Work Text:
The Amerigo Vespucci of the Italian Navy was alone from her very birth. It seemed an almost comical endeavor to build a sail ship, like the vessels of centuries prior, when steel hulls had become the norm. This was not to say that there were no ships traveling by wind on the seas, but none of them were in the navy, and none of them were made to reflect the glory of the past. What need did a modern navy have for rigging, masts, and cannons? But the Amerigo Vespucci was built nonetheless.
She was launched in 1931. Her elder sister, the Cristoforo Colombo, had been sailing for three years already. The Vespucci looked up to her sibling a great deal, even though they rarely saw each other. The Colombo seemed proud of her wooden decks and canvas sails. She felt she was merely the last in a long line of mighty warships stretching back into history. As much as she tried to emulate her sister’s pride, the Vespucci could only think of how out of place she was amidst the dark metal destroyers and battleships.
Then the war came. It was greater than the first, though the Vespucci was not old enough to have experienced that “Great War.” Yet amid all the chaos and destruction of a second world war, the Vespucci survived the bombs and the fires and the depth charges because she was not allowed to participate. She rested in port for the length of the conflict. Her makers knew she would sink immediately were she to engage the enemy.
As she bobbed on the waves next to the dock, the Vespucci could only watch and think about how truly useless she was. Why on earth had she been built this way? What point was there to put a vanity project in the navy? She wanted to help- to assist her nation as it fell, to drive away the arrogant American and British cruisers circling like sharks around the Italian peninsula- but she could not.
When at last the smoke cleared, the Vespucci was one of the few vessels left undamaged. Her compatriots clogged the piers as their twisted hulls and ruined artillery were repaired. Once they had spoken to her like she was an innocent young ship who had yet to leave the warm waters of her homeland. Now they were silent. Defeated. The scars on their bodies were reflected on the Vespucci’s polished sides.
Not long after, the Vespucci was moved to a different port to be out of the way. On her journey, she came alongside her sister. The Colombo was being escorted by two large destroyers that floated heavy in the waves. They gazed at the Vespucci with scorn.
“Where are you going?” the Vespucci meekly asked her sister.
“They are taking me to Russia,” came the Colombo’s resigned reply. “The war has been lost, and I am part of the spoils.”
“Let’s go,” one of the destroyers called back in a dour tone.
The Colombo sighed as she followed. “They have no appreciation for art in Russia.”
The two sail ships drew further apart. The Vespucci wanted to turn, but her captain would not allow it. “Will I see you again?” she called after her sister.
Either the Colombo did not respond, or her words were lost in the wind. The Vespucci would visit Russia several times in the following decades, but she never found her sister. It was like she had vanished in a puff of smoke, never to voyage the oceans again. The Vespucci truly was the last of her kind.
--
Now that there was no war, the Vespucci was continually active. Italian sailors used her to train before they moved on to the proper warships. She visited every corner of the Mediterranean and held herself proudly just like her sister had. The civilian ships oohed and aahed at her grand display. The navy, however, brushed past her with barely a word. They had things to do; places to be. A silly sail ship had no business holding them up. She could hardly blame them.
Yet, there was one particular day in 1962, when one of those military boats called out to her. It was an aircraft carrier, one of the largest and mightiest ships ever built. Her enormous body cut through the waves with ease. Her flat surface full of planes and sailors barely shifted despite the churn of the sea. Ships like her rivalled the entire armed forces of a small country, all on their own.
She pulled alongside the Vespucci and slowed her powerful engines. Upon her side was painted her name: USS Independence. An American. Of course she was. No other ship would be this bold. “Who are you?” the Independence asked.
“Training ship Amerigo Vespucci, Italian Navy,” the Vespucci replied. It was standard identification procedure. She half-expected the American to pull away again, but instead she remained.
The Independence studied her for a moment and then replied. “You are the most beautiful ship in the world.”
The Vespucci barely believed what she had heard for a moment. Small yachts and fishing boats loved to compliment her, but never navy vessels. Certainly not an aircraft carrier. And with such sincerity too. It made the Vespucci’s heart flutter like her sails catching the wind.
Even so, she scoffed. “Beauty means nothing. Were I outfitted like you, I could actually make a difference.”
The giant boat hesitated, and the Vespucci suddenly realized how young the Independence was. Her imposing prow did not bear the marks of weathering. Her paint still looked fresh and new. The Vespucci had not seen the first world war, but this mightiest of weapons beside her had not even seen the second.
“Beauty means everything,” the Independence said softly. “I was born into fire and bloodshed and will see little else until I am scrapped or sunk. I wish I were beautiful like you.”
“I am useless the way I am,” the Vespucci spat.
