The Romantic ... 1700 A. D. There are many ways in which a man loves a lover. There are tales about love these young men used to tell when we were sailing through the Atlantic. Tales about young love of how a man wooed a woman and they lived happily ever after. How a woman left all the riches of her dear papa behind for the sake of her lover. How a man fought valiantly for his love but in the end both died. I would chuckle every time Arthur told me these stories, for sometimes they seemed funny. We were on a voyage then, sailing through the vastness of the ocean with nothing for miles save the enchanting aquatic species I so had the opportunity to gaze upon once in a while. My chaps – my companions I so shared my chamber with knew nothing about but ‘the romance’ and I doubted anything else occupied my dear companions’ brains. They were young; all of them, ageing from the youngest Arthur, one and a score to the wisest Henry, eight and a score. My companions were English students and, somehow, had the fortune of touring and teaching the ways of Shakespearean literature to the people settled in the colonies of the West, Amerika it was called. And yet among the vast verses of romance and death I had so learnt about throughout my journey with young Arthur, I saw him – the man who shattered the teachings about human relationships. When on water, there is neither King nor Duke to rule. No Lord can challenge the might of the brave Captains on the blue surface. It is the Capitan who you deal with, whose orders are not to be unfollowed. And there was the Capitan of our ship, bold and elegant, standing on the deck with those dark brown curls of beard around his face. His masculinity soared much higher than mine, for years of experience dealing with storms and wrath of the oceans had made his actions stern and tough and his voice gruff and coarse. Yet my emotions and my heart would never seek satisfaction in this age nor in any other age. I would gaze upon the Captain as he would over the vast ocean. The cool wind that kissed his cheeks, the lips moist by the last drop of rum, the feathered hat perched over his head, the strong arms steering the wheel of the ship. He was a strong yet delicate idol of human species. At a moment, I would find him pouting over a sailor, abusing him with the worst slangs, God forbid, I would not name. And other times, I would find him with the same sailor sharing a pint of ale and singing songs about the oceans and stars. I would stare at him for hours, a silly thing to do for a young man, but too cautious as not to spread any suspicions. But in the end, it did not matter. Our ship, The Queen’s Emerald, was caught in a storm. Usually, men do not do that – the laughing with open heart in the face of catastrophe. There were sudden explosions in the sky which was nothing more than thunder. ‘Have you passed through this night before?’ the captain yelled at the panic stricken people running wildly over the deck. ‘Look how she goes.’ We scrambled hither and tither, some sliding on the salt water, but the sailors kept their nerves. The brave men heaved and let the sail out keeping the ropes tight. In the commotion of fear and agony, I still saw his face. And I learnt that I would never be the one he truly adores. It was her. She had charmed him with her beauty and he was equally lost in her arms. She said him to leave her and go. But he wouldn’t hesitate. The sailors lost the ropes and the mast broke. Only the boats would save the petty souls now. So the sailors let them loose and the boats splashed over the waves. One by one they all jumped, I being a dear let others slip away from the clutches of the death. Finally, there remained two other sailors and me. I saw them and they both saw each other. ‘The Captain. Where is he?’ one asked. ‘He won’t be coming.’ Replied the other. ‘Don’t be absurd. Fetch him now.’ shouted his companion but the other did not follow his order. Instead he said, ‘He won’t leave her. He never left her. Remember what happened when Jamie died? The Captain will never leave.’ At that moment a huge splinter of wood went flying from my left and hit both the men out cold. I ran towards the Captain who was still holding the wheel of the ship. ‘Hello Jamie. You are still here? I know you adored me. I have always known. Go Jamie. Never come back.’ Said the Captain. ‘She is my love. I would never abandon her.’ It is not a good emotion, the one when your heart crushes. But then again, I never had one. How can a ghost have a heart to love a man he so adored! But now I see him with his ship, both madly in love with each other; the waves slapped her and she did not resisted the onslaught. The Queen’s Emerald gave away. The Captain smiled but never let the wheel go. ‘Farewell Jamie.’ Together they were eaten by the fury of the ocean. There are many ways in which a man loves a lover, but not like his. I saw him, I cried for him. He was why I refused to let go. Now that he is gone from this world, I accept my salvation, although lost, try to seek refuge in the abode of eternal Space of the Universe. ... Ghost of the Navigator
Posted on: Sun, 28 Dec 2014 14:30:00 +0000
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