The Light from the Dark Side of the Moon by Norman G. Gautreau

Author:Norman G. Gautreau
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Amphorae Publishing Group, LLC
Published: 2019-07-08T16:00:00+00:00

New York City sits beneath a bright and sunny afternoon when the doorman at the Waldorf-Astoria waves down a taxi for me. “Brooklyn Cruise Terminal,” I tell the driver. The people at Cunard suggested I arrive at the terminal by two in the afternoon for the five o’clock sailing. A half hour later we pull up to the cruise terminal. I pay the driver, step from the cab, look up at the bow of Queen Mary 2 towering above me, and smile. It takes me over an hour to go through the check-in process. Finally, I cross the gangplank, find my cabin, and unpack. I sit for a while in a lounge chair on the balcony of my cabin to catch my breath. It’s been a little more strenuous than I’d anticipated.

There is an emergency drill at 4 o’clock during which I find my way to my assigned muster station. But after that, I am free to stroll the observation deck and watch the departure.

A deep-throated rumble from the ship’s horn—a characteristic bass A as if tuning an orchestra of giants—signals our departure. With the band playing, Glenn Miller’s “Moonlight Serenade,” we pass the Statue of Liberty, and soon travel under the Verrazano Narrows Bridge and into the open Atlantic. My back aches and my legs are beyond tired, but I don’t want to miss the departure.

At last, an hour later, in the Todd English restaurant, aft on Deck 7, I settle into a comfortable chair. I choose the “Crispy Duck with a ginger sesame glaze served over root vegetables & sweet and sour cabbage” plus a half bottle of Beaujolais—far better than the hospital food that was part of my life the last several weeks. The duck makes me think of Odette Dupont and her cassoulet. Perhaps that’s why I ordered it. No doubt she and Gaston are long dead. They had to be at least twenty years older than I. So many of the people I knew then are dead, I’m sure. I wonder about the children and I draw a sharp breath when I realize the youngest among them, Mitzi, would now be about 75. I shiver at the thought.

After dinner, and taking many breaks along the way, I stroll the deck further aft toward the stern where the red British ensign whips smartly in the breeze. On a deck below, I’m delighted to find a children’s pool, and I lean on a railing and watch the children play. Their joyful shouts and laughter make me smile. I tilt my head back and look up into the night sky to find Mars. I don’t know if it’s in retrograde or not, but it makes me think of Élodie and those children and our long-ago southward journey, and I am filled both with anticipation and trepidation for what I might find in France. In my mind, I reach up with both hands, like a curator in a museum straightening a picture, and make sure the face of the moon is turned squarely toward me.

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