by S. T. Joshi
“‘He’? You mean Rick? Rick did this?”
“To bring you to him, to what he is.”
“Bring me—”
“To bloom.”
“This is—No. No.” She had wanted to hurl the bottle at Rick’s father, but had been unable to release her grip on it. “Not Rick. No.”
He had not argued the point; instead, before the last denial had left her mouth, the space where he’d stood had been empty.
That had been… not that long ago, she thought. Time enough for the horizon to flush, for her to feel herself departing the city of awe to which the night’s sights had brought her for somewhere else, a great grey ocean swelling with storm. She had squinted at the bottle of Stolichnaya, at the black dots drifting in what remained of its contents. Rick had done this? So she could be his consort? Given what she’d witnessed this night, it seemed silly to declare one detail of it more outrageous than the rest, but this… She could understand, well, imagine how an appearance by his father might have convinced her husband that eating the thing in the cooler was a good idea. But to leap from that to thinking that he needed to bring Connie along for the ride—that was something else.
The thing was, it was entirely typical of the way Rick acted, had acted, the length of their relationship. He plunged into decisions like a bungee-jumper abandoning the trestle of a bridge, confident that the cord to which he’d tethered himself, i.e. her, would pull him back from the jagged rocks below. He dropped out of grad school even though it meant he would lose the deferment for the sixty thousand dollars in student loans he had no job to help him repay. He registered for expensive training courses for professions in which he lost interest halfway through the class. He overdrew their joint account for take-out dinners when there was a refrigerator’s worth of food waiting at home. And now, the same tendencies that had led to them having so much difficulty securing a mortgage—that had left the fucking cell phone’s battery depleted—had caused him to… she wasn’t even sure she knew the word for it.
The sky between the trees on the rise was filling with color, pale rose deepening to rich crimson, the trunks and branches against it an extravagant calligraphy she could not read. The light ruddied her skin, shone redly on the bottle, glowed hellishly on the frosted steps, deck. She stared through the trees at it, let it saturate her vision.
The photons cascaded against her leaves, stirring them to life.
(What?)
She convoluted, moving at right angles to herself, the sunlight fracturing.
(Oh)
Blackness.
(God.)
She lurched to her feet.
Roots tingled, blackness, unfolding, frost underfoot. Connie gripped the liquor bottle by the neck and swung it against the porch railing. Smashing it took three tries. The last of the vodka splashed onto the deck planks. She pictured hundreds of tiny black—what had Rick’s father called them?—embryos shrieking, realized she was seeing them, hearing them.
Blackness her stalk inturning glass on skin. Connie inspected the bottle’s jagged top. As improvised weapons went, she supposed it wasn’t bad, but she had the feeling she was bringing a rock to a nuclear war.
The dawn air was full of the sound of flapping, of leathery wings snapping. She could almost see the things that were swirling around the house, could feel the spaces they were twisting. She released the blanket, let it slide to the deck. She crossed to the door to the laundry room, still unlocked. Had she thought it wouldn’t be? Connie adjusted her grip on her glass knife, opened the door, and stepped into the house.
For Fiona
* * *
And the Sea Gave Up the Dead
JASON C. ECKHARDT
Jason C. Eckhardt is a freelance illustrator who writes on occasion, relishing the added dimension of time in the written medium. His stories and articles have appeared in the Weird Fiction Review, Lovecraft Studies, Studies in Weird Fiction, and other journals. For his own reading he enjoys the works of Lovecraft, Dunsany, Bierce, Robert E. Howard, Loren Estleman, and various histories. He lives in Massachusetts with his wife, stepdaughters, and cats.
* * *
IN 2004 HISTORIANS AND NATURALISTS ALIKE WERE galvanized by the news of the discovery of the sea-journals of British naturalist Margate Townshend. The small, sharkskin-bound octavo volumes came to light during an auction of an anonymous lot at the London auction house of Berkley and Dighton that year and were subsequently purchased by representatives of the Miskatonic University School of Natural History. As a first-hand account of Captain James Cook’s second great voyage of exploration (1772–75), by an aide to the ship’s official “natural historians,” Johann Reinhold Forster and his son George, the value of this document is unquestioned. The wealth of data on the flora, fauna, and native customs of the Pacific will be of inestimable worth to future scholars of history, anthropology, and biology.
