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Away from Shore
Aug. 28th, 2006 11:42 pmThe waves lap at the shore silently, one after another, forever, until the end.
He sits there, alone, once every four years, from dusk until dawn, a sentinel in the darkness. Once, his children had stayed with them, but they fell asleep well before midnight, and never came again.
It's been twenty years since the first time. This is his fifth time, and his last.
Twenty-four years ago, they were celebrating their twentieth anniversary.
---
The sky and sea joined in the way that poets weep about and artists dream about, with the aquamarine of the water touching the brilliant, untainted blue of the skies. The catamaran Harmony glided quietly over the water, ignored by the couple on deck who were holding glasses and talking quietly.
“Thank the lord our kids have friends who they can sleep over with, right?” he said quietly, and they both laughed softly.
“I wouldn’t have minded if they came,” she said, “but being here, with you…”
“Is the most boring twenty-year anniversary you could have imagined?” he finished, dodging the swat with a smile on his face.
“Is the most romantic place you could have taken me, Harry. Here, where sky meets sea and we are alone...alone except for what brought us here.”
“The bonus on this year’s paycheck?” he finished, but not quick enough to dodge the swat this time. She glared and him until he smiled a rueful grin, and then let her face soften.
“Our love, Harry. How many couples can say that they’re as happy after twenty-years, after so much misfortune and a miscarriage, as they were when they took their vows?” she asked, contemplatively.
“Our love,” he echoed, completely serious now. “But how many couples can say that all the fights they’ve ever had were taken care of by their sophomore year in high school?”
“We’ve had fights,” she stated, making a face at him.
“Over who would do the dishes,” he said and grinned, poking her lightly.
“Just because you’re the man doesn’t mean you always have to do them,” she responded, taking his hand and snuggling up close.
“Fine, I give up. But you’re right, my love, it’s been a beautiful twenty years. Or five, depending on how you look at it.”
“Eric was so confused when we told him it was our two year anniversary,” she said, smiling at the memory.
“Not all five year olds understand leap years, darling,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “Ali understood, though.”
“That’s because the first time she remembers was when she was eight!” she replied, snorting, and there was silence for a time.
“To twenty years, my love, and twenty more,” he said, raising his glass.
“To twenty past and twenty yet to come,” she replied, touching her glass to his and saying no more.
---
Thinking back on it, he wondered why they promised twenty instead of a lifetime, instead of forever. Probably because they were both realistic, despite being the high school sweethearts that people fantasized about, and realized that twenty years was better than pledging forever and breaking their word. So twenty years, they said at their wedding, and another twenty they pledged that night.
If only it had lasted twenty, or even ten.
---
When he woke up it was still dark, but the calm and peaceful sea they’d fallen asleep to was starting to become choppy. He blinked a couple times to adjust himself and saw that she was still asleep. He decided to wait instead of opening the hatch and waking her, and just studied her peaceful face instead, until the catamaran slowly started listing to port and starboard, back and forth. More worrisome, however, was rain from the evening’s mist that had started falling, at first softly, now fast and heavy. When the ship had started listing to one side for more than ten seconds, he realized that they were in the middle of a bad storm.
“What’s wrong, Harry?” she asked as she woke up from the sharpening movements of the ship.
“A storm is coming,” he said calmly, but with a hint of tension. She looked and him, seeing the severity of the situation in the tightness of his eyes.
“Is it bad?”
“We’ll make it,” he said, and got up.
---
His memory of the rest of the night was an indistinct sense of chaos. He wasn’t completely sure of his instruments and so ended up tracing a zigzag instead of a straight line out of the storm. The one thing he remembered was that even though there were pounding waves and searing winds, he never thought they were going to die.
They made it through, but the catamaran wasn’t designed to weather a heavy storm. Neither were they, and as soon as he was confident that they would make it through without sinking, he decided to rest and assess the damage tomorrow.
Just another bad idea, he thought.
---
“Harry? Is that an island, with a port or dock of some kind?” she asked, pointing at the small blot on the horizon.
