The Mariner

by Ade Grant

  And when Jesus Christ returns there will be forgiveness for those who repent. He will sew the world together and all shall be restored.

  But for those who do not believe in forgiveness, for those who feel themselves beyond his touch, there will be darkness. Darkness and an endless sea.

  - The Shattered Testament by The Reverend McConnell

  22

  DISCHARGED

  TETRAZZINI’S OFFICE DOOR CREAKED OPEN, so softly that the doctor thought it must be a breeze for he was certain that if a person had come down the hall he’d have heard their approach. A dirty set of fingers curled around the frame.

  “Is that you, my friend?” he asked, rising from his chair.

  The Mariner, looking worse for wear, left arm soaked with his own blood, entered and closed the door behind. The pair stood in silence. And anticipation.

  “Well?” Tetrazzini asked. “Did you do it?”

  “No, I could not.”

  The doctor let out a long breath, glimmers of disappointment carefully hidden behind his objective façade.

  “I admire your fortitude of character, but if you want to be cured-”

  “I do not.”

  Tetrazzini’s mouth dropped in surprise. “You don’t?” Suddenly the gentle man transformed, voice rising within the silent room. “Then perhaps I’m wasting my time giving you bed and board? Perhaps you should go rest your head beside those beasts of yours?”

  The Mariner didn’t bite the bait. Instead he barely moved, keeping his eyes fixed upon the doctor with cold intensity.

  “Why do you keep track of passing days in a world where dates mean nothing?”

  Tetrazzini scrunched up his face in frustration. “What are you talking about?”

  “Why?”

  “Because time’s important! It’s falling apart everywhere else, so why not try?”

  Still the Mariner did not move. “I’ve been thinking a lot about time. And about memories. You told me that the past doesn’t exist anywhere outside my own head. All that exists is the now.”

  “Yes, that would be the logical way of viewing it.”

  “But I don’t think that’s true. I think time is like Reverend McConnell’s story box. Our lives are the viewing piece, moving across time and only showing us one moment after another. But as we pass, those moments continue, locked in place. We can’t return to them, but they’re there, trapped in that singular point going over and over again. That’s what the Neptune showed me; the past exists beyond memories, it’s just they’re the only way we can reach out to them.”

  Incredulity had twisted Tetrazzini’s face into a goblin mask. “So?”

  “I don’t deserve to forget. If I put the terrible things I’ve done behind me, I’m betraying those women whom I’ve hurt. Whom I’m still hurting. And if I abandon or change the memory of what my mother did, then I’m leaving that boy alone, trapped forever in the dark. For he is still there. He always will be.”

  “You’re sentencing yourself to a life of misery out of a sense of duty to things only you remember. That woman you killed doesn’t remember a thing. She’s dead.”

  “Not in the past she’s not. She’s there, and she’s in pain.”

  Tetrazzini threw his hands into the air as if he was dealing with a complete idiot. “So you don’t want to get better, is that it? You don’t want to be cured?”

  “Like you were?”

  Tetrazzini’s eyes widened in shock. He gaped like a fish, some type of snapper, for his face glowed red.

  “I spoke to Grace. I thought she was your patient, but she’s not. She’s your treatment.”

  Silence followed, the doctor flustered. Finally he pointed at the Mariner as if he were the one accused, his finger trembling with his voice. “You don’t understand, you don’t understand what it’s like!”

  “Yes I do. I’m a monster too.”

  “No! Addiction makes a monster, and I’m not an addict. A junkie with no fix robs houses, a junkie with a whole stash keeps to himself. I used to be one, oh yes, I used to be unable to control myself. Whenever I saw-” Words stuck in his throat, unable to vocalise his love for young flesh. “I wouldn’t be able to help myself, my mind would go there, that dark place you and I know so well. It was fine in the old-world with laws and rules; there you would be called ‘kiddie-fiddler’ or ‘pervert’, but without evidence you were fine to live your life, to do what you do. Not this place. Here there are no rules, and mistakes lead to lynches.”

