Art Langly, short, portly, and with a long brown ponytail, emerged wearing a red tank top and bright yellow shorts. He had on orange slippers. The contrast, even in the coming dusk, was obnoxious. Art had been taking advantage of the sun during the three days and had already developed a deep tan. He had a clean-shaven face, big dark eyes, and a broad, square chin. He was carrying a tray of gouda cheese, sliced apples, and grilled pineapples covered in barbecue sauce.
“What’s all the excitement about, boys?” he asked.
Tommy took a slice of apple and cheese and popped them into his mouth. “Skipper here wants to take us into another dimension,” Tommy said, chewing. “Damn, that’s good!”
“One of sight and sound?” Art said. “How so?”
“It’s just the ocean,” Tommy said. “He’s been out here a long time. I think its time we found him a nice apartment on dry land. What do you say, Captain?”
Tallard was silent. He shrugged and smiled. “It’s your call, boys,” he said, taking the same combo on the tray as Tommy. “No wine?” he asked Art.
“Ah, yes!” Art said, mimicking the accent Tommy had used earlier. “Below deck, sire! I can’t carry everything, you know.”
Art handed Tommy the tray of appetizers. “You never told me what all the hubbub was about?” Art asked.
“Do you believe in ghosts?” Tommy asked, taking another slice of cheese and apple.
Langly furrowed his brows.
Carl ignored them and stared out over the Pacific. The sun finally winked out of sight.
*
After a night of swordfish and wine, Tallard retired early while Tommy and Art lounged on the sun deck, making quiet conversation in the dark. The night sky, while in the middle of the Pacific, was the most impressive spread of nebulous lights Tommy and Art had ever seen, one of the many perks about the yearly vacation, helping sway them onto Preservation. Tallard said goodnight early.
He was up, however, before six a.m. Not his style; he preferred sleeping in. What priorities did he have in the middle of the ocean with nothing but the salty breeze and the crisp, summer sky to keep him company?
The vessel from the night before, however, was the first thing on his mind. It was more than an ancient vessel, more than love and dreams. In the morning, it called to him again…
Carl donned a pair of shorts and the blue windbreaker from the night before. He did not take his hat. He didn’t put on his deck shoes, but grabbed the telescope from the side dresser and sauntered on deck of Preservation.
The sun already lightened the clear, morning sky to the east. The firmament was a stretch of soft blue and rose. If the ship were any closer, he’d be able to see it now. If it had traveled away from him, however, it might be gone.
Putting the telescope to his eye, Carl looked over the rail, scanning the sea in the same spot as the night before.
He winced. Why hadn’t he noticed it before he put the telescope to his eye? He didn’t need it. In the space of an evening, in the early dawn, the ship had closed the distance by half. The vessel had followed them, steering in the same course as Preservation. Putting the telescope to his eye, despite its proximity, Tallard scanned the deck of the vessel for any signs of life.
“It is a ghost ship,” he mumbled. A brisk, morning chill—as if in answer—ran along the length of his spine.
It wasn’t the Santa Maria, but it might as well be. The red crosses were the only missing ingredient.
“You sonofagun,” he said. “Yes. You sonofagun. You turned toward me, didn’t you? You saw me coming. I’ll be damned. Right out of the days of Columbus.”
From what he could see, no one was on deck. Maybe they were having breakfast.
You’re living it all over again, crazy boy. Everything you’ve ever dreamed. This is it. Your life’s fantasy. The world around you. This is what you’re supposed to be. This is true love, crazy love.
Like a fox.
True love had to be magical. He heeded the call, not turning it aside. Ah, he thought, the beauty of ships. They guided themselves, bulk cruisers of the sea. What was he worried about?
Honey, I think we’ll take the five-hundred-year old vessel out today. That sound good to you?
Tallard had every reason to puzzle over this phenomenon, but what could he do? Steer the houseboat to starboard until it brushed the ancient, caramel-colored sides, hop on deck, and see what had happened to the crew?
