881
1920
Sugar leaned over the ship’s rail, marveling at the swirling yellow and blue colors in the sea below. The bright sun on her face briefly helped her forget her queasiness.
“What on earth?” she asked.
The seaman next to her took a final puff on his unfiltered Lucky Strike, tossing it into the wind.
“It’s the Yellow Sea,” he said to her. “First it’s the yellow, then the birds, then the rubbish floating by, then the stink – the god-awful stink. You think you’ve been seasick the past few days – wait until you smell it.”
“Smell what?” Sugar asked.
“China.”