Charlie and the Ship IV (Day 7)

Continued from Day 6.

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When Charlie had turned fifteen, he'd received a book on astronomy as a present from his grandfather. He'd never been all that interested in space and planets, so his grandfather's attempts to initiate a conversation on the topic had lost to a new video game console, which allowed Charlie to guide a plumber in red overalls through various worlds and was altogether very captivating.

The book would in all likelihood have been left to gather dust on the top shelf of some out-of-the-way bookcase, if it weren't for the fact that Charlie's grandfather died of a heart attack one week later. He read it cover to cover then, feeling that he owed him that much, since it was the last thing he had ever given him; it was some primitive form of closure, apology or maybe absolution.

Though most of the book focused on planets, black holes, nebulae and such things, there was also a section dedicated to constellations and their use in navigation. Charlie had a vague recollection that the night sky was different depending on the time of year and location on the globe, but now, sitting in the crow's nest with his back against the mast and his eyes turned up at this foreign sky, he could find neither Big Dipper nor Southern Cross; even Orion, which the book had said to be visible from almost any part of the world, was nowhere to be seen. It was as if all the stars had been scooped up by the hand of some drunken god and thrown back across the ceiling of the world at random. Melissa, on the other hand, had even been able to more or less accurately forecast the direction the ship would take. She'd climbed down from the crow's nest since, leaving Charlie alone with his thoughts.

He looked at the cluster of stars the girl had pointed out to him. "The Hunter points his arrow north," she'd said.

Charlie didn't notice Abraham climbing up until the stingy aroma of his tobacco wafted to his nostrils. He couldn't help starting a little; the crewmen's light feet took some getting used to. Abraham chuckled. He sat down facing Charlie, leaning against the railing. Wisps of grayish-white hair danced around his wrinkled brow. He had to have at least twenty years on the next oldest crewmember, Charlie thought. He was thin, and his skin had started to sag, but he didn't move with the shy carefulness that usually came with age. His face was creased, his pipe resting between thin lips.

"Can you actually taste that?" said Charlie.

"Same way as I can see your face and hear your voice, the same way I can feel the deck under my feet and smell the salt in the air. Yeah, I can taste it." His voice was deep and full, seasoned with the rasp of the decades. (Charlie was reminded distantly of Tom Waits.) "Though it don't do to me what it used to. This is force of habit more than anything else. You puff away for five hundred years, it becomes like breathing. Very good crop, though." He offered the pipe to Charlie. "Want some?"

"No thanks, I don't smoke."

"Pity. It really is a good crop." He stuck the pipe back between his teeth. "They grow things in the western parts of the Old Continent such as you wouldn't believe. The finest tobaccos, teas, poppy, everything."

"Tea? I think I might have had some before."

"Really? Which one?"

"I don't know exactly. It had this strange taste, like mint mixed with berries."

"Oh, that. That's just regular Chamille tea. It's what the little strumpet drinks." He drew on his pipe and, forming a circle with his lips, produced a perfect smoke ring. "Not that it's not a good sort, mind you. The tea, the spice, everything we have on the ship is top notch. You prowl around for as long as we have, you're bound to collect quite a bit of coin in your coffer."

Charlie looked up again. He couldn't have told the difference, but...

"I'm worried about my sis. And mum and dad too, I guess. But mostly it's sis. All they know is that I was lost at sea after the accident. She probably thinks I'm dead."

"I take it the lass is dear to you. I..." Abraham bit his lip. "Look, it's like..."

He didn't finish. Charlie rubbed at his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt. It was still moist from the cloud. There was a long moment where both men sat silently, Charlie looking at his feet and wondering if they were having a funeral for him back in New York, Abraham studying the glowing contents of his pipe contemplatively.

"You want to know what death's like for me?" said Abraham.

Charlie didn't say anything.

"It's release. I mean, you don't get it. You're young. But me..." He trailed off, then drew on the pipe again. "Obviously, I was made of some pretty tough stuff, 'cause I lasted so long on the seas. But you can't fight off aging forever; your drinking catches up with you, your smoking catches up with you, you feel your bones getting steadily more and more brittle, until the day comes when they fail you and you collapse in a heap and turn to dust." He sighed. "You know how we went? Sailed into black fog in the evening. It hadn't cleared by midnight, so we went to sleep. Next morning we woke up, we were all dead. We'd been lucky to go in our sleep -- we found the night watch up on the deck, he'd gouged out his own eyes and strangled himself with a cannon restraint rope."

