for me and one for himself. But when he placed the drink before me, he didn’t return to his seat. He uncharacteristically paced the floor.
I turned to him. “So what were the pirates after? Why did they pursue your father again? I presume it was years later, wasn’t it? Did he still have the map?”
He looked at me blankly for a moment, as though he’d forgotten what we were talking about. Then, shaking his head, he said, “No. Marshall Looper took the map. They somehow had the impression that my father had a key to the map … a legend. I’m unsure how. At the time of the mutiny, Fredrick arrived and informed my father of what the men were doing and my father absent-mindedly shoved some papers in his jacket pocket before hurrying out the door. So perhaps, when Marshall found out, he assumed they were pertinent.”
“Fredrick?”
“One of the loyal members of his crew.”
“And were the papers pertinent?”
The captain shook his head.
“Do you still have them?”
Again, he shook his head. “They were burned long ago.”
He sat down on the edge of the small bed.
There were still more questions to ask. But instinctively I didn’t ask them. It seemed the captain was through talking about it.
“The delve into our histories, though entertaining, is irrelevant. I still don’t know what to do with you once we get to port.”
I sighed and leaned back in my chair, Two years of my life’s work, my drive and ambition and purpose … and for what? Was there no greater reason behind it all? Was it just cruelly arbitrary? Had I simply proven a hypothesis? And now I’m stuck here, vulnerable and alone? I couldn’t bear it if that was true.
The path before me was bleak and uncertain. I still needed food, shelter and clothing. I needed to make a living, some kind of life. And how was I to do that, displaced and disoriented as I was here, away from my home, my people, my world and my work? I couldn’t live off the captain’s kindness forever.
I stood up and went to him and sat down beside him on the bed.
“What are your plans, Captain?” I asked, watching him closely. “How long will you be ashore?”
He sighed, running his hand down his hardened, weathered face. “Not long. I have to see my backers, take inventory and get paid and, in turn, pay my men. A few weeks are usually all it takes for a new assignment.” Seeing the look on my face, he hurried to say, “I won’t leave you until you’re situated.”
“I know,” I said quietly.
“Are you trained at all? Could you work? I hate to ask it, but ….”
“I suppose I could teach, couldn’t I?”
“A woman?”
“Surely with my credentials they would overlook my gender.”
“What are your credentials?”
“I have doctorate and post doctorate degrees …” I began.
“From where?”
I told him.
“It is unfamiliar to me.”
“Surely it is obvious I’m educated.”
“Yes. But one needs documentation.”
We both sighed, sitting there side by side. I shook my head and clenched my fist. “I will find a way. There has to be a way. There has to be meaning in all of this.”
“You need a husband.”
I looked up to find him watching me. His face, which I have described as unexceptional, suddenly seemed extraordinary to me, the shape of his dark, melancholy eyes and the way his springy hair fell on his brow, suddenly poignant. I wondered how it had eluded my attention for so long. If I had been an artist, I would have wanted to sketch it.
“I used to scorn statements like that,” I murmured. “Strange. I have no inclination to do so now.”
“The sea is all I know. If I led a different life then ….” He made a helpless gesture with his hands as his voice trailed off.
I looked at him thoughtfully, taking my time, gazing at his weathered face with leisure. His eyes were a deep brown, his skin tan. His lips were pale and slightly parted, his teeth a steady row of white. I saw that scar again, peeking up at me over his collar
I turned to him. “So what were the pirates after? Why did they pursue your father again? I presume it was years later, wasn’t it? Did he still have the map?”
He looked at me blankly for a moment, as though he’d forgotten what we were talking about. Then, shaking his head, he said, “No. Marshall Looper took the map. They somehow had the impression that my father had a key to the map … a legend. I’m unsure how. At the time of the mutiny, Fredrick arrived and informed my father of what the men were doing and my father absent-mindedly shoved some papers in his jacket pocket before hurrying out the door. So perhaps, when Marshall found out, he assumed they were pertinent.”
“Fredrick?”
“One of the loyal members of his crew.”
“And were the papers pertinent?”
The captain shook his head.
“Do you still have them?”
Again, he shook his head. “They were burned long ago.”
He sat down on the edge of the small bed.
There were still more questions to ask. But instinctively I didn’t ask them. It seemed the captain was through talking about it.
“The delve into our histories, though entertaining, is irrelevant. I still don’t know what to do with you once we get to port.”
I sighed and leaned back in my chair, Two years of my life’s work, my drive and ambition and purpose … and for what? Was there no greater reason behind it all? Was it just cruelly arbitrary? Had I simply proven a hypothesis? And now I’m stuck here, vulnerable and alone? I couldn’t bear it if that was true.
The path before me was bleak and uncertain. I still needed food, shelter and clothing. I needed to make a living, some kind of life. And how was I to do that, displaced and disoriented as I was here, away from my home, my people, my world and my work? I couldn’t live off the captain’s kindness forever.
I stood up and went to him and sat down beside him on the bed.
“What are your plans, Captain?” I asked, watching him closely. “How long will you be ashore?”
He sighed, running his hand down his hardened, weathered face. “Not long. I have to see my backers, take inventory and get paid and, in turn, pay my men. A few weeks are usually all it takes for a new assignment.” Seeing the look on my face, he hurried to say, “I won’t leave you until you’re situated.”
“I know,” I said quietly.
“Are you trained at all? Could you work? I hate to ask it, but ….”
“I suppose I could teach, couldn’t I?”
“A woman?”
“Surely with my credentials they would overlook my gender.”
“What are your credentials?”
“I have doctorate and post doctorate degrees …” I began.
“From where?”
I told him.
“It is unfamiliar to me.”
“Surely it is obvious I’m educated.”
“Yes. But one needs documentation.”
We both sighed, sitting there side by side. I shook my head and clenched my fist. “I will find a way. There has to be a way. There has to be meaning in all of this.”
“You need a husband.”
I looked up to find him watching me. His face, which I have described as unexceptional, suddenly seemed extraordinary to me, the shape of his dark, melancholy eyes and the way his springy hair fell on his brow, suddenly poignant. I wondered how it had eluded my attention for so long. If I had been an artist, I would have wanted to sketch it.
“I used to scorn statements like that,” I murmured. “Strange. I have no inclination to do so now.”
“The sea is all I know. If I led a different life then ….” He made a helpless gesture with his hands as his voice trailed off.
I looked at him thoughtfully, taking my time, gazing at his weathered face with leisure. His eyes were a deep brown, his skin tan. His lips were pale and slightly parted, his teeth a steady row of white. I saw that scar again, peeking up at me over his collar
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