The Weight of a Thousand Oceans

by Jillian Webster

  “Wait…” She shakes her head. “What?”

  “The boat is huge,” he continues. “The smuggler has given me his word that you would be taken care of, albeit with bare basics but you’ll have a pretty fair shot of getting to North America. That’s as far as they go. The Old Arctic Circle isn’t very close to where they dock but at least it’s on the same continent.”

  “I know where it is.”

  “Once there, he’s made it very clear you are to get off without being seen, and then you’ll be on your own. If you are caught, you will be killed—or worse.”

  “Worse?”

  He shakes his head. “Just … don’t get caught.”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  He doesn’t speak for a while. Standing motionless on the porch, the glow from the fire flashes over his skinny body. His beard somehow looks even more crooked than before. “You have twenty-four hours,” he says.

  “Twenty-four—”

  “That’s the best I could do. The men don’t stay for long and I had to do a lot of negotiating. Listen, the men dock in the old town harbor for restocking and rest. They will be leaving before sunrise the day after tomorrow. Davies will be waiting for you at three, just a few hours before they wake to leave. You need to stay in the dark bush. He will let out three loud whistles when it’s safe for you to come out. Don’t show your face until he does, and don’t be late. I’ve done a lot so you can go; you won’t have this opportunity again.” He hesitates, then looks at her tenderly. “God be with you.” He turns and walks off the porch.

  Maia walks out to the edge of the stairs. “Dad?”

  Her father stops and turns around, looking up at her with yellow, broken eyes. She stares at him for a moment. There are so many things she wants to say, so many questions she needs to ask, but watching him stand in the cold night, she realizes the answers could never be good enough to rectify a life without him.

  So instead, she only thanks him.

  He turns and walks away, and she does the same. As she closes the door, he calls out to her from the bottom of the stairs. She steps back out.

  “Losing your mother wasn’t the worst thing to happen to me, Maia. Losing you was. I don’t drink because I lost your mother—that couldn’t be helped. I drink because I’ve lost you.”

  He walks away, leaving her speechless in the doorway.

  Twenty

  Huck whimpers as he paces the front porch, watching Maia. Her body shivers from the cold but she does not move. The only sound breaking the silence is her shattered breathing and a ruru owl’s call off in the distance. Her father’s words hang in the crisp air like daggers.

  Twenty-four hours.

  If you get caught, you will be killed.

  It’s a dangerous decision but it may be your only decision.

  And then, I drink because I’ve lost you.

  Stunned, Maia slowly closes the door before dropping her head against it. She sighs and looks around. The fireplace is still holding a blaze. Huck has returned to his spot on the rug. Her mother still smiles from her frame on the mantel. Everything is exactly as it was just a few moments ago, and yet, everything has changed.

  You have twenty-four hours.

  Something moves by the fire. Her grandfather’s letter slides off the corner of the chair and into the hearth. Maia bolts towards the flames and pulls the corner out as the paper is engulfed in racing lines of red embers. Throwing it to the ground, she stomps on it in a frenzy to save what she can.

  She falls to her knees in disbelief. Just like that, his letter is gone. She holds up the remnant of the page. Just a few words remain: choose life. She holds it higher, watching the fireplace flames through the gaping holes of the charred letter.

  She can imagine her entire life up in this cabin alone. And that’s only if she is lucky enough to escape the tenacious claws of the Northern Tribe. Eventually, she’d bury Huck next to her grandfather. And then she’d bury all her hopes and dreams alongside them. Her life would disappear into a meaningless shuffle of empty days filling empty years that would pass by without her even realizing it. She would become just like her father. Drinking, smoking, wasting away until something besides old age took her life. She would fall, or run out of food, or become ill. Even just a small cut could become infected. And who would go out into the mountains for more medicine from the bark? There would be no one. She would settle into a life unlived until she slipped away into nothing. With no one to bury her, no one to remember her, no one to mourn her death.

