Once more, after conjuring up Rosie and her story, Vaya Con Dios and their evocative music - that always makes me think of slightly seedy, smoky port taverns and vagabond sailors and transient love affairs - have inspired a chapter in Mick's life.
Vaya Con Dios – Travelling Light
Come on handsome
Put a quarter in that thing again
It don't matter
If the song is the same
Pull me closer
You and I have nothing to explain
Storm is threatening
Shelter awhile from the rain
'Cos tonight the wind is blowin'
And the sea is running high
All you troubles little darling
Let them drift with the tide
There's a full moon above us
Shining out so bright
Why worry about tomorrow?
You're young and you're travelling light
Come on sailor
Put in a quarter in that thing again
It don't matter
If it's always the same
Hold me closer
You and I may never meet again
Maybe somewhere
Down old memory lane
'Cos tonight the wind is blowin'
And the sea is running high
All you troubles little darling
Let them drift with the tide
There's a full moon above us
Shining out so bright
Why worry about tomorrow?
You're young and you're travelling light
I took my leave from the Arcadia when we arrived in Sydney on a cool but sunny June afternoon. I had decided to do as I had planned and allow myself a bit of a break.
I had been to Australia before in the course of my random travels around the globe but not in Sydney. It might actually be nice to play the tourist for a while, I thought as I made my way through the vast harbour area, admiring the majestic new Harbour Bridge.
But first of all I'd have to find a place to stay, and to drop off my belongings. It wasn't much that I carried with me, not more than what fit into a big duffel bag, but it grew heavy nevertheless as I was walking the streets, and my shoulder was putting up a fierce protest, too.
Eventually, I found an okay-looking tavern called the Mermaid not far from the waterfront that also rented out rooms. The taproom was already half full at that early time with two waitresses busily serving guests.
The pleasant-faced woman of perhaps forty-five years who was tending the bar greeted me amicably, with a sympathetic look at my arm in the sling and my cumbersome bag.
"Looking for a room, young man? Back from sea?"
"Yes and yes. And can I also have something to eat, please? I'm starving."
Her eyes danced as she laughed. "'Course you can. How long are you staying? Just the one night?"
"I'm not quite sure yet", I confessed, and she gave me a quizzical look but didn't comment, just told me the price for the night and politely asked me to pay in advance before she pointed out the way to the upstairs room.
It was small, sparsely furnished, a little draughty, and clean, and it was all mine. Having shared sleeping quarters with a bunch of other men for way over a year, this was heaven.
I dropped my bag on the floor by the bed, sat down and got out Nell's photo. I had bought a leather frame for her picture a while ago to protect it from damage, but I had never dared keep it out in the open for others to see, not after the incident on the Celeste.
Nobody would gawk at her here, nobody would make crude comments on her looks and other things. I'd have her for myself.
I pressed the small brown frame to my heart for a moment and placed it carefully on the low nightstand.
Sometimes I still couldn't grasp I wouldn't be going back one day to find her still there, waiting for me.
I was sure I'd never stop feeling that way.
I was sure no woman would ever be able to take her place.
That's not to say I had led a monk's life since I left France.
I certainly wasn't proud of it, but there had been women – not as often as most of the other sailors had them, but once in a while, I had felt the needs that arise in a healthy and lonesome young man from time to time and had sought refuge and satisfaction in a willing female body's warm embrace.
The first time I had done it, with some easy girl in a Spanish port town, both of us pretty drunk, I had fled from the room the minute I'd pulled up my pants, had hurried back to the ship and silently implored Nell's innocent smiling face to forgive me. I had hated myself for what I'd done. It had felt like I had betrayed her.
Later, I had usually spent the rest of the night with the woman if she let me, enjoying the physical closeness while it lasted, but in the recent months I had declined most of the implicit or explicit offers I'd got from women in bars or at a dance or in the streets.
Those nights filled with passion but devoid of love always left a stale aftertaste and disgust with myself that outweighed the short-lived relief they gave me.
Now I kissed my fingertips and touched Nellie's face in the photo before I went downstairs to have my supper.
It wasn't long until two attractive, shapely girls in plain but rather figure-hugging dresses showed up at my small table.
