Kalima

When peace broke out, everyone took to the sea.

The dividend was ships. Destroyers plough–shared into freighters, carriers morphing into the cities they had always really been, with convenient airports, submarines used for exploration and environmental policing, moving craft, stationary craft...

Statelessness became a viable option, and I needed a job. So I took my shiny new rainbow passport and went trolling the net for offers.

I am no sailor. I found an interesting offer on a tide–less seacoast, good weather, I knew from experience, pay adequate. I talked to the man on the phone, and come the day, there I was, standing on a wooden pier beneath a Mediterranean sky...

...and staring up at the biggest houseboat I had ever seen. Three storeys of wooden gingerbread, a cube as wide as it was tall, and as deep as it was wide, the Kalima boasted a promenade deck like an arcade around each floor, and an open gallery of a dining area on the bottom level. It was improbable, like a house on pontoons rather than a boat.

But it lived up to its name: it was beautiful. I shouldered my recently acquired sea bag and stepped aboard.

There was nobody around, so I went in search of the owner's office, which must be somewhere on an upper deck, I guess I should have called it. But the place was a mini–labyrinth of corridors and hatches – I stepped gingerly over the raised sills, and soon became mildly lost.

The place wasn't open for business yet, but a blowsy blonde seemed to have lost her tour group. She accosted me, lifting her fashion shades over sun–dried tresses and balancing on her wedge–heeled rope sandals.

'Is this tub safe?' she demanded. I decided not to explain that I hadn't had any new–employee orientation yet.

'Yes, ma'am. I believe it is.' I couldn't resist adding, 'Safe as houses, ma'am.'

She snorted. 'That sea out there isn't always so peaceful. What if there's a storm?'

I shrugged, because I didn't know. 'It's safe, ma'am. Tell your group.'

She stamped off, to my surprise, managing the spiral stairs without falling (note to self: is there a nautical word for stairs? Must ask new boss), while I continued my fruitless search for the office. Finally, tired, I sat down on a bench by the railing, second deck, and wiped sweat off my face as I looked out at a sky grown clouded and what was becoming a restless sea.

I clutched my sea bag as a sudden violent wind snatched at it, and stuffed my hat inside my shirt, lest I lose it. Where had the storm come from? Wherever that was, it was an angry place. The normally calm water was rolling against the shoreline, white–capped breakers lifting the small fishing boats and tossing their contents like a salad. I held tight to the railing as the large craft I was on began to rock to the rhythm of the pounding surf.

Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all? I thought of seamen's prayers, though I doubt mine were very original.

The rain was coming down in sheets now, lashing my face and blurring my vision. A kaiki tore loose from its mooring and flew inland, smashing against a house. The rocking of the houseboat was violent, and I gripped my own mooring harder, planting my feet apart, expecting either my body or the vessel to fly away at any moment.

The pounding went on for perhaps half an hour. Then, gradually, the rain slacked off and the wind subsided. By the time the last drops had fallen I was shaking from the effort it had taken to hold on. I sank down onto the bench gratefully. What a ride.

I looked up and saw the man I had been seeking coming across the deck, his hand outstretched – big, firm footsteps, broad Greek grin, booming voice, strong grip as he shook my hand.

'How you like Kalima, paithi mou? It rain, she rock. But she no founder.' He grinned more broadly, a friendly predator.

'Pontoons. Is water, but foundation. See?'

He wagged his hand in a rocking motion. 'Then pirazi, it don't matter to the Kalima. Storm come, we weather.'

I decided right then and there that peace was a good thing – as long as you could stay upright in the water.