I have selected another song to go with Nell's part of this story. It is "Salut Marin" by Carla Bruni, which sums up her feelings about Mick's departure very well. I have tried my hand at a rough translation, which probably isn't particularly good, but the lyrics are very lovely and I wanted the non-French speakers among my readers to grasp the gist, too. I've added the original lyrics at the end of this story.

Goodbye sailor, may the winds be good
You've packed your bags, you've set your sails
I know you won't be coming back
They say the wind and the stars
Saltier than a trade wind
Headier than a mistral
Goodbye sailor, you will be missed
Your blue eyes, your air of an admiral

Goodbye sailor, may the winds be good
I wish you good winds but it hurts me
For, sailor, you're carrying with you (…)
All our rainbow-coloured plans
And from Cap Horn to Étretat
From Le Havre to the beaches of Goa
The horizon remembers you

You sailors, you are all like that
You don't know anything but to leave
You sailors, you are cruel men
You leave us alone with memories of you ...

A sailor's life passes quietly
As it did in the old days (…)
Sometimes it's all high rolling seas
And sometimes the waves are gentle
Well, I do what I'm expected to
I live calmly at the edge of the abyss
Sailor, you'll be proud, I know
I'm living on (…), the wind in my sea chest
Just like you


Nell stood on the pier in Brest harbour, her hair lightly ruffled by the wind and her heart heavy as a rock.

The time had come.

He was leaving.

He had just given her a last kiss, and now she was watching him walk up the gangway, a large duffel bag slung over his shoulder. Another sailor greeted him as he went on board, and he turned and blew her a kiss before disappearing inside.

She returned the gesture with a shaky hand and a weak smile.

As she lowered her hand, she wondered how she had managed to see him off without blubbing ceaselessly. She told herself severely not to start crying now because she'd never be able to stop once she began, but although his ship hadn't even pulled out of port and the long journey he'd embarked on hadn't even quite started yet, her stomach had already coiled up into a tight knot of anxiety and loneliness which she was sure would not dissolve until he was back home.

She had always had trouble keeping her mind off the dangers a ship's crew encountered daily when he had been travelling, but with him gone for so long in one running, with little chance even at a regular exchange of postcards or letters, she seriously doubted she wouldn't be going mad with worry. So many horrible things threatened a sailor's life permanently. Storms, tempests, technical failures, fires, leaks, to say nothing of those stupid little momentous accidents that sometimes happened so fast.

Her brother was standing next to her, sensing her misery and hugging her clumsily in an attempt to comfort her, but in a way that only made things worse, and she sniffled after all, but bit back the urge to let her tears flow because she didn't want Loïc to see her cry.

The Liberté shuddered, and her engines began to hum.

Staring at the seagull perched on top of a flagpole with narrowed eyes, she concentrated on keeping her composure and almost started when her brother laughed and exclaimed, "Hey, Gwenna, look! There he is!"

Mick's familiar shape had appeared back on deck. He was exchanging curt shouted commands with someone Nell couldn't see, then turned and waved. She realized belatedly he wasn't waving at her but at the bulky man on the edge of the pier who was about to loosen one of the ropes tethering the large vessel to the land.

The docker finally tossed the end of the rope over, and Mick caught it in mid-air with one swift move of his hand and began to coil it up expertly while he looked about, eventually catching her eye.

"I love you, Mick!" It had rushed out of her before she could even think. A few people around her laughed, a woman smiled, her brother blushed in embarrassment.

Mick smiled and waved. This time it was for her, although he didn't seem to have heard her words over the din of the engines.

When the ship had cast off and shrunk to toy size in the distance, heading for the narrow port entrance framed by steep cliffs, she couldn't help but give a trembling sob of loneliness.

The red-haired woman who had smiled at her earlier and was still standing close by squeezed her arm. "It's always awful when they leave, isn't it?" she said compassionately. "I remember the first time my Louis went. I thought I'd die right here on the pier."

