The Captain and the Glory

by Dave Eggers

  They loved that he said things like “Liquidate the poor,” which they wanted to say, too, even though many of them were poor, and they loved that he said things like “Let’s put away and polish off Certain People who come from tiny pathetic boats,” which they wanted to say, too, even though the ancestors, or even parents, of every last one of them had come from tiny pathetic boats, too. Most of all they loved that he did not change, and continued to say anything that popped into his head. Just that morning, on the wipe-away board, he had threatened to start a war with a country that had always been very friendly with the Glory and had then reversed himself in the afternoon. No doubt about it—that was shaking things up! The Most Foul had feared, in their most secret hearts, that the man with the yellow feather, once captain, would become dignified and dull, but he had been captain for months now, and was just as unvarnished, unrehearsed, and unhinged as ever, and this made them very happy and very proud. They had not foreseen the towering cruelty and daily drownings of innocents, the putting-away and polishing-off, but this additional part of life on the Glory, though horrifying and against every belief system and moral code ever devised by humans, was new, and anything new was something different, and different was inherently good.

  XIII

  AND YET, EVEN after these rallies, the Captain lived with a certain emptiness. His daughter was spending more and more time playing with her vacant-eyed doll, and because she was now styling herself as a feminist icon, she had designed a new line of push-up bras and high-heeled shoes. Thus the Captain often found himself alone on the bridge, and though he could, if so inspired, add new defacements to the portraits of past captains, there was a missing piece in his life, a hole in the shape of a man.

  Then, on the horizon, he saw the happiest of sights: the crimson sails of the Pale One, one of the sea’s most notorious and feared pirates, a man who had been the stated enemy of the Glory for as long as anyone could remember, in part because he had tried to end the Glory—with cannons, with guns, with undersea saboteurs and a new kind of sonic weapon that made people’s eardrums bleed—more times than anyone could remember.

  There was no way to quantify the admiration the Captain had for the Pale One. He liked the way the Pale One was built, and how he carried himself, and how impressive he looked while riding a horse, and how masculine he looked without a shirt, and he liked especially how phenomenally masculine and impressive the Pale One looked without a shirt while riding a horse. He liked how the Pale One did business, liked particularly the way he murdered his enemies, or ordered the murder of his enemies—in the light of day, and in the most innovative ways. The Pale One used pestiferous gas on his critics and had exposed other adversaries to slow-acting toxins that caused the victims to age decades in months before finally expiring. And sometimes he simply sent his armies into foreign lands to subjugate their people and loot everything of value. The Pale One was undeniably a go-getter with a knack for making things happen.

  “Captain,” said a voice. The Captain looked around him to find a woman wearing a white uniform decorated with medals and epaulets. Though the Captain had been dismissing people every day since he took command of the ship, every day another crew member came out of the woodwork, each of them carrying a clipboard and offering unsolicited advice. It was maddening. And this inversion of the natural order—uniforms were for men, bathing suits for women—gave him a kind of vertigo. He closed his eyes, hoping this would cause her to disappear, but her voice announced her persistence.

  “Surely you don’t plan to invite the Pale One aboard the ship?” the woman said. “He’s known as one of the great villains of the world, a treacherous fiend who gasses his own people and is the ally of other fiends and blackguards—”

  The Captain called the Snowmen, who burst in and took this woman-not-wearing-a-bathing-suit away. While they were throwing her over the railing, the Captain rushed to the bathroom to freshen up, because in the looks department, the Pale One was no slouch, and legend had it he always smelled musky and clean.

  While the Captain was in the bathroom, the Snowmen, after being sure that the woman had drowned thoroughly in the Glory’s frothy wake, saw the red sails of the Pale One’s ship approaching and sounded the ship’s alarms. Cannons were loaded, guns were aimed, and the ship’s passengers all observed emergency procedures, given the Pale One and his murderous band had been the stated enemies of the ship for as long as anyone could remember.