But the journal’s importance transcends even these great boons. Specifically, it may settle for once and for all the long debate as to why Cook, retreating from the Antarctic pack in January 1774, abruptly came about in Latitude 47 degrees south to make his famous run to 71 degrees, 10 minutes south, “as far as I think it possible for man to go.”
The period in question in Townshend’s journals is January 5–11, 1774. Scholars will be struck immediately with the many discrepancies between Townshend’s account and those of other diarists aboard the Resolution (the redoubtable Cook among them). But certain internal evidences in Townshend’s text, coupled with its virtual agreement with other shipboard chronicles on all other aspects of the voyage, have led many to the conclusion that Townshend’s account is the more reliable; and, conversely, that there was a conspiracy of silence among the rest of the explorers over what they found during those lost days. The reasons for this will become obvious upon reading. It is with the intention of inspiring further debate and intellectual inquiry that the following text is now published and submitted to the public for the first time, through a grant from the Francis Wayland Thurston Research Fund.
1774 JAN’RY 5.
THIS MORN THE WIND CALM, THE SKY CLEAR—A Blessing to be free of the wicked Cold and Ice-mountains of the extreme South. Quantities of Sea-Birds encounterd, incl. Albatross, Sheerwaters, the Puffinus of Linnaeus, &c. Flying Fisshe too, flockes of them such that the Deck was littered all about with them, shining like Bars of Silver. They flew head on into our Ship as if driven by a Blast. Later encounter’d Several of Squidd of unknown species, swimming S.S.W. These we saw off and on until the Duske descended, after which Time these fishe were visible by the bright Maculations of Colour upon their long and many Armes.
1774 JAN’RY 6.
CLEAR AND THE WIND CONTINUES ASTERN, WARMER every Day, tho’ while the weather stays amenable the Crewmen appear restless. One or two complain of the Squid, which Creture we have seen in increasing Shoals of hundreds, nay, thousands. Their Peculiarity evaded me untill one of the seamen caught one up with his fizgig [i.e., harpoon]. He landed the Squid upon the deck for our Inspection. It proved a large (15 feet) variant of Teuthis Linn[aeus], but in place of the usual Finns imployed in moving them thro’ the water these have large Wings of a membraneous Aspect much like to Bats wings. A set of segmented Fingers sprout from either side of the Squids head and it is upon these that the Wings are spread as Sails are set upon Spars. I made bold to christen it my self, calling it Teuthis megaptera after its great Wings (pace Linnaeus).
Beyond this, tho’, we did not have time sufficient thoroughly to examine this Specimin, for the Sailors did not like the look of its Eyes, saying It gives us the Evill Eye. Forster, eager to dissect the animal, attempted to assuage their Fears, reminding them that onlie a Man can possess a Soul & a Consciousness & Will. But they are a superstitious Lot and to ease them we threw the Thing back into the Sea.
1774 JAN’RY 7.
THE WIND THAT HAD BLOWNE US CLEAR OF THE Antarctic regions now abates somewhat, the sky still clear but temperature hot. More squid pass
on, flights of many Birds, too—Albatross, Tropick birds, & the Great Petrel Micronectes giganteus Linn., all in a South by Southwesterly fashion. Their Shadowes make a pattern on the deck like a moving lattice, so Numerous are they, and the sound they made was as the whistling of a Great Gale. Whither they go I cannot say, as we found no Land in that Direction.
At mid day the lookout espied a Cloud of prodigious Size on the horizon N.N.E. This bespoke volcanic Activitie and thus an island where Island was not recorded to be. So the Resolution was steered towards this cloud, the Crewe being on short Commons of mouldy bread and foul Water, and nothing loth to find fresh, but the Clowd provd to be of mighty Size and Distance, and by the setting of the Sunne with the wind slackening we had not raisd this land.
To night the schools of Squidd continue by us. Their glowing Spots were so many that we saild thro’ a River of Jewells, as it were. The Seaman Isaac Gillis join’d me at the rail to admire this Spectacle, and even claim’d to see a Patterne or Message spelt in the arrangement of the Spots. But this I could not credit, and later some of his fellow Sailors told me O don’t mind him, Sir, Gillis is just an ignorant old son of a Pagan Scotchman. He comes from the Western Isles of that Nation (so they informed me) and believes in Selkies and the Like.
