Four days later it was time for the Chief to go on board SS Funchal. It was raining that morning. The smell of wastewater and cold dawn stung our nostrils as I helped the Chief carry his kitbag to the Doca de Alcântara where the Funchal was moored.
The great passenger liner had put in the evening before and would be ready again in just a few hours to set sail westwards to Rio de Janeiro in Brazil.
The Chief was all anticipation and perhaps a touch nervous, too. During the winter he’d had several short contracts as skipper of one of the harbour authority’s small ferries, but this would be his first real ocean-going voyage for five years.
I’d hoped to be able to take a look at the Funchal’s engine room before departure, but the watchman on the gangway had been ordered not to allow access to anyone unauthorized. So the Chief and I had to say our goodbyes on the quay. 51
“Look after yourself,” the Chief said and gave me a pat on the shoulder.
I nodded and then he went on board.
Neither of us are keen on grand farewells.
Instead of returning to the Hudson Queen, I crossed Comércio Square and started walking up the steep and windy streets of the Alfama district. The rain had stopped and the heat of the sun was making the cobblestones steam. A number of cafés were already open and the narrow streets were filled with horse-drawn carts loaded with milk, fruit, fish and meat ready for delivery to shops and inns.
Signor Fidardo and Ana Molina live in a house by a small nameless park, just where the dark and narrow street Rua do Salvador meets the much larger and busier Rua de São Tomé. Signor Fidardo’s workshop for musical instruments is at street level and the bell above the door pinged when I entered. There was a smell of wood shavings, turpentine and well-oiled metal tools. Signor Fidardo was sitting there, bent over his workbench. The ceiling lamp hung so low that his white hair glowed in the warm circle of light.
“One moment, please,” he said, without looking up from his work. 52
I tiptoed across to my corner of the workshop. On my workbench lay the parts of a small, two-row melodeon I had dismantled. The owner had requested a full restoration and Signor Fidardo had passed the job on to me, saying that he himself didn’t have time. Strictly speaking, that wasn’t true, but he knew that the Chief would be away at sea and he no doubt thought it would be nicer for me to be working in his workshop than to be on my own on the Hudson Queen. He was right about that.
The Hudson Queen’s ship’s wheel was leaning against the wall beside my bench. It was a sturdy wheel, made of solid oak reinforced with strong brass fittings. Like everything else aboard the Hudson Queen, it had suffered badly during the years the Hudson Queen lay shipwrecked at the bottom of the River Zêzere. The varnish was flaking off and black patches stained the wood. To restore the wheel to its original condition I would need access to the best carpentry tools, which is why I’d brought it here. But it wasn’t a job that needed to be done urgently. The Hudson Queen lay where she lay, and it would be a long time before she needed a wheel to steer her.
After a short while Signor Fidardo straightened his back and turned round.
“Good morning, my friend,” he said, looking at me over the top of his spectacles. “You’ve come at just the right time for morning coffee.” 53
Once Signor Fidardo had changed into his white suit, we went to the Café Nova Goa on Rua do Salvador and drank our coffee standing at the counter. Signor Fidardo is very meticulous about his appearance and will never leave the house in his work clothes. I wonder if there is anyone else in the world who changes into pyjamas for his midday nap.
Many hours later, at the sound of the evensong bells in Graça church, Signor Fidardo and I put down our tools for the day. I cleared up and swept the floor while he poured himself a glass of Campari and a large glass of milk for me. Then we sat down and enjoyed our drinks in silence. That’s the way Signor Fidardo always rounds off the working day. He is just as punctilious with his routines as he is with his dress.
There was a knock at the window above my workbench and Ana looked in. She had a bulging shopping bag on her arm.
“Would you like to eat?” she said. “I’ve bought artichokes and a few other things.”
“Wonderful—yes please,” Signor Fidardo said. “I don’t have any other plans for dinner.”
They turned to me and I nodded.
“Excellent!” Ana said. “By the way, how did things go for Henry? Did he manage to get away on that ship this morning?” 54
Ana always calls the Chief Henry. She is almost the only one to do so, even though that is his real name.
Ana lives right at the top of the building, with a view out over the roofs of Alfama. I’ve had some of the best moments of my life in her little flat—and also some of the very worst. Strangely enough, it’s only the good times that have stuck in my mind. I feel almost as much at home at Ana’s as I do on the Hudson Queen.
This particular evening Ana was happier than she’d been for a long time. As we ate dinner she told us that she’d just turned down a long tour of the great cities of Europe. During the autumn Ana had sung in concert halls in Paris and Madrid and she felt that she’d had enough of the great elegant stages for some time to come. What she wanted instead was to carry on working in the shoe factory in Alcântara and to perform at weekends with the house orchestra in the Tamarind, the scruffy little fado pub on Rua de São Miguel.
It was at the Tamarind that Ana had started singing in public. And it was at the Tamarind that she was later discovered by the Viscount de Oliveira, director of the São Carlos opera house. The viscount convinced her to give a concert at São Carlos and Ana had been a star ever since. 55
“You should have accepted the offer of the tour, Ana,” Signor Fidardo said firmly. “Not many fado singers get a chance like that.”
Ana smiled. “I knew you’d say that, Luigi. And the viscount said the same thing. But I am happy with my life as it is. Why should anyone change something good just for the sake of doing so? I’m happiest singing here in my own city for my neighbours and friends. If the rich folk in London and Paris want to hear my songs, they are welcome to come here. Everyone is welcome in the Tamarind.”
Signor Fidardo rolled his eyes and shrugged his shoulders. Ana laughed.
“Don’t worry, Luigi. I’m sure I’ll go on tour again one fine day. And I’m in the process of making a new record. You must be pleased about that? Have another artichoke and taste this Beiras sheep’s cheese I bought in the market hall.”
Rather reluctantly Signor Fidardo took a piece of cheese. His morose expression softened when he tasted it. And in no time at all he and Ana were gossiping away about neighbours and acquaintances. I crept up onto the kitchen sofa and listened to them with half an ear. I was feeling happy and peaceful—and a little drowsy after the good meal.
56I left the house on Rua de São Tomé a couple of hours before midnight. Ana had asked me if I wanted to live with her while the Chief was away, but I’d said no. It wouldn’t feel right to leave the Hudson Queen completely unattended.
Down by the river a damp night breeze was blowing along the empty quays. No one was about and between the flickering gas lamps the night was very dark. I sped up and every so often glanced back over my shoulder. You always need to be on your guard in a harbour at night.
It was low tide so I had to climb down a ladder to get aboard the Hudson Queen from the quayside. I was about to open the galley when I noticed a folded slip of paper stuck under the door. I closed the door behind me and lit the paraffin lamp hanging over the table. Then I opened the folded paper and read:
I have a job at the fairground for you. Come to Rua Moeda (near Cais do Sodré) at seven o’clock tomorrow evening.
Harvey Jenkins