S. Welles - To Ocean's End

Sam stared at me, eyes wide with horror. He blindly groped for the stairs behind him, then found the railing and sank onto the second step. He blinked a couple of times. “You wouldn’t.”

I let out a long sigh. “You’re probably right.” I looked out over the harbor. “I’m not a quitter like that, but I want something about my life to change for the better. I guess using the gun was more of a daydream, an escape from my cursed life, and finally out of Amphitrite’s tormenting reach. But still…”

“I can see where you’re coming from, Captain,” he said in a tight voice. “But from my perspective I hope you’d be willing to at least live out the rest of your days with us. A few years as a man free to die wouldn’t hurt.”

I looked at him, considering his advanced age. “If I’m not cursed, I’m not sure I want to run the risk of outliving another person ever again.”

“It’ll be different when you’re the one who goes, but I hear you.”

“Rammus can take over as captain, if that day ever comes. Keep the Pertinacious going and everyone employed.” I patted the crate and right then it dawned on me how much I’d miss my ship just as much as my crew. Maybe I would try to scratch out a few years as a regular human, or maybe I wouldn’t. I didn’t know. “Keep her one of the leading cargo ships sailing all over the globe. Let the Pertinacious be my legacy. I’ll make it a final wish if I have to.”

“We’ll see what happens.” Sam put his hands on his knees and pushed to his feet with a grunt. “One thing at a time, and that means Australia first.”

“Fair enough.” I stood as well. “It’s not like I’m guaranteed to have my curse lifted this time anyway. And I might even want to stick around to enjoy being just a regular human. I don’t know right now. I might’ve confessed all that for nothing.”

“I still appreciate you telling me. I won’t tell anyone else.”

“Thanks.” I put a hand on his shoulder, the closest I could bring myself to show open caring. I cared about every last crew member. I wasn’t buddy-buddy or best friends with any of them; I was always their authority figure, except during brief moments like these. I was still human. “Now go shower. You smell like you need one.”

Sam popped a guilty grin. “Sorry, Captain. Got a little lax while I didn’t know what happened to yeh, but Rammus left you a present in the wheelhouse.” He patted my back and took his stinky hide below deck.

I headed up the stairs to see what he was talking about. At first I guessed it might be driftwood shavings from his latest project, as a bit of a joke to lighten the mood, but the floor and chair were spotless. However, sitting atop neatly stacked nautical charts was a carved object. I walked over and picked it up. A koi fish, the symbol of strength and courage in the face of hardship, the same thing I’d given Jessie when she’d given her sneakers a sailor’s funeral. And now the symbol had been passed on to me while death weighed heavily on my woozy mind. My throat constricted and my eyes stung, but I swallowed and took several deep breaths. Here I was seeking help to lift my curse so I could die, while my entire crew believed they were helping me lift it so I could live in peace. I dropped into my chair, clutching the gift in one hand, and leaned on the counter with my forehead in my free hand.

As much as I hated it, he was right. I needed to find the strength to keep trying, even if this impeding visit yielded no results. I had to stay strong not only for my crew, but for myself.

Jessie and crew spent the next two weeks sailing to Dakar in Senegal, located on the midwestern coast of Africa. They nursed injuries along the way and went about business as usual. Sam hobbled around on crutches while keeping the cargo hold organized and supply list contemporary, and everyone but him, Scully, and O’Toole helped in the engine room until Ed, Ted, and Sauna could keep everything going on their own. Jessie helped Mido with even more cooking, since his elbow reduced him to one arm for the most part. They shared no more than kisses and one-and-a-half armed hugs when no one was looking. By the end of every day, the entire crew was exhausted and sore, including them, so cravings for intimate contact were almost nonexistent. Jessie’s head ached constantly for a week after Alexandria and it wasn’t until they reached Dakar that Mido regained full range of motion in his elbow. Scully was gingerly walking around by then, too, earning him the nickname “Mummy Man.” He took it in good humor and even tried to startle people now and then by jumping out of hiding places. He was thankful to be alive, as were the rest of them.

The crew only offloaded, resupplied, and picked up a new shipment in Dakar that needed delivering to Cape Town, South Africa. Dakar was way too dangerous to vacation in, especially with all of them still healing to one degree or another. One pirate ship chased them shortly after throwing the lines but Dyne crippled it with a solid Harpy shot to its wooden hull. After that, a week of smooth sailing and lots of healing followed.

The day Mido’s elbow stopped gnawing at him with pain, he gave Jessie another cooking lesson. This time it was a pasta dinner of chicken and broccoli with Alfredo sauce made from scratch. Nothing real complicated but it was one of her favorite dishes.

They set to work on preparing enough just for two after everyone else ate dinner. They’d snacked on fruit to keep their appetites from being distracting, then cleaned up while the rest of the crew trickled out of the galley. Once they were alone, they boiled water, steamed broccoli, and grilled two chicken breasts. Mido taught her to add just a bit of salt and butter to the boiling water before adding penne noodles, how to lay the broccoli crowns so they cooked evenly, how to know when chicken was thoroughly cooked, yet still nice and moist, just by looking at it, and also how to slice the meat fast and evenly with the metal spatula. He made it look effortless as he made each slice exactly the same width. They laughed at Jessie’s valiant attempt. Hers came out uneven and lopsided, making hers look pathetic next to his practiced perfection.

Once the chicken and broccoli were done, they moved on to the Alfredo sauce. Mido stood behind her, his body pressed to hers as he guided her hands through the pouring and stirring of the heavy cream into the melted butter. He added a few seasonings, including black pepper, but he wouldn’t tell her the rest, explaining it was a secret for now. He moved so quick and deftly through everything that it intimidated Jessie; however, she tried to keep up as she helped stir the sauce to the right consistency and balance of seasoned flavor. Mido dipped a finger in the sauce and let her lick it off.

“Tastes great to me but I don’t know what you’re aiming for.” Jessie sucked on Mido’s finger a second time, then dipped her own finger in, flinched at how hot it was, then let him get a taste. He held her hand and sucked on her finger like he’d done to other parts of her body. He slowly pulled her finger out, it feeling like he was trying to suck the blood out of her finger, then he smacked his lips and thought a moment. He had a dreamy look that conveyed his thoughts weren’t entirely on cooking.

“Needs just a bit more.” He poured in a dollop of cream and let Jessie stir it.

“How do you know?”

“Practice,” he said, resting his hands on her hips. “It’s good the way it was but it’ll be just the right creaminess with what I added.” He nuzzled her head. “Okay, that looks great. Now to add the chicken. Some people toss only the noodles in but I like to coat the meat as well.”

He guided her by the hips to the griddle and Jessie added the chicken, one breast at a time, their bodies shuffling back and forth like dancers. He took the spatula and spoon out of her hands, then guided her through tossing the meat in the sauce. How he managed to not splatter the stovetop as he sent the food in the air with deft flicks, she had no idea. She held her hands limp while Mido leaned into her and did all the work. She could feel his chest muscles flexing against her back.