Louise

Stepping on to the dock, Darryl is faced with the sheer weight of his dilemma: it was only four days ago that on the way back from placing traps, Louise had blown her engine and had to be tugged back to port. It had been in Captain Ted’s family for generations, a boat that Darryl’s own father had worked on, a boat that had survived countless harsh winters. Somehow, it must have acquired the properties of a talisman, capable of providing eternal safety in a world where safety is never certain. For whatever reason, Captain Ted wouldn’t give up on her, fixing and replacing his way to another voyage, whatever the risk. 

And yet, stepping onto the platform, Darryl is able to ignore the risk. Desperation will forever overpower the laws of reality, and the truth is, he’d be a liar if he said he didn’t believe there was something special about Louise as well. It’s something about the feel of the wood on the rail, the worn footprints on the platform, the lines all worn with salt and age. There is life there in her deep, worn features. Even with all of her character, it was easy to see why no one in Yarmouth, including his fellow deckhand and best friend Wayne, wanted to risk another voyage. It was tempting fate. Even standing on the platform, he noticed the scars of life and work: the rusted metal, wobbly antenna and the ancient steering wheel, smooth and paintless.

 Unfortunately, Darryl Bowman didn’t have the luxury of playing it safe. Not with a baby at home, and a month of rent to pay.

*

“Mornin’ skip,” he says to the man in front of the steering wheel.

Captain Ted Morgan turns and looks at Darryl: “Where’d that friend of yours go?”

“Somethin’ came up.”

A grunt.

“Say, skip, you think she’s good to go?” he asks as he rubs the rail affectionately.

He gives Darryl a look that says: if you need to ask that question, you should join your best friend.

“Go get the bait ready and check the ice. We ship out in 10.”

Darryl does as he is told; he doesn’t need to be told twice.

Captain Ted traces his fingers along the route back to the traps, feeling the map and the water it represents. His face, suntanned to leather and his stooped body hide the damage that has been done to his mind with age.

He turns and looks at the young man stringing up bait. If he could, he’d tell him he is the son he always wanted but could never have. Wouldn’t have needed to if the goddamn cancer hadn’t taken Louise so early; life is cruel, so it is. He never found another wife, not when the sea was already his mistress.

 But Darryl? He had a feeling about the kid. And loyalty pays, because today, Captain Ted had that other feeling. It came when he passed his finger over the point on the map where the traps were. It was a tingly feeling in his chest, and it could only mean one thing: lobster. A bunch of ‘em.

There was another feeling, though. A pain in his leg. The same one that took a weighted line many moons ago that, so they say, only hurts when it’s about to rain. But he doesn’t believe in those old wives’ tales. He won’t even fear death until he comes asking for him directly. And when it’s his turn, he won’t go without a fight.

He whistles, sees the kid turn and look; all it takes is a nod. Within a minute, they are ready, unmoored and free, with only themselves and the gods of the deeps to commune with.

*

Louise eats up the knots as they speed towards their traps. Aside from an occasional clunking sound, Darryl is impressed at the Frankenstein-like effort that Captain Ted has put into once again giving life to Louise’s engine.

See them now, as they stand sipping cups of coffee, the sky above as endless and blue as the water below.

Captain Ted stares straight ahead and speaks without turning: “You know what them Vikings used to call heaven?”

Darryl shakes his head.

“They called it Valhalla. Those who died in combat would be given the ultimate reward - paradise. Sounds pretty cool, if you ask me.”

Darryl nods.

“And the Greeks? They called it Elysium. Some island somewhere that the Gods would go to rest for all eternity or whatever. Funny how we’ve all called it different things, but mean the same thing: we’re scared of it.”

A few beats pass with only the sound of the motor, waves and wind.

“Of what?” asks Darryl. 

“Of death.” 

The thought of his father comes to Darryl. He can barely remember his face, but can still remember the feeling when he would get back to town after a big catch and how he would always bring home a lobster to boil. Most of his memories of childhood, though, are of the window in the sitting room, staring at an empty driveway and feeling with each raindrop, gust of wind or bolt of lightning that his dad was one step closer to not coming home.

 “What was he like?” 

Captain Ted doesn’t need him to specify. He sips his coffee and his mind, sun and salt-stained as it is, reaches back through years at sea, arriving at Johnny ‘Jigs’ Bowman. 

“He was a hell of a fisherman.” He turns to Darryl and his eyes are full of light. “I tell you the truth, there wasn’t a single man I ever worked with I’d rather have on my team. Would work until he couldn’t stand, and then find some more to give.” 

Captain Ted looks out to the horizon as he finishes his coffee and slides the cup into his pocket. “Tough way to live, doin’ what we do, and he did it for as long as his body would let him. But we aren’t like those damn city folk - we don’t have awards or special speeches. You can’t build a monument of a man out here - the sea has too short a memory.” 

Darryl feels his eyes welling, though if he were asked, he’d say it was a bit of salt from a rogue wave. The sky above them is a pure blue and the engine hums beneath them with a hiccup every few seconds. 

Captain Ted looks at Darryl again: “Well, what about your Valhalla?”

Well,” he chuckles. “All I want waiting for me is cold beer, good tunes and a fresh bug, just boiled, slathered with butter.”

They laugh, and Darryl adds: “Oh, and Krista and Benny. They’ll be there too.”

Captain Ted gives him a look that says: Nice save.

“What about you?” Darryl asks.

“Simple,” says Captain Ted with no hesitation. “Just Louise. Just more time with her. That’s all.”

