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"Once Upon A Sunlane Cruise"
Forty-four years ago today, February 2nd, the S. S. Constitution set sail on
one of her fabled sunlane cruises and I set sail on her. Shipping out for
American Export Lines, first as Children's Director and then as Assistant
Cruise Director, gave me a better chance to support myself betwen acting
jobs in New York, touring in repertory and doing summer stock, certainly
better than giving tours of Rockefeller Center and filling in at Macy's.
Besides, whether I was in it, on it or just near it, I loved the ocean and
being able to go ashore in Tenerife, Cannes, Madeira, Genoa,
Algeciras....any of the ports of call.... was a thrill that never faded.
So, at twenty three, after a brief stay on land, I was again slipping back
to sea. Having jumped off the powerful 50s college track - 'get pinned
junior year, engaged senior year and married a month after graduation' - I
was, instead, wandering, torn between acting and writing and between four
men who, if I could have rolled them into one, would have been 'ideal.' For
almost a month at a time I would leave casting calls and lecherous producers
and sail off to foreign ports.
On February 2nd, 1960, Edmond was feverishly running from one bureaucratic
office to another to secure his departure from Iraq, a country that offered
no opportunities for an Assyrian Christian. For years he had been dreaming
of America, "a land of freedom, ruled by justice." As a boy he pored
through "National Geographic" copies sent to the missionaries at his school,
marveling at the wonders and variety of this distant land. He would show
his mother pictures of workers hanging from cables like monkeys, walking on
beams thirty stories up in the sky like acrobats in a circus. "See, Mom,
they're building the skyscrapers. Someday you'll see me walking on those
beams." "Over my dead body," she used to reply.
Edmond wasn't the only one in his village who dreamed about going to
America. Everybody wanted to get out of there, but they couldn't picture
what they would do in America. "Work in a nut factory?" they would ask him.
"Why not? What's wrong with that?" he would reply. "Sitting all day
picking pistachio nuts out of a shell?" "If that's what you must do to
support yourself, yes," he would say. "Everybody figures out some way to
support themselves."
Admitted into four colleges, Edmond had chosen Utah as his destination.
Now, with one suitcase, a carryall, an accordian and sixty five dollars in
his pocket, he was about to travel beyond the borders of his country for the
first time, leaving family, friends, all he knew for a new life, a new
world. Traveling by plane - Baghdad to Beirut, Beirut to Rome, Rome to
Naples - he boarded the S. S. Constitution on Valentine's Day, February 14,
1960.
As Assistant Social Director I was responsible for seeing that the
passengers in both Cabin and Tourist class enjoyed their journey. For the
most part Cabin Class passengers took care of themselves. They were savvy
enough to know what to expect and either joined in the programmed activities
or amused themselves. It was my job to make sure enough was going on for
the 'gung ho' crowd and my reward to instruct and gently encourage the
diffident and bewildered loners. My day started at 7 AM and didn't end
until two or three the next morning, by which time I was nodding off in the
middle of writing invitations to the captain's and purser's parties,
wrapping prizes or organizing tournaments.
Edmond said he noticed me the first night he was on board. "She was the
busiest person I saw. The minute I saw her I started writing in my small
notebook. In my writing I pretended I was talking to my friend, Sargon. I
already missed him very much and the strangeness and loneliness of what I
was doing had begun to affect me. I wrote 'I just looked at an angel, a
beautiful angel in a black dress with black feathers on her shoulders. What
kind of beautiful face is sitting on these ivory shoulders? I'm trying to
be in her way as much as I can ever since the moment I saw her. I haven't
the courage to speak to her, but I sure would like to be her friend.'"
He was different from anyone I'd seen on these trips and very much alone,
out of his element, as though he'd been plucked from another world and
plopped down among all these expansive Italians. Not everyone in Tourist
Class was Italian, but they were, by far, the noisy majority. Very tall and
handsome he had a noble bearing and an innocent sweetness about him.
Edmond remembers our first meeting: "She asked me what I was writing. I
said, 'I'm putting down my impressions of the journey.' She smiled and
said, 'but we haven't even started yet.' This was my opportunity. Even
though I was having trouble speaking I managed a, 'Would you like a drink?'