"Hello, handsome", the taller of the two said.
"Hi there." I hoped they'd go away if I remained monosyllabic.
"All alone tonight?"
"Uh-huh."
The girl looked at her companion and raised an eyebrow. "You're not much of a talker, are you?" she said cockily. "Do you have a name at least?"
"Mick", I said grudgingly and kept shoveling food into my mouth.
"Mick", the girl repeated. "I'm Betty, and this is Dee."
"That's short for Dinah", giggled her petite blond friend.
I made some noncommittal sound, but they weren't easily discouraged.
Betty slipped on the chair next to mine and drew a finger along my left upper arm, stopping at the sling. "What happened to your arm, beautiful stranger?"
"Had a little accident", I replied. When both of them kept looking at me expectantly, I deigned to add, "Back on the ship where I worked. Dislocated the shoulder."
"Ouchies! That sounds awful, poor darling. Shall I kiss it better?" Betty chirped and was already leaning into me.
I dropped my fork with a clatter. "Stop that, will you?" I said firmly, moving away from her.
She gave me an incredulous sulky look and pouted. Her companion asked waspishly, "What's wrong with you, stranger? She's just being nice!"
"I have no idea what the two of you are up to, but I'm pretty sure it's not what I want", I said. It came out sounding more peeved than I actually was, but I didn't care.
"What is it you want?" asked Betty pertly, cocking her head. She had apparently recovered quickly from the brush-off.
"Eat my dinner in peace", I retorted.
She made a grimace of exaggerated disbelief and didn't budge.
"Alone", I elaborated, just so biting back the tetchy "Shove off!" that was on the tip of my tongue.
"Are these two pestering you, Mister?" a voice said from behind. I looked over my shoulder and recognized the friendly middle-aged barmaid. "Shush, girls. Get on someone else's nerves."
Dee and Betty both pulled a face but got up and joined a table of sailors who were more than happy to welcome them in their midst.
"Sorry they hit on you", the bar lady said with an apologetic smile. "They're nice enough girls, but they just don't take no for an answer. It was quite obvious you weren't interested."
"Thanks for saving me", I replied gratefully. She merely winked at me with a wry grin and went back to work.
Once I had finished eating, I decided to hit the sack early and went upstairs. I was feeling rather tired.
But the desired rest eluded me. I lay on the bed for hours, but sleep just wouldn't come.
When I was still wide awake at half past ten, I got up again, put my clothes back on and went downstairs. Maybe a little nightcap would help me settle down.
The barmaid smiled her nice smile once more when she saw me reappearing. I sat down on one of the high bar stools and spent the next hour perched there, nursing my pint, watching the crowd.
A gramophone was blaring popular hits, there was a good deal of boozed singing, and I spied Dee and Betty trying to dance with two of their sailors in the narrow space between the tables. I was glad to see they were too occupied to bother me again.
I hadn't paid much attention to the music so far; it had blended in with the background noise of song and laughter and chatter, but when the first tinkling notes of a piano morphed into a melody I knew, it was like a kick in the stomach. I set down my freshly refilled glass so hard that it spilled over.
The Very Thought of You.
Rosie. The gramophone in her room. The orchestra of the Black Cat, our favourite dance hall in Portland. The night we had been voted best dancing couple, just a few days before she'd told me she was pregnant.
The crowded, noisy tavern, the thick fog of cigarette fumes and the odour of perspiring bodies and alcohol became unbearably oppressive all of a sudden.
I slid off my stool and quickly made my way to the side door I'd glimpsed earlier, tearing it open to find myself in a small backyard surrounded by high brick walls, overgrown with weeds and cluttered with garbage cans and various kinds of debris. It was dank and a bit smelly, but there was fresh air nevertheless, and privacy.
I took deep breaths as I leaned against the grimy wall and scraps of the song wafted through the door I had only half closed behind me.
The mere idea of you, the longing here for you
You'll never know how slow the moments go till I'm near to you
I had never paid much attention to the lyrics when Rosie and I were dancing to that song, but now these lines seemed to mock me.
I was never again going to be near the woman I longed for, not in this life.
