Verse quote in ornate scroll frame on thigh

The wind has gone round to the north-east again and the galley fire is sulking, so I am writing this on the back of a biscuit invoice with the pot lid propped against my knee. You will laugh, but the second mate has taken to reading aloud while I peel potatoes. Yesterday it was an old play with a quick-tongued fellow called Mercutio, who talks about a fairy queen who rides through the sleeping heads of lovers in a chariot made from a hazelnut shell. I told him a fairy would be no use to us in this sea. He said that was exactly the point of her.

The line he liked best was about dreams being the children of an idle brain, begot of nothing but vain fantasy, thin as air and more inconstant than the wind. He read it twice, then looked at the porthole, where the spray was running down the glass like something crying, and said it sounded just like the Captain's promises. I laughed so hard I scorched the onions and Mr Adeyemi had to come down and sniff the smoke.

The truth is I dreamt of Mother's pear tree last night, the one with the split bough we were never allowed to climb. I was up in it with my boots on the wrong branch, and I woke with my palm still closed around a pear that was not there. For a whole minute the cabin felt thinner than paper. Then the bell went and the mainsail filled with a bang I could feel through the deck.

I tipped the burnt onions over the rail for the gulls and wrote the date on the invoice, which is why you will find it crooked. Tell Father the pears are safe in my head, even if the tree is not. I will post this at Lisbon if the wind lets us in.

Your loving sister, Marta