“If you can see a port from here then I married a hawk,” he mumbled, looking up at her from the engine pit. She handed him a pair of binoculars, and his face immediately lost the tired expression as he looked through them towards land.
“We need to get there; it’s a small port but will probably have the spare engine parts and sail we need. Right now we’re just dead in the water - in fact, the current is pushing us away from the island, which means we might have been closer in the morning, when we were asleep.” He stopped talking and looked at her uncertainly.
“What? That face means something bad is about to happen.”
“Someone needs to take the excursion boat, load it up with fuel, and hail those at the port for help.”
“It’s just an inflatable with an engine, Harry. Are you sure it will make it?” she questioned, slowly realizing the choice they had to make.
“With the extra containers of fuel, yes. That fuel…also means that there’s no room to take anything else.”
“So one of us has to go and the other has to stay?” She asked, already knowing the answer.
“Yes.”
---
He went. It was the closest they’d ever come to fighting after marriage. He realized that whoever went was most likely going to make it back to civilization quickly, while whoever stayed would only have a day’s worth of food and no idea when help would arrive. She probably knew this as well and refused to go, saying he knew the engine and could work it better. It was tense, he remembered, but when they looked at each other, they realized they weren’t going to start fighting now, a night after vowing twenty more years. They fell into each other’s arms, still believing in life and love triumphing over chance and fate.
He never saw her again.
When he reached the port, there were no ships docked, and the next ship wasn’t due for another week. Radioing for help with the much land based antenna brought the Coast Guard, who searched the area but never found the catamaran. He insisted, repeatedly, that they weren’t searching hard enough, and took another boat out there, day after day, and night after night. It was only after another storm had almost capsized his boat that he stopped looking, and flew home.
A month later, it was reported that pieces of a small ship possibly called the Harmony were washing up on the shore of a resort island. A tourist found a bottle of Chardonnay from 1998, and he knew that it was over.
And so here he came, once every four years on their anniversary, for a night of solitude, a night of reflection, and a night of remembering.
From dusk until dawn, these last four visits. At dawn he gets up and goes back to his car to continue his life, or what was left of it after she drifted away on the Harmony. The children, by that time, were old enough to understand what had happened, and they mourned with him for a time. But children grow up to become adults with families of their own, and in time, all they remembered was that their mother had died young, from a tragic storm.
But Harry remembered the last look on her face, the way she waved when he started off, the last night they shared together. Harry remembered the words they said and the years they had, and could never let her memory rest.
And after twenty-four years, he realized that the memory would never rest, so he came prepared this time, this last trip to the shore. At dusk, he drank a glass of wine, and raised it up in a toast.
“It’s been twenty years, and now four more. And this time, I pledge to you eternity. Twenty years past, and an eternity to come,” he vowed, draining his glass.
He drove to the pier, then, and set out on the recently bought catamaran Tragedy, with the paint only a few days dry. When the sellers told him that naming a ship the Tragedy would bring him bad luck, he looked at them silently for a few seconds, slid another fifty across the table, and the sellers gave in. What did they care if an old man wanted to name it something unfortunate, as he probably was going to hire a captain to drive it for him anyway, and no captain would sail on such a ship.
But he was a captain as experienced as any, after the weeks he had spent searching for her. He started up the engine and slipped the surly bonds of Earth shortly after dusk, and eased the catamaran into the night. It carried no excursion boat this time, and he was going on no excursions that he would need the smaller boat for.
After three hours at the wheel, he saw what he was looking for: storm clouds. He raised the sail and put the engine on full, straight into the rising front, and watched the rain start and the waves rise. When he started to lose control of the ship, he knew it was time. He took out an axe and started chopping at the mast, amidst the water and wind. After a few minutes of work, the wind gusted and blew the mast off and into the water, looking for all the world like a triangular sheet of paper someone had dropped into a puddle, he thought.
Slowly, methodically, he turned and slammed the axe into the hull, then yanked it out and dropped it into the ocean. He was tired and the ocean would do the rest.
“If I could not live with you, then perhaps I will die like you did, my love,” he whispered, as he closed the hatch and watched the water fill the room.