“The only use I have is to create suffering. Weapons are not beautiful.” Somehow this young American upstart was still patient and kind in her tone. “But you, with your sails unfurled, your rigging immaculate, and your sides painted that glossy white and black, you are beautiful. The fact that you sail not toward combat but toward a port where you will be admired and celebrated, makes you the most beautiful ship in the world.”
The Vespucci was stunned. None had ever spoken of her in such a way. The military ships all thought her beneath them for her outdated design. The civilian ships all marveled at her canons and insignias and spoke of how powerful a craft she must be. Only this- this floating fortress of a ship said she was beautiful because of her uselessness. Was this… how it felt to fall in love?
She regained her composure only to find that the Independence had pulled ahead. The aircraft carrier’s propellors sliced through the waves, sending a stream of white foam in her wake. The Vespucci called after her, desperately, to wait a moment, but much like her final meeting with her sister, the wind banished any words to oblivion and the Independence didn’t respond. Navy ships always did have their timetables to attend to.
“May we meet again on calmer seas,” the Vespucci murmured after the receding form of her newfound love.
--
Following that fateful meeting, the Vespucci changed in her behavior. Her prideful façade which she had gained from her sister fell away. A new sort of pride emerged, tempered by modesty. She would no longer wish to be something she was not. Instead, she would embrace the antiquated ship that she was. She might not fight in pitched battles or provide safe harbor to bombers and fighters, but that was never intended to be her purpose.
Truly, the Vespucci was supposed to be beautiful. She was a training ship for young sailors. Tours were given on her decks when she was in her home port. She even had the honor of carrying the Olympic torch from Greece to Italy. Her elegance did not mean she was useless.
Years passed, then decades. The Vespucci sailed to different continents and met all sorts of ships. An Italian ship-of-the-line didn’t stand out as much when compared to a river steamboat, an aging whaling vessel, or even a Spanish training ship not too different from herself. She encountered several aircraft carriers, many of them American, rushing across the seas to police the world. Yet the Vespucci never saw the Independence again.
However, she heard tell of the Independence’s exploits from other ships in harbor. That intimidating giant the Vespucci longed to see had gone to Vietnam, to the Middle East, the Arctic, India, Grenada, the Middle East again, Japan, and on and on. It seemed she went everywhere the Vespucci was not. But the Vespucci had faith. Such a powerful ship would not be sunk. It was only a matter of time before they crossed paths on the wide blue water once more.
It was in 2008, when that moment finally arrived. Except it wasn’t on the high seas but rather an American port. Due to her size, the Independence was docked on a pier all her own. She looked silent and melancholic. Her flags no longer flew in the wind. There were no planes upon her tarmac. Her once clean metal plating was now scratched and scarred with rust and welded repairs. But even in this state, the Vespucci’s heart leapt for joy.
The Independence, still so much taller and larger than the Vespucci, had apparently spotted her first. And the first thing she said was simply, “Even after fifty years, you are still the most beautiful ship in the world.”
“No, hush,” the Vespucci chided despite the fact the statement made her swoon. “What has happened to you?”
“Didn’t I tell you one day I would either be sunk or scrapped?” The aircraft carrier laughed softly. “I am too old. A new generation will take my place.”
“Too old?” the Vespucci scoffed. “I am far older, yet they keep me around.”
“That’s because you are beautiful,” the Independence reminded, its voice tender. “I am… only a weapon.”
“No.”
The carrier’s neglected hull creaked. “I was the most battle-experienced ship in the American fleet. There is nothing uglier than that.”
The Vespucci couldn’t gather the words to properly express her feelings. How could this ship say such things about herself? This wonderful individual who had given the Vespucci a new appreciation for life? It was so unfair!
“I’m glad I could see you one more time,” the Independence sighed. “I feel so-“
“You’re beautiful,” the Vespucci interrupted. “You’re the most beautiful ship I’ve ever seen in all my years of sailing. A mere weapon could never be as kind and sweet and lovely as you. Please don’t call yourself ugly. I can’t think of any description further from the truth.”
“No one has ever said that to me,” the Independence whispered.
“Then I’m sorry it took so long for us to meet again,” the Vespucci replied, “for I would have told you so every day since you first found me in the Mediterranean.”
The Vespucci felt her rudder turning. The wind caught her sails. Her time was up. “I don’t want to leave you here,” she wept as she was steered toward the mouth of the harbor. “I fear I will never see you again if I go now.”
“Maybe so, but you will remember me, I hope.” The Independence sounded peaceful now. “If only one remembers me as something other than a monster, my life has been well-lived.” How was it that the Vespucci was so much more distraught about her fate than the Independence could be herself?
“I will remember you!” the Vespucci cried. Her prow split the waves as she pulled out into the sea. Gulls spiraled around. The wind blew in great gusts. She called back one more time to the aircraft carrier. “I love you.”
And this time the wind delivered the response directly to her, even though it was barely a whisper. “I love you too.”