May 28, 2000
The sea has been kind to me. Not just allowing me to stay afloat with a notable absence of rough waters, but I was picked up by the westerlies. Even without a sail, the winds have had a substantial impact on my progress in both speed and accuracy. I caught a glimpse of what I believe to have been Scotland yesterday and have been skirting the coast of Norway since early this morning. After 14 days of lonely uncertainty and doubt, I am practically glowing with optimism, now.
I have checked all the sound equipment several times over and firmly believe that it is the only element of chance left in my mission. The electronics may be old, but they appear to be sound, so perhaps even that is looking certain. I could, of course, run aground in the middle of the night since I have no real anchor and my watery road is thinning. Still, I have faith that I will see the coast of Estonia safely. I have not yet finished the vision in my head of what I will do when I get there, but I am sure of most details. I have not given a single thought to how I'll get back to Port Ewan on the Hudson, which seems almost like a fabled land in a fairy tale. Nor what will become of the Arc. There is time, still. Tallinn first.
May 30, 1998
I love Ray. I thought that something would change today. All my life, I have expected the vows of marriage to vault a relationship to a new level. That the words would weave a spell and, what was once just a boy I'd dallied with would become a man, a husband, a father. Our love would be etched in stone, unassailable, as we took on the mantle our parents bore before us.
But, in the past few months since we'd made our decision to marry, a new possibility stirred from my deepest depths. A fear of the very magic I expected would bind us so tightly in love. For the first time I imagined an eternity, bound to one man. Never again to experience another's kiss. No more late night phone calls, weaving through the past lives of a new love, trading pieces of ourselves in the stories we told until, gradually, a person would begin to take form. Three dimensional, but with gaps of mystery that would make me hang on his every word, looking for the last pieces of the puzzle. And, at the same time, sparingly exposing the last of myself. Careful that my mystery should always be a touch more than his own.
Ray and I were past all that. Like the intricacies of my childhood neighborhood, I could negotiate him at full chase in total blackness. No more secrets to share, mysteries to solve, labyrinths to wander. And I thought...I wondered if, when we exchanged vows, I wouldn't explode. What if I felt trapped, instead of...but it doesn't matter. We said our vows and nothing changed. I love Ray and I am afraid of my mother coming over early some morning to discover that he and I have spent the night together. I feel like a little girl playing house.
The wedding was so strange. Romantic, but sad. It rained, of course, and almost no one showed up for the ceremony. I'm glad. There were no strangers; cousins, uncles or aunts that I didn't like, or even my shit-head of an older brother. Just Lindsey, mom and dad, and Alexandria. I'm so glad Alex was there. It wouldn't be real without her.
Ray's parents came, of course, along with seven relatives that flew all the way from Estonia! I said there were no strangers and there were not. I'd never met Ray's relatives before, but the love they showed for us, standing in the rain by the Hudson River while most of my own family waited, drinking, for our arrival at the reception hall in Port Ewan. They are not strangers to me now.
I am not sorry for the small size of the wedding, but I do wish they'd brought bigger stones. Or, at least, more of them! Ray made me write my last name--HA! My maiden name on a piece of paper and hold it during the wedding. Estonian tradition, he said, and he said no more. I guess that I he knew he didn't have to, because I wrote my maiden name on a sheet of stationary that I'd reserved only for Ray the year he spent in Geneseo.
During the ceremony, Ray's family worked through a sizable bottle of Domremy Champagne, which I assumed was for the weather and not directed toward me. And I was wrong!!! Though, of course, they weren't drinking because they were sorry I was marrying in, but to help with the magic that I expected to help me stay in! I know my parents must have been appalled at the heavy drinking during the ceremony, but I'm sure they were disarmed by the results, just as I was.
When, I thought, the ceremony was over, Ray's Uncle Kivi brought Ray the empty bottle, laughing, and saying something which I can only assume was in Estonian. I didn't understand a word. Ray then asked for my name, which I gave to him. He stuffed it into the bottle and returned the bottle to his uncle. Uncle Kivi dropped a few small pebbles into the bottle and passed it on to the other guests who did the same. Alex seemed to pick up on it quickly, because she already had stones in her hand when the bottle came to her, while my parents fumbled red-faced at the ground when their turn came. Ray took the bottle back after Lindsey added the last pebble. He stuck the cork back in tightly and then ran toward the Hudson, throwing the bottle as far out as he could. It made a big splash and then bobbed back to the surface. I guess Uncle Kivi had expected more guests when he picked out the bottle, because it is supposed to sink. In Estonia, the bottle would be thrown off the coast into the ocean where it would sink and join the names of thousands of other brides, all of whom were warned never to fish, swim or bathe in that spot from that day forward.