  He staggered to the Mariner, face distorted by his plea, hands out and clasping. “But my drug cured me! I found Grace, kept her with me and used her to suck my addiction dry.” His eyes desperately searched the Mariner’s face for some sign of acceptance. “Think of the amount of children I’ve saved from my old-self by doing this.”

  “All except Grace.”

  “A small price to pay!” he snapped. “Sure, I fuck her now and then, a quick dose of beta-blockers just to keep everything in check and make sure the addiction never reasserts, but in return I cure people. I take monsters and turn them into lives. Real human lives!”

  The Mariner’s face was like a rock and his words an avalanche. “Addiction doesn’t make us a monster. It’s a very human trait. It’s what we do, that makes the monster.”

  Tetrazzini didn’t respond, glowering in the gloom.

  “I’m leaving. I don’t want a cure, to my victims that would be a further betrayal. If I suffer, if I carry this with me every day until the end, then just maybe my sin will be in part repaid.”

  “You think you can control it, but you’ll give in. Sooner or later you will. Except when you do, you’ll be without me. You’ll be too weak to resist, and so you’ll go on hurting women over and over again. See if you don’t!”

  “No. If I suffer enough, perhaps they won’t have to.”

  “Fine, fuck off! Do you think we need you? You think I give a shit? I’ll be right here, doing what I’ve always done.”

  The Mariner nodded and finally showed an expression on his face. A distant and hollow smile. And just as that smile had chilled the last few beats of Absinth’s heart, it chilled Tetrazzini’s too, despite the temperature in the room rising with every second.

  “That’s right. I’m leaving and you’re staying.” He pointed his trusty Mauser at Tetrazzini’s left knee. “I dropped in on Donna before I came to you, and gave her all the flammable spirits in your storage. As I figure it, she’s probably got one burning left before she’s cured. I think a lot will be cured after that.”

  Patient Number 0020375

  Name: Frank Tetrazzini

  The beta-blocker/Ibogaine compound is having a splendid effect. I can already feel the urges diminishing. It is certainly a strange sensation, losing an addiction whilst still enjoying the act you were so recently dependent upon. It is most empowering.

  I think I shall set up a permanent rehab centre here on Sighisoara. We seem to have been accepted by the locals who believe that Grace is my daughter. After stern instruction, she’s agreed to play along, realising that it is mutually beneficial. However, this is a role-play I try to dissuade her from practising in private. Yesterday she called me ‘Daddy’ whilst we were alone. This displeases me. Somehow the idea of her being someone else’s is far more tantalising.

  I am concerned about her growing older. Once breasts begin to form she’ll lose a certain appeal. That day can’t be far off, and I mourn the passing of each one before that, but by then I shall be free from addiction and able to choose a replacement carefully. After all, addiction leads to rash decisions. With due care, I shall be safe.

  Having practised my theories on several test cases and now myself, I am looking forward to taking on patients. This island seems to be a hub of sorts and I can imagine a permanent settlement here. Yes, Sighisoara’s the end for us. I don’t wish to ever leave.

  T.

  23

  THE DEVIL, GRACE & GOD

  THE MARINER DESCENDED INTO TOWN like an ange
l of death. Against his back the rehab centre burned brightly, the flames reaching high into the air, literally a funeral pyre. The sky behind was a deep blue from the rising sun. Sighisoara had awakened to another inferno, though this time the perpetrator walked boldly amongst them. As he passed the residents shrank away; news of the monster had spread wide.

  Reverend McConnell saw the Mariner as he made his way towards the Neptune and called out. With no response offered, he gave chase, catching up as he neared the dock.

  “What have you done? What have you done?” He gestured towards the fire.

  “I am paying for my sins.” The Mariner did not slow, but kept his eyes firmly ahead.

  McConnell glanced from the Mariner’s back, to the billowing smoke atop of the hill and then back to the man who’d caused it. Fearfully he scurried after.

  “There’s no need for this misery! You must forgive yourself!”

