The Boat of Faded Colours

In the harbour there was an old boat named Lucia.

Once she had been red, blue, and yellow. Now the red had faded, the blue looked tired, and the yellow could be seen only near the bow.

The new boats looked at her with shiny sails and freshly painted sides.

“You should have your colours redone,” they said.

Lucia was silent, but inside she felt greyer and greyer.

Every sunset she hoped no one would notice her. When children passed along the pier, she hid a little behind a larger boat.

One evening Mina arrived, a girl with a sketchbook.

She sat in front of Lucia and began to draw her.

“No, not me,” said the boat.

Mina looked around. “Was that you speaking?”

“Draw that new one. It is prettier.”

Mina observed Lucia for a long time.

“You have interesting colours.”

“They are faded.”

“Perhaps by day.”

Evening fell. The first harbour lights came on. The sea turned dark. Then something happened: Lucia’s faded red became warm like brick, the blue looked like deep sea, and the yellow near the bow shone like a small lantern.

Mina smiled.

“See? Your colours wait for the night.”

Lucia looked at her reflection in the water. She was not like the new boats. She did not shine in the same way. But she had a soft light, full of journeys, salt, sun, and returns.

“I thought I was ruined.”

“Perhaps you are told,” said Mina.

The next day she brought the drawing. She had coloured Lucia with delicate shades: not new, not false. True.

The fishermen saw it and said, “That is exactly her.”

From then on Lucia no longer hid at sunset. She waited for darkness as one waits for a friend who knows how to light the quiet parts.

The new boats continued to shine by day.

Lucia shone when the harbour grew calm.

And she discovered that not all colours need to be strong in order to be beautiful. Some need evening to say who they are.