Nell nodded miserably. "Oh, yes." She sniffled again. "I'm so afraid something might happen to him", she found herself saying.

"Don't take it so hard, dear. Le Bihan have never lost a ship since they started operating twenty years ago. He'll be back for you. Don't cry too much."

Between Loïc and that kindly stranger, Nell managed to get a grip on herself and didn't shed another tear on the bus home and somehow got through the rest of the day.

At night, everything came rushing back at her.

She was unable to sleep, lying on her back in the darkness of her tiny bedroom which was little more than a bit of space curtained off from the upstairs room her parents slept in. She stared idly at the small white dots of the stars glittering at an infinite distance in the rectangle of black night sky she could see outside the small window. He'd be looking at those very stars from aboard his ship. She tried to find a wee bit of solace in the thought that they were still living under the same skies and might be looking up at the same constellations at the same time without knowing it.

Her fears weren't dispelled easily, though. She implored God with all her might to guard and protect him, but what could a few words, however ardently they were murmured into the night, really do? Would He listen to her pleas to guide the man she loved back home safely? With so many prayers going unanswered, why should He choose to hear hers, of all people?

Yet, what else could she do but hope and pray?

Mick, she whispered tonelessly into the night. Oh, Mick. Why did you have to go?

She knew he had been right about wanting them to live on their own, just the two of them. She appreciated the sacrifices he was ready to make so that their dream would come true very soon. He hadn't been too enthusiastic about parting for so long either, even though she knew how much he loved being at sea.

He had also been right to assume that she was dying to escape the influence of her father rather today than tomorrow, and she was glad about the prospect of leading a self-determined life away from him, and with the man she loved.

But she hated, hated, hated the prospect of going without Mick for an endless half-year.

She tried to tell herself she could keep herself busy working on the house linens they would need, and by the New Year, she'd go see Marianne Delacourt to have her measurements taken for the wedding dress. She already had a clear view in her mind of what she wanted to look like, and she tried to picture herself in a simple lace-trimmed dress, arm in arm with Mick in a dark suit. He'd be even more beautiful than usual in bridegroom's attire, and for a moment a warm glow of happy anticipation spread inside her chest.

It wasn't long until other, unwanted thoughts pushed their way in and swept the beautiful scene aside, replaced it with an icy fear.

What if she waited in vain?

What if disaster struck, like when Nolwenn Bailly's fiancé had drowned fishing just a few days before they were supposed to be married?

What if she suffered through half a year without him, maybe even without a word of him, only to be left with nothing in the end but a few sweet memories and a painful void in her life and in her heart?

She was unable to shake that cold dark feeling and didn't get a wink of sleep that night, all kinds of worries racing through her head, so that she greeted the first dim light of dawn gratefully, like rays of hope, and her mind settled on one particular memory.

It had been a similar sleepless night a week ago, spent fretting over his fate at sea, when she had made an important decision.

She might have to get through that lean period that was stretching ahead of her eternally before they'd be together for good, but there was one thing she was not going to put off until he was back or until they were married.

One thing that she had suddenly felt she wanted to do before he left, or she would regret it forever if – God forbid! – the worst should happen.

She had got up and splashed her face with cold water to wake herself up fully, changed into a blouse and skirt and went downstairs for the family's usual early breakfast, pale, bleary-eyed, but with a fine smile playing around her lips.

She remembered all this very clearly, just as she remembered what had happened a few days later.


The weather was unusually warm. Nell was sweating profusely as she swept the floors and washed the downstairs windows. She wiped her damp forehead with her upper arm and tried in vain to push a stubborn tendril back under the cotton kerchief she'd tied around her head in a vain attempt at keeping the dust out of her hair.

Her mother and Loïc were out to pay a visit to her grandmother, who hadn't been well lately.

Mother's condition had improved with the weather during the last few weeks, and for the first time in months, she had felt strong enough to go and spend a day at Grandmère's to help her make jam and tidy up a bit around the house while Loïc took care of some small repairs. They were going to stay for supper, too.

