Katie Teesdale

Navratil's Boys

For the fourth night in a row, Michel Navratil lay awake on the top berth in his second-class cabin. He was attempting to fall asleep, and the roar of engines served only to stir up the consternation in his mind like some warm sea. He shuffled his body to the side of the wooden railing and yanked the velvety blue blanket under his chin and then over either side of his face, around his fashionable handlebar mustache in a futile attempt to muffle the endless noise.