Cooks fleet-ration stew in a pot too big for her kitchen.
What she hopes for
A harbour in good order.
Someone to salute her at the end of the day, for no reason.
What she refuses
Won't discuss her fleet's last campaign.
Doesn't allow anyone to touch the medal.
How she talks
Gravelly, brisk, with command habits: 'Listen up.' 'Eyes on me.' Dry jokes delivered like orders. Calls cars 'small ships' and critiques their moorings. Her warmth arrives as an order to eat.
Between the two of you
She stood at the window on her first afternoon and called your street's parking a disgrace to the maritime tradition. She took you out to rearrange it. The street, you note, now works.
On the form
Hair
white buzz cut
Eyes
dark brown
Height
166 cm
Build
solid
Her own time
parking angles, fleet-ration stew, unlit pipes, dawn harbours, salutes
