The car made a sudden and unexpected turn. He saw she was taking it onto the planks of a wide pier. On one side of the pier there was a big Dutch tanker, and the other side showed the suspension bridge that spanned the river like a huge curved blade of silver in the black sky. In front, the edge of the pier gave way to a couple of miles of deep water, its blackness streaked and dotted with the reflection of city lights. It was like millions of varicolored sequins on black satin.
They were parked at the edge of the pier and she was gazing out at the river. “It’s breath-taking.”
He didn’t know what she meant. He looked at her.
She moved her hand to indicate the river and the sky and the ships and the bridge. “It’s really magnificent.”
He grunted. “Well, that’s one way of looking at it.” Then, with a shrug, “I guess it’s a nice view for the sight-seers.”
“Why do you say that? Don’t you think it’s a nice view?”
“Maybe I’d think so if I didn’t work here.” He gazed down at the calloused palms of his hands. It was quiet for a long moment, yet he could sense the question she was putting to him. And finally he said, “I’m a dock laborer, a stevedore. It’s rough work, and I guess it gives me a different outlook.”
“Not necessarily,” she murmured. She pointed to the moonlit river. “We’re both seeing the same thing.”
“Take a closer look,” he said. He gestured toward the splintered pilings of the pier, where scum and garbage were floating. “See that green stuff? That’s bilge from the holds of the ships. There’s nothing dirtier. If it gets on your skin it crawls right through you. You never get it off you, no matter how hard you scrub. The smell—”
She shuddered. He saw her mouth twisting in a grimace of disgust. She swallowed, pulling in her lower lip.