The Mariner

by Ade Grant

  “God would forgive something like that?”

  “Anything can be forgiven if truly repented. But it goes both ways. You must forgive anyone who’s wronged you too.”

  Now it was the Mariner’s turn to appear afraid. He trembled in his seat. “My mother tried to kill me when I was a boy. I remember her holding a pillow against my face. I couldn’t breathe.” His eyes grew haunted as he recalled the dream. “I couldn’t breathe.”

  “Forgive her. You must forgive her.” McConnell placed a hand upon the Mariner’s shoulder, feeling him jump under the touch. “It’s all in the past, there’s no use hanging on. Forgive her, and then forgive yourself.”

  Later, once the reverend had said his piece, McConnell watched the Mariner leave and head out into the night. He prayed for the man’s soul until first light, crossing his chest over and over in hope his voice would be heard. And also, in moments of weakness, he made a prayer that this morning would be the last for that strange man with haunted eyes.

  God told Jesus to build a boat.

  “I have a rowing boat, Father. Will it not do?”

  “You do not need a small craft, but a mighty vessel! One capable of housing all those worthy of saving from this sinking world.”

  So, at God’s request, Jesus set about building a ship, a mighty wooden ark capable of holding a great host. He laboured for many days and nights, back-breaking work that shredded his already ruined hands, yet he would accept no assistance. This was a task set for him, and him alone.

  Upon finishing the boat, Jesus turned skyward. “Who should I invite aboard, my Lord? Who is worthy of salvation?”

  “This world is full of sin, my Son. And it must be paid for. I am sorry, but you must sacrifice yourself as a way of paying for these sins, and thus rid mankind of their awful stain.”

  “I must die?” asked Jesus, feeling fear in his heart.

  “You must suffer. Suffer terribly. And once you have suffered enough, you will be shown the light of truth and know those who are worthy and those who are not.”

  So Jesus set sail and began his torment.

  He is still out there, somewhere between life and death, paying the price for our own vanity, greed and wrath. One day, when his task is complete, he shall return, and only then will he bring our forgiveness.

  - The Shattered Testament by The Reverend McConnell

  19

  MAKING PROGRESS

  “WOULD YOU LIKE TO TALK about what happened last night?” asked Tetrazzini as he and the Mariner settled down for another therapeutic chat.

  After returning from McConnell’s church, the Mariner had slept through the morning and well into the afternoon, awaking feeling sick and desperate for alcohol. Tetrazzini had brought him a large glass of wine and another of his sour pills. The Mariner had enjoyed both.

  Now they sat together, just as they had done the day before. Tetrazzini tried to start on a positive note, emphasising the progress made the previous day, but the Mariner had a grudge to settle.

  “You allowed her to try to burn the Neptune into the sea!”

  “I didn’t allow her to do anything,” rebutted the doctor. “This isn’t a prison. We don’t lock anyone up, everyone attends of their own volition.”

  The Mariner felt anger growing inside. “Did she burn down the bar? The night you found me?”

  “Yes. I told you that a patient of mine started the fire. I have not lied.”

  “I didn’t realise you sanctioned it!”

  “Stop saying that! I did no such thing.” Tetrazzini himself had grown vexed and flustered by the exchange. “But I’ll have you know that Donna is on the path to recovery. A few more fires and she’ll have lost the compulsion completely. She won’t need to do it. She’ll be the master, not the other way around. Is that worth the burning of a couple of buildings? I think so. They’re just bricks and beams after all.”

  “And my ship?”

  “An unfortunate hiccup.”

  The Mariner twisted in his seat, though the action hurt his joints terribly.

  “Still,” Tetrazzini tried to repair the fractured relationship, “once again I owe you my thanks. You put it out and brought Donna back unharmed. That... was quite something. Plus, she still got the thrill from setting the fire and was able to take her medication, so opportunity wasn’t lost.” The Mariner gave a sour grimace at the silver-lining. “Let’s put it behind us, we made excellent progress yesterday, we shouldn’t waste that.”

