Read Online Dreams of the Compass Rose by Vera Nazarian - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Vera Nazarian
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me, releasing my lungs, I cried. Lying face down on the deck, I held onto the railing, and howled, and wept, as though Ocean itself had been in my lungs, in my heart, in my solar plexus.
They are gone, all of them. My men. And he is gone too, the mad one who has brought us all to this end.
Around me, the wall of Ocean stands, obscuring the sun. And as salty boundless tears run down my cheeks, my guts are wrenched by the howling sobs of a madwoman who has nearly lost her love by betraying another.
Lines of choice are blurred. Pride and weakness are intermingled. The madwoman betrays her own self.
My wooden beloved remains afloat. And yet—
My men are all overboard. They sink now, like sorrowful children of the land below, to mingle with the underworld of blue and azure, to dissolve into the boundless place of liquidity.
To what depth will they fall, before their strong weathered hands are gnawed by schools of hungry fish? When will their bones separate from flesh and muscle, and when will water dissolve the innards, the lungs of those whose loud living voices I heard only this dawn, raised in laughter and camaraderie?
The First Mate, Jiand. The one with the loud voice that couldn’t carry a tune, and yet was singing daily with boundless laughter. I’ve known him almost as long as I’ve known old Hareve.
Hareve. The one who used to tie the knots, and spit overboard, and grin at me, and show me how it’s done, one by one, when I was still scrubbing the lower decks. I’ve called Hareve “father” once, not to his face, but that one time when we fought the pirates, and he stood before me, shielding me from three cutthroats, and got that slash on his neck.
Verig and Bear. Two brothers, who once challenged me to draw steel, and who would’ve surely trounced me if it hadn’t been for sheer luck on my part. They’ve served under me for years now, and I cannot imagine not seeing their brotherly grins, full of poor missing teeth, and not knowing their unwavering loyalty.
Little Rikah, one of the three cabin boys. I hauled him on-board myself, after he’d picked my pocket in one of the ports we stopped at. I liked his insolent grin then, and he's proved himself indispensable, running like a tightrope walker high upon the lightest webbing of the masts.
My men. My dear old friends. What have I done?
I’ve traded you all for this old beloved contraption of floating timbers. For the sail with the blazing cheery sun, and the “eye of wisdom”—as I secretly call it. . . .
And I’ve betrayed a promise to an old man with an ill son who lost control, and whose responsibility I’ve relinquished to the abyss.
Was it not my own fault, my own insecurity, that let me ignore this youth, ignore his obvious loneliness, the dangerous bent of mind, the obvious first crush of which I was the unfortunate object?
A mere boy, despite all.
And now, he too floats softly, gently, farther and farther down into the waves, and with him sinks the promise of powers fulfilled and deeds accomplished. Somewhere far in the future he might have made a difference, this youth, this boy. With his ability guided properly he might have changed the world.
My friends! For all of you I bleed inwardly where no one can see, and at the same time I bleed overtly before the whole empty universe of ocean and sky. For it does not matter how I bleed, as I am all alone before the gods. Only this is left to me, this floating home. A piece of my own self, a fragment of my being, a splinter. . . .
The Eye of Sun. I lean my cheeks against you for the last time, feeling your soft unsinkable eternity, the wood of the sacred ancient groves that was blessed by the gods themselves never to perish in the waves.
I feel you thus, connected to me, for the last time. But for a moment more, we are two eternal souls.
Ocean stands all around me still, like a mountain. It is so close now that I see many faces in it, some like children, some divine, some contorted
They are gone, all of them. My men. And he is gone too, the mad one who has brought us all to this end.
Around me, the wall of Ocean stands, obscuring the sun. And as salty boundless tears run down my cheeks, my guts are wrenched by the howling sobs of a madwoman who has nearly lost her love by betraying another.
Lines of choice are blurred. Pride and weakness are intermingled. The madwoman betrays her own self.
My wooden beloved remains afloat. And yet—
My men are all overboard. They sink now, like sorrowful children of the land below, to mingle with the underworld of blue and azure, to dissolve into the boundless place of liquidity.
To what depth will they fall, before their strong weathered hands are gnawed by schools of hungry fish? When will their bones separate from flesh and muscle, and when will water dissolve the innards, the lungs of those whose loud living voices I heard only this dawn, raised in laughter and camaraderie?
The First Mate, Jiand. The one with the loud voice that couldn’t carry a tune, and yet was singing daily with boundless laughter. I’ve known him almost as long as I’ve known old Hareve.
Hareve. The one who used to tie the knots, and spit overboard, and grin at me, and show me how it’s done, one by one, when I was still scrubbing the lower decks. I’ve called Hareve “father” once, not to his face, but that one time when we fought the pirates, and he stood before me, shielding me from three cutthroats, and got that slash on his neck.
Verig and Bear. Two brothers, who once challenged me to draw steel, and who would’ve surely trounced me if it hadn’t been for sheer luck on my part. They’ve served under me for years now, and I cannot imagine not seeing their brotherly grins, full of poor missing teeth, and not knowing their unwavering loyalty.
Little Rikah, one of the three cabin boys. I hauled him on-board myself, after he’d picked my pocket in one of the ports we stopped at. I liked his insolent grin then, and he's proved himself indispensable, running like a tightrope walker high upon the lightest webbing of the masts.
My men. My dear old friends. What have I done?
I’ve traded you all for this old beloved contraption of floating timbers. For the sail with the blazing cheery sun, and the “eye of wisdom”—as I secretly call it. . . .
And I’ve betrayed a promise to an old man with an ill son who lost control, and whose responsibility I’ve relinquished to the abyss.
Was it not my own fault, my own insecurity, that let me ignore this youth, ignore his obvious loneliness, the dangerous bent of mind, the obvious first crush of which I was the unfortunate object?
A mere boy, despite all.
And now, he too floats softly, gently, farther and farther down into the waves, and with him sinks the promise of powers fulfilled and deeds accomplished. Somewhere far in the future he might have made a difference, this youth, this boy. With his ability guided properly he might have changed the world.
My friends! For all of you I bleed inwardly where no one can see, and at the same time I bleed overtly before the whole empty universe of ocean and sky. For it does not matter how I bleed, as I am all alone before the gods. Only this is left to me, this floating home. A piece of my own self, a fragment of my being, a splinter. . . .
The Eye of Sun. I lean my cheeks against you for the last time, feeling your soft unsinkable eternity, the wood of the sacred ancient groves that was blessed by the gods themselves never to perish in the waves.
I feel you thus, connected to me, for the last time. But for a moment more, we are two eternal souls.
Ocean stands all around me still, like a mountain. It is so close now that I see many faces in it, some like children, some divine, some contorted
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