Ships Passing
By Jeanne Berjoui Lawson
“Ships that pass in the night, and speak [to]each other in passing, Only a signal shown and a distant voice in the darkness; So on the ocean of life, we pass and speak one another, Only a look and a voice, then darkness again and a silence.” Tales of a Wayside Inn by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Even though it was Christmas week, this was not a pleasure trip for me – it was work. The publisher of a business trade magazine offered me a freelance assignment requiring a trip across the Atlantic Ocean to Cadiz, Spain. I grabbed it as fast as an eagle devours a freshly caught salmon. I traveled from my home in Maine to New York, where I boarded the ship and spent ten days on the MS Queen Margaret, named after the Queen of Denmark, Norway, and Sweden. The ocean liner’s maiden voyage was in 1936, when she left Gothenburg, Sweden, and arrived in New York City on Christmas day. The ship was being retired, and the publisher wanted a story.
Anders Fredriksson designed the ocean liner before World War II. A staunch pacifist, he vehemently protested when the Kriegsmarine, the German Navy, commandeered the ship during the war, and Nazi officers and their families enjoyed its amenities. The designer’s grandson, Erik Fredriksson, a sea captain of cargo liners, agreed to captain the ship’s final cruise.
Captain Fredriksson’s duties were demanding for the first few days of the journey. Instead of meeting with him, I interviewed the First Officer, the Boatswain’s Mate, and the Lecturer. Although I researched the history and significance of the liner, I learned one new tidbit: the ship had been called the “Orient Express” of the sea because of her elegant service and opulent passengers.
On the third day of the trip, I interviewed Captain Fredriksson, who gave me a tour of where he thought I could take pictures to accompany the article. I guessed he was about forty years old. His rugged and agreeable face was perfect for the article. I visualized him with a pipe in his mouth advertising Borkum Riff tobacco. He elicited all the answers I expected from a reserved professional. But I wanted more of a personal spin. I asked, “Can you share a memory of your grandfather?” He said he could not recall anything special. I kept quiet, and my silence elicited something I could use. “My grandfather taught me to ski during my annual Christmas holiday in Sweden when I was eight years old. He lost a leg due to an automobile accident but still skied with one leg. Now whenever I go skiing, I think of him,” Captain Fredriksson said. The captain volunteered that he had a photograph of the two skiing and would let me use it for the article. I was elated.
After the interview, I worked in my cabin nonstop to meet my deadline. While pouring over my notes, I realized I needed the captain to clarify two details. He offered to meet me in his private lounge and ordered coffee and cake. This second meeting was more relaxed and genial than our first. He even asked me to call him Erik.
After answering my questions, he unbuttoned his uniform jacket, offered me more coffee, and asked me how I became a writer. “My husband died five years ago. After he died, I prayed for God to give me something meaningful to do.” Erik listened intently. “As I adjusted to my life alone, I remembered that I always wanted to improve my writing skills. I started taking college English classes, and then I realized that this is what God gave me to do – write. I have an MBA and write business stories like this one, and in my free time I write short crime fiction stories.”
When I finished speaking, Erik did not say anything. He averted his eyes from mine and looked down at his thighs where his hands rested. His eyes focused on his wedding band, “I stopped praying after my wife died three years ago. Did prayer help after your husband died? Does the grief get any easier?” Erik asked.
“Yes, to both questions. I still think about my husband every day, but I found after the third anniversary, I stopped crying as much and felt less depressed.” My sense was Erik was in a place I knew well. “I leaned on God during my husband’s illness as I do today. I forced myself to travel through the grief no matter how painful or ugly it got. I think that’s allowed me to enjoy the love we shared in peace.” I saw Erik’s face change. Suddenly, he began to sob. Not weeping but a deep, gut-wrenching cry. I let him get it out. When he finished, I knelt beside him, held his hands in mine, and prayed silently for God to ease his pain. After, he talked for two hours. I listened. That was what I thought he needed—someone to listen to his feelings about his loss.
When Erik stopped talking, I said, “Don’t worry – this won’t go in the article.” We both laughed, and he smiled for the first time since I had met him. I thanked Erik for trusting me enough to share his story.
I barely saw Erik for the rest of the cruise. We never spoke but only smiled from a distance. I left him a message, said goodbye, and thanked him for the interview. As I joined the other passengers disembarking in Cadiz, I saw Erik on an upper deck. He waved and beckoned me to join him above. We spoke briefly, and he handed me an envelope. I invited him to come to Maine but doubted he ever would.
