вавилонский голландец pt 3
(This is a strange chapter - hope it makes sense! i've drafted it several times - but might come back and change it again - i need to see it up on lj to decide...)
Part Three: Time laughs .
I was surrounded by books they circled around me spinning in a vortex of their own devising, a tornado summoned up for them to ride. “Stop!” I yelled my frantic hands were tiring - and there was an image in my mind now of a dark creature pecking at me as I tried to defend myself. “No more!” I yelled. “I’ve had enough of -“
And if books were birds they’d fly away. I watched them, so many colours, grow wings, chirruping with tropical splendour they were flying about - they were displaying themselves, I realised, they were SHOWING OFF.
“STOP!” I yelled.
Their bright beaks’ shrieking was too much for me. “STOP!”
The glitter beads of their eyes, their wild humming wings.
I could understand what they were singing.
There were words, a lapwing’s logos in my ears. This was a dream, a memory breaking through, something lived through before or witnessed...
And they applauded on the good nights - as I bowed on the stage or when a director said "Cut - that's wrap..." in a soft impressed voice...
Or when the FEEL circuits let the viewers' pleasure overwhelm…, instantaneous across the invisible fibres of the world wide web - back when there was still a world wide web... before it collapsed finally and took humanity's memory capacity with it. … had been lucky - weird that way, always, reading too much and recording everything - so now, now there were souvenirs and old films and a memory.
And on the flickering screen, beneath the jumping, scratching film, the stray hairs on the lens or the strip... gradually clicking into the white, the whirring white.
Someone should fix that fracture.
I opened the door.
It was a library, a huge room, impossibly sized, piles of paperbacks in the gaps between the well ordered and imposing shelves. Seats covered in papers, journals, magazines. The carpet too, except for a channel, a worn path between the cluster of reading material leading to a clearing, a small circle, a cushion and two open books - a spot to sit and read. I walked cautiously forward and sat on the cushion, I kept my eyes on the shelves, I didn’t trust them and yet there I was, sat comfortable and with a book in each hand. I had picked them up without noticing, as if it was routine. I was reading about ships, about sailing. I must have done this before, done this many times, I had made headway through both volumes. How long had I been doing this? How long had I been here?
There was a draft, disturbing me as I read the fast turning pages, they were turning themselves it seemed, as I read the fast turning pages there was a draft and looking up I saw myself entering the room; I was wearing a smile and my unkempt hair was held back by a piece of twine I could see as I turned sideways, I was wearing a smile and my leather jacket and my lucky boots and I was feeding the little bird in its cage. Mimicking its song as I pushed something through the bars and it happily pecked.
Then I waved at myself and turned away and went out, went back to my book and there was just me alone again and reading, reading, reading the fast turning pages. Time was laughing. And I was reading, and I was learning. And I was starting to remember.
Meantime I was hungry again and made my way back to the galley. The rations were simple but I had learned to cook them frugally and use the herbs and spices to vary the taste a little and different ways of cooking to try and vary the texture as well. I liked the cook book, mainly for the pictures - but the sailing books, they were my favourite.
I would sit eating (with gusto, always,) and quaffing the coffee I was beginning to fall in love with. And still with a mouth full of food I would sing, YES! Me! Sing! - laughing at the sound of my voice as I did so.
“Mainsail, galley, boson, hull!”
Sea shanties, oh yes.
“Rigging, mainsail, yaw and roll, yard-arm, keel and rudder!”
Dancing as I put the pots into the dry sink, later I will wash them in the sea by leaning out of a window - very dangerous.
“Take the wheel , compass, charts, port and starboard bow!” I would sing, rolling the newly acquired language on my tongue and around my mouth, as tasty to me as the food. These were the songs the books, the birds, had taught me.