  When the Captain emerged from the bathroom, having tried a new aftershave he thought very manly but with a hint of jasmine, he saw the ship in an uproar. He panicked for a second, hoping that all the hullabaloo wouldn’t be seen by the Pale One, who was now within striking distance and who he did not want to offend.

  “Stand down!” the Captain said into the intercom, and then explained that the Pale One, whose crimes against the Glory were too many to name or number, was actually his personal friend and should be treated as such.

  For many of the passengers on the ship, this was very confusing information. It was known that the Pale One had waged war on the Glory and, during that war, had captured and tortured the Admiral. It was known that the Pale One regularly murdered women who loved women and men who loved men. It was known that the Pale One spent much of his time lending a hand to the worst despots on sea and land, arriving just in time to help them overthrow duly elected leaders and murder innocent civilians and occasionally eat them, too, adding a special sauce, spicy but not too spicy, that he’d created himself.

  As the Pale One’s ship got closer, the passengers of the Glory could see that its sails were a faded red; legend had it that they had been dyed that way with the blood of orphans. They could see that dozens of oars extended from the hull; it was assumed that these rowers were slaves. Trailing from the Pale One’s ship were seven long frayed ropes, each attached to a small wooden boat, big enough for one human, and in each of these boats was indeed one human, each human handcuffed and hog-tied, and most of these humans now dead and decomposing.

  As the Pale One’s ship pulled up alongside the Glory, the Captain stood on the bow, waving wildly, bouncing on his tiptoes, his face overcome by a toothy grin of boundless joy. “Welcome!” he yelled as the Pale One’s blood-soaked sails were lowered and the ship turned slowly to tie up.

  “Welcome!” echoed the Most Foul, who had gathered on the railings in full-feathered regalia.

  The Pale One’s crew threw a rope over the rail, and a gangway was lowered. The first of the Pale One’s minions strode onto the Glory, carrying muskets and machetes and also hundreds of empty sacks, the kind commonly used for looting and pillaging. Without a word, they immediately fanned out, disappearing into every corner of the vessel.

  And finally the Pale One himself appeared. The Captain almost fainted, for, as he hoped, the Pale One was shirtless, and was sitting astride a horse, and the horse, carrying the Pale One, walked majestically aboard the Glory, and then, once on deck, dropped a monumental mound of feces onto the head of a small child dressed by his parents in Most Foul feathers.

  “Welcome!” the Captain said and they shook hands, and the Captain’s knees went weak. The Pale One’s hand was just as smooth as he had hoped, and just as strong—like steel wrapped in chamois. The Pale One dismounted with an ironic smile, his tiny ice-blue eyes never looking directly at the Captain, or indeed at anyone or anything. His mouth was locked into a perpetual smirk, and whatever was in front of him, his eyes were elsewhere.

  The Captain was so nervous! The Pale One was so much more impressive in person, and indeed he smelled fantastic—far muskier than the Captain had the temerity to hope.

  “Won’t you join me in the stateroom for a cheeseburger?” he asked the Pale One, and when the Pale One agreed, and when the Pale One was actually following him through the Glory, just the two of them on their way to the Captain’s chambers, the Captain thought he might swoon. He’d wanted everything
to be perfect, so he had ordered his favorite food in great quantities. When he opened the stateroom door, he swelled with pride, taking in the table stacked high not only with cheeseburgers prepared by teenagers and wrapped in thin paper, but also hamburgers prepared by teenagers and wrapped in thin paper of a different color.

  Upon seeing the table stacked high with cheeseburgers prepared by teenagers and wrapped in thin paper, the Pale One smirked and looked elsewhere. The Captain quickly became flustered. He thought of topics they could discuss. His daughter? He tried to think of where he might have a nice picture of his daughter. He considered calling his daughter in. She always knew what to say, or at least knew how to wear a sexy number that did all the talking.

  The Captain decided he should just speak his heart, so he confessed his admiration for the Pale One, at how the Pale One steered his ship, how he commanded his people, and how he occasionally murdered his enemies in creative ways involving rare toxins.