Secretly rejoicing, Nell had offered to stay at home under the pretext of giving the house a good cleaning. Well, it hadn't just been a pretext, she had really been slogging away for hours, but it had certainly not been the main reason for staying at home.

She was startled to see just when she was giving the second kitchen window its final polish, the main reason was about to arrive, a lot earlier than expected, and she was anything but ready.

Hastily, she tried to make herself presentable by pulling the faded kerchief off her head and shoving it into the pocket of her apron, but she must look even more dishevelled now with all the disorderly strands that had escaped her hairpins. She raised a hand to remove the pins but stopped mid-movement when she realized how grubby her fingers were.

Thus she was cutting a rather ridiculous figure when Mick appeared in the open door, his eyes dancing and his mouth widening in a big grin at the sight of her impossible getup.

"Mick! You're already here! I hadn't expected you until four!" she exclaimed stupidly and let her hand sink slowly.

"So you're not happy to see me?" he replied in a mock miffed voice as he leaned casually against the doorjamb.

"Of course I am!" she protested. "It's just that I look a mess! I had thought I'd be long finished cleaning by the time you came. I wanted …"

"You look wonderful, Nellie."

"No, I don't, not in that dress and with dirt all over me. Whatever I'm looking, it's certainly not wonderful."

"To me, you are. Give me a kiss."

She hesitated, rubbing her sweaty forehead.

"Come on, love. A bit of dust won't kill me." He held out his arms, and she wiped her hands on her apron and let him pull her close, ugly dress and unkempt hair and all.

She was acutely aware of the warmth of his skin and the hard muscles of his chest under the thin russet-coloured shirt he was wearing.

That prickling sensation, down low in her belly, had been there before when he was around, but never so intense, and on a sudden impulse, she moved even closer, firmly wrapping her arms around him, moulded her body against his tightly, following nothing but this strange new urge deep within, this primeval appetite that surely wasn't something a good modest girl was supposed to feel.

But she didn't care any more. She had been brought up to believe in premarital chastity, as parents and society and church had taught her, but lately she had begun to wonder if it was really such a sin to share your body with the man you loved before you were officially married.

Shouldn't it rather be the love and trust that counted instead of the ring and the vows and the official blessing?

That sleepless night a few days ago, she had known with sudden clarity that she wanted to lose herself to him completely, finally wanted their bodies to be united just as their minds and hearts had been for so long.

When her mother had conveniently made those plans to go and see Grandmère and take Loïc with her, she'd been quick to invite him for the later afternoon when she still had the house to herself and her mother and brother weren't due to return for a few hours.

She had intended for him to come after she had finished her house-cleaning and washed and changed into a pretty dress and maybe put a flower into her hair. She had wanted to be particularly desirable to him, and when she had seen him approach while she was still in her horrible old working clothes, she'd almost panicked.

But now she found it didn't matter at all what she wore or that she was all flushed and grimy.

She sensed he wanted her as much as she wanted him.

He was still holding her tight, but one of his hands had moved down to rest on her backside. She loved the touch of his warm hand there.

She was a little surprised to feel a gentle pressure against her stomach until she realized, blushing, what it must be, and that she wanted to touch him there.

He was covering her face with sweet light kisses, his lips trailing from her temple down to her mouth, the tip of his tongue brushing hers very softly. A delightful shiver ran down her spine, and she gave a little moan before she broke away.

Startled, he asked, "Anything wrong?"

"Not at all. I want you to come with me." She took him by the hand and led him across the room and up the stairs.

Even more nonplussed, he walked along obediently. "What … do you … oh!" He seemed to fully realize her intention only when she pushed back the curtain that shielded her sleeping quarters from view, and he looked at her intently. "Are you really sure you want to do this?"

She nodded, eagerly, impatiently.

"I mean, you know what … can happen … and how that would reflect on you?" he insisted. "I'll try to be careful but I can't promise …"

"It won't happen this one time, I'm sure. And so what if it does. You'll marry me anyway, won't you?"

