The Ocean Liner

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‘He’s a very ugly man,’ Rachel said. ‘Even uglier than his photographs.’

‘But look at his eyes,’ Masha replied. ‘They burn like coals.’

‘Well, I don’t find him impressive. And as for his music—’

‘You don’t like his music?’

‘Not in the slightest.’ Rachel, who had studied at the music conservatory in Leipzig before the Nazis had ejected her, had firm views on modern music. ‘If I wish to be disturbed, I shall go to the zoo and listen to the tigers roar.’

‘But that’s exactly my point. His music excites one, the way a dangerous animal excites one.’ The two girls had been craning over the railing to watch Stravinsky come aboard their ship. They thought of it as ‘theirs’, this magnificent American liner, even though it had so far carried them only from Bremen to Le Havre. But those five hundred nautical miles had already taken them into a new world.

Stravinsky was making slow progress up the gangplank, helped by a middle-aged woman, evidently his travelling companion. They were met by the charming senior steward, Mr Nightingale, immaculate in his white serge and gold buttons. Mr Nightingale attempted to take the composer’s bag, but he refused. ‘I’m sure it contains his latest work,’ Masha whispered to Rachel, ‘too precious to be entrusted to anyone.’

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