вавилонский голландец pt 4
Part Four: Through Darkness...
Mariana pauses for a moment after slamming the hard metal door behind her to lean against it. Her jaw clicks as she counts. “Yes?” asks the captain.
She looks up, the old feral flash in her eyes and then she pushes herself out from the door again and she’s firm on her feet. “Time’s not laughing,” she says. And though she doesn’t want it to, one of her hands jerks up and flicks at the unkempt fringe of her hair.
“But you know who you are?” The captain, Falk, sounds like a doctor, the same neutral concern and she meets this with a jut of the chin. “On the inside,” she says, and her eyes are watchful now, “yes.”
“Good.” The captain nods.
“Does it happen - like this, when the - when they get close.”
Are there even words for them, she wonders?
“Perhaps - I’ve never really noticed, I suppose we’re used to it… but now, maybe it’s different.” Falk shuffles awkwardly, the passageway seems suddenly cramped.
“Because of me?” Mariana is certain of the answer but she asks anyway.
“Because of you.”
She laughs, and Falk’s eyebrows rise, but she is appreciative of his flat honesty. “Why?” She asks with equal bluntness. The captain shakes his head, “you have been among them - they were close to keeping you - now they want you back.”
A tremor runs through her as Mariana tries to answer, something in her body is remembering what her mind refuses to open to. “I - I don’t think they wanted me at all.” She says slowly.
“Perhaps not, but you were there - you were theirs -no/one comes back from…” He waves his wide hands in lieu of speech. “They will consider you stolen property… and they are not friends to this vessel in any case.”
“Well then,” she says, “I can either make myself useful - or you can throw me overboard and maybe things’ll go back to how they were for you.”
“There is no ‘were…’ not here Mari’,” he shortens the name unconsciously. I am becoming crew! she thinks, hoping the flush of happiness can’t be seen on her face. The captain’s face is not flushed. It is contained, cautious, and tense, his grey eyes considering - and Mariana doesn’t like it.
“Well, make up your mind!” she barks.
The ship, the Sea Bird, seems to agree - a low shudder running through the hull, the metal and wood. At last the captain turns away and begins to make for the inner door. “I will not cast you off,” he says - and then adds, “Katy Nemo.” It’s almost a chuckle the way he says it.
She is hurrying towards him now. “How do you know?“
The man half turns, still wearing the slight smile visible beneath his beard. But the smile is nerveless - and Mari rears back in alarm - his eyes are red as rubies, they are fire beneath the waves, wrecking lamps in the fog, vicious and smoky. The slack mouth opens and the sea rolls from it; wild, fell and violent.
Then his mouth snaps shut and the light in the eyes goes dark. “They are close,” he says, “and my crew are in need of me, I must apologise - but we are close hauled now as it is. I will be back as soon as I can. Stay in your cabin for now.”
Falk lumbers out through the door and is gone quickly up the following passage.
“Wait! I -”
It’s too late to stop him now but Mari has no intention of going to her cabin and Falk has overlooked how well she knows the ship. She slips instead through a side hatch and makes for the hold.
It’s not an easy journey as the hull shudders and the lights flicker, each time throwing her into the same recurring visions, the strangers, an office… but despite the swaying floor and the slow rising fear in the air she finds her way to one of the storage compartments. It looks almost like a cell the metal shutters and bars. Thankfully the door is unlocked, Mari peers cautiously in the gloom,
I’m not alone here, she thinks, there are men, crew. She can sense their urgency, a fleeting impression of their movements. Busy vapours, busy ghosts.
………..
Emerging from the hold in a fresh wax jacket and sou’wester hat, weighed down by her pockets, Mari is nearly flung face first onto the floor as the Sea Bird shakes, a terrible vibration running the length of the hull, a great booming impact that the passageways only serve to echo and amplify.
Scrabbling to maintain balance Mari slaps a palm to the wall, it is icy and dam - feverish.
And when the rain splashed Captain stumbles in from a facing doorway he looks much the same way, babbling in a language she cannot understand. Then another great boom! And his words seem suddenly clear. “They’re ramming us by God! Well they’ve tried before - they can reef in this wind far better than we, but they are clumsy too - and I’ve a few tricks up my sleeve yet!”
Mari wants to know, to understand how any of this is possible, the ship, the pursuit and how they can hope to fly faster than the hunters.
So she asks, raising her voice as the hull moans again.
The captain looks at her, looks almost exultant, in the stuttering light his face seems ageless, his hair suddenly dark and wild, his tongue possessed;“Somewhere in the Indies a fast clipper trims her sails, there is sickness on the wind, yellow fever - raging along the coast, the captain wants clear with all speed and he is master of a fine ship and fast.
