Rover of the Sands
Some days later, you sit at your table, cutting chinks in the legs with a sharpened slate. You look nervously at the locked door of your cabin. Viola is in bed, now confined there after suffering pains shortly after the muster. You never realized how much of a friend you had in Slugger. Now that he’s gone, the men barely speak to you. You can feel them staring as you try to go about your tasks. At the end of the day, you take your supplies from the commissary, eating your cold dinner with your wife at home and in silence.
Worse still, the Rover is adrift in a currentless dune. You imagine how the trade winds once drove her, when she was a real vessel upon a real sea.
Viola’s eyes are now a permanent light blue, forcing her to remain in your small cabin at all hours. There is nothing you can do to help her. Growing, yet wasting too, she sits in her rocker or propped up on pillows and tries to smile. One day you realize that you hate this child, who would put her in peril and cause tongues to wag when she cannot defend herself. You’ve heard odd talk too, when they think you’re down below, talk of witches and the spawn of witches…
You smash your fist down on the table. Viola feels the vibration and frowns at you. Has she not been a perfect wife? The most perfect of women? But why has she been so perfect? What hasn’t she told you? Her muteness is more than a little convenient!
Shaking yourself, you stand up abruptly and leave the cabin, key in pocket. No sooner have you climbed up on deck than you are accosted by a low-ranking vermin named Barnes, who you’ve noticed has been gaining in friends while losing in inhibitions. He reeks of beer, doubtless a gift from his good friend Bill Tracy. He won’t get out of your way.
“Let me through, crewman.”
“Why should I?” He is sweating and stinking, his sparse brown hair clumping like beached seaweed on his head.
“Because I am going this way.”
“Well I was stopping this way.”
“Make way for your commanding officer!”
He sneeringly steps aside. You look around and lock eyes with the Captain, who is standing sullenly at the rail.
“Why haven’t we found her, Tyrone?” asks Barnes, stepping back into your path. “Where the hell is she? I know you’ve seen her. I know Slugger saw her. And now look at us, marooned on a fucking dune, Slugger dead in the sands and you, you tit with your witch wife, this is your fault. Even the Captain says it has to be her.”
You look aghast in McCann’s direction, but he just turns away. Tracy and the rest of Barnes' gang come up behind him.
“You say one more thing about my wife and I swear I will have you flogged to within an inch of your miserable life!”
You feel the blood pulsing in your neck, the confusion of years suddenly coming to a head. You roll up your sleeves.
Worse still, the Rover is adrift in a currentless dune. You imagine how the trade winds once drove her, when she was a real vessel upon a real sea.
Viola’s eyes are now a permanent light blue, forcing her to remain in your small cabin at all hours. There is nothing you can do to help her. Growing, yet wasting too, she sits in her rocker or propped up on pillows and tries to smile. One day you realize that you hate this child, who would put her in peril and cause tongues to wag when she cannot defend herself. You’ve heard odd talk too, when they think you’re down below, talk of witches and the spawn of witches…
You smash your fist down on the table. Viola feels the vibration and frowns at you. Has she not been a perfect wife? The most perfect of women? But why has she been so perfect? What hasn’t she told you? Her muteness is more than a little convenient!
Shaking yourself, you stand up abruptly and leave the cabin, key in pocket. No sooner have you climbed up on deck than you are accosted by a low-ranking vermin named Barnes, who you’ve noticed has been gaining in friends while losing in inhibitions. He reeks of beer, doubtless a gift from his good friend Bill Tracy. He won’t get out of your way.
“Let me through, crewman.”
“Why should I?” He is sweating and stinking, his sparse brown hair clumping like beached seaweed on his head.
“Because I am going this way.”
“Well I was stopping this way.”
“Make way for your commanding officer!”
He sneeringly steps aside. You look around and lock eyes with the Captain, who is standing sullenly at the rail.
“Why haven’t we found her, Tyrone?” asks Barnes, stepping back into your path. “Where the hell is she? I know you’ve seen her. I know Slugger saw her. And now look at us, marooned on a fucking dune, Slugger dead in the sands and you, you tit with your witch wife, this is your fault. Even the Captain says it has to be her.”
You look aghast in McCann’s direction, but he just turns away. Tracy and the rest of Barnes' gang come up behind him.
“You say one more thing about my wife and I swear I will have you flogged to within an inch of your miserable life!”
You feel the blood pulsing in your neck, the confusion of years suddenly coming to a head. You roll up your sleeves.