Plans, I exhort myself, make plans. The only thing I can think of to do now is sail to the Berlengas. Seeing my island again would be my only consolation. Somehow, I must get over to the Farilhões. I want to see my cave. But with all the fishing boats destroyed, how can I? Perhaps Dona da Seda knows of someone else, anyone, whose boat has survived, which I could charter to take me there, to my island, to my cave. I simply must see it, I simply must, today.
Oh, my friends, my good friends.
I hang my head and sob. How could I have been so cold about the thousands who died in the city? Is it only those close to us who deserve our pity? I scold myself for not helping enough, for escaping. But it is not my fault. I did not cause this. If God made this happen – this quake, the inferno, the wave, all this suffering and sorrow – then I hate God. I used to think God set the world in motion, then watched it play itself out, looked on as folly followed disaster. But how could He stand there, in His unending wisdom and goodness, and let it happen, cause it to happen even? Punish the innocent and guilty alike, the looters and rapists surviving while Horacio and Pilar die, their lungs soaked in brine? If there is no God, if it is all a story, a lie, then I hate the earth for its stray cruelty. I hate it so. I put my faith in people now – not the earth and not the heavens – I stake my claim with humanity. If only I could see again my ancient paintings crafted by clever, hopeful, human hands; they are sacred to me and would bring me solace, would give me peace. I bury my wet face in my pillow and waul my lament. All that was sweet and soft in my life here has turned to briars and thorns.
There is the clip-clop of a single horse on the path outside, then footsteps approach the house. I sit bolt upright and wipe my streaming nose. Someone is knocking, now banging on the door. Who would come to this house, so early, on horseback? Why do they knock so urgently?
‘Miss Price, are you there?’ an English voice calls from outside. ‘Miss Price!’
19
Captain Alex – this man I had seldom thought of, had not wished for, and yet when I see him, it comes to me that he is the one person I want to see, who can understand what has happened here and who I can truly talk to, with no pretence and no expectation. How I know this is mysterious to me, yet I feel the strongest urge to take his hand and hold on to it.
‘Captain,’ I manage to say and I am aware of myself and my blemished appearance, yet I recall I was always thus dishevelled in one way or another with him, and he never seemed to mind it. ‘You have surprised me once again.’
‘I am so very, very glad to see you, Miss Price. So well, I mean.’ His face is concerned at the sight of my wretched eyes, his hand slightly raised as if to provide comfort. He is dusty from his ride and bronzed from his time under the southern sun. ‘That is to say, unharmed. You are unharmed, are you not? But I see there is some damage to your forehead. Are you quite well?’
‘I am, yes. I did escape unharmed, more or less. Others suffered much worse fates than mine. The worst fate, for too many. I saw it all. I saw everything. But how on earth do you come to be here, in this place? You were in Africa until January, were you not? Please, come in.’
He thanks me and I briefly visit my landlady, to find her still asleep. I carefully close her door and turn to the captain in the hall. There is nowhere in this small house to take him other than my room, so I suggest we go for a walk. I feel quite faint standing in that darkened hallway, and almost run to the door to open it for welcome air, the scent of citrus trees and the sea. I find a bucket for his horse and we refresh it with water. We stroll among the golden streets of Peniche, I leading us to avoid the lace cottage, which I cannot bear to see again today, and down towards the ocean. I ask him again how he comes to be in Portugal.
‘I was near Morocco when the quake struck. We were moored near Tangiers and there was a veritable commotion in the sea, rising and falling almost twenty times that day. When we went ashore, we saw it was an earthquake and the damage it had wrought. I took the decision to sail the Prospect up the coast and on to Portugal, to see if our allies required any assistance, if the disaster had affected them. And we found, as you well know, that the worst hit was Portugal, and Lisbon itself. We docked in the Tagus and my men have been instructed to take aboard any English guests of quality who require a passage home. We can only take a few, as you know we are not a huge vessel, yet we will do our best to provide aid to refugees. They will need to journey with us to visit Africa once more to pick up our other guests, yet once that is accomplished, we shall all sail home together.’
