The Captain's Dream
«the mind, ocean where each species
is quick to find its own double,
and then create, transcending it,
a thousand other worlds and diverse seas»
Andrew Marvell
The boat looked battered by the rain, which had been falling steadily for the past two weeks. The scuttlebutt was full of fresh water. But the air had become permeated with the stench of wet, unbathed bodies. People were accustomed to coming out now and then for a breath of air until the rain itself drove them deep into the driest part of the ship. Some began to get sick and as there was little medicine and little chance of everyone being treated equally, there was a mutiny. When they realized that they were filling up with corpses, they agreed to peace and began to throw the bodies overboard. That day it stopped raining and they thought they could steer to safe harbor. There were no more sick and the survivors lay quietly in that empty space as they watched the whitest of stars cross the darkness, an anonymity that spun into the nights.
As they went on, the stars would push each other and cross the firmament drawing arcs to die in other dark areas. They ended up knowing the night sky well, although they recognized geometric figures instead of the names given by the ancients. Tied to the pole star they circled the Big Dipper and Orion appeared in the south like an electric comet. Everyone seemed happy and hopeful until a cold wind blew through the night, and a fine dust set their teeth on edge. The dark night turned into a strange, soft form of blue fire. The storm approached them and little pale blue light shapes rested on their ears. The lightning looked like sheets of light whose rumblings rose out of the night like a diabolical kingdom summoned without further ado to leave no trace or ruin the next day.
There came a horrible whirlwind of mixed winds and a great wave fell horrendously upon the captain and caused him to capsize in the black sea. The officer remained submerged for a long time, unable to get afloat because of the great impetus of the waves. He was overflowing, spurting bitter water from his mouth, which ran out of his head in loud spurts.
In time to save himself, he saw a boat approaching, driven by two of his most faithful men. The big swell carried the boat from one side to the other, according to the current. Although fatigued, the man moves vigorously through the waves until he reaches the boat. His men row it hard. He looks at his boat in the distance, slowly sailing the dark sea, illuminated like a drifting city on the verge of succumbing. His path then becomes black water. The air smells of salt.
They approached the ship by force of oars. All around swam, sinking and rising, in play and in battle, fish of many shapes, species and colors, which language cannot describe, and which only the sailors of the high seas have seen. Often millions of these species populate the waves, in immense herds just like floating islands, guided by a mysterious instinct to some of those enigmatic regions of the ocean.
The boat looked old-school, rather small and with an old-fashioned air similar to that of furniture whose legs recall the claw-like shapes of some feline animals. Its weathered shades showed that it had suffered the cyclones and calms of the four oceans, the complexion of the hull had blackened as much as a Napoleonic grenadier after fighting in Egypt and Siberia. The bow, so virtuous, had a bearded appearance. The masts, cut on some coast of Japan, stood stiffly upright, while the decks were worn and wrinkled.
The vessel was festooned like any barbarous Ethiopian emperor with a neck laden with flaps of polished ivory, embellished with the vanquished bones of his enemies. Instead of a road-barrier-like wheel for his venerable helm, he flaunted there a one-piece tiller, which suggested that, in the tempest, whoever steered the helmsman with that tiller would feel like the Tartar who restrains his steed by clenching his jaw.
Around the stern quarterdeck, a little behind the mainmast, stood a sort of tent, conical in shape, about ten feet high, built of long broad strips of soft black bones, planted with the broader end towards the deck, with a circle of those strips tied together, mutually slanting against each other, and the top joined in a tufted point, where the loose hairy fibers swung to and fro like the topknot on the head of an old aboriginal of ancient tribe. A triangular opening looked towards the bow of the ship, so that whoever was inside commanded a full view ahead, and from which different men came out, ready in combat position, waiting for the approach of those who boarded the boat to attack them, but were surprised to recognize among them the man, to whom they called by the name of Captain. At the pronouncement of the word, an absolute silence reigned in the place and all looked at each other's faces as if trying to find some answer in the faces of the others.
As the men looked at each other dumbfounded, a faint glow from the sun began to illuminate the sky. Among the residents of the ship, a strong bearded man bowed. The bearded man said that the man they called captain should be dealt with, under the marine laws, on trial for treason and abandoning ship without justification. So he must atone for the cowardice with which he faced the near shipwreck they had suffered not long before and from which, thanks to his devices and divine designs, they were almost unharmed.
The substitute captain orders the former captain to be taken to the fortress, where the trial will take place. The man looks with contempt at the one who serves as captain and allows himself to be taken to the court, where a pretended representation of all the sailors of the ends of the earth would present their complaint against him. It was one of those transitional mornings, less threatening but quite gray and somewhat gloomy. A good wind blew, and now the ship was indeed running through the water with a kind of vengeful swiftness, brisk and melancholy.
As there were no witnesses to the events, the trial was swift and meager. The new captain was lenient and sentenced the man to leave the ship the next morning, after his status had been downgraded to that of a private seaman. That day the captain was no longer seen by the hatches. The officers regularly relieved each other on watch, and in nothing that could indicate otherwise did they cease to appear to be the sole masters of the ship, except that they sometimes came out of the cabin with such sudden and peremptory orders that after all it was clear that they commanded by delegation.
One of the sailors enters where the man has been confined. He is carrying a tray of food. He offers it to the man so that his energy will not falter the next day, when he must approach the horizon by swimming across the ocean. The food on the platter consists of salted fish and a type of small red bean. The sailor points out that the food is brought as a favor to a woman who claims to be the man's wife. The man is surprised by her presence on the boat and the seaman says that his family has preferred to stay away as a precaution, but that they are confident that the time will come for a reunion.
To the man, the air seemed imprisoned by a black cloud of sadness that brooded bitterly over his head. He considered his situation and hatched a plan to regain control of the ship. He then attempts a rebellion and convinces the sailor that he is not a traitor and did not abandon ship, but that it was all besscuttlebutt because the ship was besieged by pirates, from whom he managed to escape by being kidnapped. The seafarer cannot remember a pirate attack but is convinced by the former captain's account.
The seafarer persuades others of his own condition of the truth of the man's account and they agree to insurrection by nightfall. Then the man urges the seaman to go on deck and keep his eyes fixed on the stern, from where a group of harpooners loyal to the new captain, far more barbaric, heathen and motley than his meek loyal seamen, can be observed and be sure to drink wine until their conscience is obliterated.
At last the sun sank into the depths with its round, smooth descent, and from brilliant white changed to dull red, without rays and without heat, as if suddenly to be extinguished, mortally wounded by contact with that darkness spread over the ocean. Then a change came over the waters and the men took advantage of the quiet, less bright but deep, to start the rebellion.
First there was a prolonged buzzing sound, produced by many men reciting strange incantations, each to himself, which sounded like the buzzing of bees in a hive and produced a strange effect. Then the monotonous beating of a great drum filled the air with dull impacts and a permanent vibration. A line of pilgrims scattered lead in the air with their Winchesters. And then a sudden explosion of screams, an impressive manifestation of frenzy and bewilderment. However, in the rebellion, and unexpectedly, the man fell again, jumping into the black sea, which resounded, and sank into the depths like the lead that, tied to the hide of a wild ox, descends to bring death to the voracious fish.
@morey-lezama your story holds many descriptive paragraphs that are almost lyrically vivid. However, your story is one hundred percent narrative; not a single line of dialogue. This week’s skills challenge is to write great dialogue. A good short story has certain hallmarks : a combination of action, dialogue and narrative. Obviously, the story should also have a good arc. Your writing is good, but you should work on your structure.
The Ink Well also requires each author to comment on at least two stories.
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STOPTo support your work, I also upvoted your post!