23
Maika
Palermo. Sixth day on the road.
The Marine IV docks in Palermo as if, after what happened in Rome and Naples, the universe had decided to offer us an apology for all the commotion.
Gonzalo told me he’d be coming. So did Lara, Nico, and supposedly someone else. Naturally, none of them shows up. Surprisingly, the one who walks through security is Helen.
She’s wearing a simple, elegant dark blue shirtdress that contrasts with her pulled-back hair, and sunglasses that threaten to throw me off balance as she walks toward me.
“Hi,” she says, stopping at a safe distance.
“Hi,” I reply.
“Where’s Gonzalo?” she asks, scanning the pier with a hint of suspicion.
“That’s exactly what I’d like to know,” I reply, shrugging.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. A second later, hers vibrates. We both look down at the same time.
There’s a message from Gonzalo in the WhatsApp group we share.
Gonzalo: Either you two work things out, or I swear I’ll throw you overboard on the way to Sardinia. Kisses.
Below it, he adds an anchor emoji, a heart, and an eggplant, which, for the sake of my mental health, I completely ignore. Helen stares at the screen. She frowns and presses her lips together.
“I’m going to kill him,” she mutters under her breath.
“Well, get in line,” I reply.
Helen looks up at me. For a second, she seems on the verge of apologizing for taking up the same square foot of space as me. Then she takes a deep breath, as if suddenly remembering a point on her famous list of interpersonal improvements, and regains her composure.
“We can go back to the ship,” she suggests, glancing toward the gangway where passengers are beginning to disembark en masse.
“We could…” I admit. “Or better yet, we could accept that Gonzalo has blatantly manipulated us and take advantage of the fact that we’re in Palermo to unwind. We deserve it, don’t you think?”
Helen looks toward the city, then toward the ship, which looks imposing and gigantic as it dominates the harbor, and finally, she fixes her eyes on me.
“We have to be on board by 4:30,” she insists.
“Yes, my officer,” I reply sarcastically, raising my hand to my forehead in a military salute.
Then she looks at me over her glasses, with that slightly arched eyebrow that leaves me breathless.
“Don’t you dare use that tone with me, Maika.”
I’m about to do it again, and she knows it.
“Sorry, you just make it too easy for me,” I correct myself with a mischievous smile.
Palermo welcomes us, enveloped in that chaotic beauty that distinguishes the cities of the Italian coast. The streets, illuminated by a sun that seems to bathe everything in gold, are filled with a delicious aroma of freshly baked bread, tomatoes, basil, and citrus.
Several Vespas whiz past us, weaving through traffic, and from the balconies overflowing with laundry, a homely scent wafts out that, for a moment, leaves me in awe.
We walk without a set destination, which for a mind like Helen’s is an experience bordering on an extreme sport. I glance at her from time to time as we cross the avenues. She says nothing, simply walking beside me; a bit tense at first, but more relaxed as the minutes pass.
“You’re making a superhuman effort not to organize the morning, aren’t you?” I ask curiously as we turn onto a side street.
“Actually, I am organizing it internally,” she confesses without looking at me, though I notice the hint of a smile.
“You can say that again. You look like you’re mapping out three alternative routes and an evacuation plan in your head, just in case a Sicilian nonna blocks our path with a shopping cart.”
Helen turns her head just then toward a woman who, coincidentally, is pushing a cart overflowing with lemons and oranges on the other side of the street.
“In this line of work, you can never rule out any threat,” she replies with feigned seriousness.
I laugh heartily. And then something simple and beautiful happens: Helen laughs too. Her warm, rare laugh lingers between us as we walk on until we reach a square where the sun makes the Baroque facades shine as if someone had polished them especially for us.
We enter a small church where the air is cool and the only thing you can hear is that deathly silence capable of giving you goosebumps.
Helen instinctively lowers her voice to point out a detail in a ceiling fresco, and I move a little closer, just to enjoy her closeness and this respite that feels like normal life.
“I’m not as dramatic as you make me out to be, Maika.”
“Let me remind you that you wrote a guide on how to approach me and act like a normal person,” I remind her affectionately.
