Chapter 1 : Part 4

Spring and Fall
by Nicholas Delbanco

(Page 4 of 7)

When Catherine returned to Chicago he found himself regretting it, for he had grown accustomed to her presence by his side. Therefore he invited her to join him for the trip. "You've been wonderful," said Lawrence; he wanted to show her how grateful he was and would enjoy the company. But she had used up her vacation in July and could not take another week away from work.

"My treat. I'll pay for it," he repeated. "Daddy, that isn't the point."

"The point is," he cajoled her, "your father misses you. And you haven't ever been to see-the cruise is billed as-the 'Treasures of the Western Mediterranean.' Don't you think you need to see them? The Isle of Capri? The temples of Agrigento? Malta?"

"It's called my life, remember? And I need to get back to it."

"I know that, sweetheart, I do understand."

Her life, he did not say to her, was something she should try to change: a dead-end job, a bridge game every Monday night, a clutch of other single women living in Hyde Park. How had this happened, he wanted to ask, how had his golden daughter grown so plump and wan? Her husband had taken a business trip and did not return from Atlanta and, as she later discovered, had emptied out their bank account and was living with another lawyer and filing for divorce. Catherine was childless, thirty-seven, and although she tried to put her best foot forward and a brave face on things Lawrence knew that in her heart of hearts she too was disappointed; she had been so hopeful, once, such an ebullient presence. The laughter was over, the bright light had dimmed, and to the best of his ability he tried to make amends.

"How can I help?" he asked aga in. "You helped me so much this last summer."

"No problem."

"I hate that phrase, 'no problem.' It's what everybody says these days. In restaurants, at the Whole Foods checkout line, everybody's telling you, 'No problem.' What they mean, I believe, is De nada. You're welcome." "De nada," Catherine said.

BEFORE DINNER THEIR FIRST NIGHT on board the captain offered his passengers a champagne reception in the Elsinore Lounge. There was a bar and wicker furniture and upholstered chairs. Waiters passed trays of hors d'oeuvres. There were portraits of ladies and soldiers and amateurish hunting scenes and one of the goddess Diana covering her nudity with wellpositioned boughs. She seemed beguiled by moonlight, and when Lawrence looked more closely at the painting he saw a man in the moon.

The captain was broad-shouldered, with gold braid and buttons on his coat, and close-cropped black hair. His English was not good. Holding a microphone in one hand and, with the other, his cap to his chest, he shifted on his feet and cleared his throat. The weather was temps variable, the captain announced, leetle rain was in the forecast and the seas are moderate high. He would do everything he could to assurance their entire comfort, and the Diana of course would be entire stable and safety, but he cannot guarantee conditions in the morning and if these waves continue he might have be needing to anchor in Naples. Drink up, he said, don't worry, for it is always like this on the sea, and we are very glad you joining us this voyage and in a day or three maybe the weather sure be fine.

Lawrence ate with a couple from El Paso and a widow from Des Moines. He did not catch their names. The waiter was called Darko, and he knew this because Darko wore a nameplate and, having introduced himself, served them silently, attentively. The other three had boarded in Marseilles, and they said tonight was the first time their chairs had been in locked positions on the floor; they pointed to the clips beneath each chair and table, and the fasteners attached to them; they raised and clicked their glasses, chorusing, "Anchors aweigh!" The lady from Des Moines said she wasn't the least bit concerned, she'd never been seasick a day in her life and this was her seventeenth trip. Well, only her twelfth cruise in fact but it was her seventeenth trip. She had been to Italy but never Sicily or Malta, and she asked Lawrence if he'd been before to any of their ports of call, and he said, Not to Malta, no, but Sicily and many years ago. She asked, How many, and he said, Oh, forty, forty-two. She said, How interesting, you can be our expert, and asked him for the salt.

The conversation trailed off. The dining room was full. The sea and sky were dark. He ate in silence-nodding at Darko, who offered more wine-imagining what Catherine would have made of his companions and how she would have handled this and whom she might have found to talk to or dance with, later on. Somewhere, a piano played. Lawrence looked around him at the room-the white-haired and the wispyhaired, the ramrod-straight or bent, all elderly-and tried not to regret his choice, this gently pitching vessel that would convey them nowhere in particular and for many thousands of dollars. The men sported striped shirts and blazers, the women wore pantsuits and pearls.

Copyright © 2006 by Nicholas Delbanco

About the Author

Nicholas Delbanco's writing has earned him widespread recognition and many literary honors, including the Guggenheim Fellowship and two National Endowment for the Arts Creative Writing Fellowships. He served as founding director of the Bennington Writing Workshops and, since 1985, has directed the MFA Writing Program at the University of Michigan, where he also administers the prestigious Hopwood Awards. Nicholas Delbanco makes his home in Ann Arbor, Michigan, with his wife and their two daughters.