‘And our Gentlemen of Science? Are they safe?’
‘As yet, I do not know. They are all within the interior and I have had no word. We will find out next month, if they are waiting at Casablanca in December as planned. Though we hear the port there has been so damaged by the earthquake, I do not know if we will be able to dock. I will arrange for them to be met there at any rate, and they can travel overland to meet us further down the coast if necessary.’
‘But how did you come to be up here, in Peniche?’
We have reached the fort and decide to sit a while on a wall nearby it in the sunshine, my back to the beach so I cannot see its ruin. There is not a person nearby. Since half a hundred of their citizens have been lost to the waves, the townspeople seem to be staying away from the scene, behind closed shutters.
‘My ship at rest in Lisbon, I came up to the English Hotel. I wished to tell you that you could come aboard immediately, leave Lisbon and live on the ship for the next month or so, until we returned home. The owner of the hotel told me you were here. I came to relay the message.’
‘You could have sent a letter by courier. You did not need to come all this way yourself, on horseback no less.’
He is staring at his hands as he listens, wringing them, a kind of dry washing. I have a notion about him and I want to ask him a question, yet I fear the response. Fear it, or welcome it, I cannot tell. This puzzle of a man has come to me at a time when I am in no fit state to solve him.
‘Why did you come here, Captain Alex?’
He looks up and his hands stop. ‘I could not leave it to chance. I had to see you – that is, I had to see you were well.’
‘I am glad you did. I am glad you are here.’
I turn towards him and we are face to face. I know he sees the grief in me and his eyes pity mine.
‘My friends were killed here – the fisherman and his wife. Drowned.’
‘Oh, my dear.’
For a still moment, both of us are at a loss for words.
‘Have you seen death?’ I ask him.
‘I have.’
‘Death from misadventure; horrible death?’
‘Indeed. On a long sea voyage, one of my first, as a boy.’
‘Tell me of it.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes.’
‘We were part of a fleet, searching for a rich prize, a Spanish treasure ship. We attempted to round the Horn and met a great storm, with mountainous waves and perpetual terror. We feared we would be sent to the bottom, as men were dashed to pieces against the decks or sides of the ship and another sent overboard – he was a strong swimmer and we saw that he would continue sensible for a considerable time longer and would be wholly aware of the horror of his hopeless situation. Thence came snow and sleet which cased our rigging and froze our sails and then the storm calmed and we thought ourselves saved. But we had miscalculated longitude and were terribly lost. Some of our squadron had disappeared and we found ourselves alone and incapable of repair or replenishment.
‘The scurvy came soon after, beginning with the able seamen. Large discoloured spots dispersed over the whole surface of the body, swollen legs, putrid gums. The poor wretches would swoon or even die on the spot at the least exertion of strength or the slightest motion. Shiverings and tremblings and an uncommon lassitude of the whole body; and a tendency to exhibit dreadful terrors. Then ulcers and rotten flesh festering. Perhaps the worst effect is when the scars of
old wounds reopened, broken bones dissolved, from injuries perhaps suffered years before. A day did not pass without a man dying. Some of the dead were sewn into their hammocks and thrown overboard. But as the sickness progressed, there were not enough hands to do the labour and thus the corpses were put in the hold, where they washed about in the bilge and filth, or left on deck. Eventually we found landfall. But by then, two-thirds of our crew were dead and half those left were young boys like myself. There were hardly enough of us to stand by the sails and so the ship was torched and we joined another. She had been a beautiful ship. She burned all night and when the flames reached the powder magazine, it exploded at dawn. I was ten years old.’
He falls silent.
‘I am sorry I spoke of scurvy so on the Prospect that night,’ I say, my voice quavering. ‘It must have been distressing for you to think of it.’
‘You were not to know. I never speak of it.’
‘Thank you for telling me.’