"Of course I will."

"Then let's talk no more", she said decisively, closing the curtain and leaning into him for another deep kiss.

He was now searching her hair for the remaining pins and pulled them out one by one, putting them carefully onto the nightstand. She enjoyed the tickling of one strand of hair after the other falling down over her neck and shoulders and busied herself unbuttoning his shirt and untucking it from his shorts. He wasn't wearing anything underneath because it was so hot outside, and she rested her face against his suntanned chest, stroked the soft dark hair that grew there and listened to his heart beating its steady rhythm, a little slower than her own quickened pulse.

He reached down behind her, untying the strings of her apron – why hadn't she at least taken off the silly thing? – and taking it off her, at the same time stepping out of his shoes to reveal his feet, large and strong, but still graceful and nicely shaped, like his hands.

She watched him breathlessly for a moment. What a handsome man he was, even more so now that he wasn't wearing anything but a pair of dark shorts that showed off his long bronzed legs beautifully.

Pushing his shoes under the bed with one foot, he kissed her once more, then proceeded to peel the stained buff-coloured dress off her, let it drop around her feet and asked wordlessly for her permission before he removed her brassiere as well.

She felt a tiny bit awkward but also very excited, standing there almost naked.

He stepped back for a moment to admire her. "Oh, Nellie. What a beauty you are."

She smiled a little insecurely, looking down at his shorts. He undid his belt and fly and drew her close again, slid one hand slowly down her back to make all the fine hairs stand on end and slipped it into the back of her knickers, lingering on her behind for a moment before undressing her completely and taking off his own shorts.

He bent down to kiss the little indentation between her collarbones, making his way down towards her breast, and an intense feeling of wild desire flared up within her as his lips closed around the nipple.

She hadn't imagined it to be like that, to feel this way. So all-consuming, so … so wonderful.

His fingers ran down the middle of her belly and on to the dark triangle of hair further down, venturing into that place nobody had ever touched before. Her body was tingling all over, and she gave another little sound of pleasure.

He got her to lie down on the bed, taking his place by her side, caressing her, nuzzling her other breast, kissing her mouth once more, then moved gently on top of her and began to push into her gradually, very slowly, very carefully.

From what she'd heard some of the village girls say between bashful giggles, their mouths half covered with their hands, she had thought it would hurt and get rather unpleasant before you enjoyed it, but it wasn't like that at all. The slow, deliberate movement inside her was easily the most outlandish and the most beautiful she'd ever felt.

Instinctively, she began to move along, her hands on his back, reared up against his weight, going faster as that delicious feeling within her mounted, surged, built up into a giant wave that suddenly crashed with an explosion of white lights in her head and left her tired and satisfied in a way that was as new to her as everything else that had just happened.

Afterwards, he lay next to her for a while, lazily playing with her hair. None of them spoke for a long time.

"I'll be so happy to wake up next to you every morning", she said eventually, looking deeply into those green eyes sprinkled with bits of gold and of hazel brown.

"And me. I can hardly wait", he said, kissing her yet again and propping himself up on one elbow to squint at the small alarm clock on her nightstand. "Jeez, Nellie, it's almost six. Guess I'd better go now. Imagine your mom coming home!"

She sighed. "She shouldn't be coming home quite yet, but yes, we'd better be on the safe side. Oh, I'm so tired of all those goodbyes", she said woefully.

"That'll all be over very soon after I'm back", he replied in a soothing voice. "Just the one big goodbye to get over with, and after that, I'm all yours."

"Except for the umpteen times you'll be sailing off somewhere", she retorted a little more crabbily than necessary. His remark had reminded her unpleasantly of the dreaded day of farewell drawing nearer mercilessly when she had just happily forgotten about it.

"I'll stop sailing off somewhere the minute I can afford my own boat. I promise", he said as he got up and put his clothes back on. "You can be my deckhand, and we'll be together all the time. If you want to, that is."