I don't know if there were any other brides to Estonian heritage awaiting the company of my name at the bottom of the Hudson River, but it doesn't matter now, because my name drifted off on the current. I sat down in the mud--I can't fucking believe that I sat in the mud in my wedding dress, but I did! And I watched the bottle carry downstream. I feel like I should have pelted it with stones until it took on water and sank, but I didn't think of it then. I just stared after my sea-worthy bottle in wonder. I guess it's gone now, anyway, just as if it sank. Everyone laughed at me, there in the mud and it made for a great story for the cowardly guests awaiting us at the reception. That dress will never come clean! I guess its not as if I'm going to wear it again, but it was ruined for all the pictures! Maybe someday I will appreciate the character it adds to the stock set of wedding photographs, but today I grieve. Anyway, the wedding is done. Ray and I are bound and I still love him!!!
December 30, 1998
Six months. Marriage is not at all what I imagined it would be, but I am not disappointed. Mom has come over for breakfast a few times now and I am adjusting to the idea that Ray and I have been legitimized in her eyes. I no longer blush like a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar when I answer the door.
I finally landed the job at Vaucouleurs after an initial rebuff from Mr. Baudricourt. So I have a miracle or two up my sleeve! The job is pure warfare and I feel like I've been neglecting Ray. The job is still new, though, and when things settle down a little, I'll make it up to him. We haven't had sex since I was hired and I'm starting to forget what its like. If this keeps up, I'll be able to legally reclaim my virgin status in a few months!
Ray has been a rock through it all. It is this aspect of marriage that I'd never imagined could mean so much. He's been understanding of the hours I've kept, brought me flowers when I've felt like giving up and told me time and time again that, if anyone can do this job, its me. All this aside from the everyday routine of having breakfast ready when I get up and dinner ready when I get home! His job is less demanding then mine, but still, he runs the house without a hand, or even a "thank you," from me. I plan to remedy that, but right now I'm afraid that acknowledgement might break the magic spell and it would be pop-tarts for breakfast, pizza for dinner and a pig-sty of a house.
I had a dream last night that I was shacked up with a man in a filthy, one room shack. It had tile spread randomly across a dirt floor and bricks at the base of the walls to hold them up! The man was just as ugly, with greasy hair, rotting teeth and a beer belly that I can't even describe coming out from under a t-shirt a dozen sizes too small. And he was uglier than just his appearance. He was ugly inside. I sat beside him in a stained and tattered easy chair in front of a 19" color television, attentive to his every grumble and growl. I knew if I didn't do as I was told, I'd feel the back of his hand. But my obedience was more than just fear--I felt compelled to serve him in spite of, not because of, the threat he posed.
The dream was nothing more than my sitting in that chair while he drank beer and watched T.V., but I knew the story; the relationship, as if it had been my whole life. I can only guess that its guilt about Ray. I've got to make it up to him before my subconscious assails me again!
February 21, 1999
I've got to leave Ray. I don't know how a year of marriage could undo six years of unwedded bliss, but it has. Seven years with Ray! I can't even remember life without him, but I am headed for a refresher course. I don't think that I can stay for another night. I packed my suitcase a week ago. Its sitting in my closet. I keep thinking that if I hang on just a little longer, things will get better. They do not and I am at the end of my rope. Ray hasn't even noticed. I don't think he has any idea the trouble we're in, but I guess he'll figure it out when I don't come home.
The dreams haven't stopped. I've had them every night since our six month anniversary and I've come to think that it is how I feel deep inside about Ray and I. Our relationship. It may not look like us, but the dream feels too much like home not to be us. Our relationship is void of all meaning. We don't even approach the real love I thought our vows would carry us to.
Ray insists on making breakfast and dinner for me as if that has any real meaning. His constant encouragement is patronizing. Our daily conversation reads like something from a bad play. I know that when I get away the dreams will stop. I know that I have someplace else to be...someone else to be. Someone better, with passion and adventure in her life. I've got to go before Ray and I become the couple in my dream and I am unable to get away! Goodbye, Ray.