There was only one bird now, small and noisy - like me I suppose! I kept him (her/it) in a cage in the library but it could easily get out, I am a tardy gaoler, so I guess he likes me, or the ship. I named the ship after him ‘Sea Bird’, it felt right somehow. Everything felt right, everything was happening naturally, and for a reason - whether it was finding the bird-cage in the corner of a cabin as I went exploring, whether it was standing with my hands on the wheel and my face set into the wind, whether it was knowing that I was changing completely, inside out with a new mind, new senses, knowledge - even my voice - or whether it was realising I needed to learn about ships and about sailing so that one day I nerved myself to go back into the library and sit down and actually try and read, learning the words painfully one by one.
Time was laughing with me now.
And I read stories too - Jules Verne, Stevenson, Doyle and others, high adventure on the high seas. I was looking for a name for myself that would fit, some seemed familiar - Nemo for instance, I had heard somewhere before - but most were new. In the end I settled on Mariana, which I found in a book called ‘Tales of Shakespeare’ though nobody of that name was in them. So I was Mariana, first - and for a second name, as most people I read about seemed to have them, I would be Sharkey the wild and black hearted villain of the high seas, a pirate, and why not? Every name seemed strange to me anyway, so yes, why not.
I enjoyed the tales of Sharkey a good deal - but they unsettled me also. Gazing out into the dusk pinked horizon from the prow of my ship I began to realise the uncomfortable truth that, like Sharkey, I was being pursued. Always at a far distance, the dark cloud of a storm and hovering low but I knew what it was, or rather, I knew what it wanted. The Sea Bird. My ship.
And I was afraid.
To comfort myself I would drag the tin tub from the alcove in which I found it and heat water upon the stove. Then, adding some warming spices as I did so, pour the water into the tub. Then I would jump, wailing at the touch of the hot water, before relaxing for as long as I could, before I found myself somewhere else busying away. Oh, it was good to lie there soaking in the water, cleaning the dirt and the salt from my skin, feeling the spices getting to work on me, warming my joints. And then I would sing and splash and look down curiously at my body. Finally I would close my eyes and almost doze. That half asleep feeling was so much better than when I was slumbering - for then I would be caught in a rush of jerky images and sensations and would wake feeling oppressed and confused. For that reason more than any other I was glad to take the air on deck - and thankful that time seemed to have little patience when I was curled in my cabin - because I would swiftly be waking up and then I would find myself in any number of places onboard and rapidly forgetting the frets of night.
And then I met a man.
I’d been up on deck after a break from the library, I think, and needing to clear my head. Each session with the books was like a binge in the galley - I felt deliciously bloated afterwards and need the pause to digest. In the case of the books of course it was digesting knowledge, an education, the beginnings of something, someone. Me.
The water looked the same as ever - dark and fevered, but beautiful to me by now, I would stare as long as possible out at the Ocean… except for the fist of shadow raising itself slowly on the horizon once again. I could feel the Sea Bird groan, the sails twisting to take as much wind as possible, before dodging sideways like a rabbit fleeing a fox, then the sails would trim and the prow would sheer through the waves and the wind as if this would throw our hunters off. I had to hold onto the rail once again and decided the best thing was to get back inside before my nerves began to fray.
If I had been the same person that came aboard the Sea Bird, that feral girl, I would have screamed in terror or stood my ground cursing perhaps, but as I began to learn about myself and the ship and the world, so too I began learning the rituals of worry. Biting my lips and jabbing my cold hands into the pockets of my jacket I made for the nearest entry door, heaving it open and slamming it behind me, spinning the wheel with my fingers unwilling to unbend.
It was turning that I saw him - and I froze.
He was a large man, stiff looking. Broad shoulders supported a bearded head, the bristles of which were the same colour as the sea beyond the door. The skin of the face held something of the ocean upon it also, the wrinkles large and wave like, creating dark shadows across the brow and under the eyes.
“Ah, “the stranger said - and for a moment he simply shifted from foot to foot, the light dancing across the brass buttons of his long coat, flickering. I blinked - another unwanted memory flashing into my mind, flickering light, a room somewhere, sharp features, faces, tense figures… and then it was gone and there was simply me again and the man, the awkward looking man. “I have frightened you,” he said, “I’m sorry.”
