THE CAPTAIN SAT in his stateroom that night, watching television and eating a cheeseburger. He liked nothing better than to sit under the bed, eating cheeseburgers and watching the television he’d arranged on the floor, tilted just so, to facilitate convenient viewing.
As the Captain watched television, he saw a news report about what had happened that day when the Snowmen had thrown the cook overboard. The Captain was unsure how he felt about it. He thought the Snowmen in their clean white uniforms looked very powerful as they heaved the man overboard, and he liked that. The cook had made a big splash in the ocean when he’d plunged into it, and the Captain liked that, too. He liked how the event caused a few of the passengers to cheer.
But then he saw the mother and children wailing inconsolably, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that part. He held his cheeseburger in his hand and examined his feelings, but couldn’t find the word for them.
“Psst!” a voice said. It was the voice in the vent.
The Captain was delighted to hear from the voice in the vent, for it took his mind off the confusing images he had just seen on television. The Captain put his ear to the vent and listened closely as he finished his cheeseburger.
In the morning, the Captain woke up, feeling very much refreshed, and very grateful to the voice in the vent, who had clarified so many things the night before.
First, the voice had explained that the discomfort the Captain felt about the wailing wife and children could be easily rectified by having them, too, thrown overboard. So the Captain immediately called the Snowmen and had the wife and kids woken up in the middle of the night and thrown into the ship’s wake and drowned. Knowing that he would never have to hear their screaming again gave the Captain great solace and helped him sleep.
Second, the voice in the vent had explained that the Snowmen should continue throwing Certain People overboard, one or two a day, for this would instill in the passengers a sense that things were still being shaken up, that things were getting done. Throwing Certain People into the sea, the Captain readily agreed, was getting something done.
Last, the voice in the vent warned the Captain of the grave danger of those sympathetic to the cook and the cook’s family becoming angry with the Captain. Thus, strengthening the security around the bridge was imperative. This would have the added benefit, the voice in the vent had noted, of keeping out the snakes with esophageal cancer—highly communicable—which had replaced the spiders-with-rectal-bleeding as the most significant animal-disease combination on board the Glory.
So in the morning, the Captain directed workmen to fortify the bridge with bulletproof glass and the sorts of doors and locks used in the ship’s brig. At the end of the day, the workmen were finished and had done a fine job. But in their appearance and odor—for they were swarthy men and had spent the day laboring—they reminded the Captain too much of the cook and other Certain People, so he called the Snowmen and had the workers thrown overboard, too.