Erik’s last words were encouraging: “I’ve been praying since we last met—it feels good, and Maine is a place I want to visit someday.” I wasn’t expecting that, but I knew he would love seeing the Atlantic Ocean from my back porch.
I planned to stay in Cadiz and tour the area for a few days before returning to the United States. My hotel was the Aurea Casa Palacio Sagasta, located in the center of the old town. When I entered the hotel’s front door, I saw elegance, simplicity, and the Moorish influence in architecture and décor. Christmas decorations adorned the lobby. I did not mind being alone for the holiday. My Christmas traditions ended when my husband died, and eventually, I grew to cherish solitude.
Once in my suite, I showered, changed, and ventured out to see the town. The sun shone in my eyes when I walked out of the hotel, and as I reached into my purse for my sunglasses, I realized I had forgotten to open the envelope Erik handed me earlier. He was staying at a friend’s villa on the outskirts of Cadiz and invited me to dinner that evening. I sent him a text accepting. At 8:00 P.M., he arrived and picked me up in the lobby. He remembered I liked seafood and suggested a place where the locals ate. He was worried they might be closed because it was Christmas evening, but they were open. The dinner was delicious, and the seafood was so fresh. It reminded me of Maine when I bought fish and lobsters from local fishermen at my town’s local pier.
“I hope you don’t mind that I invited you to dinner on such short notice, but I thought I’d give you some suggestions on things to see in the area,” Erik said.
“No, of course not. This is my first trip to Cadiz and your tips are welcome. I gather you’ve been here before,” I said.
“Yes. My wife Olivia’s family is from here. We also lived here,” Erik said. It was the first time he mentioned her name.
“Are you still close with your husband’s family?” Erik asked.
“He came from a small family and his parents are dead. All I do now is send Christmas cards to his brother and sister. We rarely talk on the phone. What about you?” I asked.
“The villa I am staying at belongs to my wife’s best friend, Trina. I do keep in contact with Olivia’s parents,” Erik said. After dinner, we walked around the old town and headed to the waterfront. It started to get cool, and I did not bring a jacket. Erik put his jacket on my shoulders. We returned to my hotel, had a brandy in the bar, and talked longer.
“Where’s your next assignment?” Erik asked.
“I just turned in my ocean liner story. I won’t look for another assignment for a few weeks. I’ve got a few short fiction stories to work on before seeking one out,” I said. The evening came to an end, and we said goodnight. I wondered if this were the last time I would see Erik.
Just as I got under the covers, Erik called from his car and suggested we do a walking tour the next day. I accepted. We spent the whole day walking everywhere. We had so much fun and laughed constantly. What I missed most about my husband was the laughter and teasing. No matter how busy I kept myself since he died, there were many times I wanted to tell him something funny. When I prayed, I sometimes asked God to tell him about those funny things for me.
After a full day of walking, we were both tired. He told me we were a short walk from where he was staying and invited me for a late afternoon meal. I accepted. There was a climb up a hill through a grove of soursop trees and many other forms of vegetation. It was still hot, but a cool breeze revived us as we climbed higher. The villa offered a beautiful view of the city, and the house’s interior was charming. Erik made a pitcher of sangria, and we sat on a comfortable bench on the patio.
Voices awakened me. I realized Erik was not sitting next to me—I must have dozed off. The voices were coming from inside the house. In a few minutes, I realized they were talking about me and calling Erik Don Juan and other slanderous names. I was not sure what to do. Should I stay on the patio or go inside the house? I did not get the opportunity to decide—the voices made their way to me.
“You have no respect for my daughter’s memory bringing this woman here,” Olivia’s mother said.
“This is a business acquaintance of mine who’s visiting Cadiz and I gave her a tour of town. We were tired and stopped here for something to eat,” Erik said.
“You liar, why were you sleeping together on that bench?” Trina asked.
“We must have dozed off when we had the sangria. I’d never bring a woman to your home for an interlude. I’ve had no romantic interest in women since Olivia’s death. You owe my guest an apology,” Erik said.
“No. You were never there for Olivia, always working,” Olivia’s mother said. “May you rot in hell or, better yet, at the bottom of the sea. An hour before she died you fought with her,” Olivia’s mother said. I did not know what to do. I was frozen and couldn’t get off the bench. I looked at Erik. His eyes were watery, and the tears were about to spill over. He turned and looked directly at his mother-in-law and glared.
