The Engine Room – Part 1: Chief Engineer

"Don't touch that," said Jan.

"I wasn't."

"You were about to."

Idris withdrew his hand from the gleaming brass valve and smiled ruefully. The engine room of the harbour ferry Elbe Seven was a long, hot, thundering cavern of steel and pipes, throbbing with the deep beat of a diesel as old as the vessel. Gauges flickered. Oil gleamed. The air smelled of hot metal and coffee. It was his first day on the ship.

He was thirty-one, a junior engineer, lean and dark-skinned, in new blue overalls, with bright eyes and a quick, open face. Jan, thirty-four, the chief engineer, was a big, fair, bearded man, grease to the elbows, with a sceptical eye and a surprisingly tender way of resting his palm on the engine's flank. He had run the room for ten years. He did not like assistants.

"This is Clara," said Jan, nodding at the engine.

"You named her?"

"She named herself. She was making that noise." He mimicked a low, rhythmic thump. "Listen."

Idris listened. In the thunder of the room, a soft, steady whump-whump-whump rose and fell like a slow heartbeat. Jan's whole face changed, gentle and absorbed.

"That's the left cylinder," said Idris. "It's a half-beat early."

Jan stared at him. A long silence. "How did you hear that?"

"My father had a boat."

"Nobody hears that."

"I heard it."

Jan wiped his hands on a rag, slowly. His eyes narrowed, then warmed. "Show me."

For the next hour they knelt side by side at the cylinder block, with torches, adjusting a valve, listening. The engine settled. The beat steadied. When it was done, Jan sat back on his heels, black to the wrists, with a faint dazzled smile.

"Right," he said. "You can touch the valve."

"Thank you."

"Can I ask you something?" said Jan.

"Yes."

"Do you drink coffee?"

"Green?" said Idris, a lamp, a gauge.

"Green," said Jan, with a rare smile. "Very green. I'll show you where the good mugs are."

Continue the story: Part 2 – Slack Water.