How infantile my bitterness about the break-up with Rosie had been in hindsight. She had betrayed me and I'd rightfully dumped her for it. So what? It was what happened all the time, no big deal, nothing to be so terribly heartbroken about. After all we had both walked away from it alive and more or less well, and I might not have met Nell if it hadn't been for all that had happened before.
I see your face in every flower
Your eyes in stars above
It's just the thought of you
The very thought of you, my love
The thought of my love, the thought I had tried to suppress for so long, was coming back with a vengeance in this dreary little quadrangle behind the Mermaid.
After so many months on the run from my past, I couldn't stem the flow of emotions and memories any more, and all the pent-up grief and guilt and loneliness hit me with the brutal force of a hurricane, hit me so hard I couldn't even cry.
I stood rooted to the spot, between a large overflowing trash can and a heap of disused fruit crates, my good arm folded over the one in the sling, firmly holding on to myself.
I murmured her name into the chilly night, repeating it over and over as if it was the only word I was able to utter.
Suddenly a strip of light illuminated half of the dismal backyard and startled me out of my rigor, making me jump.
This in turn startled the barmaid, who had opened the back door to throw out some rubbish. She gave a soft surprised "Oh!", clapping a hand to her chest.
"So there you are", she added. "I was wondering where you'd gone off to. How long have you been standing there in the cold without a coat on? You're looking all frozen, and it's way past midnight."
"I'm alright", I said hoarsely, fumbling in my pocket for a cigarette.
She wasn't convinced. "I don't believe you are. You're certainly not looking the part", she observed. "Need another drink?"
I shook my head without a word. The times when I had eased my woes with the help of liquor were over.
"Don't you want to come inside? I was going to lock up here. It's been a long enough day. Oh, and I just realized I didn't ask for your name when you first arrived. I'm Mary, by the way."
"That was my grandma's name", I found myself blurting out, like a child, and to my horror, childish tears began to prick beneath my eyelids.
I looked away and closed my eyes, mouth tightly set, the hand in my pocket shredding my last cigarette to pieces. I wanted to avoid her seeing me cry by all means.
She reached out and simply laid a small, strong hand on my arm, without stepping closer, without saying anything.
This sincere, wordless gesture ripped off the mask I had worn for the world ever since I boarded the Veronica. Nobody had touched me like this in what seemed like ages, and it was what made me let go of all restraint and caution. I gripped her hand, way too hard, but she didn't complain or move, only put her other hand over mine reassuringly.
A raw, primal sob racked my body, then another, and the dam broke.
My head bent low over our entwined hands, I wept, shed all those tears I had denied myself since Nell had died. It was, of course, my lost love whom I cried for the most, but it was also Rosie's betrayal and our unborn child I was weeping for, and my grandparents, my parents, my sisters, the friends I'd met and lost or abandoned along the way. I cried for passed-up chances at happiness and reconciliation, for the places I had loved and had wanted to be my home, and for the hopeful bright-eyed dreamer I had once been.
I didn't notice the onset of a wintry rain, didn't even react when a gush of cold water spurting from a broken drainpipe splashed on my back and spattered Mary's face with icy droplets. She wiped them off with her sleeve and gently urged me inside.
"Now let's get you upstairs to dry you off. You're shivering", she said, put her arm around my waist and walked me up the narrow stairway after she'd carefully locked the back door.
I let her, wiping off the tears that were beginning to dry on my cheeks as I went.
The air in my room was chilly when I opened the door, and Mary made a soft clucking noise of disapproval.
"You're going to catch your death in there", she said. "I'll get you a hot-water bottle. You'll be freezing otherwise."
I could only nod, my throat still choked, but her unobtrusive, circumspect manner moved me immensely.
She gave the room a quick habitual once-over before turning to leave and stopped dead in her tracks when she noticed something that had entirely escaped my distracted attention.
"Hang on, what on earth is that?" She strode over to the bed below the window. Rain water had apparently seeped in through some cracks and was dripping off the narrow windowsill right on the bed below.
The practical part of my mind noticed the damage and vaguely wondered what was to be done about it, but I was too preoccupied to take any action.
