“Je vous remercie tous … I thank you all…. You have performed the impossible tonight … and if it seems that so few have lived, remember that nearly two hundred more would have died, without your help.” They had learned that thirty-nine hundred men had died on the ship.

The passengers and crew worked in shifts, attempting to keep the survivors they had fought so hard to hold on to alive and stave off infections that would cost them limbs and lives. There were men so fever ridden that they were delirious but only two more had died, and many of the problems were under control. The doctors were ready to drop as the trip wore on, as was Liane, but they were still less than halfway there. They had lost more than a day in assisting the men from the Canadian ship, and their zigzag course cost them still more time, but the captain was even more cautious about encountering the Germans now as they made their way to the States.

It was only on the second day after the rescue that Liane was persuaded to go to the first mate's cabin, and there she fell into bed. The girls were somewhere on the ship, crew members had taken them in charge and she knew that they had spent much of their time on the bridge. But she could barely think of that now as she lay down on the narrow bed, and it felt as though she hadn't slept in years as she fell into a deep black pit and slept. And when she woke, the blackout was in force again and the ship was dark. She heard a soft scuffling sound somewhere in the room and sat up in the unfamiliar bed, wondering where she was, and then she heard a familiar voice.

“Are you okay?” It was Nick, and as he approached the bed she could just make out his face, from the moonlight that snuck in through the corners of the windows around the black paint. “You've been asleep for sixteen hours.”

“My God.” She shook her head trying to wake up. She was still wearing the same filthy clothes she had worn for two days, but he looked even worse. “How are the men?”

“Some of them are better.”

“Have we lost any more?”

He shook his head. “Not yet. Hopefully we won't and they'll hang in until they get to shore. A few of them are walking around the ship.” But he was more concerned now with her. She had been amazing in the makeshift operating room. He had seen her each time he had brought another man in. “Do you want something to eat? I brought you a sandwich and a bottle of wine.” But the thought of food made her feel ill. She shook her head and sat up in the bed, patting it for him to sit down.

“I couldn't eat. What about you? Have you had any sleep?”

“Enough.” She saw him smile, and she took a deep breath. What an incredible experience to live through.

“Where are the girls?”

“Asleep in my hammock upstairs on the deck. They're safe there and the officer on watch is keeping an eye on them. They're all wrapped up in blankets. I didn't want them coming down here to wake you.” And then, “Come on, Liane, I want you to eat.” They were all living on reduced rations now with more than three times as many people on board than before the rescue, but the cook was working miracles and everyone was still being fed. The coffee and whiskey were holding out, miraculously, and there was enough for all. He handed her the sandwich then and uncorked the half-full bottle of wine. He pulled a cup from the pocket of the borrowed jacket he wore and poured her some.

“Nick, I can't … I'd throw up.”

“Drink it anyway. But eat the sandwich first.” She took a tentative bite, and felt her stomach contract at the shock of food, but after an initial wave of nausea, she had to admit that it tasted good, as did the first sip of wine. She handed him the cup then and he took a sip too.

“I should get up and see what I can do to help.”

“They've survived this long without you. They'll make it for another hour.”

She smiled at him in the dark, their eyes were accustomed now to the lack of light. “What I wouldn't give for a hot bath!”

“And clean clothes.” He smiled. “Mine are ready to get up and walk away.” And then suddenly they both thought again of the Normandie the year before and they both began to laugh. They laughed until the tears streamed from their eyes. Here, in the first mate's cabin, in the dark, they were far from the nightmare reality of the men who had survived, and it was a relief to think of the absurdity of gala nights and dinners in white tie and tails. “Do you remember all the trunks we brought?” The two collapsed in mirth again; it was laughter born of tension and exhaustion and relief. In torn filthy clothes, on a ship carrying almost three hundred men, including the original passengers and the crew, the Normandie seemed like a ship of fools, with its kennel and promenades and deluxe suites and fumoir and Grand Salon. It had been a lovely ship, but it was a thing of the past, and here they were, sharing a bottle of wine on a narrow bed, wondering if a U-boat would torpedo them within the hour. They both sobered again eventually and Liane watched the shadows on Nick's face in the dark.

“Look at how our lives have changed. It's extraordinary, isn't it?”

“Soon the whole world will change. This is only the beginning. We just got involved in it earlier than most.” His eyes looked deep into hers, and even in the darkness he could feel their pull, and without a second thought he spoke what was on his mind. Who knew, maybe in another hour they'd all be dead and he'd never have another chance. “You're beautiful, Liane. More beautiful than any woman I've ever known … beautiful inside and out. I was so proud of you last night.”

“I think I was able to do it because I knew you were there. I felt your thoughts with me.” Suddenly there was no other world but this, no life but theirs, alone in the tiny room, and he reached out and took her hand, and without saying another word he pulled her close, and they kissed, her lips as hungry as his. They clung to each other for a long time, and they kissed again with a desperation and a passion born of tasting death and still being alive.

“I love you, Liane … I love you. …” His mouth devoured her neck, her face, her lips, and another voice than hers seemed to answer him.

“I love you, Nick …” Her voice was soft and his words were a caress as their clothes seemed to fall away as they lay on the bed and their bodies meshed, other lives forgotten, other faces, other times … they were the only two survivors left of a forgotten time, and the only thing left to remember was this brief moment of passion as they made love and then, holding each other close, slept until the dawn.





“I meant what I said to you last night. I love you, Liane.”