---
The waves lap at the shore silently, one after another, forever, until the end.
He sits there, alone, once every four years, from dusk until dawn, a sentinel in the darkness. Once, his children had stayed with them, but they fell asleep well before midnight, and never came again.
It's been twenty years since the first time. This is his fifth time, and his last.
Twenty-four years ago, they were celebrating their twentieth anniversary.
---
The sky and sea joined in the way that poets weep about and artists dream about, with the aquamarine of the water touching the brilliant, untainted blue of the skies. The catamaran Harmony glided quietly over the water, ignored by the couple on deck who were holding glasses and talking quietly.
“Thank the lord our kids have friends who they can sleep over with, right?” he said quietly, and they both laughed softly.
“I wouldn’t have minded if they came,” she said, “but being here, with you…”
“Is the most boring twenty-year anniversary you could have imagined?” he finished, dodging the swat with a smile on his face.
“Is the most romantic place you could have taken me, Harry. Here, where sky meets sea and we are alone...alone except for what brought us here.”
“The bonus on this year’s paycheck?” he finished, but not quick enough to dodge the swat this time. She glared and him until he smiled a rueful grin, and then let her face soften.
“Our love, Harry. How many couples can say that they’re as happy after twenty-years, after so much misfortune and a miscarriage, as they were when they took their vows?” she asked, contemplatively.
“Our love,” he echoed, completely serious now. “But how many couples can say that all the fights they’ve ever had were taken care of by their sophomore year in high school?”
“We’ve had fights,” she stated, making a face at him.
“Over who would do the dishes,” he said and grinned, poking her lightly.
“Just because you’re the man doesn’t mean you always have to do them,” she responded, taking his hand and snuggling up close.
“Fine, I give up. But you’re right, my love, it’s been a beautiful twenty years. Or five, depending on how you look at it.”
“Eric was so confused when we told him it was our two year anniversary,” she said, smiling at the memory.
“Not all five year olds understand leap years, darling,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “Ali understood, though.”
“That’s because the first time she remembers was when she was eight!” she replied, snorting, and there was silence for a time.
“To twenty years, my love, and twenty more,” he said, raising his glass.
“To twenty past and twenty yet to come,” she replied, touching her glass to his and saying no more.
---
Thinking back on it, he wondered why they promised twenty instead of a lifetime, instead of forever. Probably because they were both realistic, despite being the high school sweethearts that people fantasized about, and realized that twenty years was better than pledging forever and breaking their word. So twenty years, they said at their wedding, and another twenty they pledged that night.
If only it had lasted twenty, or even ten.
---
When he woke up it was still dark, but the calm and peaceful sea they’d fallen asleep to was starting to become choppy. He blinked a couple times to adjust himself and saw that she was still asleep. He decided to wait instead of opening the hatch and waking her, and just studied her peaceful face instead, until the catamaran slowly started listing to port and starboard, back and forth. More worrisome, however, was rain from the evening’s mist that had started falling, at first softly, now fast and heavy. When the ship had started listing to one side for more than ten seconds, he realized that they were in the middle of a bad storm.
“What’s wrong, Harry?” she asked as she woke up from the sharpening movements of the ship.
“A storm is coming,” he said calmly, but with a hint of tension. She looked and him, seeing the severity of the situation in the tightness of his eyes.
“Is it bad?”
“We’ll make it,” he said, and got up.
---
His memory of the rest of the night was an indistinct sense of chaos. He wasn’t completely sure of his instruments and so ended up tracing a zigzag instead of a straight line out of the storm. The one thing he remembered was that even though there were pounding waves and searing winds, he never thought they were going to die.
They made it through, but the catamaran wasn’t designed to weather a heavy storm. Neither were they, and as soon as he was confident that they would make it through without sinking, he decided to rest and assess the damage tomorrow.
Just another bad idea, he thought.
---
“Harry? Is that an island, with a port or dock of some kind?” she asked, pointing at the small blot on the horizon.
“If you can see a port from here then I married a hawk,” he mumbled, looking up at her from the engine pit. She handed him a pair of binoculars, and his face immediately lost the tired expression as he looked through them towards land.
