City of Liars (Lost Tales of Sepharad Book 1) by Fogle Michelle

Author:Fogle, Michelle [Fogle, Michelle]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Legacy Imprints
Published: 2021-10-28T00:00:00+00:00

Joachim Déulocresca

In Barcelona, the launch of a new ship is a communal celebration. Many labor hard during the autumn and winter seasons when the Mediterranean is mare clausum. But the first day of spring is the prime occasion for a maiden voyage. For sailors who’ve endured the winter on meager rations, it’s time to seek their fortunes upon the waves. Today is such a day.

However momentous and illustrious this launch is, I travel into the city facing this day with as much trepidation as hope. For the first time in my life, I will stand on a dais before the citizens and Bautista will publically introduce me as the ship’s navigator. I shudder at the possible consequences. I’ve longed to find acceptance and respect. But there is no way to predict how people will react. Some attendees may assume I am a Jew. Navigation is one of the few professions left that doesn’t require baptism. One thing is clear. My face will now be recognizable, and my real name known to everyone. Am I ready to surrender my anonymity? Will this vulnerability be worth the risk?

The sun has not yet breeched the eastern horizon as I approach the waterfront just outside the city walls. Dozens of glowing reflections flicker on the dark water, accompanied by a haunting polyphony of small hand bells and bittersweet song. The wives and daughters of the Honest Watermen of Barcelona gather along the water’s edge, as they do every year. Each one stoops to cast adrift a special loaf of bread, shaped into a boat and fitted with a candle. The loaves find their way to the bodies of those beloved lost at sea with a lament and a prayer.

Their mournful song touches a resonant chord in me. Dread clouds the ferment and eagerness to embark. There’s wrenching sadness of parting, and uncertainty of a homecoming. I re-experienced these feelings every season of sail in my boyhood when grandfather went to sea. This time, I am the one leaving. I know what is at stake. It still feels the same, but now with a heightened sense of urgency. The first rays of sun turn the sky and the sea a pale rose color. I close these things away in the recesses of my heart. Today is supposed to be a day of celebration.

As I stroll into the Drassanes, craftsmen and attendees drift through the bays; entire families dressed in festive attire. The roll of a drum cuts through the voices in the shipyard, and heralds the vanguard of a parade. Groups of craftsmen march together, holding their fringed gonfalons aloft on poles; the carpenters’ guild, the sawyers, joiners and others. They are the leading edge of a procession that makes its way from sunrise Mass at the Mariner’s church. Citizenry of every status soon packs the bays, shoulder to shoulder, while the musicians play lively dance tunes.

The throng of celebrants opens a passageway when Joan Bautista enters the Drassanes. He arrives in the company of the Harbor Master, Pero Cardona, and the priest of la Mercé.

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