“It was a management tool,” she defends herself, though her eyes sparkle so brightly they give away her amusement. “What’s more, it worked.”
“A little,” I concede.
“Then don’t criticize my methods,” she concludes, nudging me.
We step back out into the bustle of the street amid laughter, sensing how, little by little, the tension is fading. Palermo pulses to the beat of street music, the fast pace of its people, and the commotion of children playing ball in an alley.
By mid-morning we find ourselves sitting at a small table under a green awning, overlooking a narrow street. We order pasta, caprese salad, water, and, at my suggestion, a pitcher of well-chilled house white wine.
Helen eyes the drink as if it were a flammable substance and looks at me with a raised eyebrow.
“Maika, we have to be on duty in a few hours,” she reminds me. “Don’t you think that’s a bit much…?”
“You said it yourself, in many hours,” I interrupt her, holding my glass between my fingers.
“By the time we get back to the ship, the alcohol will have worn off. Besides, half a glass of Sicilian wine isn’t going to stop you from reciting the ship’s safety code from memory. Enjoy yourself a little.”
Helen sighs, but gives in and lets the waiter pour her a little. She raises her glass and looks me in the eyes.
“To Palermo,” I propose.
“To the right to take a break,” she adds.
“To that, too.”
We drink. The wine is ice-cold, smooth, and has a hint of citrus that makes me close my eyes for a second.
The fatigue that’s built up over the last few days of the voyage is still there, but it doesn’t weigh on me as much anymore.
Maybe it’s the sun, maybe the wine, or maybe because Helen is sitting across from me, without her uniform, without a folder in her hands, and without pretending that she’s indifferent to my feelings.
The truth is, it feels like we’ve been together on this cruise for an eternity, when in reality it’s only been a few intense days.
But I suppose Helen Müller has that effect: she distorts time.
We talk about everything and nothing at the same time. Soon, though, the conversation shifts naturally as the waiter clears the plates and we leave the last half of our glasses to linger over the meal.
“Yesterday’s evaluation session was intense,” I comment cautiously, testing the waters.
Helen pauses for a moment.
“Yes, it really was,” she admits. “I didn’t expect them to put us in such a direct face-to-face situation, or to force us to lay ourselves bare professionally like that.”
“Neither did I,” I confess. “Although you did very well.”
“Is that part of your strategy to make me fall at your feet?” she asks with a hint of irony.
“No. It’s a completely sincere observation,” I clarify, leaning toward her slightly. “Well, and maybe a little strategy too. I already told you. You should break the rules a little.”
The corners of her lips turn up.
“You were brilliant too,” she acknowledges in a low voice.
“I know…”
Helen lets out a laugh, shaking her head.
“Such a lack of modesty.”
“I’m practicing accepting compliments without feigning modesty. The ship’s medical team says it’s very healthy,” I joke.
“I should add that to my to-do list,” she plays along.
“Why do you want that job so badly? As far as I can remember, you’ve never told me why.”
The question comes from the heart. Helen looks out onto the street, where a man walks by carrying boxes of lemons and a motorcycle revs up.
“To be honest, Maika… I’m tired of living cooped up in a floating metal structure,” she replies, stroking the edge of her napkin.
“For a long time, I thought sailing was the best thing ever. At first, it fulfilled me; it made me feel like I was moving forward. But lately…” She swallows.
“I feel like the ship is moving, but I’m stuck in the same place. ”
Something inside me softens.
“I want stability,” she continues. “An office on dry land, a team that doesn’t leave when their contract ends, making decisions that last longer than a cruise season. I don’t want to keep feeling like my whole life fits into two suitcases and a cabin.”
I understand her perfectly. Those of us who choose this job spend months isolated from reality. Your social life, your schedule, and your space are measured by the length of the contract, and sometimes, that instability eats away at you from the inside.
“Even if it’s a great opportunity. I want that position because I need to feel like my feet are on solid ground and not on something that comes and goes with the tides.”
My grandmother’s voice gets stuck in my head. “And why didn’t you take that step?” It’s strange that I’ve never told her about her, and that I’m still unable to do so now.