Darryl nods quietly, not wanting to ruin this special moment. Captain Ted doesn’t break the silence either, and both men stare ahead thinking, though they would never admit it, that their Elysium, their Valhalla, is right there on the Atlantic; the open sea, the salt water splashing in the air with every breaker and the sun shining and the wind snapping; this is paradise.

In the distance, Darryl hears something loud and booming. He tells himself that it’s just the engine.

Beside him, Captain Ted’s leg is throbbing.

*

Darryl grabs the buoy, reaches below it to the rope and starts to pull. Though he doesn’t want to believe it, he notices the atmosphere around him darken. His eyes find his Captain, who, apparently unaware, is preparing the paperwork for the catch.

“Skip!” shouts Darryl, beckoning toward the sky.

Captain Ted steps out from the shelter and looks up, takes a deep sniff, turns to Darryl: “Pull those fuckers up. Storm’s comin’ in.”

Darryl does as he is told, and is rewarded with a trap so full it is literally teeming with lobsters. A rogue wave nearly knocks him and his valuable cargo overboard, but he regains his footing and shouts victoriously, holding the prize to Ted who limps forward to join him.

“Pull the next one,” Ted shouts over the gathering wind and fresh rain. “I’ll dump these. No time to check.”

And so, 5 more times, as Louise prowls slowly ahead, Darryl pulls a full trap; it is something neither man has seen, and considering the combined experience they have, it’s pretty incredible. As Darryl pulls the last trap, their shouts of jubilation are cut short by a booming clap of thunder that seems to come from above them. It is as good a sign as any to hurry up.

And so they do.

Darryl grabs any wandering bugs, tosses them in the ice well, then secures all ropes. The rain starts to pour now, with more regular thunder in the distance and pulsing waves. Darryl looks up to a sky of near obsidian; his heart thumps as forked lightning rends the world.

Ted is on the radio. The folks on the other end think it’s best if they just plow through it. No way to get around it.

He beckons Darryl over and tells him as much. They lock eyes, but need not say anything; the sky has said enough already.

*

The rain, the lighting, the wind, the thunder; they all come now. But more than anything, the waves come. They come, and each time, it’s like they hit harder. Darryl and Ted stand under the shelter and wince with every crashing wave. Deep inside of each of them is hope; a hope that is tied to Louise.

But there’s always that one. It’s a Hollywood Wave. The kind that normal people don’t believe actually exists until they see it. See how it climbs an invisible ladder, doubling, tripling in size until it is towering above them, scraping the heavens, frothing white mouths opening and closing, hungry, angry -

It crashes down and Louise is sent under for a few seconds. Time slows down, all sounds cease to exist, glass explodes, water is everywhere. It is as violent as it sounds, and only gets worse when the boat pops back up like a cork held underwater. Ted and Darryl, wiping eyes and stumbling blind hold railings for purchase, until they are rocked again.

Then, something worse: the engine cuts.

Above the din, they can hear hope fly away.

Until Ted becomes Captain Ted once again. Darryl sees him as a bolt of lightning strikes close, and he is illuminated, phosphorescent, effervescent. For a second, the wrinkles smooth and he is young again, potent and indomitable, even against Poseidon himself.

Pulling himself on the rail, he makes his way to the engine, each wave another onslaught of aquatic infantry, now slowly sinking a ship with no forward momentum. He is gone for minutes and the ocean gives no quarter; Darryl is afraid to move, his mind defaulting to save yourself.

Finally, there is faint rumbling, and the engine is back on. Darryl pushes the throttle and feels the jerk forward as Louise fights back. Captain Ted pulls himself back panting and grey, even in the storm’s glow. The waves keep coming, but Louise moves with shaky confidence, aware that her Captain has bested the sea. For now.

Before long, the waves die down and only a patter of rain is left. 

“You take it from here,” says Captain Ted.

Before Darryl can say anything, his Captain has gone into the storage hold.

Darryl holds the wheel and breathes deeply, forcing thoughts from his mind that have no place there.

*

The world shimmers with the preternatural tranquillity that follows a storm. Darryl, confident now that Louise will be safe without his guidance, makes his way to the storage hold where Captain Ted is laying down on top of some life-jackets.

He sees Darryl and chuckles: “Coupla idiots we are, eh? Forgot to get these things out.”

Darryl laughs along with him, but feels the space between them growing, the shadows getting hungrier.

“Listen,” says Captain Ted. “There are some things in life you just gotta know. Like, no matter how bad the last storm was, there’s always gonna be one worse. And, y’know, just make every damn moment count. With the ones that you love. You don’t get any refunds.”

Darryl nods his head with reverence.

Captain Ted says: “Hell of a catch we got, wasn’t it?”

A big smile: “Sure was, skip. Might be able to replace the whole engine this time.”

Captain Ted smiles. There is something unsaid that passes between them, but it is clear as day. It is an unspoken pride and it is love. Then he lets his scowl return: “Now go on out there and bring us home! And be snappy.”

Darryl does as he is told and steps back onto the platform, closing the door and leaving Captain Ted to rest in the darkness.

*

Darryl looks around at Louise in all of her broken-down glory: the stern is nearly caved in, the glass windows around the bridge cabin are gone and the damaged shelter knocked askew by the waves. He pats the rail and says thank you.

He can’t decide what is a bigger miracle, the fact that Louise made it, or how many lobsters they caught. He reaches down and starts sorting, tossing the females and the smaller males to freedom.

It’s something so small he’s sure it’s nothing, but as he throws a male back into the sea, he swears that he feels something else float free; on its way, it would seem, to the other place as big as the ocean.