Voyages
Down to the sea!” my Uncle Ray would call out as his party guests started to leave after midnight. Waving a champagne bottle, he’d corral his friends and me into a caravan of taxis bound for the West Side docks, where, according to newspaper listings, an ocean liner would be leaving for South America or Europe.
As a deluge of rainbow streamers poured down the ship’s hull, he’d lead a charge up the gangplank looking for celebrations. Effervescent, beaming, he befriended strangers who, assuming he was embarking with them, passed out drinks to us. If he spotted a lounge piano, his fingers flew over the keys as he led sing-alongs of raucous show tunes.
Eventually we’d hear the draconian public address system’s blare: ALL ASHORE THAT’S GOING ASHORE! Ray’s music ceased in an extravagant arpeggio. He rose unsteadily to his feet and, waving to everyone, shuffled down the gangplank to the wharf.
“Bon voyage! ” I would hear him cry up at the passengers lining the railings until he was so hoarse that he sounded on the verge of tears.
LONELY AND FEELING SCORCHED after my college girlfriend moved out, I was glad for the invitations to Ray’s parties, which were at first lively with old friends he’d made in Chile. He had been based there for more than 20 years, working his way up from purser to first mate on cruise ships with Explorer Lines Inc., until he was suddenly transferred to New York. At the parties, he always found time to listen to me talk about my restlessness and family troubles. I also got to spend time with his friend Lucia, a willowy Chilean nightclub singer on whom, though she was older than me and possibly a lesbian, I was developing a crush.
And there was the music. Ray’s frenetic performances always raised my spirits, though his tastes were different from mine. I had started appearing in Greenwich Village coffeehouses with my guitar, singing left-wing Latin-American songs, often those of Victor Jara, a composer I especially admired.
Lucia said she wished she could sing his songs at the club where she worked.
“But the patrons, the like them”—she wrinkled her nose at a group of Ray’s new guests,
