The grand entrance needed two little helpers.
In the Corner
The little boat had put itself exactly where Eva did not want it.
On her camera screen, the liner stretched from one edge to the other. There were rows of windows, pale lifeboats, and two funnels sending smoke into the morning. At the bottom, a tugboat occupied the corner she had left for open water.
She waited for it to move.
Beside her, Grandpa lifted a hand to keep his cap on. The wind flattened his jacket against his chest.
“You’ve got the front one,” he said.
“I know.”
“There’s another behind.”
Eva lowered the camera.
Two of them.
A Window Like That
They had come early enough to find a place beside the railing. Grandpa had brought sandwiches, although the liner was due before lunch. Eva had brought a camera with enough room for several hundred photographs.
She wanted one worth printing.
At school, her friend had shown her a picture of a ship at sunset. Eva had examined it long enough to notice that there wasn’t a single person’s head in the way.
Now someone farther along the railing raised a tablet above his own.
She shifted closer to Grandpa.
He was watching the tugboat near the liner’s stern.
“I used to open a window like that,” he said.
“Which one?”
“Behind the wheelhouse. Our galley was there.”
Eva looked again. From this distance, the little windows were dark squares.
“Was that your boat?”
“No. Ours had a green cabin.”
“You cooked on it?”
“Among other things.”
“Did you make sandwiches?”
“Rather more often than anybody thanked me for.”
Both Ends
The liner came nearer. Eva could make out people along its upper decks, some waving towards the shore. A low engine note reached her through the railing beneath her hand. Below it, water slapped against the harbour wall.
She raised the camera again.
The tugboat at the bow was still there. A line ran from it towards the great ship, dark against the pale water. At the other end, the second tug looked scarcely bigger than one of the lifeboats hanging above it.
“Did you help ships like this?”
“Yes.”
“Could the people see you?”
“Some waved.” Grandpa watched the little cabin. “Once a man waved his breakfast at us. Held the plate out so far I thought we were getting another delivery.”
Eva laughed. On the liner, a woman in a bright scarf lifted both arms.
“Did you wave back?”
“I had a pan in my hand.”
Eva imagined Grandpa at a little window, returning a magnificent greeting with somebody’s eggs.
She looked at the photograph she had nearly taken. From here, she could fit the whole liner, but the rear tugboat disappeared beyond its edge.
She stepped back from the railing.
A Little More Room
The new frame held more water. The liner looked smaller now, with both tugboats visible at its ends.
Eva adjusted the camera while Grandpa opened the sandwich bag. Paper rustled in the wind, and the smell of cheese briefly joined the salt air.
He offered her one.
“In a minute. Could you move a little?”
He glanced towards the great white ship.
“Am I in front of it?”
“The little one behind you.”
Grandpa moved. Eva took the picture, checked it, and held out her hand for a sandwich.
On the screen, both small boats had room.
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