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Dr. Bob is Robert Hsiung, MD,
bob@dr-bob.orgShown: posts 1 to 4 of 4. This is the beginning of the thread.
Posted by malthus on September 17, 2004, at 22:09:05
"And the sails of my ship don't cast a shadow?""--The Terrible retorts--, dry and brutal. Then his ire seems to calm a little because of the open-hearted, questioning way The Boy is stubbornly looking at him.
"Let's go son" he falters, supporting his rough hand on the boy's shoulder. "The sea will not wait..."
"Yes sir" the child whispers like somone who says: thank you.
Thank you. The forbidden word. Better to burn ones lips off. Law of the Pirate.
"Did I say thank you?" The Boy asks himself, startled.
"I called him son!" the stupefied Captain thinks.
"My Captain"-- The Boy says again--"Because of being shipwrecked..."
With this the Pirate blinks and straightens up brusquely.
"...from the accident, I tried to say, I happened to be in the hold of the ship. When I came to, what do you think? I find myself covered with the most disgusting creatures that I have ever seen..."
"What kind of creatures?"
"Well, starfish...but alive. They are disgusting. As if they beat like human intestines recently disemboweled. And they moved from one side to the other, looking for me, flying into a rage until they tried to overtake me..."
"Ha. And you were scared, huh?"
"Quicker than an eel I rushed to open the doors, hatchways and all, and with kicks and blows I began to sweep them outside. How they ran, twisted and scurrying along the sand! However my Captain, I have to tell you something...and it's that I noticed that they did leave tracks..."
The Terrible does not respond.
And side by side they both remain erect underneath that deathly green moon that doesn't know how to shine, within a silence so devoid of echo, so complete, that suddenly they begin to hear.
To hear and to feel inside themselves the surge and mounting of an unknown tide. The tide of a feeling which does not even come close to having a name. A feeling a hundred times more destructive than anger, hate and dread. An ordered, nocturnal and gnawing feeling. And the heart handed over to it, resigned and patient.
"Sadness." The Boy finally whispers, without knowing it. Word blowing into his ear.
And then, energetically, trying to shake off that nightmare, the Captain returns to binding his shouting and bad mood together.
"Boy, enough. And let's speak clearly. With us you learned to assault, stab, rob and set fire...however I've never heard you swear."
Brief pause, then lowering his voice, the Pirate asks with simplicity.
"Boy, tell me, you should know...Where do you think we are?"
"Wherever you think we are, my Captain--the boy answers respectfully.
"Well, a thousand million feet below the sea,-ha-the old Captain says exploding into one of his famous, coarse and explosive bursts of laughter that suddenly is nipped in the bud.
Because whatever tried to be a burst of laughter resonated as a tremendous moan, the shrieking of anguish from someone that, inside of his own chest, should usurp his laughter and his feeling; of someone desperate and blazing in desire of something that he knows is unpardonably lost.
Posted by Atticus on September 17, 2004, at 23:33:01
In reply to fiction...The Secret--Conclusion, posted by malthus on September 17, 2004, at 22:09:05
I'd previously remarked that this seemed to be an allegory about depression after reading the first portion, and now I see it that way more strongly than ever before. The starfish strike me as emotions that seem harmless, motionless, when washed up on a beach on the surface and drained of their intensity. But when encountered in the depths of a depressive abyss, their activity becomes too intense, too alien, too frightening to cope with. The omnipresent "atmosphere" of water weighs heavily on the heart and chest as the lungs drink more and more of it in. And there is that sense of being stranded, with no way out of this predicament. "The Secret" is the one I carry to work every day, concealed behind a mask of meds and forced jollity, but I could easily see a laugh twisting into a sob when I feel this way, as the Terrible does. Pirates are "doers," expected to go out into the world and boldly take what they please, to sail through life without fear or remorse. I think our society expects much the same of us, but for those of us who have experienced the enervating and paralyzing effects of depression, this becomes as impossible as sailing a ship back to the surface of the ocean without winds, without "lift." I'm glad you didn't feel the need to tack on a happy ending; it would have sounded a false note in a striking piece of writing. A fairy tale for adults that packs a punch on multiple levels. Very nicely done. ;) Atticus
Posted by malthus on September 18, 2004, at 11:10:36
In reply to Re: fiction...The Secret--Conclusion » malthus, posted by Atticus on September 17, 2004, at 23:33:01
In this piece the captain-pirate begins to suspect and then to understand that he as well as his crew have died. They are ghosts who leave no footprints. They are in hell and have lost all possiblity of reconciling themselves with God. Up to what point does The Terrible belong to a common human condition?
Posted by Atticus on September 18, 2004, at 20:38:55
In reply to Re: fiction...The Secret--Conclusion, posted by malthus on September 18, 2004, at 11:10:36
Hmmm. A metaphysical abyss with no hope as opposed to the psychological abyss with no hope that I perceived. Yet, to me, when I think back on the day of my suicide attempt and my frame of mind, the latter seems in many ways cheek-by-jowl with the former. Atticus
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