Hidden Under the Table

The container ship “Lucía de Pérez”, owned by Naviera Asón from Santander, was chartered for a time by the Icelandic company Hafskip Line, which nicknamed it “Hvita”, meaning “White River” in Spanish. We were operating the route Reykjavik-New Jersey City-Norfolk-Reykjavik during the years the contract lasted.

The crew, all Spanish, were like a close-knit family from captain to cabin boy. And we had to be, because the bad weather conditions we usually sailed in and the fact that we were between non-Spanish ports seemed to foster more camaraderie and unity. Each one in their place, knowing what they had to do and with mutual respect, but without the hierarchy that might exist in other circumstances. As the musketeers said, “all for one and one for all.”

That said, I will share an anecdote, one of many that happen on ships, which I always remember fondly and with a smile whenever it comes to mind.

On one of our arrivals in Reykjavik, the dock was occupied, and we were anchored within the port area waiting for it to become free. It was one of the few stays where we spent night and day in port. The officer “Y”, whose name I obviously won’t reveal, had a girlfriend in Reykjavik. She was the prototype of an Icelandic woman, blonde and slender. Very pretty.

It turns out that when we were anchored, customs came to carry out the necessary procedures, and the second officer asked the customs officials if he could go ashore with them, which he did, promising to return once the ship was docked. The next morning, as soon as we docked, he returned (somewhat bleary-eyed) and at noon we sat down to eat.

The mess was a dining room at one end and a living room at the other. From the table, we could see the gangway and control who was boarding. Suddenly, we see that officer “Y” crouches down and hides under the table, concealed by the hanging tablecloth. He says to us: “Here comes “X”, tell her I’ve gone out and I’m not here.” He had seen her come up through the gangway.

The girl arrived in the mess and asked for “Y”. With a forced smile, the captain said to her: “He just went out and won’t be long, sit down and wait for him while you have a coffee and watch TV.” The aforementioned, in a low voice, said: “Don’t be bastards, tell her to go away, I won’t come back until the ship leaves.” And we kept kicking him under the table: “shut up, she’s going to hear you.” And laughter ensued. She saw us laughing and looked at us smiling, not knowing the reason for our merriment. And the other one was under the table.

We kept him there while we finished eating, had coffee, and played a game of tute to ten points. In other words, we had him there for over an hour doing penance until, finally for him, the girl got tired and left. Of course, we were all dying of laughter, and the poor woman was bewildered by so much joking. The second officer got up, disjointed and doubly tired from the “work” he had done the night before and the gymnastics under the table.

In the afternoon, another new journey began heading to New Jersey with the storm at our doorstep and the “Canadian train” of storms waiting for us, not to break the habit. But everyone was happy.

(*) First-class radio officer. Former Maritime Rescue official