'Thank you,' she said, 'I have to make my rounds but I'll be back.' I told
her, 'I'll have the drink ready for you. What would you like to have?' 'A
screwdriver.' A 'screwdriver'? I think she's making fun of me, but I told
myself, 'just relax and go to the bartender. If he laughs at you, you'll
know.' She wasn't making fun of me."
For someone who valued privacy and periods of solitude this job was not a
good match. It wasn't that I was anti-social, I just had to get away from
people sometimes. That was why the shore breaks were so precious. But,
stubborn and independent as I was, I knew I probably shouldn't be wandering
about on my own in some places. After Naples we docked at Genoa, then Nice.
In our brief conversations and encounters I could see Edmond was feeling a
little lost and lonely. I had always wanted a 'brother' and this courteous,
respectful young man looked like he needed a 'big sister'. I asked him if
he enjoyed his day in Nice. He told me he didn't know anyone and didn't
know the places but that he liked walking around, so I asked him if he
wanted to go ashore with me in Barcelona.
We were together in Barcelona, exploring the wonders of Montserrat, and then
the exotic port of Casablanca. In his diary, the contents of which were
unknown to me, Edmond was recording all our moments together. Of the end of
our day together in Casablanca he wrote: "We were about half a mile from the
port when we heard the Constitution roar her giant horns. 'Time to board,'
Myrna said. She took off her shoes and started running. I asked her, 'what
if the ship leaves us?' 'I don't care,' she laughed. 'I don't care either,
because I'm with you,' I told her. 'They're going to look for you because
they're responsible for you. Since they're going to look for you and I'm
with you we're going to get back to America together.' She smiled a big,
mischievous smile and said, 'I was going to tell them I don't know you!' We
kept running, laughing. 'Fine for you,' I said, 'you have an American
passport, but what's to become of me in Morocco?' I will never know because
we got to the ship on time."
I encouraged Edmond to tell me about his life, his family. In the solarium
at the top of the ship, used by the children in the daytime but usually
deserted at night, he would tell me amazing tales of his ancestors. He had
a gentleness, an innate dignity and so I wasn't surprised to learn he came
from a long line of Nestorian priests, on both sides of his family. With
complete trust in him and exhausted at the end of a long day running all
over the ship, I often fell asleep on his shoulder while he was translating
poetry. We were very comfortable with one another.
Edmond wrote: "When I am with her I forget all my worries. She has put me
completely at ease. With the help of God we will know each other more and
more. Today, as long as it was, I couldn't take my eyes off her eyes. If
it weren't for my respect for both of us I would have gone down on my knees
and asked for her love, declared my feelings to her. Not only declare my
feelings, but tell her I would be her slave, if only for those eyes. Now it
is 2 AM and she's asleep on my shoulder. She looks beautiful asleep. her
hands are folded on her lap and the shadow of her hair has fallen across her
forehead and part of her eyes. I wish for you, Sargon, you could see and
paint this beautiful view."
I wanted to tell him, to warn him, not to be overcome by America, by all the
wheeling and dealing, the insincerity. I wanted to tell him about the traps
waiting for him. I wanted to tell him, 'you're a baby here. You should
have someone to guide you, instruct you, keep you from falling prey to
predators and con artists.' I couldn't protect him. The journey was coming
to an end. He wasn't my brother and he would soon be on his own. I could
see he cared for me, but I also knew shipboard intensiities fade in time on
the solid reality of shore.
In his diary Edmond wrote: "Believe me, Sargon, I want to marry this girl.
As you know me I don't know how I'm going to stand it when I am separated
from this angel. After I learned she won't be with me in New York....I tell
you, I seldom cry, but I saw my own tears under my eyelids."
To ease his entry in this new life I invited Edmond to come stay with my
family in New Jersey the weekend after our arrival and then he was on his
way West. "I know we are the same age," I told him, "but you are just
starting your life. I've finished college, you're just beginning. I've
been working for three years, you don't even know yet what you're going to
do. You have strong feelings for me, but you haven't had a chance to get to
know other women. Soon we will be thousands of miles apart. You have my
friendship. That will always be if you wish."
We wrote a few letters to one another. Edmond's letters were filled with
sadness and loneliness and then there were no more. We both married. I
married a concert pianist and lived for twenty years outside of America in
Switzerland, England and Israel. Edmond worked two jobs, raised three
children and brought his family to America. In the 80s my marriage was over
and I came back to America to raise four children on my own. In the 90s
Edmond's wife died. Because of her long illness and his care of her, he
became very ill, but by the end of 1999 he was beginning to get on his feet
again.