But I am arrous’d to Inquiry at this Gillis, for the Patterns he claimed to see were not the same Markings that I could make out. On an Inspiration I later tested him with Mr Hodges paints [William Hodges, expedition artist aboard the Resolution—Ed.] and discovered him to be colour-blind in the Redd spectrum. Thus his Worde is doubly suspect, and I will in future guard myself against his Deceptions.
1774 JAN’RY 8.
HOT AND INCREASINGLY STILLE, BUT WE RAISD THE Island whose Smoke we espied yesterday, in approx. 50 S., 135 W. It is indeed a volcanic Formation, compriz’d of basalt, pumice, & granite, and rises in black & shere Cliffes on 3 sides, viz S., W., & E. Upon its Crest wave a forest of Palms and Cycads cycan circilanus Linn., and it is from the midst of these that the great Cloud tumbles upwrd into the Sky. The soil eroded from the volcanic Ejecta must have been sown with the above Verdure by passing Birds, yet no birds did we see upon this Day. In contrast to the past two Days not a bird was in evidence neither upon the Land nor upon the Sea. They all had fled.
As we approach’d the Island a Wind freshened from the North and blew upon us a Reek such as few of us can have ever known. It was blended of Sulphur from the smoking, thundering Caldera above, but also of a Stench of Corruption so strong as to send some of our stoutest Mariners to the rail. Upon rounding the Island to its North side we discovered the Source of this hellish Smell. Here the Land shelved down more gently than the other Sides, and met the muttering Surf in a Beach of black Sande. Strewn as far as Eye could see upon this Strand were thousands of the Bodies of Teuthis megaptera I have described before, all beached and rotting in the Tropick Sun. What can have driven them so to maroon themselves I cannot imagine.
30 yards beyond the edge of the water the Forest began; and as anchor was dropped and the Resolution came to rest, People emerged from those Trees. At that distance (half a mile) little could be discern’d as to their Nature, but that they were typicall in Colouring to other South Sea Islanders we had seen, being dark of skin with black hair curled like that of a Negroe, and that they were a large People. However I was chosen, along with Mr Forster père, and several Seamen to accompany Capt. Cook ashore in one of the boats, and soon had better opportunitie to see them.
Having crosst the water we stepped in amongst the decaying Squids and up the beach, and here I was able to view these Salvages more clearly. They were indeed a large People, the least of whom was not less than six feet in hight, and some of whom loomed over our tallest Sailors. They wore skirts of some woven grass, both Sexes, to cover the Organs of Generation, but chests bare, Females too as in the fashion of the women of Otaheite. But notwithstanding this Boldness of attire there was no attraction to them. Rather, all, Male and Female alike, bore a fierceness of expression which precluded any native Charm. This Fierceness was accentuated by Tattews, on arms, legs, Breasts & especially on the Face. Those on the Face called to mind the moko of the Indians of Taika Mowi [the Maori of New Zealand—Ed.], but less individual in character. All the Men before us wore a Tattew design of ropes of vines or tentacles spreading out in curling ramifications from a single Eye imprinted into the forehead. The Skill used in creating these Tattews was impressive, and the Designs might even have been considered beautiful but for the dire Aspect of the Wearers faces. The Men, too, wielded Swords edged with Sharks teeth such as we had found on other Islands, which added to their Wild apperance.
Captain Cook, ever bold unto the point of Rashness, approached them with open arms and offerd them gifts of Paper [a rare commodity in the Pacific—Ed.], but they would have none. One of the seamen, who knew some of the Ocean dialects, went with him as interpreter. The rest of us stayd back, between the line of menacing Islanders and the line of stinking squid Bodies, and I would be hard prest to say which was worse. It was a tense Situation, made worse by a feeling of Unease that had spread thro’ the ship, but the Crew were eager for decent food and the water in the Hold green & foul, so it was deem’d worth the Risk.
