A Fiction: Part VI

II

As my current ship is set to sail today, and the deadline for applying for the research vessel is tomorrow, I have decided to risk all and resign my position. I’m not worried – there’s other ships out there if this doesn’t work out. I stuff all my things in my backpack and climb up on deck.

“Fuck you going?” says my bunkmate as he helps with the final preparations for voyage.

“See you around.”

“Not likely,” he says. “’Bout time I got the top bunk.”

It’s all yours, I think to myself as I climb down the rope ladder to the small skiff waiting to take me to shore. Once on solid ground, I book a room in the nearest dive I can find, drop off my things and head off to join the crew of Angel’s Head. I ask the pier master directions and he points down the far end of a long line of massive cruise liners.

“She’s a beaut,” he says as I squint vaguely in the direction he’s looking. “Lots of fancy looking equipment and sharp uniforms on the crew. First class all the way.” I take a breath, tuck in my shirt and head off.

Angel’s Head is clearly a world class vessel: 178’ long with a crew of 12 including captain and first mate. The vessel can hold an additional 16 people comfortably in the most luxurious rooms available. First impressions, it is a modified pleasure yacht. Having only the experience of an 8 man fishing vessel, I am not familiar with the types of equipment standard on such a ship, but there must be hundreds of antennae and dishes, along with a dive cage and what appears to be a small submersible attached to the rear, ready for deployment. The ship is loaded with gear, but not cluttered. The ship is immaculately clean and organized. My heart races as I begin to climb the ramp.

“Who goes there?” rings a voice from the deck. I cannot see the caller, so I continue to climb. As I reach the rail, I am greeted by a sharply dressed black man, his skin offset by his blindingly white uniform. He is smiling, and opens the gate to allow me to the deck. The handles on the gate are stunningly polished brass, and the deck itself is gorgeously finished, swabbed to a glorious sheen. I imagine as the newest member of the crew, I will be the one to maintain this deck, and curiously I’m looking forward to it.

“I’m here to apply for any open positions you have,” and I hand him the posting I had folded in my pocket. He takes the sheet, looks me up and down and looks me in the eye, his smile broadening.

“Have you a girl back on shore?” he asks me with a glint in his eye. “Is she pretty? Have you said goodbye?” He laughs and puts a hand on my shoulder. “My name is Nelson. Come this way to meet Roderick – the First Mate. He’s greeting all the new men personally.” He leads me around to the front deck and up a ladder to the operations room above. There are four men within, two seated at the front panels closely inspecting several complicated displays, another man standing over them and taking notes on a clear plastic clipboard, and seated at the back of the room in a large tall chair is clearly the ranking officer in the room. He is sipping a steamy cup of either coffee or tea, I can’t tell which. Each is wearing an identical bleached white uniform and they are all cleanly shaven and well groomed. They appear well fed and comfortable. The room is air conditioned and well lit.

“Mr. Roderick, sir? This man is here to join the crew.” Nelson brings me over to the man in the tall chair.

“Are you now?” He pierces me with his steely eyes. “What is the longest voyage you have been on, friend?” he asks.

“Looks green to me, skip,” says the man with the clipboard.

“I’ve been a member of one crew. Our longest voyage was 45 days in harsh seas last winter. I suppose I am ‘green’ as you say, but I will work hard and am not afraid of months without setting my foot on land.”

“How about years?” I am startled by a voice from the corner at the back of the room. I hadn’t noticed this fifth man. He rises from his seat and walks towards me. He is a hulking figure, outweighing me by at least 50 pounds and taller by three inches. “How do you reckon you would fare without the sight of land for several years?”

“There’s nothing on this land for me. I have dreamed of a life at sea since I could walk. My life has been leading to this moment and I am ready to give myself to this future. Your future, if you will have me.” He leans into my face and I can smell his breath. It smells faintly of peppermint. I can feel his breath on my cheek. I stare into his eyes, consciously not wavering them for a moment. Finally, he pulls away.

“He’ll do” the man says and returns to his seat in the corner.

Roderick appears shaken, but quickly composes himself as the tension clears in the room. “Well, if the captain likes you, I certainly have nothing to say about it.” He puts out a clean, manicured hand. “Welcome to Angel’s Head, Mr. …”

“Cole. My name is Cole. I appreciate this opportunity, sir,” I say.

“We’ll see,” says the captain without turning in my direction.

“You are welcome to bring your things aboard immediately, Mr. Cole. Nelson, please show Mr. Cole to his room.”

“So, where’s my bunk, Nelson?” I ask once we are out into the balmy sea air.

“There are no bunks on Angel’s Head, Mr. Cole,” he says with disapproval.

“Cole. Just Cole,” I say.