Dear Madame,
I’ve thought about writing to you several times since the Chief and I arrived back in Lisbon, but the time has passed so quickly that tonight is my first opportunity to get out my old Underwood No. 5.
I’m writing these lines by the light of a paraffin lamp in my cabin aboard the Hudson Queen. Night has fallen and through the porthole I can see the autumn moon reflected on the black waters of the Tagus. I really should be sleeping, because tomorrow will be a great day: the Hudson Queen will be going into dry dock.
It’s six weeks since the Chief and I left Château Lafourcade. We spent several days in Bordeaux where we found a jeweller to make a beautiful necklace with the pearl you gave us. Then we took a steamer to Porto and from there travelled the last bit to Lisbon by train. So finally, late one afternoon, there we were standing outside Signor Fidardo’s little accordion workshop on Rua de São Tomé.
The bell tinkled as the Chief opened the door and we went in. Signor Fidardo was bent over his workbench filing the reed plate for an accordion.
Without looking up, he spoke brusquely, “You’ll have to wait! I’m busy! And please keep quiet while you’re waiting.” 512
The Chief and I looked at one another. The Chief smiled and put a finger to his lips.
Eventually Signor Fidardo put down the small file he’d been working with and turned round with an irritable look on his face to see who’d come in to disturb him. At first he seemed completely confused, but then he leapt up so quickly that he almost tipped his chair over.
“Welcome home! And about time too!” he said time after time while shaking us both by the hand long and hard.
Then he ran out into the stairwell and shouted at the top of his voice, “Ana! Ana! They are back! They are back!”
A moment later Ana Molina came rushing down the stairs and threw her arms around the Chief and me. It was the moment I’d dreamt about so many times during the last year but now it was happening, it seemed almost unreal.
Signor Fidardo ordered dinner from a nearby restaurant and the Chief and I went to fetch the food while Ana was laying the table up in her flat. Then we ate and drank while the hours flew by, as they only can when we are together at Ana Molina’s table.
I fell asleep on the sofa as usual and when I woke my friends were still sitting there chatting. One of the bottles of wine you 513sent with us from Château Lafourcade stood on the table: we’d already given the rest to Signor Fidardo since he understands fine wines. Ana had been given the necklace with the pearl and it was hanging at her throat.
I lay there under the blanket on the sofa listening to the laughter and conversation of my friends. Life could not possibly get any better than this, I thought.
It was well into the night before the Chief and I set off back down to the docks. We stopped at Largo das Portas do Sol to look at the view over the muddle of tiled roofs of Alfama and the river beyond. We could hear music and voices coming from the houses and see the faint lights of distant villages far away.
“We’ll start looking for a good shipyard tomorrow,” the Chief said quietly. “If our luck holds, the Hudson Queen will have a new boiler in a month or two.”
I looked at the Chief out of the corner of my eye. He was leaning on the rail around the terrace, watching a vessel making its way down the river. It was a small tramp steamer heading west, straight out to the open sea.
A thought ran through my mind.
It was a thought that should have occurred to me long before this. 514
But it hadn’t. And now I felt it tug at my heart.
It made me uneasy.
The Chief and I were kept very busy in the month following our return to Lisbon. The condition of our ship had deteriorated further while we were away. Our small boat—A Rainha do Tejo—was in good shape, however, since Ana had been taking care of her. The hull had been tarred and Ana had taken the sails back to her flat so that they wouldn’t get mouldy over the winter.
The Queen of the Tagus came in really useful now. When the weather was good, the Chief and I sailed along the river visiting shipyards we might employ to fit a new boiler in the Hudson Queen.
The Chief was radiantly happy. At last, after five long years, things would soon be the way they used to be. In the days before we first came to Lisbon, we had sailed the Hudson Queen from port to port, from one part of the world to another. The ship had been our only home and we’d never known where the next cargo might take us. That was the life—the free life—the Chief had dreamt of during his difficult years in prison, and that was the life he still longed for. I knew that.