April 29, 1999
I don't know how I came to his door. Or how I came to be in Jersey City. How could I have known it was real? But I came without hesitation. No wrong turns, no circling neighborhoods, not even a pause to recognize the drive before I pulled in my burgundy mercedes. I just turned off the car, grabbed my suitcase and walked straight to his door. And I felt like I'd come home. I still do. My first peaceful night's sleep in months was my first night's sleep in Jimmy's flea-ridden bed. My first peace since Ray and I's six month anniversary.
I've quit my job at Vaucouleurs, because Jimmy says no woman of his is going to try to wear the pants in his family. And I am his woman. Jimmy sets fishing lines across the river and sells what we don't eat, and, when the weather's good and he's feeling like it, he collects junk along the highway. That's how we get by. We don't starve because of the fish, but most of the money Jimmy gets from selling fish and hub caps, he drinks. And he's mean when he drinks. But I just stay here, sit with my head down in my chair, and take his yelling--his slaps and punches, as if I never knew any better.
I think a lot about Ray. About how wonderful he was to me. About how deeply I love him. About the years of getting to know, and to love, each other. I cry when Jimmy's not home--he gets angry when I cry. It makes him hit me more. I just can't make myself leave and go back to Ray. Or to even call him. This is home. And Ray would probably just turn me out, anyway. And why shouldn't he?
Jimmy's waking up. He doesn't like it when I write.
February 21, 2000
I found something today. Jimmy came home last night worse than usual. My left eye is swollen shut and my ribs are making it difficult to write, especially after today's long drive. He broke the place up pretty bad, and me too, then left with the same fury he'd come. He didn't come home last night and wasn't there in the morning. Sometimes he does that and it will be three or four days before I see him again.
I tried to fix things up this morning, because it would be all my fault when Jimmy came home. If things look all right, he might just forget about it, but if they were still the way he left them he'd get angry all over again. It wasn't easy. He'd torn the partition that separated the kitchen out completely and knocked the floor tiles around it out of place so that the floor was nothing but dirt. When I tried to replace the tiles, I noticed the neck of a bottle in a hole uncovered by Jimmy's rage. I assumed it was his emergency stock, but when I pulled it out I found that it held only a piece of paper and a few stones at the bottom. There was a fish-hook in the cork.
I left my suitcase behind and loaded myself into the car. I don't know how many hours I drove today, but I am exhausted. I've been told Maine is a beautiful drive, but I remember none of it. The desk clerk told me about a ship salvage yard here in Poitiers that I'll visit in the morning. Maybe in a few days. I need sleep. I've kept the bottle, unopened, in my sight all day. I want to call Ray, but what could I tell him? It will have to wait. I can't go back to him yet. I can't go home yet, but I will fix things, Ray. I promise.
February 27, 2000
I bought a ship today. Not really a ship. A tugboat. The Herring, it says in faded red paint. The hull is rusting in spots and the engine is in some terrible kind of shape, but I'm praying that there is a latent shipwright lurking in my genetic heritage. There is a lot of work to be done, not least of which is to paint the Herring into a distant memory.
I've rented an arc-welder for tomorrow and a saint of a man, Michael, has agreed to help me in its use. I wish that I could've bought something truly seaworthy, but the tugboat took all my savings and I am dependent on a joint credit card that I still hold with Ray (dear Ray) for tools and materials. I can't imagine his reaction when the bills start to roll in! I haven't touched that card since I left, six months ago. Maybe he'll take it for what it is: A promise of my return. If I don't find myself at the bottom of the Atlantic in the meanwhile.
Charles, who is the local king of ship salvage, is a strange man. When I came into his office, he tried to disguise himself as part of the office furniture. He wouldn't even look at me! But when I laid my savings out on the counter and said I needed a boat, he reacted as if to a sign from God. He was very helpful until my money was spent and then he vanished into the woodwork.
May 13, 2000
These past three weeks in Poitiers have been a test of divine proportions. There was more rust than actual boat beneath the paint on the hull, but, with Michael's coaching, I have cut away the cancer and welded in new panels of virgin steel. They look impenetrable, but the sea is a crafty and powerful adversary. I am not so much confident as committed. She is armored in brilliant white paint, which gives an illusion of solidity I have chosen to believe.
