Adrift

In this humidity the window swells, tightening against its frame. I lean over her shoulder to force it open. It stands fast at first but then, with a heave, it gives and yawns out wide. I follow after, listing forwards, up against the sill, head part out of the hole, scrabbling to regain my balance. Moonlight dapples the surface of the water, twenty feet below.

She laughs, her mouth close to my ear. I lever myself back up with an embarrassed smile. An awkward apology and I retake my seat, opposite her, composed again.

The others in the cabin seem too drunk to have noticed. She talks on some more about what she has come from – her home and her family - and then some more on her destination, fiddling with the ring on her right hand. Here her voice deadens a little.

I refill her glass then mine. We drink for a while in silence.

The varnished table top is scarred. Different blades have gouged down to a variety of browns. My knife is stronger and sharper than most. My father gave it to me. It comes from a good place off of the Strand. I carve my name deeply into the wood, overwriting others in a light tone.

When I look up again she is gazing out to sea. I ask her what she is looking for. She smiles and says little. Her hair is dark. Sometimes the curls stick to the sweat on her cheeks. She has to brush them away with her hand. Even at this time of night the temperature maintains.

Around the cabin a few men sleep slumped over tables. A gaggle in the corner crowd around a candle; still smoking their pipes, drinking from their tankards. Their talk has calmed now and they speak fitfully. The captain hasn’t been seen for days. Some of the men say he has the fever. Others that he’s already passed on. Morale is low. The doldrums take their toll on all of us.

I ask her why she has come tonight. Why she is allowed to sit with me now. She fiddles further with the ring and talks on a little of curiosity and ennui. But she doesn’t answer me.

A heaviness lies thick in here. The heat, the humidity, the wine, the endless drifting; with all the senses dulled the mind wanders off into stranger places. I look up, half expecting her to have heard my thoughts. She has been watching me and smiles back. There is something light and feverish in her eyes.

Then she rises and grabs me by the hand, and I am not so sure, but she pulls me out of my seat and drags me through out past into the creaking corridor and we bundle up the stairs, up onto the deck.

It is cooler up here and I take a swig from the bottle and pass it to her and she sips a little and passes it back. She wanders over to the sides and rests against the rails, staring out to the sea and the night sky.

I look about but there is no one else on deck. High in the rigging the lookout sleeps, his snores floating down. In this still, heavy air there is no need for a helm. The captain lets us drift out on the currents.

When I come alongside and lean against the rail she asks me my Christian name. I tell her and ask for hers but she refuses.

I see her fiddling with something and then she casts me a glance of mischief. There is a splash from the water below. She laughs and holds up her hand, bare of the ring.

It was gold. Or silver maybe. It must have cost a good deal, certainly more than my commission. She comes from a good family.

We are close now and she presses up against me. My mouth is dry and I take another swig. She takes the bottle from my hand and sets it on the rail. Should I say something, is there anything left to say?

We kiss.

And then we move away and I lead her to the fore. And I notice how blue her eyes are as we lie down together upon the furled mainsail.