She had also risen from the bed and was getting dressed again. "Oh, yes, why don't we live on the boat altogether?" she said, rolling her eyes. "I wonder where you get all your silly ideas, Mr. Carpenter."

He raised one eyebrow and winked at her, and she smiled in spite of herself.

How she'd miss his gentle teasing, along with everything else.

She had a lump in her throat when she saw him off on the doorstep – only two days to go after today until he'd be leaving.

Her heart constricted when she tried to imagine five or six long months alone, without a touch, without a word, without a smile. She'd have to live off the memories they'd made until she heard from him, until he'd write, which he'd promised to do whenever he got the chance to.

She couldn't quite see how memories and letters alone should pull her through, but if there was one memory she'd certainly cling to, it was the recollection of this afternoon. It had been so wonderful to become one like that. Nobody could take this experience away from her.

There was still a pleasant afterglow down there, and she wondered if anyone would notice a change about her. She went to her small pockmarked mirror and looked at her face. It appeared unusually luminous and serene to her own eyes, but maybe her perception was tinted by her emotions and a casual onlooker wouldn't see anything but a girl who needed to comb her hair and change her dress, not at all different from the girl she'd been a couple of hours before.

She went back into the kitchen. The bucket she'd been using was still sitting on the floor beneath the windowsill, and she had just thrown out the dirty water when her mother and her brother came around the bend in the road.

They had hardly entered the kitchen, admired how everything was spick and span after Nell's efforts, and told Nell how Grandmère was and that she hoped she'd come and see her some time soon, when there was a knock on the doorframe.

Nell couldn't help grinning when she saw the familiar tall figure on the doorstep.

"Thought I'd drop by and see if Nellie was in the mood for a walk", he said innocently, and Nell flew into his arms and off they went.

"What's the matter with Gwenna?" her brother mused to himself. "Usually, she wouldn't be found dead with that ugly frock on, always fussing about what she's wearing ..."

"She's pretty enough no matter what she wears", his mother said with a quiet smile. "Didn't you think she looked particularly lovely tonight, despite that dress?"


When the palest rim of light became visible along the horizon, Nell awoke from the slumber that had finally overcome her some time past midnight.

She thought of him instantly, a diffuse half-sleepy realization that he was gone now, but there was also a warm and fuzzy feeling left over from a dream she'd had but couldn't remember. She only knew it had been something of a replay of that afternoon three days ago.

It had indeed been the right decision to make, a more appropriate farewell gift to give him than any photograph or keepsake.

She laid one hand flat on her belly, wishing against better judgment that he had not been as careful as he had promised to be and there had been an as yet unknown farewell gift for her. She knew it was a foolish thing to wish for, but still ...

With a little smile, she went back to sleep and dreamed of a small boy with dark curly hair riding into a turquoise sea on his father's shoulders.


Salut marin, bon vent à toi
Tu as fait ta malle, tu a mis les voiles
Je sais que tu n'reviendras pas
On dit que le vent, des étoiles
Et plus salé qu'un alizé
Plus entêtant qu'un mistral
Au revoir marin, tu vas manquer
Tes yeux bleus, ton air d'amiral

Salut marin, bon vent à toi
J'te dis bon vent mais ça m'fait mal
Car marin tu emportes avec toi (…)
Tous nos projets d'arc en ciel
Et du Cap Horn à Étretat
Du Havre aux plages de Goa
L'horizon à toi se rappelle

Vous, les marins, vous êtes ainsi
Vous ne savez rien d'autre que partir
Vous, les marins, vous êtes cruels
Vous nous laissez au large de vos souvenirs …

La vie marin passe sans bruit
Comme autrefois (…)
Quelquefois c'est la houle et le roulis
Et quelquefois la vague est douce
Alors je fais comme il se doit
Je vis tranquille au bord d'un précipice
Marin tu serais fier je crois
Je vis de faze, le vent aux trousses
Tout comme toi