Is it the crew he fears for, or the cargo? Perhaps he does not believe that the London insurance will prevent the loss of his captaincy. In any case he spurs the crew - faster, faster.
We take a little of that.”
The floor beneath them pitches suddenly then - as if the Sea Bird has risen at the sound of the captain’s voice, that captain who is still yelling, still transported.
“In 1942 Dieter Von Hargan is angry - his is a fine vessel, one of the first to be refitted, a submarine. The position of U-boat captain is something to be proud of, yes indeed. But his crew are dogs and, despite the great storm in the Atlantic, the British are at their backs, harrying his vessel whenever it slows or surfaces for the air they so desperately need. He had only been halfway joking when he turned to the chief engineer and said “Karl, if we do not get through this - I will have you shot.”
And Karl is doing everything he can bar whipping the backs of his men as they stand in the fires hot glow and wrestle with the engines.
We will take a little of that too! Yes!”
Responding once more, the Ships lights in the passageway surge and flare, illuminating the expression on the Sea Bird’s chief mariner, it is something like triumph.
“What will happen to them?” Mari spits angrily, “Lost at Sea?”
No answer - just the buzz from the lights and the entranced look in Falk’s eyes. “Well? Gone? What? What will happen to them? Answer me!”She is beating on him now, without thinking, without noticing at first that her hands are hitting what is solid. Solid enough, the captain takes her by the shoulders.
“Who can say - and why should it matter? I know only that I have a fine engineer among my crew.”
“But this is a sailing ship.”
“Aye as fast with the sails as a clipper outward bound from the Indies.”
Everything at once then, Time laughs. Mari goes slack in the broad hands of the man, her eyes dropping. “I see,” she says quietly.
“Do you child - I wonder.” Falk seems to be coming to himself. “I - would not wish this… upon you.” His hands dropping, he steps away. “But what is - well that is what is. And nothing is certain or safe here. And I have a ship to steer and a crew and…” a quick look into her eyes, “a cargo to look after.”
Mari says nothing, just listens to the rough sound of her breath. There is an unnatural quiet to the respite that the Sea Bird has gained.
The captain sighs. “Or if you prefer, I can toss you overboard.”
Mari wrinkles her nose at that. Falk nods and turns to go, “Excuse me, there is much to-” he stops, cocking his head to one side. “Yes…” a murmur, “I see.” His back to her still, he points a heavy finger. “Stay here.” A new urgency is in his voice, low and dangerous, different than the wildness before. He strides away before Mari can call him back, but her mouth is closed in any case, she is listening too. Yes, it’s there - a changing frequency, in the buzz of the lights, the creaking of the timbers and the distant slam of a door. The Sea Bird is whispering, warning. They are coming again - they are coming now! Hide! Run!
She should - Hide! Run! - she should - Hide! Run! She should - but she doesn’t. She balls her hands into fists in the depths of her pockets - Hide! Run! - heading reluctantly towards the door, towards the deck and towards a darkness that she knows is waiting for her now.
………………..
Blinded by the night, the gale, the storm and the spray, Mari closes her eyes. As she stands in the doorway, as she moves onto the deck, she keeps them shut and takes a deep breath - as deep as the swirl of the wind will allow.
Open them!
It’s a command and it rings in her head like a bell.
Her eyes snap open.
For now there is just the darkness and the weight of the wind clutching at her and fighting for dominance with the roar of the ocean. Glad of the gloves and the new jacket, she moves warily forward and sideways, angling through the slipstream like the Sea Bird herself, cursing her weak eyes that take so long to adjust to the night. There - that was what she wanted - a light, mounted on a small dais. Spotlight. She’s seen just such a one in a book in the library. Or perhaps one of the birds had sung to her of such things. Who cares - she knows what it is, she remembers what it is - and she shuffles towards it now through the buffeting force of the gale and the hurling sea spray and rain.
Look!
The voice again - ordering her. Not Falk - a new voice, inside her head, from the back of it, like a blow, like a pain, making her shake, making her bite down on her teeth. And still there is nothing to see - just the wild unwelcoming dark and the hard metal and wood of the deck as she slips on the treacherous surface.
GET UP and LOOK!
She can’t breathe; lying crumpled inside her coat the black sleeves gone wide and flapping like wings, like an injured moth or a bat. An iron taste in her mouth as she finally manages to gulp down air. As she slides out a hand and clutches at a pole - steadying and heaving her body upright again.
She can see them now, coming in from the horizon - out of the swirling cloud bank, out from the looming prows of ships formed from nothing; two small boats moving purposefully through the dark, speedboats, launches, the whine of their engines riding on the scream of the wind.
And there - staring up at her in the pale smears of moonlight, concern stitched on to their tense brittle faces, the figures from her visions, the figures from her dreams.
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end of pt 4 - final part coming soon...