  “There can be no forgiveness.” The Mariner’s voice was harsh from the smoke. “If someone says they forgive they are either lying or no longer care. I’m prepared to do neither.”

  “God can forgive! Jesus can forgive! When he returns, he’ll take your pain away, just ask him for forgiveness!”

  “What right does God have to offer such forgiveness?” asked the Mariner as they walked along the dock, ever closer to the Neptune. “My sins are not his business, neither are they yours.” Suddenly he halted, so unexpectedly McConnell almost walked straight into his back.

  They were not alone on the dock, ahead stood Grace, looking out at sea. A light breeze kicked up her hair revealing pale and tragic features. They were set, staring longingly at the horizon.

  The Mariner walked over to her and got down on his haunches. “You can’t come with me. I’m damned. I have devils that kill. I have addictions that gnaw. All I touch turns to rot. There’s nothing for you if you come.”

  “What about the zoo?”

  “It’s gone,” said McConnell from behind the Mariner. “The Shattering has taken it away.”

  “I can’t take you there,” the Mariner told the small girl. “It doesn’t exist.”

  “But you didn’t do what he asked,” she said, smiling at the angel of death at her side. “You hurt yourself instead.” And with that she leaned forward and kissed the Mariner upon the cheek, her lips passing a soft comfort utterly unlike anything he could have comprehended before. “Don’t you remember?”

  Tears broke from his eyes with a surge of emotion so powerful he bent over as if in pain, hands clasping his head and eyes scrunched up tight. He sobbed. Sobbed for everything cruel and wrong in the world. He sobbed the way he felt he couldn’t as a boy, suffocating in the dark. He sobbed because the moment her lips had touched his skin he remembered intimacy without lust, friendship without sin. It was possible to love without destroying.

  “I remember,” he said as he openly wept. “I remember.”

  “You remember! You remember!” the girl was shouting at his side and jumping up and down. The Mariner opened his eyes in confusion and saw Grace pointing out to sea. At first he couldn’t make it out through the tears, but soon a shape formed on the horizon.

  “It’s back! You brought it back!” she cried and dashed across the gangway and onto the Neptune.

  The Mariner looked on in wonder. An island had appeared, far in the distance, but definitely there. It sparkled in the morning light. Grace’s zoo.

  “Sweet Jesus.” McConnell was paralysed in dumb amazement. He looked from the island to the Mariner, face grey and mouth slack. “Are you him?”

  The Mariner strode hastily after Grace, aware the devils might devour her as she stepped aboard. His heart leapt in his chest as he saw one run up to her, bounding in its strange hopping-run. His hand went for the Mauser, but paused as the beast obediently sat.

  Grace giggled and leaned down to pat it on the head. “This one’s called Basil.”

  “Is that so?” he muttered, unsure of the reality around him. All the other devils gathered around them like sentinels, watching with silent nobility.

  Neptune’s crew were ready to sail.

  From the dock, McConnell suddenly snapped into sense and dashed towards the ship. “Are you him?” he shouted. “Have you returned to bring us forgiveness?” He ran up the gangway and joined the man, girl and bestial disciples aboard. “Are you Jesus Haych Christ?”

  “I don’t know,” the Mariner replied honestly. “But I’m searching for something better than forgiveness and it can’t be found here.”

  “Where then?” McConnell asked, tears of hope beginning to run down his own cheeks.

  The Mariner took Grace’s hand and laughed though his sobs. “I guess the first place to look is the zoo.”

  Grace beamed at him, the smile an experiment upon her features, and laughed too. The three lost souls stood like that under the endless sky, their cheeks wet as if in early morning dew. In a world drifting apart, they’d suddenly been pushed together.

  And so the Neptune’s crew set sail and left Sighisoara, a town awaking to death and murder, upper peak burning like a candle; and they sailed into the brilliance of an early morning light, with nothing but their haunted past behind them.

  PART III

  GRACE O’HARA’S ZOO & THE MONKS OF DÉJÀ VU

  “Doctor, doctor, I think I’m suffering from Déjà vu.” “It’s a brain tumour.”