Yes. That’s exactly what you could do. You’re pals might think you a little off your rocker, but hey, what sane man spends ninety-nine percent of his life on the ocean to begin with, especially in 2008?
Tallard was wide-awake. He smiled, impatient to show his friends what he already knew.
He took one last look. He was thirteen again for a minute.
Carl decided to get breakfast ready. It wasn’t much of a vacation if Art had to prepare everybody’s meals.
Reluctantly turning away, he headed below deck.
As he closed the ship from sight, he felt something reaching out, an impossibly long tentacle brushing his neck like a sea monster.
Or was it Carl reaching for the ship, the ancient, ghostly thing destined to wander the desolate, dark waters of the Pacific?
It’s love.
Love? Yes. He supposed it was. Crazy love. Like a fox.
Carl smiled, as if he’d been kissed for the very first time. He found himself hurrying like mad to get breakfast ready.
*
“What sayest thou, Tonto? Have biggun chief found ancient vessel?” Tommy was always in rare humor to start the days. He had not come on deck until Tallard woke him, serving Tommy breakfast in bed. After two cups of coffee, and rubbing the glue out of his eyes, Tommy followed Tallard on deck, and saw the vessel not a quarter-mile out. “Holy shit!” he exclaimed, no longer in rare humor. “That’s your lost ship, isn’t it?”
“The very beauty herself. Kinda special, isn’t she? Take a long look. You might never see anything like her again.”
The ship was clearly visible, though still a ways in the distance. Looking through the telescope, Tommy did see a resemblance to the lost Santa Maria.
“It looks straight out of Christopher Columbus, doesn’t it?” Tommy said.
“The weird thing is no one’s on deck,” Carl said.
“Why is that weird?” Tommy asked.
“Well, it’s weird because if they’re having breakfast, they’ve been having breakfast a long time. I’ve been watching it for the last hour. Someone has to man the wheel.”
“That ship’s being manned by Claude Reins?”
“It appears so.”
Tommy laughed, not believing. “Quit pulling my leg. Maybe they dropped anchor. I mean, it doesn’t look like its moving. What’s going on?”
“I guess they could’ve dropped anchor. But if so, why are the sails still up?”
Art was lounging on deck, listening. He had the same perplexed look on his face.
“You don’t believe any of this, do you, Art?” Tommy said. “He’s telling us there’s a ghost ship out there. Are you listening to this rubbish?”
Art didn’t say anything. He shrugged and raised a rare, morning beer to his lips.
“Uh-huh,” Tommy understood. “Couple a’ practical jokesters. Almost had me. Old Tommy, that gullible Molly.”
Tallard wasn’t smiling.
Something caressed the base of his spine again, warning him about friends.
The only thing amiss, he realized, was he wasn’t behind the wheel. Maybe the emptiness of the ship was telling him this.
“Have a drink,” Carl told him. His voice was unwavering, smooth, distanced from logic. In his mind, he was already on the vessel.
“Isn’t it a little early to be drinking?” Tommy asked.
“Make an exception,” Carl told him and motioned to Art. “He has.”
Tommy nodded and reached into the cooler for a much-needed beer.
*
Throughout the day, Carl ke
pt looking west, toward the ship. His friends told him to ignore it, but it was hard, especially since the ship was…speaking to him.
They fished throughout the day without much luck and continued to joke and sample some of the finer delicacies of Art’s talents. They drank heavily and had a good time in the July heat. When the stars came out, however, Carl was exhausted again. He retired to bed early for the second night in a row, leaving Tommy and Art to recline on deck.
Tallard, once asleep, dreamed of love and fate, a premonition of things to come. His friends were not with him on this haven out at sea. The ship came to him, not as a vessel, but an angel of the ocean water, an exquisite, sensual bride, coercing him toward intoxication. Carl understood every word she spoke. Light fell across her shoulders in gossamer threads. He heeded the call. She was, after all, his life and bride, and he did everything she told him. He knew everything, as if it had come to him…
In a dream…
If it was a dream, it was extraordinarily vivid. Why would his friends not want him to have this?