  “I spoke to McConnell.”

  “Who?”

  “The man who runs the church.”

  “Oh him,” Tetrazzini looked unimpressed. “Sadly some people do cling to superstition, that’s true. None more so than that opium addict.”

  “Opium?”

  “Yes. Years back, when I first arrived, he was quite messed up, had been ever since the early days. A traumatic journey here, it is rumoured. I offered to cure him of his addiction, but he turned his back on me. Foolish man. Said he preferred abstinence. Idiot.”

  “Did he cure himself?”

  “How should I know? We haven’t spoken since.”

  Tetrazzini picked up a pile of notes and started flicking through, eager to get the session onto more positive ground. “Would it surprise you to learn I’ve spent all morning thinking about your case?”

  The Mariner shrugged.

  “Seeing as how you’re in something of a... confrontational mood, we’ll be direct. I want to discuss what happened to you and Rebecca.”

  The Mariner stiffened in his chair. They’d been over that. What now? “I told you what happened, just as I’m sure Rebecca told you-”

  “Rebecca hasn’t said much of anything since, I don’t think she will speak again for months. If ever. She’s sunk into a traumatised silence.”

  “That’s sad, but I don’t see-”

  “You haven’t told me everything.”

  “I have!”

  “No,” Tetrazzini said with menacing patience. “You have not.”

  The Mariner sat in silence, wishing the conversation to end, feeling vulnerable under Tetrazzini’s scrutiny.

  The doctor spoke again. “You said you woke up whilst the rape was taking place-”

  Shut up!

  “And intervened as soon as you came to your senses.”

  Please don’t say it!

  “But that’s not true is it? You woke up sooner.”

  He knew. Tetrazzini knew the Mariner’s secret! Did that mean Rebecca had known? Had they all known he’d sat in the dark and watched?

  The Mariner could only whisper his response. “I’m sorry.”

  “I understand.” To his surprise, the warmth in Tetrazzini was back. Now that he had broken the lie, he moved swiftly to reassure him. “This stays between us, no-one will know. I’m your doctor, it is my duty to help you as best I can.”

  The Mariner nodded, ashamed and wary.

  “Your alcoholism isn’t the only addiction you have, is it?”

  The Marine shook his head. No.

  “Tell me about it.”

  When the Mariner finally spoke his words tumbled from his mouth like maggots from an infected wound. “I’ve done terrible things. To women. I’ve hurt them.”

  “Sexually?”

  “Yes. I only remember doing it once, and even then it’s hazy, but I’m sure I must have done so before. And when I saw it happening to Rebecca, I couldn’t move. I had to witness it. I had to.”

  “Because you’re addicted to this destructive behavioural pattern. Do you remember me asking you about your male relationships?”

  “You said I was seeking out a father figure.”

  “Do you think it curious that any female relationship you have ends in disaster? Could it be this hate you feel for women also stems from this memory of your mother?”

  “I don’t hate women.”

  “Allowing a rape to take place shows a desire to degrade, a yearning to feel powerful. Perhaps because inside you feel powerl
ess?”

  “I didn’t allow it, I stopped it.”

  “Only when your guilt got too hard to bear. Or perhaps you acted purely to make yourself feel even more powerful? First you watched the rape, then you stopped it, showing you were the one in control at all times. You, and not your mother.”

  The Mariner was dumbfounded. There it was, the answer to why he was so flawed. How could it come down to something so small? “Can I be cured?”

  Tetrazzini smiled. “My friend, my life-affirming theory treats all ills. First lets address your long term plans. Once we have dealt with your addictions I think you should stay here in Sighisoara. You have been living alone for far too long, you need human interaction. We evolved from social creatures and without communication the brain degrades.”

  The Mariner began to protest, but Tetrazzini carried on regardless. “I know you are a man of the sea and will want to continue on your way as soon as possible, but let me put this to you: get yourself a crew.”