  Choose life.

  This is it. Her father’s offer is the solution she has been praying for. For months she’s been racking her brain trying to find an answer and this is it. She’s barely been keeping herself alive in this cabin alone … that’s all she’d have to do on the ship. That, and not get caught.

  It’s a dangerous decision but it may be your only decision.

  Maia’s eyes dart to the grandfather clock in the corner. Stopped. She looks to the dusty clock on the mantel. Stopped. In her depression, she hasn’t wound a single clock. Time didn’t seem to matter anymore.

  Maia races to her grandfather’s bedside table and rummages through the drawers. Did he have his watch on when he died? He loved that antique watch; it was wound by the movements of his wrist. If that has stopped as well, she’ll have no way of knowing the time. Where is it? There is nothing in the drawer. She anxiously looks around, scanning the contents of their home until she stops on the window ledge by the sink. He always took off his watch when washing dishes. She runs to the kitchen and spots the silver band lying across the ledge. Snagging it from the windowsill, relief showers over her as the second hand still ticks away.

  1:35 a.m.

  You have twenty-four hours.

  She grabs her pack, mud-flecked from her previous trek, and tosses it onto her bed. Then she picks up the checklists and preparation books stacked in heaps next to the fire—ready to burn—and spreads them out across the kitchen table. They had piles of books from their library to study. She thought they had years. They were building the whole endeavor from the ground up. And now she has slightly more than twenty-four hours with her only belongings being those she can carry on her back. She scans the lists and works tirelessly through the night, packing only the most basic essentials.

  Maia finishes just before dawn. She sinks into her grandfather’s chair with her last cup of tea in the home where she has spent her entire life. Her hands brush the cracked leather of the armrests, the same armrests she has sat on countless times with her grandfather as they talked about life into the wee hours of the morning. She rises from the chair, tracing the cabin’s four faded walls, filled with photos of faces she’ll never see again, vases she’ll never fill again, candles she’ll never light again. She stops in front of her mother’s painting, delicately outlining the tiger’s face with the tip of her finger, memorizing it for the last time.

  With her steaming cup of tea in hand, she stands in the middle of the cabin and closes her eyes. Willing the bravery to come to her, she whispers prayers to her mother to help her stay strong, to her grandfather to help her stay safe. The burned remnants of his letter now rest folded in her pocket, next to the small pouch of his ashes.

  Maia has kept the front door open all morning, waiting for her precious pup to return. She let him out soon after she started packing, and despite her repeated breaks standing on the porch whistling for him to come home, he is still missing.

  It is now midmorning. It will take all day to get to town and she’ll need to arrive before dark. Her stuffed pack is sitting on the steps of the front porch next to a letter for Collin and Sarah, which she’ll drop, along with the keys to her home, against their door on her way. The only thing she asks for in return is that they take care of Huck. He has spent his entire life at this cabin and will be sure to return.

  Taking Huck with her is not an option, a factor that has made her question this entire endeavor repeatedly throughout the evening. But h
e is an old dog and has also really taken to Collin, Sarah, and Henry. This alone has given Maia the strength to carry on. She knows they will all be very happy in the life she could never belong to.

  Maia stands at the edge of the porch, desperately scanning the surrounding forest for any sign of Huck. “Oh please, buddy, I have to go. Please come back,” she whispers.

  Placing her fingers in her mouth, she blows the loudest whistle she can muster and screams out his name.

  Nothing.

  Wiping the tears from her eyes, she closes the front door to her home, dropping her head against it. Her insides screaming, she feels frozen in place. “Thank you, Grandpa, for this beautiful home and all the memories it’s held,” she whispers into the wood. “For everything you’ve done for me and for creating this sanctuary. For all the ways you tried to secure my future. And then, for forgiving me when I told you it could never be enough. I will forever be grateful to you and this life that you built. In the very worst of times, it gave me a life most could only dream of.”

