Colm Tóibín - Brooklyn

She was desperate now and did not think she could manage much longer without finding a toilet. She had noticed earlier that towards each end of her own corridor there was a small alcove where a bucket and some mops and brushes were kept. She realized that since she had met no one, then, if she were lucky, no one would see her now as she went to the alcove on the right. She was glad when she saw that there was already some water in the bottom of the bucket. She moved fast, trying to relieve herself as quickly as she could, keeping inside the alcove so that even if someone came along the corridor they might not spot her unless they had to pass. She used the soft mop to wipe herself when she had finished and then tiptoed back to the cabin, hoping that Georgina would come and know how to wake their neighbours to make them unlock the bathroom door. She would not, it struck her, be able to complain about this to the ship's authorities in case they associated her with what they would, she was sure, discover in the bucket the following morning.

She went into her berth and changed into her nightdress and turned off the light before climbing up to the top bunk. Soon she fell asleep. She did not know for how long she slept, but when she woke, she found herself covered in sweat. It soon became clear to her what was wrong. She was going to vomit. In the darkness she almost tumbled from the bunk and could not stop herself throwing up parts of her evening meal as she tried to keep her balance while searching for the cabin light.

As she found it, she moved past Georgina's trunk towards the door, and as soon as she reached the corridor she began to vomit copiously. She got down on her knees; it was the only way she could manage since the ship was swaying so much. She realized that she should try to vomit everything up as quickly as possible before she was discovered by one of her fellow passengers, or by the ship's authorities, but each time she stood up thinking she had finished, the nausea returned. As she began to return to the cabin, longing to cover herself with blankets on the top bunk, hoping that no one would realize that she was the one who had made the mess in the corridor, the urge to be sick became even more intense than before, forcing her to get down on her hands and knees and vomit a thick liquid with a vile taste that made her shudder with revulsion when she lifted her head.

The ship's movements took on a harsh rhythm, and replaced the sense of lunging forward and then being pushed back she had felt when she woke first. They seemed to be making progress only with great difficulty, almost banging against something hard and forceful that attempted to withstand their progress. A noise, as though the massive liner were creaking, appeared louder sometimes than the engine itself. But, once back in the cabin, when she leaned against the door of the bathroom, she heard another sound, faint until she put her ear right up against the door, and then unmistakable, of someone retching. She listened: it was a heaving sound. She banged on the door, angry when she understood why it had remained locked. The people on the other side must have known how rough the night was going to be and known they would need to use the bathroom all the time. The retching came at intervals from the other side, and there was no sign that the door into her berth was going to be opened.

She felt strong enough to look at where she had vomited in the cabin. Having put on her shoes and a coat over her nightdress, she went into the corridor and walked to the alcove on the left, where she found a mop and a brush and a bucket. She was careful where she stepped and careful also not to lose her balance. She wondered now if many of the third-class passengers had known what this night was going to be like and had therefore kept away from the dining room and the deck and the corridors, had decided to lock themselves in their cabins, where they were going to stay until the worst was over. She did not know if this often happened when a liner sailed out of Liverpool destined for New York, but, remembering that Georgina had said that it was going to be one of those nights, she presumed that it was worse than usual. They were now, she imagined, close to the coast somewhere south of Ireland, but she could not be sure of that.

She carried a mop and brush back to the cabin, hoping that the smell could be got rid of by pouring some of the perfume that Rose had given her on the parts of the floor and the blankets where she had vomited. But the mopping appeared only to make things worse and the brush was no use. She decided to bring them back to where she had found them. Suddenly, as she left them in the alcove, she felt nauseous again and could not stop herself vomiting in the corridor once more. There was hardly anything to vomit, just a sour bile that left a taste in her mouth that made her cry as she banged on the door of the cabin beside hers and kicked it hard. But no one opened the door as the liner shuddered and seemed to lunge forward, and then shuddered again.

She had no idea how far under the sea she was except that her cabin was deep in the belly of the ship. As her stomach began dry heaves, she realized that she would never be able to tell anyone how sick she felt. She pictured her mother standing at the door waving as the car took her and Rose to the railway station, the expression on her mother's face strained and worried, managing a final smile when the car turned down Friary Hill. What was happening now, she hoped, was something that her mother had never even imagined. If it had been somehow easier, just rocking back and forth, then she might have been able to convince herself that it was a dream, or it would not last, but every moment of it was absolutely real, totally solid and part of her waking life, as was the foul taste in her mouth and the grinding of the engines and the heat that seemed to be increasing as the night wore on. And with all this came the feeling that she had done something wrong, that it was somehow her fault that Georgina had gone elsewhere and that her neighbours had locked the bathroom door, and her fault that she had vomited all over the cabin and had not succeeded in cleaning up the mess.

She was breathing now through her nose, concentrating, making every effort to stop her stomach heaving again, using all of the force of will she had left to climb the ladder to the top bunk and lie there in the dark, imagining that the boat was moving forward, even though the shuddering sound became fiercer as the liner seemed to hit a wave stronger than it was. She imagined for a while that she herself was the sea outside, pushing hard to resist the weight and force of the liner. She fell into a light, dreamless sleep.

She was woken by a soft hand on her forehead. She knew exactly where she was when she opened her eyes.

"Oh, the poor little pet," Georgina said.

"They wouldn't open the bathroom door," Eilis said. She made her voice sound as weak as she could.

"The bastards!" Georgina said. "They do that every time, some of them, whoever gets in first locks the door. Watch me dealing with them."

Eilis sat up and slowly made her way down the ladder. The smell of vomit was dreadful. Georgina had taken a nail file from her handbag and was already busy working at the lock on the bathroom door. She opened it without too much difficulty. Eilis followed her into the bathroom, where the passengers in the other berth had left their toilet things.

"Now, we have to block their door because tonight is going to be even worse," Georgina said.

Eilis saw that the lock was a simple metal bar that could easily be lifted by a nail file.

"There's only one solution," Georgina said. "If I put my trunk in here, we won't be able to close the door, we'll have to sit sideways on the toilet, but they won't have a chance of getting in. You poor pet."