I've acquired a massive sound system from the former Civic Center of Poitiers. The Center has lain dormant along with the shipbuilding industry, so I got it for a good price. Old as it is, it is powerful and sounds clear as a bell, which should attend to my purposes. I've spent my nights installing it into the hull of my ship and can only pray that we take on no water or my mission will end in a great electrical fizzle!
The speaker I required arrived from the Marine Life specialty store in Oregon two days ago and I have attached it in place of the anchor because I couldn't think of a better way to deliver it to its destination. I can't believe how expensive it was! Ray must not have used our joint Visa at all, because I think I'm pushing our limit all on my own. Now, at least, I know he'll pray for my safe return, because he could never pay this off on his salary! Teaching is seriously undervalued! I have composed a telegram that I plan to send him before I leave in the morning:
Ray (stop)
I am sailing for Estonia in the morning (stop) Sorry about the Platinum Card (stop) I must break tradition (stop) Will you love me still don't (stop)
Love Joan (stop)
May 14, 2000
I have nautical maps strewn everywhere! Maggie and Catherine (my compass and sextant) have been trying to guide me, but my knowledge of them and their relation to my maps comes solely from my affair with Jeff Kosokoff back in college. My landlocked college in Indiana!!! I hope my training, navigating cornfields, translates well into transoceanic voyages or I could find myself...anywhere!
I christened the ship this morning with a bottle of Domremy Champagne. She is The Arc, in honor of the welding device that glued her together (and may she remain so!) A local nun brought me a flag for the Arc last week. Two angels delivering a fleur-de-lis to God with names of Jesus and Mary written across the bottom. Though it is not exactly my taste, I raised it this morning before I cast-off to show my appreciation. The flag has hardly stirred all day, though I expected it, and myself, to be early on caught in the westerlies. I planned to take down the flag when I lost sight of land (which took a good deal longer than I expected), but I've decided that, given my inappropriate expectations to this point, I can use all the divine guidance I can get. The flag is still aloft as I write.
I can hear the steady grind of the engine down below. There is something comforting about the deep rhythm, vibrating through my body, though it is unnerving as well. I hang on each beat and pray there will be another. The boiler is in good shape, but that is all I can say with any confidence. I repaired it as well I was able, but that could easily be just well enough to strand me in the middle of a very big ocean! When the coast of Maine finally dipped below the horizon, I felt my insignificance so severely that I almost turned back! If I thought that I could ever know peace without another step on this journey, I'd turn around now.
May 30, 2000
It's over. I spent the night staring down the lights of Tallinn, visible from the Gulf of Finland. I've know all along what I would do when I got there, but not the fate of my own Domremy. I don't know what time it was when I finally fell asleep. I dreamt that my father was a shepherd and that his sheep were in my care. When the brilliant light of morning woke me, I was seated, cross-legged, on the deck of the Arc. Everything was clear.
I powered up the sound system and brought the microphone to the deck. I lowered the speaker until the chain was let out completely. The bottle of Domremy was stored in my foot locker below deck for safe keeping. It could not escape the Arc unless all was lost, lest I repeat the last several months of my life! I liberated the bottle from the locker, brought it above deck and, finally, set it free, throwing it as far toward the coastline of Estonia as I was physically capable. It splashed under and bobbed back to the surface, rolling gently on the Estonian tide. There was only one thing left to do.
I lifted the microphone to my lips. For just a minute, I thought nothing would happen, but then I felt it stir. Barely perceptible at first, it rumbled slowly to life. It rolled like thunder up from my belly and came roaring out from my mouth. It came long, building to a terrible, high-pitched shriek that I thought would never end. It left my body with the last of my breath and hung in the air with a life of its own. I could still hear it ringing in my ears a moment after it had fallen into silence. My bottle--my prison of Domremy shattered on top of the water, its shards catching the morning sun like tongues of fire surrounding, burning my name into ash. As the paper soaked up the salt of the ocean and began to sink, what I can only describe as a collective sigh from the water below to greet it.
I scuttled the Arc among the broken glass and took an inflatable raft to shore. Tonight I'm flying back to America. Back to Port Ewan, with no expectations of my marriage vows, but with an overwhelming love of Ray. |