The Conversation between the Capt. and the Islanders appeared to be going peacefully. Then Gillis, the same sailor who had spoken with me about the Squids, walked to one of the dead Monsters on the sand and bent down as if to touch it. At this 20 Warriors broke from the line and were running towards us, swinging their Swords and bellowing in an access of rage. Luckilly our Men were arm’d with muskets and raised them to fire. Before they could do so Capt. Cook yelled Shoot over their Heads!, which the men did. The explosion of the muskets checkt the Warriors in their charge, but only just, and not nearly as thoro’ly as we had wished. While they stood thus, weapons raised but irresolute, not 20 Feet away, and our Men frantically reloading their Pieces, I could see Cook and the interpreter in converse earnest and swift with the Islanders. You must not touch the Squidd, the Interpreter calld to us, They are sacred to these people. At this, we moved as one a few feet forward and away from the Squid, keeping our eyes upon the Warriors, who watched us likewise. I put up my hands in a Motion of appeasement, and all relaxed somewhat. At length Cook and his man came back to us, and we were told that we would be allowd to obtain Water & Comestibles but not stay overlong.
We return’d an hour later with 2 boats and 22 Men, and our reception this second time was reserved but not as hostile as before. In fact, as the Day progress’d, our Primitive Hosts became more amicable and aided us in finding the needed Supplies. In the company of one Titan warrior, a hairy Rustum named A’tai, I was allow’d to roam in their Forest to find animal Specimins, but a poor collector did I make. The Island was remarkably free of most of the higher forms of life, altho’ I detected the spoor of many Birds, which now seem to have deserted the Isle. I was put in Mind of all the avian Multitudes we had seen winging Southwards the previous Days, and wondered.
With the bipedal Population of the Island I had more success. The Interpreter Sailor joined me & Mr Forster and we were able to interview Several of the Salvages upon divers Subjects, & here my inquiries bore curious Fruit. [He is playing with us here, referring to the fruit gathered by the sailors—Ed.] For it was quickly borne in upon me that every Soul upon the Island was Colour-blind. [This is not as far-fetched as it sounds: Pingelap, also in the Pacific Ocean, is another example of an island where the achromatic mutation spread throughout an entire population.] This explained why some of the Selvages, attempting to help our Men gather Fruit, gathered ripe and unripe alike, unable to tell the colour diferences.
Of material Culture they have precious little, besides their Huts (mean in comparison with other Societies we had encounterd), canoos, & sundry tools. In One greater hut, tho’, they kept their religion, and this they explicated with Enthusiasm. They believe in a Great Squid (they told us), named Tlulu, who would one Day rise up out of the sea
and raise this Tribe of the Faithful to Mastery of the Earth. The North is said to be Sacred to him, and that region is tapu [taboo] to all save the Faithful. To reckon the Time of His rising, they have built Charts of woven sticks & string so contrived to Predict the position of sartain Stars in their Courses. [Townshend may be mistaken—this is very reminiscent of the mattang of the Marshall Islands, used for navigation—Ed.] These they hang about the House of Tlulu like so many Snares set to entrap Time it self.
The Southern Summer day was long but by the time sufficient Stores were gathered to the Beach the sunn was westering. Our hosts expressed sadnes (by word if not by expression) at our leaving & urged us to sail South, to other Islands far greater than their own. But this we knew for a Lie as we had but lately traversd these Seas and encounter’d naught save Ocean Ocean & more Ocean. We thanked them, said naught of our true destination, and we prepared to embark.
But as the Sun neared the horizon of a sudden our Hosts all faced North and the Men set up a loud chaunt, viz:
Tlulu Tlulu
Fan glei Ma-glawa na’
Tlulu R’lai waga-nal fata’n
and the Warriors stamppd their feet in time on the black Sand & beat their Chests with the flat of their Swords. The Women moaned in unison, such a doleful Sound as of the Winds of the World mourning the Last Day. And as they moaned they sank to their Knees & thence lay prone upon the sand. Now the Men made to do the same, until the whole Population was spred upon the beach like a Congregation of Mussulmen facing Mecca. It was a spectacle I expect to see in my Memory the rest of my life, the Island rising high and green behind us, the volumes of Smoke higher still, into the indigo tropick evening, those giant brown bodies laid upon the Sand, glistening in the last Rayes of the setting Sunne, and the putrescent remains of the squid not washed off by the Tides. All grew terribly quiet—only the soft sudden Clap of waves upon the Strand. Of a sudden the ground beneath our feet commenced to vibrate, and from the smoking Mountain at our back came a deep and angry Mutter. It only lasted some seconds, but impressed us again with the Titanic forces intombed beneath these lands of the South Sea. And when the islanders arose we saw that they were all Smiling, and One pointed to the wide Sea and said Tlulu.