“You know very little about her death so don’t blame me. I protected Olivia’s Madonna like image for your sake. I shielded you from the shame of her death,” Erik said. He turned away, wiped his eyes, and looked at me.
“What are you talking about? You argued with her, and she called Antonio to pick her up. They drove off and crashed. It’s your fault she’s dead,” Trina said. She continued to make accusations and lunged at Erik. He grabbed her by the wrists and asked if she wanted to know the whole story. She went silent. Erik released her wrists. She slapped Erik’s face and told him he had to leave her house.
“Yes, I’m happy to go. But first I’m going to tell you the whole story before I leave. Read the police and coroner’s report before you call me a liar again,” Erik said.
“You horrible man. Now you’re trying to ease your guilt,” Olivia’s mother said.
“I’ve held this in my chest for three years. I want someone else to know the truth besides me. Yes, we argued. Let me tell you why. I came home early from a trip and found Olivia and Antonio in my bed having relations. I burst into the room and pulled him off her. I thought he was raping her. That wasn’t the case. Olivia told me they had been having an affair for a year, and she wanted a divorce. I fell backwards and landed on the floor in a state of shock. They dressed and left. In an hour I got the call about the crash. Antonia and Olivia were drinking whiskey in the car,” Erik said. Not only had his wife died, he learned she was unfaithful. He kept the secret to protect her family and friends. How dreadful for him, I thought. Olivia’s mother ran over to him and used her fists to beat him on his chest. He let her do it. She cried and wailed and fell to the patio floor. Erik picked her up and brought her over to a chair.
Trina was standing, crying, and when she got a little of her composure back, she started to speak, “Olivia told me she was pregnant the day before she died. She told me she didn’t tell you yet, which I thought was odd. You two talked about having children all the time. I thought she’d be eager to tell you.”
“It wasn’t my baby,” Erik said. He went to the kitchen and brought a glass of water for his mother-in-law and Trina. He looked at me and asked if I was okay. I nodded that I was. He moved his lips, and I could tell he said, “I’m sorry.”
“I’m bringing my friend back to her hotel. I’ll return, pack up my belongings, and leave tonight,” Erik said. The two women were silent. I got up from the bench, and we left. The walk back to the hotel took forty-five minutes, mostly in silence. Once we reached the hotel, Erik apologized for the scene but explained that he had held that secret inside for three years and was ready to burst. He knew spouses were unfaithful to each other, but what Olivia and Antonio were up to was a shock. He shared he was angry at himself for not putting the pieces together. He was sorry for his outburst and for dragging me into the drama. I told him I thought he did the right thing. They needed to know, and he needed to unburden himself.
Before he left, I asked him where he would stay, and he did not answer. I let him know I had a suite and there was a sofa bed he could use. He shared that he needed to fly to England in two days to pick up his next cargo ship. That was the same day I was leaving for the United States. He left me in the lobby and said he would call or text me about staying at my hotel. I hugged him goodbye and retired to my room.
In an hour, Erik called and said he had gotten a room at my hotel and asked if I would like to have dinner. I forgot I was hungry. We met in the hotel’s restaurant. We talked about different subjects but avoided what had transpired at the villa. He regretted he had spoken in anger, but he could not take them insulting me any longer. “You’re innocent, and I shouldn’t have dragged you into this mess. I haven’t looked at a woman in three years in any sort of romantic way. You’re the first woman I have spent time with, and I realize how much I missed a woman’s company. I just hope what you heard today does not make you think less of me,” Erik said.
I wasn’t expecting that, but inside, I got giddy, and my body felt chilly, like goosebumps. “It makes me think more of you and your sacrifice,” I said. I reached for his hand across the table and noticed his wedding band was off. The tan line remained, but that would fade over time.
At the end of the evening, we said goodbye, and Erik announced that he decided he was leaving for England in the morning. A day sooner than he planned.
The ocean liner article was well received, and I got another assignment from the publisher. I have not heard from Erik for six months. Out of the blue, he wrote and told me he had given up being a sea captain and had become a faculty member at the Maine Maritime Academy, where he would teach Global Logistics and Vessel Operations. He was bringing his last cargo ship into Boston Harbor and would like to see me before starting his new job if I was amenable. I cried as I read his letter and finally acknowledged that I fell in love with him the first day I met him on the MS Queen Margaret. I was elated and amenable to seeing him again.
We married in Castine at the Academy, with a battleship as the backdrop. This was two years after our first reunion in Maine. Our first child was born a year after our wedding. We named our daughter Margaret.
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