  “I have a crew.”

  “What? Those man-eating animals of yours? Can’t you see they only serve to drive away any possible friendship you may form? All because of this lingering feeling you have inside that you’re not worthy of a relationship in any form other than bestial.”

  The Mariner remembered Absinth and the fate he’d sentenced the man to. Had he killed him out of fear of getting too close? Had his actions really been that selfish?

  “Once you’re better we’ll have them put down.”

  Despite his reservations about the devils, the words shocked him. “No!”

  “They need to be taken care of.”

  “Can’t we find that zoo and drop them off there?”

  Tetrazzini laughed. “What zoo?”

  “Grace said-”

  “My daughter is prone to flights of fancy, there’s no zoo. But if you like we’ll try to find someone to look after them, if you’re so inclined.”

  The Mariner doubted anyone would be able to tend to the devils without losing their fingers, but kept silent. In fact, getting rid of the devils sounded like a fantastic idea. What use were they anyway? They hated him and he hated them. Perhaps their death would bring some relief.

  “With them and your addictions gone, you’ll finally be able to maintain normal healthy relationships. And if, once you’ve achieved those goals, you choose to leave, well that’s fine, but until then you should stay here and embrace this course of action. Do we have a deal?”

  Relief made the Mariner’s voice wobble. He’d admitted his sin and instead of being turned out, he was embraced. Nurtured. “We do.”

  “Excellent. Now let’s address the tricky process of curing you.” Tetrazzini pulled his chair closer to the Mariner, lowering his voice once in close proximity. “Do you understand the principles of our treatment for your alcoholism?”

  “Yes,” he replied and continued at the doctor’s prompting. “Every time I drink, the pill tells my brain not to enjoy it.”

  “Something like that,” agreed Tetrazzini. “More like it stops the brain making an association between the act and the feeling of reward; that way we erode the strength of the addiction until it no longer exists.”

  The Mariner understood well and approved. It was a gloriously simple process.

  Tetrazzini glanced at his hands which he rubbed together, either through enthusiasm or nerves. “Do you think it would work if you didn’t drink alcohol?”

  “How so?”

  “Let’s say you conjured into your mind the image, the thought, the memory of drinking alcohol whilst you took the pill. Would that work as well?”

  “You’re the doctor, you tell me.”

  “It’d be nice wouldn’t it? To cure addiction by imagination? But sadly there are limits to my beta-blockers. When you conjure something in your mind you are accessing neural pathways that are already there, not being written. Beta-blockers modify neural connections as they’re made, not after. If the pill is to work, you have to be indulging the addiction, not just evoking it.”

  Tetrazzini shifted closer to the Mariner, so much so he could smell coffee on the man’s breath.

  “You are special, my friend. I believe you hold the key to what has been happening to all of us, and with your help we will unlock those secrets. But to do that you must first be rid of these addictions. You must. It is for the greater good.”

  The Mariner agreed hesitantly, not quite understanding what Tetrazzini was hinting at.

  “So you see, it’s important you follow the course of treatment for both your addictions. Take the pill, indulge, and eventually you’ll be the master.”

  His eyes widened as he understood what the doctor was suggesting. “You want me to...?”

  “I’m not telling you to do anything,” Tetrazzini quickly replied. “But if you want to be free of this compulsion, if you want to be assured you never have to do it again, if you want to forget these terrible things you’ve done, then this is the only way.”

  The Mariner’s mind was reeling. Was it true? Was this the road to salvation?

  Sensing hesitation, Tetrazzini repeated the mantra. “It’s the only way.”

  20

  BITTER/SWEET MEDICINE

  BETH MASTERSON LEFT TETRAZZINI’S CLINIC for the last time, stepping lightly down the many stairs that wound their way into Sighisoara. Her satchel contained a small collection of paperback novels, a diary, two changes of clothes and some basic food, nothing more than biscuits and a flask of juiced tomatoes. Tetrazzini had managed to procure her lodging and employment at the town’s orchard, good work in a world of uncertainty.