“You grab his legs,” Tommy said, in the dream. “And we’ll throw him overboard.”
Art nodded.
Together, they bound Carl’s arms and legs with rope. They wrapped duct tape around his head and mouth, so he couldn’t scream.
Art picked Carl up by his feet. Tallard struggled. Together, Tommy and Art, heaved him over Preservation, and into the cold dark Pacific.
But she’ll save me, Tallard thought, sinking to the ocean floor. She’ll come and cut the ropes. It doesn’t matter that they don’t want me to have this. I’ll be with her instead. Let them take Preservation. She never meant anything to me anyway.
Carl Tallard was crazy like a fox with love.
That wood tastes like caramel. It’s conquest. Peace and safety. The dream you’ve been waiting for your whole life.
Tallard did want to be a part of it. Victory was in the taste of caramel, the color of the wood.
I am the one for you. I am the grinding, lustful thing you’ve wanted savagely to abuse. It’s always been about more than the ocean. Capsize me, you hunk of a man! Bury your telescope in my port!
He didn’t know who was talking. Was it his imagination, or was the soul of the vessel reaching out with slender arms to seduce him?
The tug to his soul was obvious, offering him sights and sounds he’d never imagined. He discovered more than Columbus ever had. Remember this date! They’ll call it Carl’s Day!
Every man must have a treasure to hunt for. Every man must know what that treasure is.
Was that his father talking? Had daddy said those words?
Hey dad, look what you gave me! Look what it led to! Can you believe it? In your wildest dreams, before you died—as I held your hand in the stagnant hospital bed and the cancer took you—did you ever imagine anything this grand for your only boy?
Eternal paramour of the sea, sweet like caramel pushing at my love, rescuing me, a helpless boy of thirteen…
Only one thing stood in his way. One thing he knew he must do to make his dreams come true…
Funny thing about friends…
“Eternal bliss and safety,” Carl said through the tape, bubbles rising to the surface as he lay back on the ocean floor. “Drifting farther out to sea, away from the mainland.”
He had life, even under water.
How else do you expect to be crazy, love?
“Like a fox?”
Something like that.
Art and Tommy were jealous. That was all. They were willing to commit murder to prevent him from having an eternal love affair.
“Why?” he asked. “Why would they do that to me? I tried to give them this time away, so they, too, could see how much she loves them. They could’ve been here with me. We could’ve all been happy here, like a family.”
He’d mourn for them later. The sadness he felt was a dull, fiery blade.
Another vision came to life. In the dream, he was suddenly on deck of Preservation again. Art and Tommy tugged at him, trying to prevent him from boarding the ship.
“Carl, don’t!” Tommy said. “It’s not safe! Please! Stay here! We’ll go back to shore! We have to get away from here!”
They wanted her for themselves. That was it. They were trying to confuse him, drive him…crazy?
“Something’s not right with that vessel,” Art said. “Good God, Carl, can’t you see that? Please! Don’t go!”
Yes, papa. You said something about a treasure. This is what I found. Have you ever been more proud of me than you are now?
The ship solidified every confusing thing about his life. Once he touched her, grabbed the wheel, and steered her toward the sun, he’d be the man he’d always wanted to be. But he couldn’t do it without her. Even his father had said something similar.
Tommy and Art didn’t want him to have the ship, which left Carl with only one choice…
Tallard smiled in his dream. He felt better than he had in a long time. Hadn’t he, in some way, found his destiny? Wasn’t it the desire of all men: love and destiny, the desire that came with it all?
In the dream, a sudden fog enveloped Preservation and the ship he longed for. He broke free of Tommy and Art and ran toward the railing. He leapt and came down onto the deck of the ancient vessel. He waved good-bye to Art and Tommy. They did not wave back. Troubled looks crossed their faces. They exchanged words. Shouldn’t they be happy for him? Tommy and Art disappeared in the mist, leaving him alone with his eternal paramour. They could go back to land and mystify over his actions, but it didn’t concern Carl now.