  Maia takes a step back and lets her hands fall to her sides. After another moment of silence, she finds the strength to take her first step. She hauls her bloated pack onto her back and begins the long journey down the side of the mountain, knowing with every step she takes, she is one step closer to her destiny.

  Twenty-One

  Clouds of breath swirl in the cool haze of darkness before her. In and out, in and out, appearing and disappearing in repeated puffs as she stares out in complete disbelief. The harbor lies like a blanket of glass, bar the occasional lap of water against the skirt of the massive ship. Thousands of stars puncture the black sky alongside an almost completely full moon, illuminating the sharp lines of the immense boat in hints of blue. The ship is docked at the edge of town in a somewhat obscure place. Had Maia not come before dusk, she would have missed it completely.

  A dim sphere of light blooms through a small window of the murky ship. Maia buries her face in the ground and a billow of dirt wafts from her exaggerated breath. Her heart pounding, she lifts her head and peers through the branches of the wind-blown, crooked bush. The lantern slowly moves in and out of each window frame as it makes its way across the vast structure.

  Eventually, the light reaches the outside deck facing the brush-dotted hill Maia now cowers on. The lantern is the first to cross the threshold, then a large, hunched figure holding the light follows behind it. He latches the door behind him.

  The figure is a stocky old man with a dark coat and wide-brimmed hat. He moves over to the railing and holds the lantern high, illuminating his wretchedly weathered face. Maia flinches at the sight. His large knotted nose seems to pull at his rumpled skin, and his mouth is melted into a permanently dissatisfied grimace. He pulls a cigarette out of his pocket and lights up, exhaling a long stream of smoke while scanning the shore.

  Maia lowers herself even farther behind the bush, her heart pounding as another wave of nausea swims about her empty stomach. She stays as close to the ground as she can. Closing her eyes, she takes repeated deep breaths.

  She has spent hours in this spot, flipping from panic to elation in the prospect of her newfound future. More than once, she gazed along the shoreline and considered picking up her things and returning home. The only thing keeping her here is the thought that she can still turn back. She doesn’t have to leave. She can still go home.

  The man with the lantern moves down a plank leading onto the docks.

  What was she thinking? She spied on those men earlier in the night when they came back from town. Dark, light, tall, short … rough, dirty, drunk. Just looking at them made her feel overwhelmingly uncomfortable. If she gets caught, her father said her fate could be worse than death. How could she be so foolish? Boarding this ship is a death sentence.

  With that, Maia decides to return home. Lifting her head from the dirt, she rises to her hands and knees. Crawling out from her hiding spot, twigs snap beneath her.

  The old man stops. Lifting his lantern, he looks in her direction. He puts his fingers to his mouth and blows three loud whistles. Maia drops to the ground. He cocks his head to the side, then glances back at the ship. He looks back at her and puts his hand on his hip.

  She lays her head on the ground. If she stays in this position, he’ll leave. She doesn’t have to go. She can stay here and head straight back home where it’s safe and warm. She listens to her heart pound.

  No. All that’s left for her is a dark cabin and a vacant spot up north with a bunch of old men. This is all she’s ever wanted. If she lets this go, she may never have another opportunity again.

  The man blows another three whistles.

  Just get up, Maia. Get up!

  She lifts her head off the ground. Her legs trembling, she stands to her feet and collects her pack. She takes a deep breath, then hastily makes her way down to the boat.

  The man is even bigger as she approaches. He crosses his arms in irritation and lets out an exaggerated sigh. A sour stench fills Maia’s nostrils, both of body odor and booze. Her stomach churns again.

  “Maia?”

  “Yes,” her voice cracks.

  “Davies,” he grunts, looking her up and down with equal tones of annoyance and disgust. “Listen…” He hesitates in his displeasure and then lowers his face down to hers. “These are the rules. You do not exist.” Spit flies from his mouth. “You will spend all your days in the room I place you in. You do not move. You do not leave. You do not speak. Ever. Food will be given to you twice a day. It won’t be much, but it’ll be something. You are not to use the toilet until after the evening meal is left for you. That’s when the men’s work is done until dusk, so no one should be going down there.”