  Above her, heavy clouds cast intermittent shadows across the steps. It were the first hint of poor weather they’d had in weeks, though after so much sunshine, it was welcome. Clouds meant rain, and rain meant crops; fruit would need picking, plants nurturing. Yes, there would be plenty of work for her to do. God Bless Tetrazzini; he’d given her a new life, something to embrace.

  Despite the downward trajectory of her journey, Beth felt lighter with every step.

  And somewhere behind, the Mariner followed.

  He tried to keep to the shadows whilst appearing casual, nervous that if seen he mustn’t appear like a predator. The response of the townsfolk was a concern, there had been a lot of deaths attributed to him since his arrival. There would undoubtedly be dark feelings abound; he should stay concealed lest he provoke a bitter confrontation.

  With every sly step, the pills in his pocket rattled within their capsule, the gentle taps a reminder of his intent. He was nauseous with dread, though even this emotion was a mask. Beneath, his heart raced at the prospect. He no longer had to fight his demons. Now they could be set free.

  He checked his gun - the Mauser. It felt good in his hand. He didn’t plan on using it beyond threats and coercion, but it was a welcome security nonetheless. As yet he hadn’t seen another gun within Sighisoara and this power should allow him... indulgence.

  Daydreams of how it would play out began flitting through his mind. It shocked him at first, just how easily thoughts of sexual violence filled his consciousness the second he allowed them in. The taboo made his pulse quicken and penis harden. Would he reveal his identity, or blindfold her eyes? Force compliance through threat, or restraint? He liked the idea of her arms bound and body vulnerable to his touch, but there was also a certain thrill from her acting of her own volition, reluctantly servicing his needs under threat of pain.

  “Oh it’s you. Heading into town as well?”

  Her voice shook the Mariner from his sordid reverie. Beth was standing a little way off, looking at him. A hand was raised to shield her eyes from the glare of the clouds above, still bright despite the setting sun.

  “I’m just on my way to check on the ship,” the Mariner lied. “There were vandals yesterday. I must keep a closer watch.”

  Beth nodded. “A big old ship like that must attract a lot of attention.”

  He agreed, and Beth looked around, seemin
gly relaxed in his presence. He found himself wondering how her cunt tasted. “Would you like to walk with me?”

  Utterly perplexed as how to proceed, the Mariner accepted her invitation and took to her side. They strolled, leaving the sloping stairs behind and entering the uppermost of Sighisoara residences.

  “So you’re cured then?” he said, trying to make conversation. “Congratulations.”

  “Yes, it’s truly amazing. I think back to just a couple of months ago and life was so different. I was an addict in complete denial.”

  “How so?”

  “I thought the cutting was something I had to do, rather than something I chose to do.”

  The pair passed through a stone archway, wooden doors long since pilfered. Perhaps they’d been burned for warmth or converted into a table, but whoever the thief, all that remained was a tunnel of stone leading to a further slope and larger section of buildings below.

  All was quiet, the only sounds that of their feet upon the cobbles and the seagulls soaring above.

  “Why cut? I understand why I’m addicted to alcohol. It helps me forget. But cutting?”

  “What are you drinking to forget?”

  “Me. This. Everything.” He shrugged as if what he was saying was plainly obvious. “But cutting wouldn’t achieve anything like that. So how can you become addicted to something that has such little effect?”

  “You’d be surprised,” Beth replied with a sigh. “Cutting does make you forget. While you’re in pain you don’t remember hurtful thoughts and painful memories. They’re still there, but the pain focuses them into that one spot. It’s as if the act of self-harm drags the pain from your head and into the wound. You distract yourself with booze. My method was no different.”

  It seemed to make a grim sort of sense to the Mariner. A familiar sense. He remembered his experience with the eels, how he’d come to mutilate himself to dull the lust that threatened to drive him insane. Oh yes, Beth’s approach made sense all right.