Truthfully, his manner had made me forget my fear. I was curious more than anything, except the desire to avoid whatever was coming up fast behind us, behind the ship.
“You’re the captain,” I said trying out my voice, it sounded steady enough, but I was surprised at how youthful it seemed - and an accent clearly different to that of the man before me. An accent, I’d never noticed before.
“Yes,” the man nodded, a small careful movement, “I am the Captain, my name is Falk, Captain Falk.”
“And I am Mariana,” I replied, “Mariana Sharkey.”
“Yes, I know,” he said - and the briefest of smiles ruffled the hair of his beard. “We, I - the crew have heard you singing it out.”
I was blushing despite everything. “I thought I was alone.” That was not quite true, I had simply not attempted to push my mind into examining the - reality, Unreality - of a ship that seemed to work itself and attended to most of my needs and wants. “I thought there was just me and the ship.” That was closer to how I had felt anyway.
“We didn’t want to alarm you,” said Falk, “and perhaps you didn’t wish to see us either.” He was being sincere in his own way too - but he was clearly not telling all, and he sounded troubled.
“It’s..” I began, “Something’s changed, something’s different now right?”
“Yes.”
“The cloud,” I knew it would be.
“It’s not a cloud,” the captain corrected, “there are ships, following us, ships - a fleet. You were on one of their vessels, don’t you remember?”
“Not really.”
“Ah, you remember enough to be afraid too, yes?”
That was true. There was no image, nothing was clear - but the dreams I had at night, the way I felt looking at the horizon at it was defaced by the dark thing, yes, I remembered enough of be scared.
“What do they want?” I was starting to move towards him now, there was moisture running down my back, it must have been rain in the wind and I’d not noticed, or spray perhaps, but I would catch a chill if I stayed still for too long.
“You know what they want - I have heard you say as much.”
“The ship.”
“Indeed, they have been following me for a long time. But - now they are like hounds with blood to track, they can smell it, they are coming…”
“Yes?”
“For you.”
End of part three:
Part Three: Time laughs .
I was surrounded by books they circled around me spinning in a vortex of their own devising, a tornado summoned up for them to ride. “Stop!” I yelled my frantic hands were tiring - and there was an image in my mind now of a dark creature pecking at me as I tried to defend myself. “No more!” I yelled. “I’ve had enough of -“
And if books were birds they’d fly away. I watched them, so many colours, grow wings, chirruping with tropical splendour they were flying about - they were displaying themselves, I realised, they were SHOWING OFF.
“STOP!” I yelled.
Their bright beaks’ shrieking was too much for me. “STOP!”
The glitter beads of their eyes, their wild humming wings.
I could understand what they were singing.
There were words, a lapwing’s logos in my ears. This was a dream, a memory breaking through, something lived through before or witnessed...
And they applauded on the good nights - as I bowed on the stage or when a director said "Cut - that's wrap..." in a soft impressed voice...
Or when the FEEL circuits let the viewers' pleasure overwhelm…, instantaneous across the invisible fibres of the world wide web - back when there was still a world wide web... before it collapsed finally and took humanity's memory capacity with it. … had been lucky - weird that way, always, reading too much and recording everything - so now, now there were souvenirs and old films and a memory.
And on the flickering screen, beneath the jumping, scratching film, the stray hairs on the lens or the strip... gradually clicking into the white, the whirring white.
Someone should fix that fracture.
I opened the door.
It was a library, a huge room, impossibly sized, piles of paperbacks in the gaps between the well ordered and imposing shelves. Seats covered in papers, journals, magazines. The carpet too, except for a channel, a worn path between the cluster of reading material leading to a clearing, a small circle, a cushion and two open books - a spot to sit and read. I walked cautiously forward and sat on the cushion, I kept my eyes on the shelves, I didn’t trust them and yet there I was, sat comfortable and with a book in each hand. I had picked them up without noticing, as if it was routine. I was reading about ships, about sailing. I must have done this before, done this many times, I had made headway through both volumes. How long had I been doing this? How long had I been here?