We sit quietly for a moment.
‘Miss Price, I want you to know that I have employed your suggestions of an improved diet for the men aboard the Prospect. I have ensured they receive fresh food whenever possible. And there have been almost instant results: notwithstanding their improved health, their regard for me as their captain has, it seems, doubled or more. The whole mood of the ship has lifted and I would wager a considerable sum that no scurvy will be found aboard my ship, if we are able to continue with the same healthful level of provisions. You were right and I was wrong.’
In times past I would have crowed. But at this moment I have no inclination. I say dolefully, ‘I am glad of it.’
‘What happened to you in Lisbon, Miss Price?’
‘It would not aid me to talk of it.’ I say it not unkindly, but with fatigue.
‘But I do so wish to help you.’
I am gazing out across the bay and I realise my eyes are scanning for boats there.
‘Perhaps you can, Captain,’ I say. ‘I need to see my island again. The cave we saw from your boat? It did have paintings inside, the most miraculous things you could imagine. Ancient paintings, very old. Beautiful, extraordinary. I need to see if any damage has been done there. I need to see if my cave is well.’
‘You speak as if it were a person.’
‘If you saw it, you would understand. But this is a town in mourning. They have lost some of their men and all their fishing boats. If you could find a boat, perhaps in the next village along, you could pilot me to the island and we could see.’
‘And if I could organise this feat for you, will you come with me afterwards, back to Lisbon, to the ship, where it is safe?’
I consider this. What had been my plan? Something hovers in my mind, an as yet unformed resolution that murmurs its dissent, yet for now I have no clear answer.
‘I may do. I do not know for sure.’
‘I will persuade you, methinks. Come. Let us waste no time. I will fetch my horse. You will rest and I shall see what I can find.’
He is gone an hour only. I speak with Dona da Seda on my return and we share some delicious cold soup. I change into my sailing clothes and wait in the small garden in front of the guest-house until the captain comes back, his horse swiftly trotting up the street.
‘I have found us a boat, in Peniche. It belongs to the mayor. He was most pleased to make my acquaintance as an English sea captain and readily agreed to lend it to me.’
‘And I have found you some luncheon.’ I hand him some bread and dried pork, which he devours on the way to the mayor’s quay. It is away from the main beach, and though some of the boats are damaged here, many are intact.
‘A sandbar protected this side,’ he explains as we climb in. Soon we are away, a rolled-up blanket – in case the journey is chilly – and my small bag beside me, filled with food and drink for our trip, my lamp and tinderbox, and some paper and pencils to record anything new I find. I have an intuition this will be my final visit to my cave for some time. A change is coming. We talk little on the way, as the breeze is strong and whistling. As we approach Berlenga Grande I look up to see my hut standing proudly and my heart lightens. But all around the coast of the island I see there is damage, egregious damage in places. I know its inlets, caves and shapes so well – I have paced and mapped it mentally for months – that I note where every rock has altered. They have been smashed by force, some caves have collapsed and stacks have been created where once there were arches. We veer north towards the Farilhões and head for the cave islet. I realise there are no animals here. All the squawking seabirds have gone, not one remains. As we get closer, the same damage is visible here and I am nauseous as Captain Alex steers us into the mooring-place beneath my cave. Already I can see that we are in the wrong place, that this must be the wrong islet, for there is no path, no cave, just a ruin of rocks.
And I shout at him, ‘This is not correct. It is another islet.’
‘No, no. This is the one. Where we went before.’
And with horror, I see a few fossils in the stone below the rock pile. This was once my cave.
‘No, no!’ I cry and pull off my jacket, ready to jump in and swim to it. He grabs my arm and pulls me back, then brings in the boat. I scramble out and do not wait for him. I can make it a few steps up the path, but no further. I peer into the ruin to see if a way can be cleared. I hitch up my skirt and begin to climb over rocks, but they slip and I cry out. He is below me, shouting for me to stay still. I ignore him and try to climb further, but the rocks come sliding down in a tumble and I land on my back on the path, my hands grazed and my pride wounded. As I lie looking up, I see that the very roof of the cave has been crushed, that there is no cave any more – there is nothing left of it, only broken shards and lumps of stone. Then his face is before mine and he is scolding me.
