Rapture at Sea (Ch 1)

  RAPTURE  AT  SEA
by Carolyn & Humphrey Muller

CHAPTER  ONE.    This is how the first chapter begins:

         Jane Barr looked down at the narrow strip of water between the ship and the quay side. Her heart was heavy, leaving the country that promised so much for her husband. Going back to England while he still had enough money for the passage seemed like a good idea. A sea voyage would do them both good. Perhaps they would find each other again.

          Deliberately, she took her husband’s hand. He was a stocky man with powerful shoulders. His eyebrows flared upwards, giving him the look of Pan, the Greek god of nature. Amused cynicism played at the corners of his mouth as he watched the last of the passengers boarding the ship from the gangway. She intertwined her fingers with his. It was difficult for her to demonstrate affection. Her love, she hoped, was plain enough in the meticulous way she cooked his meals, and in the pretty and neat way she dressed for him.

          She was dressed to perfection, now, in a red tartan skirt and lacy blouse done up with a thin black ribbon. It all went well with her pixie face, dark tidy hair and penetrating blue eyes. She looked small and fragile, as though she would break if squeezed too hard.

          She looked up to the flat-topped mountain that dominated the scene. It stood, looming over Cape Town, the layer of mist on top spilling over, curling into invisibility as it sank down the slopes.

          The clucking laughter of a woman drew her attention to a buxom blonde and a large man coming up the gangway.

          ‘I wonder of they’re married?’ Her eyes looked sadly at the couple.

          ‘Canna be!’ Bob frowned morosely. His Scots accent was more noticeable when his emotions were involved. ‘Luik at them! Laughing an’ talking together!’

          Jane noticed it was the overall pudginess of the blonde that accentuated her large breasts - breasts that filled her loose sweater, quite unlike her own boyish chest. The blonde’s companion was a hulk of a man with sideburns that hugged very full jowls. He simpered at the satisfaction his bantering had caused.

          'Aye,' sighed Bob. ‘Now there’s a bonny lass.’

          ‘A bit largish!’ Jane smiled at him thinly.

         'Aye, but largish in th’reet places!’ He pulled one side of his face into a pronounced leer.

          He liked the motherly look of the blonde. Her brown cowlike eyes were soft, he thought. He could do with a really responsive woman. Someone who would understand him, love him when he felt depressed. He had been a navigator in the South African air force and when, last year, his contract wasn’t renewed, he needed understanding. Before that he had been made redundant by the RAF. Each time Jane seemed to push him away, to keep him at arm’s length, just when he most needed to unburden himself.

          The blonde’s ample bosom quivered rhythmically as she walked past Bob. Her companion was speaking with mock seriousness: ‘One thing about incest, though, is that it keeps the family together, dunnit?!’

          The girl’s laughter pealed as she flung back her head in abandon, an errant tooth straining outwards.

          Jane winced. Laughter had become a stranger to her. She noted with satisfaction that the blonde’s teeth were imperfect. Bob liked perfection. ‘Not this one, please,’ she whispered to her feet.

          Bob caught the large man’s eyes. ‘Arrr...,’ he leered, winking confidingly. The man simpered at him, nodding towards the blonde. ‘Silly twit!’ he said in an undertone, winking back.

          Bob grinned, falling in with him behind the blonde as she made her way to the purser’s desk. Yes, she was really bonny, he thought, his eyes on her waddling gait.

          Alone, Jane’s eyes fell again to the strip of water between the ship and the quay. She was aware of the smell of tar, oil and brine that mingled and lay heavily over the deck. In the distance seagulls filled the air with their plaintive cries.

          More stragglers were coming abroad. Straining under the weight of various bags was a man of indertiminate age. He looked like an overgrown student. His messy form trudged up the hot gangway. He held his head high, his mouth pulling to one side under the strain of the bags. He twitched his left shoulder in an effort to retain possession of his camera strap which threatened to strip his arm of the dull grey anorak sleeve. His rucksack pulled him backwards but he gained the level surface of the deck with a determined effort. A jerk of his head flicked his long fringe upwards before he disappeared into a doorway.

          Then came an elderly lady with thinning hair and a benign smile. In an effort of independence she carried her bags that pulled at her arms, making them look abnormally long. Her shoulders, too, drooped under the weight to form a down-turned V. Following very closely on her heels was a strongly built girl in a tweed skirt that matched her look of early middle age. Her singularly hairy legs were closely observed by the man who stooped on board behind her. His eyes stared through thick-lensed glasses, his mouth wedged into a mirthless smile. He was much older than the girl, though not as old as the small lady ahead of her. The little group looked as though they had been tied together. On the deck they stopped in a huddle, not far from Jane.

          ‘Where to now, Sandra?’ The little lady peered about her.