  “I understand.”

  “No one should find you as long as you follow these rules.”

  “Okay.”

  “If you break them and get caught, I will look away and I will not feel bad. I will not claim responsibility. Some of these men are animals. I’d rather shoot you dead and put you out of your misery before letting them find you. Do you understand?”

  She swallows the bile rising up her throat.

  “Speak when you’re spoken to, woman! Do you understand?”

  “Yes … yes, I understand … sir.”

  “Sir,” he grunts. “Far from it.” He lets out a long sigh and shakes his head once more. “Okay then, let’s do this. But that thing can’t come with you.”

  Thing? She follows his gaze behind her to find Huck with a stick in his mouth, eagerly wagging his tail.

  “Oh my God, Huck!” She kneels down and he drops his stick, licking her face between whimpers. “Where have you been?” she whispers. She grabs his thick black fur between her fingers. Kissing his face, tears sting her eyes.

  “Get on with it, girl!” Davies hisses.

  “Huck.” She wraps her arms around her dog and he rests his head on her back. “I have to go now.”

  He whimpers again.

  “I am so sorry. I don’t know how I’m going to do this without you. You’re my best friend,” she sobs as he licks her cheek. “There will never be a day that I won’t miss you.”

  Maia stands tall. Closing her eyes, her tears fall to the cold earth. Taking a deep breath, she reaches for his stick. He backs up with his tail wagging. She whips the stick as far as she can and he races into the blackness. She stands for a moment, gazing into the dark as her heart fractures beneath her chest.

  She turns towards the man.

  “There’s no crying,” he says dryly.

  “I’m not—” Maia wipes her face. “I’m not crying.”

  She picks her bag off the ground and follows him to the ship. The water gently laps against the creaking old structure with rust running like tears from its circular windows. The air sits cool and stagnant, allowing a misty fog to gather in bloated patches along the sea. She follows the old man up a wide plank onto the deck. Shaking, nauseated, and light-headed, she fights back tears and wills her heart
to calm.

  Out of the corner of her eye, a dark figure races across the land towards the docks. Huck runs as fast as he can as Davies pulls the plank up and off the ground, sliding the long wooden board across the ship’s deck. Huck drops his stick and stands on the dock, anxiously whimpering as he surveys the gap between him and the ship where Maia now stands.

  Oh God, Huck. I am so sorry.

  His tail drops between his legs and he paces back and forth, barking loudly.

  “You shut that thing up or I’ll do it for you!” Davies spits in her direction.

  Huck barks again. A look of panic flashes across Davies’s face and he reaches into his pocket. The moonlight glints off his pistol.

  “NO!” Maia lurches for his arm.

  “Hands off me, woman!” He shoves her onto the ground and points his pistol at her. “You watch yourself or you’ll join that thing at the bottom of the sea.”

  Huck continues to bark. Davies pivots towards him.

  Maia throws herself between them. “Please! Please, I’ll tell him.” Without hesitating, she turns towards Huck. “Huck!” she calls as quietly as she can. She holds her hand up toward the dog. Tears stream down her face as she puts her trembling finger to her mouth. “Shh.”

  Huck stops barking. He softly whimpers, then lowers himself down along the edge of the dock.

  Both Maia’s hands drop to her sides. “Good boy,” she whispers.

  Huck lays his head on his outstretched legs and gazes up at her. Maia knows this is where he’ll stay, waiting for her to return. She turns away and faces Davies.

  He looks annoyed. “Don’t make me regret this.”

  Maia says nothing. He leads her across the deck and unlatches a heavy, wooden door. Exhausted and numb, she forces herself not to steal one last glance at Huck looking up at her from the docks.