”

And with that, he smiled radiantly and thrust open the door.

They walked into a hurricane of activity in the tiny room, and all of Jacks senses were assaulted at once. Two young men were lost in a rapid flurry of diversion with wires draped everywhere, papers flying about, drawers half opened, and a paper bin spilling onto the floor. The light from the ceiling was bright as the midday sun and amidst the chaos of wood and white, Jack noticed an enormous red apple on one desk, being tossed to and fro by the frenetic activity in the room.

The room was heady with the smell of sweat and sweet and leather, like un-eaten birthday cake hidden under an over used chair. A cacophony of clicks and buzzes, bangs and slams and shuffling of things intermingled with the voices of the men, filling every molecule of ear-space.

They looked wild eyed, possessed. Yet they looked happy. Intoxicated by the distraction of this buzz-saw of enterprise and interconnectedness. Jack realized that it was a switchboard of sorts and these men were communicating with seemingly dozens of people at once.

Edmund loudly cleared his throat and one of the men turned around, as if coming out of a trance. He ran his fingers through his sweat soaked hair and looked at Jack. He was a young man with a handsome face and kind eyes. He exhaled forcefully and said “We have so much to do, we can’t keep up but it’s wonderful. Welcome to the Titanic!” He lit up with a grin while the other man worked on, oblivious to Jack and Edmund.

Edmund boastfully announced to Jack that they were standing in the Marconi room. The radio room. Where technology was so advanced that communication was possible for up to 2,000 miles at night. Hundreds and hundreds of passengers were sending messages around the world via this system, without lifting a finger.

The kind faced young man in front of them excitedly explained that he had just been communicating with someone in New York about an upcoming poker game. “Can you believe it? We have come this far! We are exhausted, but happy.”

Jack saw Edmund gazing at something, then noticed the plaque on the wall above the young mans shoulder:

“For after the Battle comes quiet.”

― H.G. Wells, The Time Machine

Edmund spoke. “H.G. Wells is wonderful. He saw it all, didn’t he? And indeed, you shall rest, but for now, you are a part of this unbelievable magic, which no-one can stop!” At this, he winked at Jack, who glanced at the enormous and audibly ticking clock on the wall: 1130 p.m.

“Dammit!” The man at the switchboard exclaimed loudly, then turned to his co-worker.

“Arse holes they are. The SS Californian interrupted me to say there is ice ahead. Rubbish! I have messages to send!”

The young man in front of Jack just smiled. “What did you tell them?”

“I told them to shut up!”

They both erupted in laughter.

“I must return to work” said the younger of the two men. “I must return to the androides” he said, still laughing.

Jack looked at Edmund quizzically.

Edmund explained the term “It’s like an artificial human, the androides. Just beautiful.”

And then, the bump.

The apple rolled to the floor.

Jack extended his hand to Edmund.

“Yes!” Edmund exclaimed, and reached into his pocket and retrieved a wad of bills, which he placed in Jacks palm. “To the expansion of the future. And to this marvelous ship of dreams.” And he let go of the money.

And then the second bump.

Silence fell upon the room, but the men were not alarmed. The two at the desk were so engrossed in their tasks that they barely registered the bumps. They existed in another world. The world that would be the future. The world of disconnect, of pushing buttons, connecting to people not actually there; the world of utopian dreams. The world of H.G. Wells.

Jack placed the money next to the watch in his pocket, then leaned back and closed his eyes.