There was a draft, disturbing me as I read the fast turning pages, they were turning themselves it seemed, as I read the fast turning pages there was a draft and looking up I saw myself entering the room; I was wearing a smile and my unkempt hair was held back by a piece of twine I could see as I turned sideways, I was wearing a smile and my leather jacket and my lucky boots and I was feeding the little bird in its cage. Mimicking its song as I pushed something through the bars and it happily pecked.
Then I waved at myself and turned away and went out, went back to my book and there was just me alone again and reading, reading, reading the fast turning pages. Time was laughing. And I was reading, and I was learning. And I was starting to remember.
Meantime I was hungry again and made my way back to the galley. The rations were simple but I had learned to cook them frugally and use the herbs and spices to vary the taste a little and different ways of cooking to try and vary the texture as well. I liked the cook book, mainly for the pictures - but the sailing books, they were my favourite.
I would sit eating (with gusto, always,) and quaffing the coffee I was beginning to fall in love with. And still with a mouth full of food I would sing, YES! Me! Sing! - laughing at the sound of my voice as I did so.
“Mainsail, galley, boson, hull!”
Sea shanties, oh yes.
“Rigging, mainsail, yaw and roll, yard-arm, keel and rudder!”
Dancing as I put the pots into the dry sink, later I will wash them in the sea by leaning out of a window - very dangerous.
“Take the wheel , compass, charts, port and starboard bow!” I would sing, rolling the newly acquired language on my tongue and around my mouth, as tasty to me as the food. These were the songs the books, the birds, had taught me.
There was only one bird now, small and noisy - like me I suppose! I kept him (her/it) in a cage in the library but it could easily get out, I am a tardy gaoler, so I guess he likes me, or the ship. I named the ship after him ‘Sea Bird’, it felt right somehow. Everything felt right, everything was happening naturally, and for a reason - whether it was finding the bird-cage in the corner of a cabin as I went exploring, whether it was standing with my hands on the wheel and my face set into the wind, whether it was knowing that I was changing completely, inside out with a new mind, new senses, knowledge - even my voice - or whether it was realising I needed to learn about ships and about sailing so that one day I nerved myself to go back into the library and sit down and actually try and read, learning the words painfully one by one.
Time was laughing with me now.
And I read stories too - Jules Verne, Stevenson, Doyle and others, high adventure on the high seas. I was looking for a name for myself that would fit, some seemed familiar - Nemo for instance, I had heard somewhere before - but most were new. In the end I settled on Mariana, which I found in a book called ‘Tales of Shakespeare’ though nobody of that name was in them. So I was Mariana, first - and for a second name, as most people I read about seemed to have them, I would be Sharkey the wild and black hearted villain of the high seas, a pirate, and why not? Every name seemed strange to me anyway, so yes, why not.
I enjoyed the tales of Sharkey a good deal - but they unsettled me also. Gazing out into the dusk pinked horizon from the prow of my ship I began to realise the uncomfortable truth that, like Sharkey, I was being pursued. Always at a far distance, the dark cloud of a storm and hovering low but I knew what it was, or rather, I knew what it wanted. The Sea Bird. My ship.
And I was afraid.
To comfort myself I would drag the tin tub from the alcove in which I found it and heat water upon the stove. Then, adding some warming spices as I did so, pour the water into the tub. Then I would jump, wailing at the touch of the hot water, before relaxing for as long as I could, before I found myself somewhere else busying away. Oh, it was good to lie there soaking in the water, cleaning the dirt and the salt from my skin, feeling the spices getting to work on me, warming my joints. And then I would sing and splash and look down curiously at my body. Finally I would close my eyes and almost doze. That half asleep feeling was so much better than when I was slumbering - for then I would be caught in a rush of jerky images and sensations and would wake feeling oppressed and confused. For that reason more than any other I was glad to take the air on deck - and thankful that time seemed to have little patience when I was curled in my cabin - because I would swiftly be waking up and then I would find myself in any number of places onboard and rapidly forgetting the frets of night.