"Oh, damn. These drainpipes are a disgrace, and so are those oafs who were supposed to fix them. You can't possibly sleep in here, the duvet's soaked. And so are your pajamas. Look." She held up the now-soggy pants I'd thrown on the bed earlier, wrinkling her nose.
"Well then … I'd have given you another room but they're both taken. So why don't you come over with me? It'll be cosy and warm, I've got a little fire going in my room. Of course I have a sofa you can sleep on", she added when she saw my puzzled expression.
"Sure", I said, rubbing my sore, puffy eyes, feeling all worn out now that I seemed to have wept all the tears I'd had in me.
Feeling a million years old, I slipped Nellie's picture into my pocket and picked up my bag.
Mary led the way to the other side of the corridor. She unlocked a door to the right of the staircase that opened into a small but comfy room with a tiny stove in a corner giving off a nice warmth. She had me sit on the sofa right by the stove and helped me get out of the sling and take off my shirt and singlet with deliberate, competent movements, careful to avoid anything that might have hurt my shoulder. It was quite clear that she wasn't doing this for the first time.
A sleek black cat hopped on the armrest of the sofa and sniffed my hand a little warily, scrutinizing me with very green eyes. "Hey there", I murmured, cautiously tickling him under the chin.
Mary had meanwhile fetched a towel and proceeded to dry me down despite my initial protest that I could do it myself.
I had to admit that it felt good to be tended to like this, and I closed my eyes with a strange little sensation in my chest that I came to recognize as a wistful sort of happiness.
I recalled how Grandma had fussed about me when I'd appeared on her doorstep, sopping wet, the day I'd run away from home.
In a way, Mary's ministrations gave me the same lovely feeling of belonging, although there was nothing going on between us and I was certain I'd never see her again once I left Sydney.
But for the moment, I was at home, kind of.
Mary went on to hang my clothes on a wall hook by the heater to dry. I pulled the towel closer around my shoulders and stroked the silky head of the cat who had obviously decided I was a friend and cuddled up to me on the seat, purring away like a little engine.
A curse came from behind the folding screen where Mary was presently rummaging. She reappeared, pink-cheeked, and glared fiercely at my furry new friend. "Septimus, you horrible little beast! I'm going to kick you out in the street to eat mice and rats if you keep puking everywhere! No more chicken scraps and cream for you! We'll see how you'll like that!"
Next thing I knew she was turning up the duvet on the large dark wooden bed. "Get in", she told me with an inviting gesture.
When I hesitated, she repeated, "Take off your pants and get in there. That cat threw up on the spare quilt you were supposed to get." She shook her head in exasperation and gave Septimus, who of course remained unfazed in that majestic way cats have about them, another dirty look. To me, she said, "Don't look at me like that. There's no need to be bashful, I don't expect you to do anything except curl up and sleep. There's enough space for both of us. We won't even touch. Oh, and you can wear this if you want."
She had dug some faded green pajamas from her closet and tossed them onto the bed. I didn't ask whose they were. Or had once been.
Somewhat relieved, I got up obediently and crawled into the bed in the green pajamas that smelled a little musty, like they had been kept at the back of that closet for years.
I didn't care. The duvet was heavy and soft and warm after all and carried a pleasant faint trace of lavender, the mattress was rather new and firm, nothing like the sagging, lumpy things I'd become used to. A small sigh escaped me as I snuggled in.
When Mary slipped in little later, I was already half asleep.
In the end, I spent almost two full months in Sydney.
First I did a bit of sightseeing or simply roamed the city streets with no particular aim, often going where there was music. Strains of jazz standards wafting from a bar, jolly folk songs played in an Irish pub with most of the guests dancing, even the solemn beauty of an ancient hymn heard through an open church door attracted me magically, as did the old man fiddling outside the entrance of the Royal Botanic Gardens. In a way, music of any sort helped soothe my mind.
I stayed on at the Mermaid, sleeping on Mary's sofa after she'd washed the quilt Septimus had spoiled. She wouldn't hear of taking any money for my lodging with her. "That can wait until you've actually got a room to pay for." It would take a while for the water damage in the other room to be attended to, she explained. She was waiting for her brother, an accomplished handyman, to take care of the matter so it would get done properly this time.