  “You are making me blush,” the Pale One said, though he did not blush, and had never blushed.

  “Speaking of enemies…,” the Captain said, and then paused. He did not want to seem like a novice at the disposing of adversaries, but he did want advice for the disposal of people like the woman-not-wearing-a-bathing-suit who had advised against welcoming the Pale One. Throwing her overboard was effective as a way to be rid of her, but it did not necessarily send a lasting message to other crew members who might get mouthy in the future.

  “There is a better way,” the Pale One said, and his mouth bent into something like a smile. He then pointed to the rear of his ship, to which the seven long frayed ropes had been tied, each of them leading to a small wooden boat containing a dying or dead human.

  “All of these people disappointed me and proved useless, but now,” the Pale One said with a coquettish smile, “they are quite useful.”

  The Captain whistled aloud. He slapped the table with both palms. He considered reaching over and touching the Pale One’s hand in a gesture of admiration and friendship, but decided against it. Instead he simply said, “That’s why you’re the Pale One.”

  “Again you make me blush,” the Pale One said, though he did not blush, and never had blushed.

  XIV

  THE PALE ONE and his men settled in. They were given their own rooms and all the food they wanted. They roamed the ship, taking pictures of the bridge and of the engine room, and occasionally they robbed the ship’s passengers, killed men over minor disagreements, and kidnapped and raped women and children. The Captain couldn’t recall a better time of his life. He and the Pale One had wonderful evenings during which the Captain ate cheeseburgers and sodas and the Pale One ate nothing, instead telling the Captain remarkable stories of times he had imposed his will on subjects both unwilling and worshipful.

  At the encouragement of the Pale One, every day the Captain would think of new people who he could handcuff, put on leaky boats and drag behind the Glory. The Captain put the former chief engineer in such a boat, and the former navigator, and the former cruise director. All three were in small boats bouncing around amid the frothing wake of the powerful ship, handcuffed and helpless and waiting to die.

  “It’s more satisfying than simple drowning, no?” the Pale One said. The Captain and the Pale One were standing on the bridge, and it was sunset, and the Captain felt, for only the second time in his life, that he really had a friend. He’d do anything for the Pale One, and in a burst of gratitude and affection, he told him so.

  “Yes, I know,” the Pale One said, while his eyes were looking elsewhere. “But you have already done too much for me. Now I want to do something for you.”

  “What is it?” the Captain asked, his heart fluttering like a sparrow’s.

  “It will be a surprise,” the Pale One said. “You will find out in the morning.”

  * * *

  —

  And indeed it was a surprise! The Captain awoke to yet another crew member, yet another woman-not-wearing-a-bathing-suit, informing him that the Pale One’s men had put every member of the Upskirt Boys in small leaky boats trailing the Glory, and that some of them were already dead. Fingers was dead, for he had had a stroke from the shock of being put in such a boat; his corpse was being pecked at by the seabirds, now carnivorous, who had developed a taste for human flesh while following the ship and its many decomposing bodies. Freddie the Whack and Ed the Unwashed and Pasty the Murderer and of course Paul the Manafort were all trailing the Glory, bouncing helplessly in the wake, handcuffed and waiting to die. Sweetie and Pete the Pipe, who the Captain understood to be close friends of the Pale One, were now dead and dismembered and their many parts were arranged in a small pyramidal pile on a small raft, their heads on top like sundae cherries.

  “Surprise!” the Pale One said as he entered the bridge.

  When the Captain asked the Pale One why he had sent all of his friends to such a fate, the Pale One’s answer was very sound: “You had too much middle management,” he said, and the Captain knew he was right.

  “Also, we killed all the crew in the engine room,” the Pale One said. As if to answer the Captain’s next question, he said, “But do not worry. My men have it under control.”