          ‘The man instructed us to take the first door on the right,’ said the girl. She spoke quickly, clipping her words.

          ‘Directed us, my girl,’ said the glassy-eyed man, correcting her. ‘He directed us.’ His nasal voice whined dogmatically.

          Sandra - whose full name was Cassandra - smiled contritely. Her teeth were uneven and yellow.

          More imperfection, thought Jane.

          An elderly couple ambled along the deck, the old man limping as he swung a knobbly cane. The old lady was slight and a little huddled, unlike her husband whose chest stuck out firmly in a military fashion. His eyes, like hers, reflected the blue of the sea and were good humoured. He moved to the railings near Jane.

          ‘I haven’t seen the Dawn yet.’ He peered anxiously down the length of the quay.

          A large crane was swinging crates into the hold. The ship was, in fact, a cargo vessel, but always sailed with a handful of passengers. To many it was squat and ugly, yet it bore the romantic name Aurora.

          ‘You are a worrier, Lincoln.’ The little lady stood on tiptoe, straining to see in the same direction. A number of railway trucks obscured the view. ‘They know what they’re doing.’ She squeezed his arm, her smile giving her the look of a mischievous monkey. But there was no doubt about her own concern. The vintage Rolls-Royce Silver Dawn, though close to half a century old, had become part of their lives. They had brought it over with them from England some twenty years before. It was intertwined with the romance and joys of their evergreen youth. It wasn’t just a car. It was an embodiment of the adventure that filled their lives. The Spirit of Ecstasy, that leaping lady poised to take off from the towering dignity of the radiator, was like the spirit of fun that drove them through the calms and the storms of life.

          Returning, now, to England, they were taking the ‘old girl’ home, in as much as they themselves were returning home. It would be for the last time.

          Lincoln became lost in his own thoughts. Rosalind, the old lady, turned to Jane.

          ‘Are you on holiday, dear?’ she asked.

          ‘No,’ Jane smiled. She noticed how the lipstick had run along the lines around the old lady’s mouth. It was a happy face. ‘Bob - my husband - and I are going home. To England.’

          ‘Oh, so are we, so are we!’ The corners of her eyes crinkled. ‘We’ve always longed for the Rose. The English Rose, you know.’

          ‘Yes.’ Jane gave a little smile.

          ‘Oh! Oh Lincoln, look!’ Rosalind grasped her husband’s shoulder.

          Incongruously suspended above the railway trucks and moving gradually nearer the ship was a large saloon, old fashioned and upright, the silver radiator like a Grecian tower. The wheels hung limply, as if seeking moral support in the strange indignity of intangible air. As the car swung round, the gleaming length of its bonnet became visible, suggestive of infinite power.

          Lincoln stood transfixed for a moment. His blue eyes shone.

          ‘Hang on, old girl. Steady.’ His eyes followed the movement of the car as it swung closer. ‘She’ll be rearing to go on the other side, what!’

          The car was lowered into the hold. The two old people were lost in their own world. Jane, forgotten, regarded them wistfully.

          ‘Remember when we bought the old girl?’ He squeezed her arm. ‘By jingo, we were still buying hats and chocolate on ration coupons.’

          ‘Yes, they were crazy days.’ She closed her eyes and her lips pinched into a smile. ‘Remember, remember, remember! I remember every day of our life together. Do you remember? Calais to Lucerne non-stop. You with your old tweed cap and far too long moustaches. You looked so dashing my heart melted each time I looked at you. And the windows open to scoop up the wind.’ She opened her eyes, smiling sideways at him. ‘And me with me old pink scarf round me head! It flapped all the way.’ She sighed, turning her eyes to the mist spilling off Table Mountain. ‘Oh, Lincoln, how I long for the old days. We wanted life to go on and on. Now we’re going home to die.’

          ‘Stuff and nonsense!’ he steamed, banging his stick on the deck.

          It wasn’t often that Rosalind - or Rose, as she was called by her friends - became melancholy; but the recent discovery that she had a terminal illness was like an approaching rain-cloud. Even so the brightest day it cast its shadow.

          Lincoln tightened his arm round her frail shoulders and drew her close. ‘We’re getting just what we’ve wanted for years. We’re going home.’ His voice was gruff but kind. ‘Home, Rose. Think of it. Stone buildings. Barns in every field. The smell of new mown hay. The hills and the dales. Clouds in each day’s sky. Rain. Laughter.’ He looked at her, his blue eyes soft with concern. ‘Hell, old thing! We’ll damn well take the old lady on that trip again. Back to Lucerne.’

          Her eyes brightened as she gazed ahead of her. ‘I wonder if that old chalet is still there?’ She looked up at her husband, smiling with half-moon eyes. ‘Oh Lincoln, you’re always right. This is a time to celebrate. When can we go?’

          ‘Go?’

          ‘To Switzerland, you old silly.’