Neither of us seemed to mind sharing quarters. On the contrary.
There was no sexual attraction between us - at least not on my side; if Mary felt any different, she never let it show – but her trust and care did a lot for me. Without knowing it, she helped me get over all that had happened. Finally, the tempest inside me began to calm down.
One day I went to see a doctor about my shoulder. He was rather impressed by Jonah's skill. "I haven't often seen a dislocated shoulder set so well under similar circumstances. Usually we see some more, and often permanent, damage done if there's a non-specialist are involved."
To my great relief, I was allowed to do away with the sling and to start using the arm as normally as possible, albeit cautiously.
I whistled softly to myself as I walked back to the Mermaid, hands in my pockets. My shoulder was still achy and stiff, but the first tentative movements hadn't worsened the pain as long as I didn't try to raise the arm above shoulder level. Reassured by the doctor's assessment, I gathered that my range of motion would improve significantly during the next weeks and decided to give myself until end of the next month before I'd start looking for another job aboard a ship.
Mary was happy to see me freed from the bothersome sling, and when I told her I was going to prolong my stay, she promptly came up with an idea I liked instantly. "Fred's going to be finished with the repairs in your room by end of the week, and I could use some assistance in the evenings. I reckon waiting tables would be difficult with your arm, but I guess you should be able to help me behind the bar. In turn you can have the room and any meals and drinks you want for free. What do you think?"
"It's a deal", I said, and for the next six weeks I drew beers and polished glasses behind the counter, chatted with the regulars and tried to keep Dee and Betty at bay, who apparently still hadn't given up on me. Playing the barman made for a nice change from the daily grind on a ship, even if I was beginning to feel the call of the ocean again and was determined to leave by end of the month.
But for the moment, everything was alright.
One night, I jerked awake in the pitch dark, shaken by a dream in which I had visited Nell's grave only to meet her brother there who told me that she wasn't dead at all but had moved far away with her husband and child. He said I couldn't go and see her because that would cause her death and she was finished with me anyway because I'd abandoned her and certainly wouldn't be happy to have me around.
"No!" I shouted, a drawn-out cry that resounded all through the graveyard and the village.
The first thing I became aware of when I came to was Mary's reassuring touch on my cheek, and her voice in my ear. "Wake up, Mick. You're having a nightmare."
Still tangled in that confused parallel world, feeling betrayed and bereft, I uttered a miserable little whimper.
"Was it such a bad dream?" she asked.
"Yes", I whispered, surprised to find her kneeling in front of the sofa in a shapeless pale pink flannel nightgown. The floor lamp in the corner cast a dim golden glow over the room and softened her solemn features.
"Sorry for waking you, but you were moaning something awful", she said, watching me intently, "and you look like you've just seen a ghost. Do you want to talk about it?"
"No", I said in a breaking voice. "Yes. Not about the nightmare … but I think I want to talk about why I'm here. I guess I'm not gonna go back to sleep anyway." I sat up, jiggling my shoulders a bit to relax the tension in my muscles.
Mary threw on her frayed dressing gown and sat beside me, tucking up her legs and pushing her feet under the edge of my quilt to keep them warm. "Well, then. I'm all ears."
I told her all about my life, about losing my dad and leaving my childhood home, running away from Missouri and working with my grandpa, about the shipwreck and selling the house, about all the other jobs I'd held, about Eliza and Rosie and my sweet Nell, and about the many nights following my departure from France on which I had found myself questioning the very sense of my own existence once the effect of the drink had worn off in the earliest hours of morning.
She simply listened, silent, attentive. She asked no questions and made no comments, but when I needed a break after speaking of Nell and our engagement and how I had come back to learn she had taken her own life, she held me, cradling my head to her chest like a mother would her small child's, stroking my hair, allowing me to let it all out in another rush of tears, her own eyes moist with compassion.
It was odd to think that this woman, a complete stranger until less than a month ago, now knew far more about me than any other living person in the world, but there was something about her that made me trust her, made me feel safe, loved even. She seemed to understand me in a way nobody had in a long while.