‘You could have been hurt, killed!’
‘My cave, my cave!’ I howl, turning my face from him into the sandy path, tears streaming off my nose into the dust. His arms about me, I stand; but my knees are weak, not from the fall but from the dreadful knowledge that a thing of rare and unique beauty has been cruelly smashed to pieces. And this is the feather that will break my back; it was all I had left and my hope and spirit seem crushed beneath it.
‘My dear, my dear,’ he says and holds me. ‘There will be other caves.’
‘You do not understand,’ I scream at him, pushing him away. ‘There was nothing like it on this earth. It was singular, a miracle. And it has been destroyed, wantonly ruined by … by what? By your vengeful God? For what purpose? It held the secrets of our past. And now it is gone. Oh, it is gone, it is gone for ever.’
He holds me while I cry, though I have shouted at him. In silence, he leads me to the boat and sails us to Berlenga Grande, past the empty fort, whose soldiers have been dispatched to the mainland. We are alone in this place. He takes my hand and draws me out on to the quay, puts his arm about me and walks me up the hill to my hut. It is empty too, except the bare cot in which I used to sleep to the sound of the sea. Inside, every glance reminds me of my friends, my cave, my happy times on my island, and my eyes brim again. He takes my hands and squeezes them. I look to him.
We watch each other for a moment, the eyes, the hair, the mouth. And we kiss.
‘Dawnay,’ he whispers.
We kiss again. The second such kiss of my life.
‘A beautiful name. I have spoken it, over and over, these months. Like a blessing. Dawnay.’
To hear my name from his lips, it is like honey on the tongue. No one has ever said my name this way, so soft and sweet.
‘The orphanage gave that name to me.’
‘Beautiful though. Because it is yours.’
Another kiss. There has been a life of twenty-three years, without kissing like this. And I have wasted my time.
And when we fall on each other it is as if we fight and when we lie together we move as one curved creature and afterwards we half sleep, half wake, breathing deeply, surrou
nded by the suspirations of the ocean.
20
We are wrapped in each other and the blanket, as the November wind whistles about our hut. I am lying in the arms of my love and nobody could be more astonished than myself. My head buried in my work, my heart beating only to sustain life, I did not see beyond myself, I did not know my love until he kissed me.
‘Will you call me Robin?’
‘I will not. You are Cap’n Alex to me and always will be.’
‘But I want to hear you say my name!’
‘Then you will have a very long wait.’
‘Is there any subject upon which we agree?’
‘I doubt it.’
We glare at each other, then smile.
‘If you will not say my name, then speak to me of other things. I love the timbre of your voice. It is like music to me. Tell me about your work. Tell me of the paintings in the cave.’
I explain them in all particulars, trying to convey their splendour and importance.
‘How do you know they are ancient? Surely they could have been made by local children, very recently. They sound quite infantile.’
I pull away from him and sit up on my elbows. I am quite naked and yet have no shame, no sense of propriety, indeed I delight in it, and his nakedness also. Here, on this island, we are like the last two people on earth, or the first.
‘Oh, you are so belligerently ignorant at times! Many of the paintings are embedded in translucent minerals. It has formed over them. It takes an epoch of time to form such layers. And what is more, they are surrounded by ancient objects on the ground, covered in aged moonmilk, such as the animal skulls and cutting tools formed from rock.’
‘If you are correct, then there will be further caves across the world. It is simply a case of finding them. This cannot be the only one.’
‘Then that will be my task. To search for them and find them all.’ A fleeting image occurs to me of myself on Robin’s ship, sailing the seas together, yet I dismiss it as beyond folly; I do not wish to face the future just yet.
Song of the Sea Maid Page 17