  Thinking about his many feelings—concern for all his friends, who were now dead or dying, and happiness that the engine-room crew was no longer—the Captain decided that, on balance, all of this was wonderful news.

  “You are phenomenal,” the Captain said.

  “You make me blush,” the Pale One said, while not blushing. “But there is more. Close your eyes.”

  The Captain closed his eyes and heard the distinctive sound of a ship approaching. His mind raced, thinking who this visitor could be.

  “Can we go see?” he asked the Pale One, and the Pale One smiled slyly while looking elsewhere. The Captain, feeling very much like a child on Christmas morning, ran to the rail to see who was arriving. When he saw the symbol on the topsail—two swords intersecting below a severed head—he knew it was Bloodbeard, one of the ocean’s most loathed and feared pirates, a known proponent of hangings and stonings and especially beheadings. It was his penchant for the latter that had given him his nickname, for after each beheading, which he performed himself, Bloodbeard used his beard to wipe the blood off his sword. It was quite an effect.

  “Surprise again,” the Pale One said. The two of them stood on the deck, ready to welcome Bloodbeard, whose crew was, at the moment, tying their ship to the Glory. Bloodbeard’s crew, all of whom wore purple clothing and stylish black masks, lowered the gangway, and strode across onto the Glory fully armed with swords and daggers, and quickly disappeared into the ship, carrying empty sacks, the kind commonly used for looting and also pillaging.

  They were followed by eight men, all wearing gold-trimmed tunics and carrying Bloodbeard himself on a golden litter. The Captain gasped. Bloodbeard wore a gold-trimmed robe, and some kind of golden helmet, and even golden gloves. Immediately the Captain was ashamed he had not thought of a gold-trimmed robe and golden helmet and golden gloves for himself, and made a mental note to put someone on a wooden boat as punishment for this oversight. Once Bloodbeard had been carried onto the Glory, he was lowered to the deck. He stood up, at which point the Captain gasped again and made another wooden-boat note. Bloodbeard was wearing golden socks! And golden shoes! Each with a golden tassel!

  Now the Captain saw that Bloodbeard was holding, in one of his golden-gloved hands, what appeared to be a wire birdcage covered in golden cloth. Bloodbeard put the birdcage down and turned to the Pale One, whereupon the two of them exchanged a hearty handshake that was much like a high five, in that it was high, but it was also a handshake, and it was very forceful and hard, such that when their hands came together, they made a very loud and satisfying clapping sound that filled the Captain with both awe and envy. The Captain wondered how he might ask about the handshake,
how he might learn it, and thought he could do this once the three of them were alone in his stateroom. He was about to suggest they retire there when the Pale One preempted him.

  “Let’s go to the Captain’s stateroom,” he said, with a funny, perhaps even ironic, emphasis on the word Captain, while smiling and looking at Bloodbeard, who smiled a toothy and knowing smile. They all walked toward the stateroom, the Captain finding himself trailing behind the two of them, Bloodbeard and the Pale One engaged in a very intimate and loving and laugh-filled discussion as they walked down the Glory’s hallways. Periodically one or the other of them would point a thumb back in the direction of the Captain, and if the Captain were not so self-assured and strong, he would have thought the two of them enjoying many jokes at his expense, but this could not be, he assured himself, because he was self-assured, and also he was the Captain, and he had a legion of people backing him every step of the way while dressed as chickens.

  When they entered the stateroom, the Pale One and Bloodbeard found a spectacular spread of cheeseburgers wrapped in thin paper, all of them prepared by teenagers. Upon seeing this, the Pale One turned to Bloodbeard and said, “I told you! I told you!” To which Bloodbeard turned to the Pale One and said, “You told me! You told me!” And then the two of them clapped their hands again in that wonderful hard and high clapping handshake they had done before, and then they laughed for what seemed to the Captain like ten minutes, but was actually far longer.

  XV

  THAT NIGHT, THE CAPTAIN lay under his bed and had a fitful sleep. At one point he had the strange feeling that the ship was turning almost completely around.