Nowhere but here

ONE

"What is it?" Simone impatiently asked as the doctor observed the rash on his right forearm. "Is it scurvy?"
"What?" He chuckled. "I don't think so. These do not look like scurvy rashes to me."
"Then what are they? Are they deadly?"
The man laughed again. "Child, this is...dry skin. It is not something to be bothered about. It's quite normal."
"But I am bothered about it, sir. And respectfully, please do not refer to me as a child." Simone adjusted his sleeves to hide the rash.
"My apologies, Mr. Balestra." He took a deep breath and regarded his face. "How are you coping with being on the ship? Do you get enough sleep?"
"What does sleep have to do with this?"
"Well, like most things about the human body, your habits can manifest itself in your physical appearance. Lack of sleep and stress can cause dry skin. And I can see dark bags under your eyes, hence, my question about sleep. Is there something bothering you?"
Simone fell quiet and clenched his jaw. "What do you suggest I do?"
"Well, I suggest consuming more vegetables and fruits. Also, getting enough sleep. Thankfully, everything that you need is provided for here in La Virginia. We have a huge selection of foo—"
"Is that all, Doctor? Do you have any medicine to prescribe?"
He shook his head. "However, you can use olive oil to treat those rashes of yours. I'm sure you haven't packed them. So, er, I can write a request for you to the kitchen staff. I'm quite certain they have bottles of it stocked in storage."
Simone nodded as he stood up from the examination table. He fished for some money from his pocket. "Thank you, Doctor," he said, handing over a 100 lira banknote. "I was hoping to have gotten faster relief. But it turns out you are of no use."
"Glad to be of help, Mr. Balestra." Unbothered, he accepted the money, a wry smile augmenting his elaborate white mustache. He walked off, towards his desk.
Simone sighed and put his coat on, popping out his pocket watch to check the time.
Suddenly there was a knock on the door.
"Who is there?" The doctor asked as he scribbled something on a sheet of paper.
"I am the new deckhand, sir? I have been asked by Mr. Karlsson to come to y—"
"Name, boy," he snapped. "These damn deckhands," he muttered to himself.
"Er...Ferro, sir. Manuel Ferro."
"The door is open. Get in," he said unenthusiastically as he continued to write down the note.
Simone impatiently checked his pocket watch again. "Is there any way to hurry this up, Doctor? I still have something I need to tend to."
The door creaked open as Manuel walked in. "Er...Doctor Lombardi, Mr. Karlsson has asked me to come here for a physical examination."
"I know," the doctor replied, still writing on his paper.
The room fell quiet as everyone waited for Lombardi to finish his note.
Manuel stood there by the door, standing like an alert soldier ready for orders.
Simone glanced at him, regarding the stain on the left collar of his uniform and his unkempt curly brown hair.
Manuel reciprocated the stare and he quickly looked away.
"Alright." Lombardi ripped the note from his pad. "Deckhand, since you are here, I want you to accompany Mr. Balestra here to the kitchen and help him with this request."
"But, Doctor Lombardi..."
"What?" Simone asked. "Is this necessary, Doctor?"
"Of course, Mr. Balestra. We provide service when we can. Is that right, deckhand?" The doctor waved the note about, waiting for Manuel to take it.
"Of course...sir," Manuel forced a smile as he walked over and grabbed the sheet of paper from him.
"Alright. Er...That is all for now, Mr. Balestra. Is there anything else I can help you with?"
He shook his head and adjusted his coat. "Goodbye, Doctor," he said, as he hesitantly followed Manuel to the door.

***

Simone quietly watched as Manuel made his way through the hallway in front of him. His eyes drifted down to the back of his neck where his brown, curly hair ended. He noticed his sweat slowly dripping down and glistening through the dim light. He swallowed and forced himself to turn away.
"Are you Italian, sir?" Manuel asked without looking back at him.
"Excuse me?"
"It's just...it appears that people from various places are also aboard this ship and—My apologies. I should refrain from engaging in conversation with you, sir. Please disregard my question."
Simone looked at the back of his head again. "It's alright. I'm Italian."
Manuel turned back to face him, a sheepish smile on his face. "I deduced as much, sir."
Simone began to smell some of the cooking coming from the kitchen as they approached closer.
"Are you looking forward to South America, sir?"
"Well, I've never been there..."
Manuel gave him a confused look as they stopped in front of the kitchen door.
From outside, the two of them could hear the panicked clanging of pans and plates followed by some distant yelling and a loud thud that almost shook the floor beneath them.
Simone realized he must have made a horrified face, since Manuel was staring at him, trying to hold his laughter.
"I'm so sorry, sir. I should not be laughing. But...yes, it is quite appalling. Although, that is a...regular occurrence here."
"What? That sounds horrible."
"I—" Before he could say more, he stopped himself and shook his head. "I should not be telling you any of this, sir."
Despite his curiosity, Simone decided not to push him any further.
The two of them exchanged stares and lingered on that for a moment.
They were abruptly interrupted by another huge noise. Someone from inside yelled, "What is this sluggishness? If any of you bastards don't work faster, I will throw everyone off-board. I'm serious. I may look like this, but I can carry people three times my own weight! Work...faster!"
The two of them quietly shared a chuckle as Manuel began to knock on the door.
Not a moment later, it swung open to reveal a very short, angry man. "What is it?" He demanded a swift answer as his head darted back and forth between Simone and Manuel.
"Hello, sir. Do you remember me?"
"No. I do not."
Manuel handed him the Doctor's note. "I was asked to escort one of our guests, Mister..." he looked back at Simone, seeking a response.
"Balestra. Simone Balestra," he clarified.
The cook read the note and slammed it back on Manuel's hand. "It is important to always remember the names of our guests, deckhand."
Manuel stood to attention and nodded. "Understood, sir."
"Now, help me get the bottle from the storeroom. And as for you, sir..." He turns to address Simone. "Unfortunately, I must ask you to remain here, as guests are not allowed inside the kitchen area. However, should guests find it...intriguing what goes on behind our kitchen doors, exemptions can be arranged for a...modest fee."
Simone considered it for a moment. He looked at Manuel and although he would never voice it, he felt a small, bothersome nagging in his mind that if he would not accept, the two of them would be separated, and the delicate sliver of connection that had began to form between them only mere moments ago would break.
He would come back, hand him the bottle of olive oil, and Simone would become just another finished task to him, just another recipient of his services, just another guest.
He was disgusted at how desperate the thought was. But still, he was intrigued by this deckhand. "I shall stay here, thank you," he replied, almost holding his breath.
The chef looked disappointed. "Boy, come now," he ordered sternly as he pulled the door handle open.
Simone hoped that Manuel would turn back once more to look at him before they entered the kitchen, but he went straight inside.
Their delicate sliver of connection broke.
He was right. But he hated that he was.