Wednesday, April 20, 2011

Sailing aboard the Pneuma (Part Twelve).

The dark eastern horizon gradually cracked to reveal the silver promise of a new day. Slowly the morning grew from silver-grey to yellow gold as the great sun arose anew from its nighttime tomb. The wind blew in from the direction of the resurrected star bringing with it the freshness of a new beginning.

The decks of the ship were alive with activity. Men coiled ropes, barrels rolled and stacked. The smell of breakfast escaped the galley into the open air and assailed each man’s nostrils without mercy. This morning was indeed a new morning. Everything seemed to have a new urgency, a renewed impetus.

Shekinah stood next to the wheel. His voice boomed over the wind and the activity of the men. “Make ready men a storm awaits us in the sea ahead!” I looked directly over the bows and saw a mountain of slate grey cloud bubbling up from the sea itself, or so it seemed. A rumble of thunder travelled the miles between to reinforce in me the dread of the coming tempest.

“First we eat.” The galley crew brought food to the deck and each man received a full plate of breakfast. Everyone tucked in without seemingly giving a thought of what lay ahead. I did my best to eat with the hearty gusto of the men around me. Furtive glances forward towards the storm preceded each mouthful.

Our captain sat beside me on the deck. His plate half empty he gestured with his fork towards the storm, “I knew this was waiting for us, you do know that don’t you?” I remembered the night before with my every mood reflected in Shekinah’s face and wondered why he needed to pose such a question. “I am sure you did’” I ventured, none too convincingly. “What I cannot grasp is why we do not navigate around it.” The impertinence of my reply shocked me but I resisted the temptation to apologize, as I now accepted he knew my attitude before I voiced it. “We will go through it, so one can learn of it.” “One can...” I wondered silently. “Was this about me or was it just a matter of grammar?”

He smiled towards me, tapped me on the knee, and was gone.

The promise of the bright dawn died with the rapid advance of the deep rumbling clouds and the advance party of lashing rain. The last of the sailors came down from the masts after furling all of the unnecessary canvas in order to preserve them from damage. On-deck stores checked and knots were tested.

Boom followed mighty boom interspersed by an avalanche sound that rumbled and roared from one horizon to the other. The Pneuma pitched and rolled. The decks were awash with the sea and rain. Lightning crackled to our starboard side like a manic conductor overseeing the performance of a demon orchestra.

I found myself clinging to the ropes that secured a row of barrels to the port rails. I was soaked and saw no prospect of navigating the pitching desk towards my quarters. I looked up behind me and saw Shekinah standing, without support, surveying all before him. His eyes were wide open and his mouth was moving, as if in conversation. The man behind the wheel was a mass of rope-like muscle and sinew as he wrestled with the wheel. While his body was a mass of effort, his face was serenity personified.

Through the rain, which now flew almost horizontal across the deck, I caught sight of a slinking form. Black with its head held low it made its menacing way towards me. Then, a flash a rumble, a crash. Nothing. Where did it go? My heart became a bass drum, my blood raced through my veins. Then, again, closer now. The black form stood and stared. Behind it, through the silver curtain of rain stood a man. Elderly and that yellow silk scarf. I looked up behind me only to see Shekinah gone. The storm roared with derision. The wind howled in mockery. The dog moved.

“Stand where you are!” The command came from behind me. I found myself standing in the centre of the deck. Shekinah stood behind me with his right hand upon my shoulder. The dog and his master slowly, almost indiscernibly, moved forward. “Remember the house and the presence.” Shekinah whispered in my ear so that only I could hear. “What did I do?” My mind raced in search of those images, that memory of victory.

I recalled that old house with the whiny wind, the musty darkness, and the sound of scurrying in the shadows. “You commanded the presence to stop and then evicted it as a trespasser.” His grip on my shoulder firmed, “Now, you do likewise.”

I breathed in all the air I could as if arming a weapon for war. “You stop right where you are. You are trespassers, interlopers. I have been given the authority to evict you, now go!” Both figures mutated into one whirling, tornado like shape. It bent towards us with what appeared to be a face and swayed like a snake under the charmer’s spell. “Go!” I bellowed as if fuelled by the tempest itself. From the midst of the whirling form, came a scream of anguish such as the one that I had heard in that house and never wished to hear again. That scream tore through the sound of the storm and seemed to make the very timbers judder.

The warmth of the sun caressed my face. His hand was still on my shoulder. The sky was clear blue and filled with the sound of sea birds. Men were in the rigging unfurling the sails.

“Come and sit with me awhile.” I followed him to the upper deck and sat at his table. Wine flowed and glasses rose. “Interlopers.” He almost giggled. “I have no recollection of saying that. However, it did lend a certain flavour to the proceedings.” “It just came out, I didn’t plan it.” “The lesson here is that you don’t have to quote me, just follow my lead. Learned principles are more useful than accurate but scarcely believed in quotations.”

“Set a course for the islands.” Came the command and the wheel was spun and the Pneuma plunged towards the west.