From Russia with Love

Priya knocked on my cabin door at 20:00 and said, "film," which was not a question, and walked off down the corridor assuming I would follow. I followed.

The crew television room is a small square space with two sofas, a wall mounted screen, a shelf of DVDs in cases that no longer match their discs, and lighting that can only be described as forgiving. She had already put the film on. It was From Russia with Love.

"Bond?" I said.

"Sean Connery," she said, in a tone that closed the subject.

We watched it. She knows it well. She said several lines a half beat before the actors did, quietly, not showing off, just the way people do with a film they have seen many times in many places. At one point she pointed at the screen during a scene on a train and said "that is not how a bunk works," which is possibly the most Chief Officer sentence ever spoken.

Around the halfway mark she said, without looking away from the screen, "you know there is always a Bond girl."

I said I was aware of the convention.

She said, "in this arrangement, you are the Bond girl."

I have thought about this a great deal since. I had not previously considered myself in that role. I had, if anything, assumed I was the man in the raincoat at the airport who has one line and is then never seen again. But she has assigned me a part, and on reflection, I like it.

Container came in halfway through and sat on the arm of the sofa between us for the entire second half like a small furred chaperone. She left when the credits rolled, which was frankly good timing on everyone's part.

I went back to my cabin. She was already on my bunk, level with my shoulder.