"I knew you were running from something the moment you walked in", she said as I had finished. "And that it wasn't the usual things, like the police or a pissed-off creditor or a cuckolded husband."
I stared at her, perplexed. "How did you …"
"It's not hard to see", she said. "You may be travelling light" – she pointed at my duffel bag on the floor that she knew now to hold all that was mine in this world – "but it was plain to me when I first saw you that you were carrying a different sort of baggage. It was all in your eyes, and in the way you, a healthy, young, good-looking sailor, wouldn't even take a closer look at Dee and Betty."
"I've no interest in girls like them. Or any girls, for that matter."
"You don't have to just yet."
I laughed mirthlessly and shook my head. "I don't think I want that any more at all. Perhaps I'm better off alone."
"That's what you believe now, or make yourself believe", she said earnestly. "It needn't be soon, you know, but eventually you'll come across that lady who'll stay with you and make you happy. Give yourself some time to get over your darling Nell. One day you'll find your perfect woman. You shouldn't stay alone, fine specimen that you are."
I smiled indulgently. I just knew that wasn't going to happen, but I didn't want to disturb her lovely little fantasy. I'd have loved to believe it could come true.
The next day, I moved back into my newly habitable room. Neither Mary nor me ever mentioned anything I'd told her that night, and she never let on anything about her own history. We simply worked hand in hand behind the bar, made companionable small talk and shared some jokes.
I started searching for a new job, inquiring with shipping companies or directly with crew members if I came across a vessel that had just docked. There were quite a lot of vacancies, but somehow my appetite for long voyages had diminished considerably, and I turned down all the offers I got.
Until, one night, a runty old sailor came limping bandy-legged into the Mermaid, clambered up on a bar stool and ordered pint after pint, interspersed with shots of rum. After the fourth pint, he became rather chatty and began waxing lyrical about the beauties of the Solomon Sea, the islands of which were his favourite spot to spend a few days of leave.
His ship, a freight steamer called Helen of Troy, operated a regular shuttle line between Sydney and Port Moresby, and when I showed some interest in this, he said he was sure he could get me on board and would arrange for an interview with the captain the next morning if I wanted to.
I didn't make much of his drunken promise, but the next morning at half past eight, he rang Mary's doorbell and asked for me.
The interview was short and sweet. We came to an agreement quickly and would be sailing in two days' time.
On my last evening at the Mermaid, Mary put on a record after we had closed down and brought out a bottle of an expensive-looking French red, very unusual for a small humble port bar like this.
I didn't ask where she'd got it. I had a feeling it had to do with the previous owner of the green pajamas.
We shared the fine claret, mostly in silence, listening to the music, both of us a little saddened in the face of my imminent departure.
When her favourite tune, Goodnight My Love, came on, she got up and pulled me to my feet. I led her in a slow, affectionate dance on the cracked reddish floor tiles, between the rickety tables and mismatched chairs. With the last notes, she took my face in her hands and kissed me, her lips lingering on my mouth for a moment afterwards, then she pulled back, her hands resting lightly on my waist, giving me an intense look, and broke away, turning around to take some deep breaths, her fingers clutched around the back of a chair.
I didn't quite know what to say or do, but she recovered quickly and reached for my hands again. "I'll miss you when you're gone", she said. "I've got so used to you being there. But I know I can't keep you around forever. It's been great to have you here, though."
"I'm very glad I came here, Mary. Thanks for everything. Take care."
"You take care, too. I'm not sure we'll ever meet again, but maybe you can spare a thought or a prayer for that old bat at the Mermaid occasionally." She blinked as if she was about to tear up.
"I will", I promised. "Keep an eye on Dee and Betty, lest they frighten away your customers."
She smiled, shiny-eyed, and I bade her goodnight.
When I left early in the morning after a very short night's sleep, she remained in her room. She had warned me before that she couldn't abide tearful goodbyes and therefore wouldn't be around to see me off.
But when I looked back one last time, I saw a small hand waving from at an upstairs window and a black cat silhouetted against the white curtains.
I waved back and smiled.
And turned the corner.