The Chief’s dream would soon be reality. Once a new boiler was installed, we could set out on the great oceans again, sailing 515to fresh harbours on unfamiliar seas. In six months’ time we might be in America. From there we might take a cargo to a harbour in Africa. Or fate might take us east to China and Japan. It was impossible to say.
I should have felt happy too, both for the Chief’s sake and for my own. But however much I wanted to, I just couldn’t. Ever since that night at the Largo das Portas do Sol when the Chief and I watched the tramp steamer heading out to sea, I’d felt this tug of sorrow in my heart. And it wouldn’t go away.
After visiting shipyards along the Tagus, we finally settled on a small shipyard in the village of Barreira across the river. The Hudson Queen obviously can’t make that trip under her own steam, so the yard will send their tug to tow her across.
That will happen tomorrow.
Meanwhile today I’ve been working in Signor Fidardo’s workshop, helping him catch up on some accordion repairs he’s fallen behind with. When the light began to fade outside the windows, we put away our tools and tidied the place for the night. Signor Fidardo poured himself a small glass of Campari and a glass of milk for me. When we’d finished our drinks, Signor Fidardo went to change into his white suit while I went 516upstairs to Ana’s attic flat to help her with the meal. Ana had invited us all to dinner.
The Chief had spent his day lashing down everything loose on the Hudson Queen in readiness for her to be towed by the tug. When he arrived at Ana’s he had patches of white paint on his hands. I assumed he’d been touching up the section of the ship’s rail we’d been chipping the rust off earlier in the week.
When the meal was over, Signor Fidardo and the Chief took out their instruments to accompany Ana’s singing. As usual, I curled up on the sofa and listened. More than ever before, I wished those melancholy melodies would never end.
The Chief and I left the house on Rua de São Tomé and walked back down towards the harbour. The night was warm, but my steps were heavy. My heart likewise.
The Chief and I would soon be ready to cast off. But how could I ever leave Lisbon without having any idea of when our travels would bring us back? What if I never again heard Ana Molina sing? What if I never again saw her or Signor Fidardo?
In my heart of hearts, Madame, I suddenly wished that you had never paid for a new boiler for our ship.
The Chief didn’t say very much as we walked down through the narrow streets to the waterside. He threw a glance in my 517direction every now and again and I’d no doubt he’d noticed I was unhappy. I wondered whether he understood why.
The Hudson Queen lay in the shadow between two of the gas lamps on the quayside. But I immediately got a feeling that there was something different about the ship.
Something had been changed, but what?
I slowed down and let my eyes run over the familiar lines of the vessel.
Then I saw it.
And suddenly I understood why the Chief had splashes of white paint on his hands.
It is usually possible to read both the name and home port of a ship painted on its stern. Our ship, however, had only had the name SS HUDSON QUEEN painted in white letters.
But now it said:
SS HUDSON QUEEN
of
LISBON
The Chief must have used a bosun’s chair to enable him to add the new words, and it must have taken him many hours to do it.
“Do you think that looks good?” he asked, sounding quite proud of his work. 518
I nodded and gave him an admiring look.
The Chief scratched the back of his neck and said, “The Hudson Queen will soon be seaworthy and we shall have to start carrying freight again to earn money. So I thought it would be good for people to see where our home port is.”
The Chief lit a cigar and continued. “Lisbon, after all, is where all our future voyages will begin. And this is where we will always return at the end of the journey.”
We looked at one another.
I felt the hard lump of sadness in my heart begin to dissolve, like a piece of ice in warm water.
It must have shown, I suppose, because the Chief gave me a little smile when he said, “But now it’s time to hit the hammocks, sailor. Tomorrow is going to be a long day.”
I didn’t go and turn in, though. Instead, I took out my Underwood No. 5 to write you this letter. I feel so incredibly happy that I wanted to share it with you.
Tell Bernie that I miss him!
Your friend,
Sally Jones 519