And then I met a man.
I’d been up on deck after a break from the library, I think, and needing to clear my head. Each session with the books was like a binge in the galley - I felt deliciously bloated afterwards and need the pause to digest. In the case of the books of course it was digesting knowledge, an education, the beginnings of something, someone. Me.
The water looked the same as ever - dark and fevered, but beautiful to me by now, I would stare as long as possible out at the Ocean… except for the fist of shadow raising itself slowly on the horizon once again. I could feel the Sea Bird groan, the sails twisting to take as much wind as possible, before dodging sideways like a rabbit fleeing a fox, then the sails would trim and the prow would sheer through the waves and the wind as if this would throw our hunters off. I had to hold onto the rail once again and decided the best thing was to get back inside before my nerves began to fray.
If I had been the same person that came aboard the Sea Bird, that feral girl, I would have screamed in terror or stood my ground cursing perhaps, but as I began to learn about myself and the ship and the world, so too I began learning the rituals of worry. Biting my lips and jabbing my cold hands into the pockets of my jacket I made for the nearest entry door, heaving it open and slamming it behind me, spinning the wheel with my fingers unwilling to unbend.
It was turning that I saw him - and I froze.
He was a large man, stiff looking. Broad shoulders supported a bearded head, the bristles of which were the same colour as the sea beyond the door. The skin of the face held something of the ocean upon it also, the wrinkles large and wave like, creating dark shadows across the brow and under the eyes.
“Ah, “the stranger said - and for a moment he simply shifted from foot to foot, the light dancing across the brass buttons of his long coat, flickering. I blinked - another unwanted memory flashing into my mind, flickering light, a room somewhere, sharp features, faces, tense figures… and then it was gone and there was simply me again and the man, the awkward looking man. “I have frightened you,” he said, “I’m sorry.”
Truthfully, his manner had made me forget my fear. I was curious more than anything, except the desire to avoid whatever was coming up fast behind us, behind the ship.
“You’re the captain,” I said trying out my voice, it sounded steady enough, but I was surprised at how youthful it seemed - and an accent clearly different to that of the man before me. An accent, I’d never noticed before.
“Yes,” the man nodded, a small careful movement, “I am the Captain, my name is Falk, Captain Falk.”
“And I am Mariana,” I replied, “Mariana Sharkey.”
“Yes, I know,” he said - and the briefest of smiles ruffled the hair of his beard. “We, I - the crew have heard you singing it out.”
I was blushing despite everything. “I thought I was alone.” That was not quite true, I had simply not attempted to push my mind into examining the - reality, Unreality - of a ship that seemed to work itself and attended to most of my needs and wants. “I thought there was just me and the ship.” That was closer to how I had felt anyway.
“We didn’t want to alarm you,” said Falk, “and perhaps you didn’t wish to see us either.” He was being sincere in his own way too - but he was clearly not telling all, and he sounded troubled.
“It’s..” I began, “Something’s changed, something’s different now right?”
“Yes.”
“The cloud,” I knew it would be.
“It’s not a cloud,” the captain corrected, “there are ships, following us, ships - a fleet. You were on one of their vessels, don’t you remember?”
“Not really.”
“Ah, you remember enough to be afraid too, yes?”
That was true. There was no image, nothing was clear - but the dreams I had at night, the way I felt looking at the horizon at it was defaced by the dark thing, yes, I remembered enough of be scared.
“What do they want?” I was starting to move towards him now, there was moisture running down my back, it must have been rain in the wind and I’d not noticed, or spray perhaps, but I would catch a chill if I stayed still for too long.
“You know what they want - I have heard you say as much.”
“The ship.”
“Indeed, they have been following me for a long time. But - now they are like hounds with blood to track, they can smell it, they are coming…”
“Yes?”
“For you.”
End of part three: