We Float Upon a Painted Sea

by Christopher Connor

  Andrew convinced himself that his deteriorating state of mind was so rapid and dangerous, he had to let Ashley and the children go. At the time, it seemed a noble act which would enable him to break free from their marriage and Ashley would receive all the sympathy from their friends and family. He would be ostracised but this was a price worth paying for her sanity. As long as he could still see his children, his plan was totally flawless. He had long lost sight of his MoDs objectives as a Filter. Andrew hadn’t calculated for the pain and suffering he was about to inflict on his wife. It came as a surprise to him. He had always been convinced that she had detached herself from him, but the wheels of his plan were in motion and it was too late to turn back. Later that year, Ashley confronted Andrew at his flat after stopping off at his work colleague’s home to find out the truth. She was at her wits end.

  “Why did you do this? What is going on in your mind man? Are you totally crazy? Have you considered what this is doing to the children?” Andrew had no answers. He stood on his front doorstep, in the rain and looking at his wet slippers. Ashley smacked him on the face then turned on her heels and got back into her car.

  The next day, Andrew visited his psychiatrist. He talked about his wife, children, his grandfather and his mother. For the first time he mentioned his father without being prompted. Andrew talked openly about their relationship. For the most part he didn’t say anything that psychiatrists haven’t heard before, but he recorded how Andrew’s father had secretly installed an ultra sonic youth deterrent device in his study, where he spent most of his time. When the children came into bother him he would flick the switch from under his desk and Andrew and Graham would be subjected to an irritating high pitched noise, only detectable to animals and teenagers. As they both ran into the garden with their pet dog howling before them, they could hear the rare sound of satisfied laughter coming from their father’s study.

  The psychiatrist talked to him about Ashley and what he thought was meant by the concept of love. He read back his own words from his previous session where he had been asked to write down his random thoughts on the subject. He had written,

  Everything is judged on words these days not deeds and the word love is constantly thrown in your face. Well let me tell you this my friends, love destroys, love confuses, it deceives, betrays, beguiles and utterly devours the soul. Love is a hungry beast that at first so sweetly takes you by the hand and leads you blindly from reality to an irrational picnic of whimsical gluttony where one gorges oneself until sick; sick to the teeth but it still needs feeding like a greedy little beggar. Love is treacherous in every form or nature and I refused to eat from the beggar’s bowl that is shoved in my face.

  Andrew was surprised and couldn’t recall writing the extract on his own notepad. It had been Andrew’s final session with his psychiatrist and at no time did he disclose his work for the MoDs. Later that day, Andrew drove to South Queensferry marina. He sailed his yacht under the Forth Rail Bridge and towards the open sea. He was distracted by a man shouting and threatening to throw himself off the bridge and didn’t see the bow wave from the oil tanker hit his yacht and knock him into the water.

  Andrew opened his sore eyes and peered into the gloom of the lifeboat. Ashley’s voice emerged in his mind,

  “Andrew, your thoughts are random and uncontrollable. Do you wish to live your life without recourse from everything and everyone?”

  “I’m sorry, Ashley. Please don’t hold court, don’t judge me. I was foolish. I was confused. I needed time, time on my own, time to think, time to… ”

  “But this is not about you having time. This is about your selfishness and your inability to build any meaningful relationships. This is about you failing and running away. You always runaway.”

  “I’m so sorry Ashley. Don’t hate me. Please give me one last chance to prove to you…”

  “It’s not to me you have to prove your worth. Do you want to live the rest of your life escaping your responsibilities?”

  “Forgive me. Please forgive me my darling. I love you. Please don’t give up on me. I’ve got so much to explain to you. I see things so clearly now. Let me explain to you.” Ashley’s voice vanished.

  Andrew got up and clawed the tears from his face. He gazed out of the porthole and surveyed the featureless seascape. The sky was a pig iron grey and banks of low lying cloud lay thick on the horizon. If there was land out there, I wouldn’t be able to see it, he thought. He went up into the viewing turret and rested his head on the pilot’s wheel. He contemplated his chances of survival and refused to resign himself to believing he was only delaying his death.

  Chapter 21: Guillemots in flight

  The following day, Andrew had been encouraged by the sight of a flock of guillemots. He cut the engine and sat watching them for a while and then he climbed down to the cabin. Bull lay on the centre bench, his fist held against his stomach and only moving at the behest of the faltering boat. Andrew said,

  “What’s the matter with you? Seasickness back again?” Bull was awake but his eyes were shut. He groaned, “It’s getting worse.”

  “I’ve just spotted some migrating birds, presumably heading south for the winter so I’m quite sure we’re going in the right direction.”

  Bull failed to see the significance. He stayed in the cabin for most of the day fighting the nauseating storm brewing within his stomach. He was determined to keep his breakfast down, but the ailing feeling of semi-digested ration bars moving from his gut up through his oesophagus, and the unmistakeable burning sensation of vomit at the back of his throat began to consume him. Bull rushed to the escape hatch and then on to the deck. He clasped the guard rails and retched. The wind caught hold of his gastric discharge as it uncoiled from his gaping mouth, sending it hurling towards Andrew who was watching him from the viewing turret. Bull’s ejection splattered across the Perspex windscreen.

  Andrew gripped the pilot’s wheel and frowned. He heard the escape hatch door close then Bull popped his head up into the viewing turret and said,

  “That’s so much better. I feel human again. I could really do with a hot bath right now.”

  “Yes, on that we can agree.” Bull provided Andrew with a quizzical look. He felt a new remoteness from him.

  “You hardly smell like a bowl of potpourri yourself. When can I get a turn at driving?” Andrew breathed in deeply and still staring out at the grey seascape, he said,

  “I’m piloting this vessel and you’re the lookout, only you don’t seem to be doing a very good job of it at the moment. It was the same on the raft.”

  “I’ve been ill.”

  “Yes I can see that, the evidence is all over my screen.”

  “Sorry about that but that, I thought I would have my sea legs by now. Maybe it’s your driving,” said Bull with a faint smile.

  “Why don’t you try a spot of fishing? We’re running low on rations.”

  Bull went to the escape hatch door. He turned and called back,

  “Are you sure you know where you are going? Surely we should have made land by now?” Andrew didn’t reply and then he heard the hatch door close behind him.

  “Oh God have mercy on us,” bewailed Andrew out loud. “Of all the passengers to survive the sinking of the Andrea Starlight, why did I have to end up with him? Andrew felt a pang of guilt and considered that his sentiments may have been harsh. They had already been through a great deal together and Bull was most likely coping with the mental and physical hardship in the best way he could. Andrew returned his gaze to the sea. Once more he could see Bull outside on the deck, one hand holding onto the guard rails struggling to keep his balance. He looked at him with more sympathetic eyes, and then Bull lifted up his fur coat, pointed his appendage out towards the sea and began to piss. The wind blew the fountain of orange coloured urine back across the deck and showered the viewing turret. Bull turned his head and offered Andrew a half-hearted apology.

  Andrew winced as if in pain, and then he looked down at th
e space where his wedding ring once banded his finger. His psychiatrist had told him, during times of intense stress, to imagine a mental well deep within him. The well was designed as a source of reassurance and he was encouraged to imagine himself drawing a bucket of comfort. Andrew visualised his inner well but he had fallen into it and the waters were dark and contaminated. Another person had invaded his inner sanctuary, unseen, under the water, but he knew he was there. Watching and tormenting him. He fictionalised Bull emerging from the stagnant pool, his long black hair dripping wet, his clawing hands stretched out as he moved towards him. He snapped himself out of the vision. The morsel of confidence acquired that morning had departed with the guillemots. Andrew shivered and then started the engine.

  Later in the day, the wind dropped and the fog returned. It was thick and encircled them. The lifeboat continued to power its way through the waves, rocking from side to side in a hypnotising manner. Andrew considered the wisdom of navigating blind through fog but he felt it was a risk worth taking. It had been a long time since he had felt land under his feet and he was itching to feel the sensation again. His mind wandered back to his Borders home, where he was raised. He imagined the aromatic smell of the golden autumn leaves as he trailed through the Ettrick Forest and the Eildon Hills. He remembered the fishing trips to the Tweed, sitting on the banks of the river with his thermos flask, eating freshly prepared sandwiches. He remembered his Grandfather telling him about the secret hollow of the Devil’s Beef Tub, where the Covenanters would hide from the dragoons in the 17th century. His mind was filled with visions of the waterfall at the Grey Mare’s Tail, the haunted castle of Neidpath and days out with the family at the Kelso races.

  On deck Bull noticed a rope tied to a dolly and dragging behind the boat. He tried to loosen the knot by hand but eventually he gave up and returned to the cabin. He shouted to Andrew from the hatch door, asking if he could borrow his multi-tool to cut the rope. No answer came forth. Bull looked at Andrew’s lower torso, not able to see his head. He described how the rope should have been tied up and how foolish they would feel if they ended up having to repair the propellers again, if it had gotten snagged on the blades. He imagined Andrew’s moribund expression and sneering lips as he continued the more important task of piloting the vessel, leaving all the less important ship maintenance jobs to him. He shouted once more but then decided that the noise of the engine must be drowning out his voice.

  Unwilling to disturb him further, he slipped his hands into the pocket of Andrew’s anorak but instead of clutching a multi-tool, he cut his hand on the hook of his fishing lure. Curiously, Bull examined the object sticking out of his thumb. He was struck with the horrifying concept that the tail of the lure appeared to be made from a lock of his hair. He cut my hair when I was asleep, he thought. Bull was gripped by fury and went to the survival pack and withdrew a signalling mirror. The first thing he noticed was the reflected background. The light didn't seem right, he thought, it shimmered unnaturally, scattering through the portholes and dancing erratically around the cabin. He turned his attention to his own reflection. Haggard eyes and the beard had aged him, but then he discovered a sheared patch of hair on his scalp. He glared back in Andrew’s direction and then back towards the fishing lure.

  “My hair,” he repeated remorsefully. Bull’s eyes narrowed and he marched towards the pilot seat. He tapped Andrew on the leg. There was still no response. Bull stooped and twisted his head, taking a look up into the viewing turret. Andrew’s face was pressed against the pilot’s wheel. He was asleep. Bull shouted,

  “Wake up you dopey bastard!” Andrew flinched violently. He said,

  “What?” I was just resting my eyes,” Bull was now blind with anger. He had forgotten about his missing lock of hair. He shouted,

  “You fell asleep at the wheel! We’re probably lost! Let’s see the compass?” Bull thrust his head up inside the viewing turret. The electronic compass displayed the word, calibrate. Bull hissed, “What’s going on Sherlock, why isn’t the compass calibrated.”

  “I did calibrate it, but something has obviously gone wrong. I’ve never trusted electronic compasses.”

  “We’ve been motoring off towards the middle of nowhere for days and there’s still no sign of land.”

  “Look here, I was only cat napping. I’m perfectly aware…”

  “No, you look here,” interrupted Bull, “if you were driving a bus full of school children and you fell asleep, you couldn’t say, sorry, I must have taken forty winks. Pity about all the dead tots! Well could you?”

  Andrew was speechless. His eyes sparked back into life. He said,

  “I can’t see how that is relevant considering I’m not driving a bus but piloting a boat although there is a passenger acting likes a child onboard. I haven’t got us lost, as you put it. I know roughly our location and for you to criticise me for sleeping is a wee bit rich.” Bull sniffed Andrew, as if alcohol had been the cause of his doziness at the wheel. A look of confusion flashed across his face. Finally, he said,

  “You’re talking shit Sherlock. If I sleep, it’s on my own time, not when I’m on duty and responsible for the safety of the boat and its crew. I don’t pretend to know much about marine safety, but I’m pretty sure that travelling in the fog with no navigation instruments and a pilot sleeping at the wheel is classified as fucking reckless.”

  “You’re being melodramatic my friend, I could only have nodded off for a few seconds and why did you sniff me. Its not the first time...”

  Bull stretched his hand up inside the viewing turret and switched off the engine. Andrew grunted in annoyance. He climbed down from the pilot’s seat. Bull stood firm and said,

  “This isn’t some regatta Sherlock. If we had been sharing the driving we might have found land by now, but you have to be leader, you have to be captain, and you always have to be in charge. You’re enjoying this aren’t you?”

  “Enjoying this? Do you actually think I enjoy being imprisoned on this boat with you? Now, give me back the keys,” growled Andrew.

  “Not until you explain what you are up to. I don’t think you even want to be rescued. Not when you can be out here playing your survival games and pretending to know what you’re doing, when all the time you’re proper clueless. But you’re too proud or stupid to admit it. You never really knew what you were doing but all the same I trusted you, and it takes a great deal for someone to earn my trust. But now I find out that you’ve been falling asleep at the wheel and leading us around in circles. And another thing, you’ve been cutting my hair while I was sleeping! What a creepy thing to do.”

  Bull held the fishing lure aloft. Andrew raised his eyebrows and said,

  “Have you been going through my pockets? You’re no better than a thief. Are there no acceptable boundaries that you will not cross?

  “Boundaries! Boundaries?” repeated Bull.

  “Going through someone’s pockets without their permission is crossing a boundary. Well it is where I come from.”

  “You have the nerve to talk about thieving and boundaries after you cut my hair, without my permission?”

  “You’re overreacting. You liked that raw fish I caught. I couldn’t have done that without your unmanageable hair.”

  “My hair is not unmanageable.”

  “It’s thick and greasy. It’s full of split ends and frayed at the tips like deer hair or buck tail. I wouldn’t get so precious about it.” Bull’s lower jaw dropped in disbelief. He took a deep breath then said,

  “Don’t you know salt water can wreak havoc with your hair and my diet of late can’t have helped?” He pointed to the supplies saying, “Not likely to be any avocado or buttermilk in there?”

  “If there were, we wouldn’t be conditioning your hair with it.”

  “It’s a pity there isn’t any strong coffee in the supplies, it might have kept you awake.”

  “Coffee is a diuretic you fool, why would you need that in a survival situation when dehydration is of para
mount concern.”

  “Just off the top of my head, but to keep the dopey pilot from falling asleep and getting us lost?”

  “I told you, I nodded off for just a few seconds…”

  “Liar! For all I know you’ve been sleeping all the while, ever since we set off for God only knows where. ” Andrew flushed viciously and looking towards the centre bench where Malcolm’s bag lay, he snarled,

  “Ok, I might have nodded off but it was an honest mistake. We all make mistakes. Fortunately, my mistake didn’t lead to a death.”

  Bull’s facial expression changed from bewilderment to hurt and then to anger. Andrew waited on Bull’s response like a military general who had served off a volley of cannon fire and then anticipated the enemy’s response. He stared into Bull’s crimson face. Bull’s lips trembled and small amounts of white foam seeped from the corners of his mouth. Andrew’s own lips curled into an involuntarily and withering sneer. Bull turned his head and stabbed a glance at Malcolm’s bag. He breathed sharply through his clenched teeth.

  “It wasn’t like that. You said yourself he would have died anyway and I only took the bag off him because the strap got tangled around his neck.” Andrew shook his head sorrowfully,

  “It’s clear to me that you were only thinking about yourself but I suppose that this is a characteristic you readily portray in life.”

  Andrew’s derisory comment had hit the target with aplomb. He was starting to enjoy the discomfort he had dumped upon his fellow survivor when Bull leaned his head forward menacingly and said,