Ship of Fools by Katherine Anne Porter

Author:Katherine Anne Porter
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781504003537
Publisher: Open Road Media

PART III

The Harbors

For here have we no continuing city …

Saint Paul

In the evening, late, with the reflected sunlight still faintly green and golden in sea and sky, the voyagers’ long day’s waiting, hovering and staring at the horizon was rewarded with a distant sight of Tenerife, a jagged, rock-shaped, rock-colored fortress of an island rising abruptly from gray water, misty at the base and canopied with sagging violet clouds.

David spoke quietly to Jenny after a long silence together leaning on their arms at the rail so as not to disturb the gentle mood between them; the deep shining satisfaction in his face surprised her. “That’s my notion of Spain,” he said, “that’s my kind of country. Toledo, Avila, not Sevilla. Orange groves and castanets and lace mantillas—not for me!”

“They’re got them in Spain too, though, for those who prefer them,” said Jenny, tenderly, “but no, not for you, David darling. Granite and sand and faces of the finest Spanish leather, and bitter bread, and twisted olive trees—where even the babies are so tough they won’t wear diapers. I know that is really your idea of heaven, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” said David stoutly, “something tough and grand—Toledo steel, and granite, and Spanish leather, and Spanish pride and hate, and Spanish cruelty—they’re the only people who know how to make an art of cruelty … I’m sick of things all runny at the edges.…”

“Couldn’t there be something between a runny edge and a knife-edge?” asked Jenny, hearing herself sound wistful and hoping David did not notice. “There are palms and flowers even in Tenerife, I’ll bet you anything, and a lot of people who are very soft on each other; and the boys serenade the girls on moonlight nights just as they do in Mexico—you’ll hate it!”

He said nothing more, gave her a blue-eyed look that she loved, and that quieted her entirely, because no matter what came up for them to fight about, she still believed that she was willing to make peace with him on his own terms, if only she could find out what they were.

The gulls came out to meet them and circled about screaming furiously, pumping their stiff mechanical wings and turning their wooden heads as if on hinges to eye the scene severely, falling like stones to the waves, snatching at lumps of galley refuse.

“Same old story,” said Herr Lutz, pausing alongside, “all looking for something to eat, and they don’t care where it comes from.”

“It will be nice, hearing the last of him,” whispered Jenny, hopefully.

In the morning, the engines gave three loud thumps, and stopped. Jenny put her head out, and there at her very porthole was Santa Cruz de Tenerife, a jagged long rock indeed, sown with palms, smothered in bougainvillea, the flat square houses perched and huddled on cliff-steep levels hacked out as with chisels. The wharf was on a wide beach, the longshoremen were gathered and ready, a small crowd waited without much expectation. Two policemen came among them and began to wave them back towards either side of the wharf, until there was a wide path opened between them.

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