“We need to get there; it’s a small port but will probably have the spare engine parts and sail we need. Right now we’re just dead in the water - in fact, the current is pushing us away from the island, which means we might have been closer in the morning, when we were asleep.” He stopped talking and looked at her uncertainly.
“What? That face means something bad is about to happen.”
“Someone needs to take the excursion boat, load it up with fuel, and hail those at the port for help.”
“It’s just an inflatable with an engine, Harry. Are you sure it will make it?” she questioned, slowly realizing the choice they had to make.
“With the extra containers of fuel, yes. That fuel…also means that there’s no room to take anything else.”
“So one of us has to go and the other has to stay?” She asked, already knowing the answer.
“Yes.”
---
He went. It was the closest they’d ever come to fighting after marriage. He realized that whoever went was most likely going to make it back to civilization quickly, while whoever stayed would only have a day’s worth of food and no idea when help would arrive. She probably knew this as well and refused to go, saying he knew the engine and could work it better. It was tense, he remembered, but when they looked at each other, they realized they weren’t going to start fighting now, a night after vowing twenty more years. They fell into each other’s arms, still believing in life and love triumphing over chance and fate.
He never saw her again.
When he reached the port, there were no ships docked, and the next ship wasn’t due for another week. Radioing for help with the much land based antenna brought the Coast Guard, who searched the area but never found the catamaran. He insisted, repeatedly, that they weren’t searching hard enough, and took another boat out there, day after day, and night after night. It was only after another storm had almost capsized his boat that he stopped looking, and flew home.
A month later, it was reported that pieces of a small ship possibly called the Harmony were washing up on the shore of a resort island. A tourist found a bottle of Chardonnay from 1998, and he knew that it was over.
And so here he came, once every four years on their anniversary, for a night of solitude, a night of reflection, and a night of remembering.
From dusk until dawn, these last four visits. At dawn he gets up and goes back to his car to continue his life, or what was left of it after she drifted away on the Harmony. The children, by that time, were old enough to understand what had happened, and they mourned with him for a time. But children grow up to become adults with families of their own, and in time, all they remembered was that their mother had died young, from a tragic storm.
But Harry remembered the last look on her face, the way she waved when he started off, the last night they shared together. Harry remembered the words they said and the years they had, and could never let her memory rest.
And after twenty-four years, he realized that the memory would never rest, so he came prepared this time, this last trip to the shore. At dusk, he drank a glass of wine, and raised it up in a toast.
“It’s been twenty years, and now four more. And this time, I pledge to you eternity. Twenty years past, and an eternity to come,” he vowed, draining his glass.
He drove to the pier, then, and set out on the recently bought catamaran Tragedy, with the paint only a few days dry. When the sellers told him that naming a ship the Tragedy would bring him bad luck, he looked at them silently for a few seconds, slid another fifty across the table, and the sellers gave in. What did they care if an old man wanted to name it something unfortunate, as he probably was going to hire a captain to drive it for him anyway, and no captain would sail on such a ship.
But he was a captain as experienced as any, after the weeks he had spent searching for her. He started up the engine and slipped the surly bonds of Earth shortly after dusk, and eased the catamaran into the night. It carried no excursion boat this time, and he was going on no excursions that he would need the smaller boat for.
After three hours at the wheel, he saw what he was looking for: storm clouds. He raised the sail and put the engine on full, straight into the rising front, and watched the rain start and the waves rise. When he started to lose control of the ship, he knew it was time. He took out an axe and started chopping at the mast, amidst the water and wind. After a few minutes of work, the wind gusted and blew the mast off and into the water, looking for all the world like a triangular sheet of paper someone had dropped into a puddle, he thought.
Slowly, methodically, he turned and slammed the axe into the hull, then yanked it out and dropped it into the ocean. He was tired and the ocean would do the rest.
“If I could not live with you, then perhaps I will die like you did, my love,” he whispered, as he closed the hatch and watched the water fill the room.
---
The waves lap at the shore silently, one after another, forever, until the end.