“What are you thinking about?” she asks, noticing I’m distracted.
“Nothing… Well, I’m just realizing how important this is to you,” I say.
Helen doesn’t seem entirely convinced by my answer, but she’s kind enough not to press me.
“It is,” she says.
I nod and take a sip of what’s left of the wine to swallow the words I’ve decided to keep to myself.
“I don’t want to take your dreams away from you, Helen. But I can’t pretend that I’m not interested in that promotion either. I’d never thought about it before, but now that the opportunity has presented itself…”
“You shouldn’t pretend,” she interrupts me. “I think we can both compete for the same office without having to tear each other apart in the process.”
“That would be suspiciously mature of us,” I joke to lighten the mood.
“I’m maturing, I told you.”
We smile. The breeze rustles the awning above us, and the waiter brings us a couple of tiramisu, on the house. Palermo is still alive, loud, and beautiful all around us. And for the first time in many days, I don’t feel like we’re on opposite sides of a war.
“What if we let them decide?” I suggest, resting my fists on the table.
Helen frowns, intrigued.
“We could just do our jobs as best we can on board, and let them decide whatever they need to decide. After all, that’s why they came aboard incognito.”
Helen fiddles with the stem of her glass, deep in thought.
“You know that, whatever decision they make, one of us is going to get hurt, right?”
“Of course it’ll hurt, Helen. But it’ll hurt a lot less if we haven’t torn each other apart before we hear the shipping company’s decision.”
Helen looks down at the table, moved.
“I don’t want to ruin whatever it is we’re building.”
My heart skips a beat. “Whatever it is we’re building.” Coming from a woman who lives constrained by rules and safe distance, that’s almost a full-fledged declaration of love.
“Me neither,” I confess.
The whole world seems to shrink down to this wooden table in Palermo, to the dregs of wine, to the half-eaten desserts, and to the absolute certainty that, if either of us were just a tiny bit braver or a little less conscious of company policy, we would have already kissed each other senseless.
So, as panic gets the better of me, I fall back on my usual routine and raise my glass.
Then Helen’s phone vibrates on the tablecloth. As she looks at the screen, her expression changes completely and she stiffens again.
“It’s Gonzalo,” she announces, huffing.
“That scares me,” I reply. “What nonsense is he coming up with now?”
She reads the text message aloud: “I hope you’re enjoying the wonderful Sicilian scenery, but I forgot one small detail.
We need you to bring back fresh lemons from the local markets for tomorrow’s Captain’s Night.
Apparently, the chef wants to make a special dessert and we’re out of stock. Enjoy the trip!”
I stare at her. She does exactly the same.
“Lemons?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
“Lemons,” she confirms.
“For the ship’s chef? Seriously?”
“That’s what he wrote.”
She hands me the phone so I can see the screen. It’s obviously a blatant lie; the Marine IV’s provisions department would never rely on two officers lugging bags around Palermo for the gala menu. It’s yet another one of Gonzalo’s tricks to force us to spend more time together.
I glance at my watch and then at her, who’s trying to stifle a laugh.
“That damn manipulator is playing with fire,” I say, though laughter is already rising in my throat.
“He likes to live on the edge,” she agrees, losing the battle against her own smile.
I burst out laughing. Helen follows suit two seconds later. Then, still smiling, I get up from my chair and leave some bills on the table to pay the check.
“Come on, my officer. We have a high-priority logistics mission to carry out at the Palermo markets.”
Helen puts on her sunglasses and looks me up and down with a huge smile.
“Please, Maika, don’t call it that.”
“Does ‘Operation Citrus’ seem like a more appropriate name for the report?” I joke as we start walking.
“Much worse.”
“Hmmmm, how about ‘Plan Yellow’?” I suggest, nudging her gently with my elbow.
“Maika, please, show a little respect for the uniform,” she warns.
I look at her with a beaming smile and close the gap between our strides. Gonzalo may be completely crazy, but right now I owe him my life.
Because walking through Palermo alongside Helen no longer feels like walking a tightrope toward an inevitable conflict, but rather like the beginning of a truce that, if I have even a little courage, could turn into the best journey of my life.