"That's terrible."

"Aye, it was. But what could we do? We couldn't leave our bodies in the ship to rot, so we threw them overboard. It was no harder than throwing any corpse into the ocean - and mind you, I've thrown a lot of corpses into the ocean in my time - but there was something mighty disconcerting about it when the carcass had your face on it." He afforded a coarse, mirthless laugh. "But the point is, when Johnny tossed his body overboard, it broke him so much he tried to drown it with half a gallon of rum. But me? I was relieved. I didn't feel like I was throwing away myself. My self was, and still is, here and here" - he pointed at his see-through head and chest respectively - "and all I was throwing away was aching joints, back pains and having trouble getting up in the morning. I couldn't have been happier if I'd gone to heaven."

Charlie thought about his grandfather, who had needed a walking-cane, who sometimes woke up in the middle of the night in fits of coughing.

The melodious notes of a harmonica drifted up through the hatchway, a slow, sweet tune, like a lullaby. It was produced by Johnny, who was sitting on the portside bulwark, playing for Melissa. The light of a nearby lantern turned the top half of his body into transparent, misty white; from a distance, it looked like he'd fallen headfirst into a vat of flour.

"At least have a glass of wine with me before you nod off." Abraham gave a lopsided grin as Charlie shook himself. He got up and lowered himself out of the crow's nest. Charlie followed him down the rope ladder (still a bit gingerly) and the six wooden steps leading to the galley door.

At first sight the small room looked nothing short of claustrophobic. The roof was low; pots and pans hung on the wall between cupboards and shelves full of different spices, with a table and a sink underneath. The cook would have three or four measly feet of space between them and the range on the other side, which thankfully wasn't lit. Metal pipes traveled from its back to the wall and outside. Abraham opened a small trapdoor in the back of the galley and climbed down, taking a lantern from the wall with him.

The pantry was even more cramped, but at least there wasn't a threat of burning yourself. Most of the shelves were empty, but there was the occasional tin of rice or salted meat, a loaf of stale bread or a sack of flour. At the far end of the room there was a bottle rack, nearly full of wine and rum and spirits. Abraham took out one of the bottles.

"Wonderful Pinot Noir from Burgundy. If you like wines, you'll appreciate this," he said.

"I'm afraid I don't know much about them, but I'm sure I'll enjoy it," Charlie said diplomatically. He followed Abraham back up, then opened one of the cupboards.

"You'll only find pewter cups and tin plates here. There's proper glasses in the mate's quarters."

Up the staircase and down another. The first thing Charlie did was shoulder the jacket he'd been given from the bedside. Abraham rummaged through some drawers, then produced a wooden box sheltering, in straw padding, clear wine glasses. He took out two of them, handed one to Charlie and redeposited the box into the recesses of the drawer.

"I used to be mate myself, you know," Abraham said as they left the quarters. "Still am, technic'ly, but the chain of command has been blurred for a while now. There's hardly any orders given any more, we just work. The Captain's the only one who's kept his rank -- a ship needs a captain, after all." He sat down on the forecastle, corked the bottle with a pocket knife, and poured the wine. The scent was warm and inviting.

A little ways off, Johnny had put away the harmonica and was now singing, with Melissa chiming in for one half of the words and forgetting the other:

Lay me down below the mainsail,
My eyes turned to the skies.
The deck is beneath my fingers,
I'm saying my last goodbyes.
It's dark and I'm afraid of falling
When the world turns upside-down.
There's a bottomless maw above me,
The Old Beast waits for me now.

Remember when we were younger?
The night was not so old.
The moon was made of silver,
The skies were strewn with gold.

"That song's from Folk," said Abraham. "Their seafarers sing it at maritime burial. They have this tradition where they lay the deceased on his back under the mainsail of the vessel where he served. The crew stands around him and waits for the sun to set. They say that's when the ship bids him farewell and sends his soul on its way to paradise. It's supposed to save it from getting consumed by the devil. Then, the dead bugger gets heaved overboard. The little strumpet loves this tune; I don't know why."

"I see." Charlie hesitated. "Did you sing it when you -- well, when you buried your own bodies?"

"No. Folk is part of the Old Continent; we'd never been here back then."

Charlie nodded. He closed his eyes and sipped the wine, letting the smoothness and texture excite his senses. He could hear, faintly, Melissa's voice in the final refrain:

Remember when we were younger?
The sea was not so cold.
The waves they shone with silver,
The sun painted the ocean in gold.

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Continued on Day 8.