  Hilarious Joke

  24

  THE WASP WHISPERS

  WHEN AT SEA, THE MARINER dreamed. There was naught else to do, the ship tended to sail itself, and the endless horizon brought little comfort. Sometimes he dreamed of his mother holding a pillow tight across his face, other times he dreamed the sins of his ship, the Neptune. Tonight he dreamed of a man named Absinth Alcott, a pirate who’d once roamed the ocean and now only existed as tiny fragments lodged deep in a Tasmanian devil’s colon.

  In life, Absinth had worn grubby t-shirts looted from cargo ships and countless victims. In death he wore beautiful elegant robes that flowed in the wind. Skin, once old, scarred and dry, now glowed with hidden energy encased beneath jewels and ribbons. In death he’d become a picture of health.

  This was because Absinth Alcott was dressed as the Oracle, a woman who’d deemed to steal his mind.

  And now the Mariner was once again within her tent, arranged just as it had been before, candles and pillows surrounding a central platform from which the Oracle could hold court. There was no Oracle here though, nor any disciples; just Absinth, who watched the Mariner approach with keen interest and a wry smile upon his lips.

  He spoke, and although his voice remained the same, all pauses, inflections and mannerisms identical to before, it still seemed as if something else had seized control of his reigns. Whomever the master, they operated his vocal chords like the strings of a puppet, enacting their own play with expert precision.

  “Wasps are awful creatures,” he began. “Not like bees. Oh no. Bees are lovely. Bees make honey and pollinate plants. All manner of pastures and plains rely upon bees. Nature’s honourable little suicide-bombers.”

  Absinth chuckled to himself and made a faint buzzing sound with his lips as he grinned. Then, like a change in the wind, his face grew stern and cold. “Wasps on the other hand, are total shits.”

  The Mariner inched forward and sat before Absinth, becoming to him the pupil he’d once refused the Oracle.

  “There is one type of wasp I wish to speak of, one above all the others. This particular wasp lived in the Americas-”

  The name sounded familiar, yet strange. He found himself thinking of California, that name written upon the bottles of wine he’d devoured an aeon ago. He asked Absinth where this strange place was, though his query was met with frustration.

  “Be quiet Claude! I’m trying to explain something! Every beast wishes to protect its young, and this wasp is no different. However, instead of making a nest or laying eggs, the wasp finds a caterpillar and pierces it with a stinger. The caterpillar surviv
es and believes itself to have narrowly escaped death, yet it has not. Inside its plump body the Wasp’s young grow, its babies; the caterpillar having become impregnated during the attack.”

  As Absinth spoke, the Mariner found himself fidgeting uncomfortably, a growing uneasiness building in his gut.

  “They feed from their host, always careful not to feast upon vital organs, always wary that to kill the caterpillar would end their living nursery.”

  Itch upon itch broke out across the Mariner’s skin, and as each were scratched, several more began in its place. The Mariner became like a child riddled with lice, squirming where he sat.

  “Soon the caterpillar, having grown fat, comes to believe that it is thriving. Little does it know that deep within its swollen body there are dozens of squirming larvae, for it is they who have grown fat, not it.”

  The itching had become unbearable and the Mariner lost all semblance of a pupil; now he rolled about on the ground, clawing at his skin.

  “And then finally the hatching day arrives. The wasp larvae begin to eat their way free. Munch munch munch, through flesh they go. Munch munch much through organs. The caterpillar is so confused it cannot fight; in fact all it wants is the larvae back, back inside so it can feel fat once more. Can you imagine the confusion? The distress? To see your own innards tear themselves free?”

  With the final word spoken, the torment stopped. All that was left was the heat of lingering pain upon his flesh. The Mariner stood, still under the gaze of the man who’d once been his friend and foe.

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  Absinth seemed to think for a moment, though when he spoke it was clear he’d paused simply to play with the Mariner’s unease. “I’ve brought something for you.”

  “What is it?”

  “A box.”