*****
The next two days were like a dream. Sam spent most of the time on the decks re-connecting with the sea. Nights were his element. Only a few lingered around the decks later in the evening. As he’d often worked late into the night writing he acquired a satisfying sense of solitude, a grounded feeling being awake as the rest of the world slept. After years of this routine he needed little sleep, four or five hours did him just fine.
Dr. Pearson met up with Sam for lunch the day after sailing from Vancouver then stood with him on the deck watching the sea. Still checking on me, thought Sam. Well, so be it. I'm here. That's what counts. He’s okay. Doing his job.
“Kind of novel being a doc on a cruise ship,” said Sam.
Dr. Pearson smiled, “ Not the norm. As with many these days I’m in transition and this offered a chance to work in a different setting. I like traveling, sailing and people. What could be better than being around people on vacation and sailing the waters of Alaska.”
Sam mentioned a conversation he had with a crewmember about the ship.
“This is a grand old ship, Sam. Yes, she’s a steam ship, one of the last made in the US. Actually, she was first built as a combination passenger/cargo ship. She’s a classic, all right. Converted and refurbished in Germany to an all-passenger ship. Steam-driven turbines, too, not diesel. Makes her quieter and no vibration. I’ll bet you’d like a tour of the bridge. I’ll make sure you get an invitation. A belated birthday present from the ship!”
Maura, the woman Sam saw on that first night sailing away from Canada Place, joined him for breakfast the morning after Ketchikan. He'd often seen her on deck looking out to sea. Silver strands blowing in the breeze, eyes aglow with pleasure. Like him, mesmerized. Often, they were the only people on deck. Something about her intrigued him. They’d smiled at one another, exchanged names, shared a few words now and then mostly about the ship and scenery.
“Did you have a good day in Ketchikan?” Maura asked.
Sam told her he had stayed onboard to catch up on some reading. “To be honest,” he said, “I’m not much for the tourist stuff.” Then added, “Though it would be good to get off the ship and just walk. Walking the decks gets old quickly.”
“A small group of us had a good walk from the ship to the museum. A couple miles and up a steep hill, too. You would have enjoyed it,” said Maura. “Ketchikan has an excellent cultural museum— it’s the place in Southeast Alaska for seeing original totem poles. Do you know anything about totem poles?”
“Actually I do. Read a lot about them but never saw one in the real. Just photos. Sorry I missed them.” He was glad for the conversation. Until now he hadn’t talked with anyone except Doc Pearson and a few crewmembers.
Maura went on, “There are a number of original totems in the museum’s basement kept in a controlled environment and not usually available to the public. I’ve a friend who knows the curator and though I didn’t know beforehand, she arranged a special tour for the small group from the ship. Totems are such an artistic way of communicating. They tell some amazing stories.”
“That’s the fascinating part about them,” said Sam. “They’re story tellers and I guess I can relate to that.”
“You’ll have more chances to see totems,” Maura added. “A few in Wrangell and Sitka has a totem park. I’ll make sure you don’t miss Sitka.”
That evening Sam asked Maura to join him for dinner. It was good to talk to someone though he was uneasy about getting too friendly. Don’t need to get involved, thought Sam. Yet he was drawn to her. Tall, self-assured she radiated an inner beauty he’d seldom seen in Hollywood. They dined every night after that first dinner together and often talked on the aft deck till late into the evening. He enjoyed their conversations especially listening to her talk. He spoke little about himself at first. Then one evening sitting around a table on the aft deck with a bottle of wine, Sam blurted out, “You know I was a screenwriter. Pretty successful, too. Worked with some great actors.”
“So you’re a storyteller, too, like the totem carvers.” They laughed. She asked what films he’d worked on. At first he ignored her question but she insisted.
“Cops and westerns mostly,” he answered. “Action, adventure. No real romantic story. Though I’ve always felt there was a romantic script brewing somewhere in my mind. Just never gave it a chance.” Without much expression he rattled off a few film titles.
Maura’s eyes widened, “Well, I didn’t know I’d befriended a celebrity. That’s quite an accomplished list, Sam Townsend.”
Sam leaned closer “You have to swear to keep it a secret. I don’t like all the attention,” he laughed. “Seriously, I’m a has-been. No one remembers the old timers.” “You know,” Sam went on, “I even acted a bit when I was young. Wasn’t very good, though. Not many know that, not even my friends in Hollywood.”
“I adore film,” said Maura, “especially the oldies. Not too long ago I took a class in the history of film. Back to Lillian Gish and the silent era. Even watched the uncut version of Greed—four hours. And Stroheim had cut it down from about ten hours. Imagine people today sitting through a movie for ten hours. Not in today’s fast-paced, instant lifestyle.”
“Film has come a long way. Actors and directors work differently today. Not many can act like they used to. They were good days. Have to admit I was lucky to realize I had some talent and could make a living with it. Secretly I wanted to make documentaries but at the time they didn’t add up to profit.” Sam mused, “My life's been good. Don't like getting old though.”
“I know what you mean,” said Maura. “Everyone treats you differently as soon as your hair turns gray. In restaurants, stores—raised voices, patronizing manner. My daughter’s the worst. I ignore her most of the time. She acts as if I’ve learned nothing in my life. But her intentions are good. I have to tell her to back off. Thankfully, she does and no hard feelings either. She’s good that way.”
“It's especially hard being old in Hollywood,” Sam confessed. “Glitter town filled with masked faces. Phony, pretentious people. Of course Hollywood’s always been that way. But, well, working on films is a different scene today. And I'm forgotten to the young kids. Can't tell 'em much. Ah well. I’m through with that. Can’t escape getting old but I can escape dwelling on it. And I can escape Hollywood. Had to get away and see Alaska. I love the sea and the mountains. Southeast Alaska has it all. Dreamed about this trip since I was a kid. Don’t know why I waited so long. Guess time just slipped away.”
It was a pleasant evening; they laughed and talked into the early morning. For the first in a long time Sam relaxed his guard. He let himself enjoy this new relationship with Maura. She had a natural way of allowing him to feel comfortable. And she listened to him in a way he’d never experienced. She was completely focused without her mind racing on to another appointment or thinking about future plans or what to say next. He sensed her honesty and sincerity. They had fun doing things together and they laughed a lot.
He had so many stories about the actors he'd worked with and the movie sets and directors. It’d been a long time since he brought up these memories. He'd all but forgotten the early years.
Maura talked about her life, too. Listening to her was like listening to music. Her voice seemed to float like puffy clouds in a teal sky. She was at once gentle and calm yet exciting and vibrant.
Maura’s husband died seven years ago and she’d been alone since. They’d married late in life and her husband was in the diplomatic service. Although she often traveled overseas for long visits she and her daughter remained living in the states. Her own career was vital to her. A psychologist, she taught at the university for a while and then went into private practice working exclusively with troubled girls. Maura explained, “Most were sexually abused and to give these young girls a chance for following another path was very gratifying
. Now, I travel all over the world and volunteer my services when a natural disaster strikes. Trauma victims. Anywhere. Anytime. You can imagine what my daughter thinks about that. I like the spontaneity of it, don’t mind leaving on a moment’s notice and I can live without a lot of comforts. For a while, that is.”
“Shrinks without borders,” Sam put in.
Maura laughed. “Something like that. “I’ve worked with some of those doctors. Thoughtful people. Dedicated. They do a lot of good in this world. They don’t spend much time patting themselves on the back, either.”