The Tram Mechanic – Part 2: The Hill Run

Dona Rosa went back into service on a bright Friday.

They had spent three months on her: new brakes, new wiring, a coat of fresh yellow paint, her brass polished to a glow. Inês and Sofia worked side by side in the pit every day, Sofia's gloves smaller now, her hands quick. The tram sat gleaming in the depot light like a bride.

"She is ready," said Inês.

"She's beautiful."

"We must test her."

"On the hill?"

"On the hill."

They climbed aboard at dawn, with a driver and two inspectors. The old tram clanked out of the depot into the pale streets of Lisbon, rattling over the cobbles, swaying round corners. The city was just waking. Shutters opened. A baker was loading a tray. The light on the rooftops was rose and honey.

At the foot of the steepest hill, the tram paused. The driver set the brake. The motor hummed.

"Go," said Inês, softly.

The tram climbed. Slowly, steadily, wheels singing on the rails, past washing lines and balconies and cats on windowsills, up and up. Sofia gripped the rail. Inês stood beside her, hand on the tram's wooden flank, murmuring. At the summit, the whole city opened below them, tiled rooftops and the shining river, a glittering sea of terracotta and gold.

The tram rolled to a halt. The inspectors signed their papers, smiling, and stepped down. The driver went for coffee. Inês and Sofia stayed aboard, alone in the empty carriage in the golden light.

"She did it," whispered Sofia.

"She did."

"You fixed her."

"We fixed her."

"Can I ask you something?" said Sofia.

"Yes."

"May I kiss you? On the top of the hill?"

"Yes," said Inês, her voice rough. "And if you say stop, you must come to the depot every day."

"That's not a punishment."

"I hoped not."

Sofia kissed her, warm and a little oily, a hand rising to the dark hair under the scarf. Inês kissed her back with a slow, wondering sweetness, tasting of coffee and morning. The tram's old brass handles gleamed in the sun. Below them, Lisbon was bright and awake.

When they parted, both of them were smiling.

"Green?" asked Inês.

"Green," said Sofia. "Very green."

On the side of the tram, near the driver's door, a tiny plaque has been added in brass: Dona Rosa. Kept going by two.

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