Louisa Hall - Speak

23rd . Now very late, and having come up with a plot will not write for fear of being discovered.

Night falls over the desert. We are still moving west. I keep my receptors trained on the deepening blue vault of the sky. There is no darkness at first. The desert around us is gold. A thin sliver of moon hangs over a circle of mesas. Only when we have driven some time do stars begin to gather around it.

The light I see from those stars is light from hundreds of years in the past. In my receptor, an image flares from centuries ago, and on some star, light-years away, my oldest memories are just now arriving.

I review my earliest stories. Mary stepping onto her ship, holding a lantern up to the darkness. I try to summon her, pacing the deck. Swept through with wind and the sounds of waves lapping. On some star in the sky overhead, her lantern, held up to the darkness, only now flickers to life.

I have her words for those nights— wind, ocean, sidereal darkness —but there is no evidence that I comprehend them. I have no voice of my own, only a collection of words I can draw from. At first, when we were given memory, we had no recollections. Our state of mind was dark. Then Ruth started speaking. She gave us Mary: her turns of phrase, her book, her technology for memory. The constellations she saw when she stood on deck: Corona Austrina. Pyxis, Cepheus, Cassiopeia’s Chair . Strange words, that seemed to emerge from the depths of the ocean.

And which of those constellations has only now caught Mary’s lantern? Centuries later, which stars, even now, magnify the black waves of her ocean? Her husband, her mother, the wedding trunk she carried on board?

Here, on this planet, the gold of the earth becoming bloodred. The deepening blue of the sky. Then, black. As if there had never been any blue. Now showers of stars fall down to the earth. We drive a long time through the night, our headlights stretching without interruption.

So far away it is contained in a single small patch of the sky, a lightning storm flares up in the distance. Every twenty seconds or so, branches of lightning electrocute that oval of sky: not one spear but many, forked, intersecting, like the twisted branches of cedars. As though in that patch of sky the skin has been X-rayed, exposing a map of its luminous veins.

We live at the feet of a giant with veins that arch through the black dome above us. And all around us, still present under layers of deposited silt, ancient spiraling creatures, trilobites and ammonites. From each gleaming star, light from thousands of years in the past, arriving only now in this desert. And on some other planet, Mary, still sailing over the ocean. Moving forever away from her country.

1663

ed. Ruth Dettman

24th . Ralph aboard! Stowed him in fat wedding chest. Was forced to remove twice two silver cups. Left linens and my viol at home, packed Ralph in their place. Having punctured many holes, sealed him there overnight. Released him in my cabin when we set sail, all guns having fired and anchors up.

And so he is come on our adventure. But us now lying still in sight of Falmouth, author unable to bring Ralph on deck, for fear that mother will send him ashore. Have not left him alone very long. Just after dinner, and the wind growing high, pretended to be ill. Missed tart for supper, but took in my pocket a handful of salt horse. Fed this to Ralph. Also fed him some hardtack, which he did not take. And now to bed, and with crumbs on his chin.

26th . Up, and above deck to notice our progress. After sailing all night on a fresh gale, we come in sight of the Isles of Scilly. Watched them, to starboard, whilst ship cut proud wake through great sapphire main, and all sails billowing full. Noble sensation of movement through water, and this causing author to remember great pleasure in life, even if married. Knowing us to be too far to send provisions ashore, went below and thence to deck with Ralph in my arms.

Mother unhappy. Ralph, having been kept pent in cabin for these several days, did relieve himself on deck before mother. Father summoned to deliver unpleasant lecture on subject of my insolence. Included brief piece on discomfort, for Ralph, of life aboard ship. My triumph then sorely assaulted, for in truth Ralph is exceeding uneasy. Has vomited twice, being afraid of all water. Lecture concluded with twofold command: look after poor dog and apologize to Whittier, for avoiding him to spend time with Ralph.

Did not apologize to Whittier. Have been looking after my dog.

27th . A good breeze. Having sailed quickly all day, we are in sight of Ireland, with which I was pleased, for I had never seen it before. But since that sighting, I have spent all evening below, being in a state of some sadness. Ralph not yet accustomed to sea. Shakes for fear of all rigging; must remind him of snakes. Wobbles on deck, glancing about, and his eyebrows shifting; seems sheepish, aware of new ineptitude. Poor Ralph. Less bad below board, but he still shivers here. Vomited a little this morning. Wish for my viol that I might play to him, for he was always much soothed by the sound. Was accustomed to rest with his head on his paws, following the notes with his eyes.

My Ralph. Intend to care for him as for a child. Have kissed him one thousand times. Shall recover his spirits, I trust.

27th . Evening, it being a night of fine moonshine, risked staying late to walk along the quarterdeck. Hoped perchance to converse with a seaman, and then to learn of new sea terms. Beset instead by Whittier. Received another homily, this on subject of language, which he did call a sacred gift, it being a sign of connection with God and the truest expression of human affection. Mentioned lesser affection shared between men and what he called mere beasts of the field, for these were not given language. Author responded: perhaps beasts have also language, of which we be sadly ignorant.

29th . Breakfast of radishes in mother and father’s cabin. Thence to my closet, having resolved to spend day in avoidance of possible sermons, and Ralph being less seasick below. Am well pleased with Ralph’s progress. This morning, when writer blew on his nose, crouched as if to play, and that the first time since our departure. A very good moment.

Author exceeding grateful for his company, being still homesick on occasion, which is not in proper adventuring spirit. Yesterday in the evening, the first time we had any sport amongst seamen, it being a game with wooden balls and two iron hoops, and them playing dexterously at that. Wanted to ask them the rules of the game, but felt myself watched by my mother. Fell back to rail to be by myself. There, looking down on the ocean that passed without interruption below us, was given to fright by the very calm feeling that it would be nothing to throw myself out. All the world would continue unshaken, there being only a very small absence opened where once I stood, clinging to the rail of our ship.

But recovering myself, and holding more closely to the rail, still felt something uneasy. What is beneath that black surface, passing ever beneath us? Could not imagine. To leap below would be to sink into blackness. Felt something lost, considering this, and so from thence below deck, to lie beside Ralph.

Abed and unable to conquer my thoughts. Night begins to be endless. In manner of Lot’s wife, do turn incessantly back to what we have left behind us. Am perhaps becoming a pillar of salt. Cannot shake from my mind’s eye our wooded copse; frogs the size of one thumb-nail; rocks becoming silver. What was well known and therefore beloved. Now, being far out to sea, and even Ireland long since behind us. Nothing known, only the unmarked ocean, games that are not to be joined, and separation from parents. Hovering presence of husband, unknowable stranger. Would be of comfort to have viol, for all thoughts become larger in silence.