          ‘Immediately! Immediately, of course!’ He looked towards the mountain and felt the heat wriggling under his shirt. Yes, he thought, it’s way past time they went home. ‘We won’t be able to go absolutely immediately, of course.’ He smiled down at her. ‘We’ll have to buy you a new pink scarf, first.’

          ‘And arrive in England.’ Her eyes twinkled.

          The heat was getting the better of him. He drew up a deck chair next to Rose and eased his old body into it. He took out a pipe, rested his feet on a railing and took a deep breath as the match flared into the tobacco. Smoke billowed through the tangled white hair on his forehead.

          Rose looked about her as she took the seat beside him. ‘I wonder where that dark haired girl is? I wanted to speak to her. She looked a little forlorn.’

          Lincoln nodded, sucking with satisfaction at his pipe. A breeze wafted down the deck and he felt at peace with the world. After some moments he became aware of the distant thrumming of the ship’s engines. The deck trembled and Rose watched the gap of water between the ship and the quay side widen, then close again. The ship squelched against the rubber tyres along the side. The gap widened again and the cranes, the railway trucks, fell gradually behind.

          They felt a powerful vibration travel through the length of the vessel and the water churned into a chaos of foaming turquoise beneath the stern. The ship was free and making straight ahead for the opening of the dock. The scenario of ships, tugboats and cranes slid away. A smartly polished tugboat, gleaming in the sun, sheered away from the side of the vessel and gave three sharp ‘beeps’ on its whistle. It was answered at once by a blood-stirring baritone trembling from the ship’s hooter. Rose felt it resonate in the marrow of her bones. Her heart lurched and she fought back the tears. How beautiful it is, she thought, to hear this strange noise of faraway travel. It gave voice to her sadness at leaving her years of experience in this land of dust and blue mountains; but it also voiced her longing for home. It reminded her of the deep ache she had so often felt when her longing for home became unbearable. Now she was heading for fulfilment, for green pastures, Tudor cottages and crumpets for tea. And, of course, that trip to Switzerland.

          The ship was well clear of the dock entrance. It hit the first of the rollers with a defiant shudder. It surged into the curdling water, pitching smoothly. From below somewhere barrels of waste were being emptied into the sea, attracting swirling clouds of excited seagulls.

          ‘Oh, look!’ shouted Rose.

          They were surrounded by porpoises. Lithesome bodies undulated alongside in paroxysms of glee.

          ‘They’re like children on a picnic!’ said Lincoln, drawing his seat closer to hers. He put his arm around her and they watched in silence as the ship pulled further away from its hot anchorage. The breeze played in their hair.

          The deck rose and fell as the ship swayed in an easy rhythm along its axis. They looked at each other and laughed. They were two children sharing an adventure.

          How he would miss Rose, Lincoln thought. He smiled at her and spoke with his gruff voice. ‘I love you, old thing.’ He turned away to hide the sudden tears that taunted his masculinity.

          She sensed his pain. She took his hand, holding it tenderly.

          ‘Lincoln.’ She spoke gently. ‘You’re the strong one. Since we had the results from the specialist I’ve leaned on you heavily. And you ...’ She closed her hand over his. ‘You, my darling, have given me the strength to carry on. I’d have given up long ago if it weren’t for you.’ She dropped her eyes. ‘If ... if you had been the one with leukaemia I really don’t know what would have happened. I praise God it’s me, not you.’ She looked at him again, smiling with moist eyes. ‘God has given us many years together, darling. Joyful years.’

          ‘I’m grateful for it,’ he whispered, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. ‘But it doesn’t make it easier to bear, now.’

          Her heart gave a wrench of sympathy. ‘Lincoln, the end is so close that it hardly makes any difference. Not my end.’ She smiled quickly. ‘The end of this dispensation.’ She tightened her hand on his. ‘For how long have we relied on the Lord to see us through?’

          ‘Ever since I can remember.’

          ‘Well, then.’ She smiled encouragement. ‘Look at our life. Hasn’t it been wonderful? Not always easy, but wonderful, all the same. The Lord has made it fun, Lincoln. We’ve lived our lives knowing that we’ve got the greatest power in the universe behind us. That’s where our confidence came from. Even in our darkest hour - when we lost our Rene.’

          He smiled at her, drawing on his pipe. The fresh smell of the open sea was in their nostrils as the deck heaved slowly beneath them.

          ‘Lincoln,’ she urged gently. ‘It’s time again to draw on that power and have the confidence we’ve always had. Don’t deny God the chance to help us now in ... well, in a time that may be darker still.’

          He nodded. They fell into silence as they watched the distant horizon gradually drop and fall.

          They listened to the surge of the sea as the ship sailed surely on its course.

                                                        (Copyright © Carolyn & Humphrey Muller 2000)