In March 2000, about to start a new and exciting job in ten days, Edmond got
in his car and drove 1400 miles in search of a white house with green
shutters, a house I hadn't lived in for forty years. Friday, March 24th I
got a call at work. It was a beautiful Spring day. It would have been my
38th anniversary and there had been two men since my divorce who had asked
me to marry them, but I had said no and had been quite alone for thirteen
years by then. The man on the phone was saying......"Edmond....I was with
you on the Constitution and you invited me to your home. I'm standing
across from your house....I don't know what has happened with you, but I
would very much like to see you. I've thought of you all these
years....your beauty, your sweetness, your goodnes...."
My mind was racing. Who is this man and what is he talking about....
'Across from' my house? 'Beauty'? Reality check, Mr. Edmond, that was four
decades ago! Still, I felt strangely excited, almost giddy. I finally
realized he's talking about the house he visited in New Jersey forty years
ago. We make arrangements for him to visit the next day. Then, there he
is, at my front door in Lewisburg, Pennsylvania. He's holding up a picture
against the screen, a picture of us taken on board ship. Holding a picture?
Now who would this man be if he weren't he? Yes, definitely Edmond. In
the moment before opening the door I take him all in. The thick dark hair
is gone but there are still waves in the gray. His face is even more
striking. It has grown into its strong lines. He stands there - long and
lean and very handsome. "Come in!"
I ask him about his life. He then encourages me to talk about myself. How
do I speak about all these years? I tell him a short version. I tell him I
am divorced.
"I can't imagine any man not worshipping you. I worship you. I would have
devoted my life to you," he says. I feel overwhelmed. This is unreal. The
walls are closing in. "You must be hungry," I say and suggest we go out for
lunch.
"Do you have any boyfriends?"
"No, I promised myself I wouldn't marry again."
Edmond didn't say anything. He just smiled. Later he told me what he was
thinking: 'That was it! That was what I was waiting to hear! No husband to
come down the stairs, through the back door. No man, like the redhead in
Montserrat to throw over a cliff. I got you now, baby. You're not going
anyplace, darling. if I have to move over here, if I have to break my neck,
I'll get you!'
Four hours later off he drives, back to Minnesota. All this way for a few
hours. What am I to make of this? It's like someone talking quantum
physics to you when you don't even understand algebra. If I could have just
recorded all he said then I could have played it back when my spirits
sagged. he came all those miles with a map in his head of a white house on
a street up a hill. "It was that important?" I asked him. "Yes, that
important, sweetest, most beautiful woman." "What if no one had been home?
The house has had two owners since my parents lived there? What if, in all
the houses on the street you knocked on, all the bells you rang, no one had
known where my mother had gone?" "Before I left Minnesota," he explained,
"I took out all my money. I would have used it to hire a detective to find
you."
In the weeks that followed Edmond flooded me with calls, letters, flowers,
delicacies from all over the world. Everything but a 'partride in a pear
tree.' He was bringing back to life so many of the parts of me that had
been gathering cobwebs in a corner: joy, silliness, teasing, trust,
yearning, abandon, fun....and this before we've even made love. But I was
giving him a hard time. iI tell him he's crazy. "You saw me for four
hours. We don't know each other. Our lives don't start from this moment.
let's just see....."
On Mother's Day in May we meet in Philadelphia. Hardly before he's in the
room he says, "I want you to be my beloved wife. Myrna, will you marry me?"
I'm here. There's no place I can go. This is my life, not some story I'm
reading. I had to know this was coming. I'm not that removed from reality.
But this doesn't feel real. I don't feel like me. I haven't seen this
man for forty years, then I see him for less than four hours. All the phone
calls, letters, flowers, gifts....they were like a parallel universe, a
secret life. But he's here. He looks real. I feel myself - or whoever
this woman is standing here looking at this man - smiling, a big smile.
"Yes."
Three months later we are married in a little pavilion, on the beach, by the
ocean, the ocean we crossed so very long ago. And now, as I look out the
window, the afternoon sun falls on my engagement ring and suddenly the
unintended significance of its being an emerald strikes me. Emeralds are
for the 40th anniversary.
If we have one year for every two apart, that might be enough to heal my
heart.
Myrna Treston, Minneapolis, MN
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