He closed his eyes and smiled, listening to the water lap against the sides of the ship. The heavy fog closed in. He could barely discern the black, oily depths of the ocean.
The ship had a mind of its own, steering him toward the gathering mist, farther from the coast of California.
He knelt on the deck and kissed the planks, tasting not wood, but caramel…
*
But that was all a dream.
When he woke, Carl felt the dream and the realness of life. The dream had felt real, and if he didn’t hurry, his friends would put a stop to it…
He awoke a changed man.
Tallard grabbed the gun from the bottom drawer of the dresser. He’d never had reason to use it until now, merely a safety precaution.
He grabbed the magazine from the back of the drawer, inspected the clip (full) and shoved it into the handle, hearing a satisfying ‘click’. It was a good sound, a professional sound, a sound that confirmed the job he had to do. The gun was a Beretta M-92.
You’re a better person, for what it’s worth. It’s not gonna be the same now. Everything is special. You are special. The trip you’ve taken is not temporary. You’re here for good, you know?
Influenced by the sway of the sea, Carl Tallard made restitution while sleeping. For him, he’d never felt more resolute, more in control of his destiny and thoughts. He was a man made by principal. All he had to do was stick to the plan.
The sadness of betrayal gripped his heart. It was mutiny—and as any Captain will testify—it was simply unacceptable.
Quietly, with the gun in hand, Tallard walked down the hall where Art lay sleeping in his room.
It was rightfully his, this mysterious ship. After seeing it only twice, he wondered how close it was today.
Tallard seized the moment, how to react in order to obtain his goal. Life was the ocean. Friends were only an obstacle, preventing him from obtaining the prize. How could he even call them friends?
He should be thankful.
Lucky?
Ah, yes, the thing following him through life, granting him miracles along the way. Luck had given him the information he needed. Luck brought to light this terrible treason, the way he’d played his cards all his life. Tallard was gifted, uncovering talents he never knew existed. He had a calling. He could not abandon his mission!
My love for you will have its rewards. It depends on the cho
ices you make, Skipper. Save your emotion ’til later. I am here with you now. I will rock you to sleep, cradle you in my arms. Because you never had one, I’m your mother now.
Funny, Carl thought. He couldn’t remember his mother, his father ever mentioning what had happened to her. Did she die during his birth, abandon him to his father, or leave him in a garbage can?
True love is the understanding sympathy of a caring mother.
For the sake of his life and sanity, Carl grabbed the knob to Art’s room and turned it. He pushed open the door and stepped into the dark where mutiny lay sleeping.
To his surprise, Tallard felt a terrible surge of emotion. How could they do this to him? He didn’t want to understand it, he realized. The thought of their betrayal brought tears to his eyes.
Art was snoring. Tallard, standing over his ‘so-called’ friend watched him for a few seconds before lifting the gun.
This person sleeping was a stranger.
Tallard grabbed one of the unused pillows and placed it over Langly’s face.
“There is only one cure for mutiny,” Tallard whispered.
Art struggled under the pillow. The man sucked for breath. Carl placed the muzzle of the gun into the pillow and pulled the trigger three times. The shots were loud, making Carl wince. Feathers rose into the air and descended.
Art’s feeble struggles ceased. Blood oozed from under the pillow.
The gunfire was loud enough to wake Tommy from across the hall. Not long after, Molly stood in the doorway wearing his boxers.
“Carl?”
The voice was eerily familiar. Tallard couldn’t quite place it.
You have come onto my ship. You have taken complete advantage of me. You have allowed me to suffer. You would’ve fed me to the sharks.
Things moved too fast. Who were these people, and how had they come here? The answer was just out of his reach…
Something about friends…
“Carl, good Christ!” Tommy said, his eyes wide in shock, very much awake. “What did you do?”
As if you didn’t know, Carl thought. As if it’s all a big mystery!
Body of Immorality Page 7