T
he sound of my clock under my pillow wakes me from the same bizarre, almost disagreeable dream I’ve become acquainted with:
I’m swimming just below the surface next to an enormous whale who is watching me. Under us a gigantic octopus shadows a stark shining light.
As soon as I dare to swim down in the deep, the octopus releases its poisonous cloud that makes me lose all localisation under the surface. I flail blindly in the dark.
I swim up again. Swim safely at the whale’s side. Day after day, night after night, year after year, life after life.
In the dream, I am so small. So weak and scared, much too afraid to dare to meet that which stands in the way of the light.
Dark waves spatter the porthole to my right.
Tears run down from my eyes when I close them.
No shooting stars are seen through the skylight above me, but I pray anyway.
Nora closes the toilet door after her and waves toward my bunk.
I wave back and see her agilely climb up the little ladder to the deck.
Knives still stab my upper body every time I get up.
I go to the galley and pour a glass of water. I look towards Bo’s bunk on my right as I drink. A pile of clothes, books, a guitar not used in a very long time, all cover his sleeping place. He’s refused to eat more white bread and pasta the past few days, which means he’s not eaten at all.
I glance again toward the bench where I know there is a freezer under the cushions. A freezer I was never meant to see, but which Janek opened and removed something from once when he thought I slept.
I clear a bit at Bo’s place, pour another glass of water and climb up.
Janek sits in a black hoodie with the hood over his head, behind the big wheel astern.
I greet him good morning, but he doesn’t answer. I ought to ask why… why he doesn’t answer a greeting from one of his fellow passengers. I ought to ask if it indeed is suitable or even professional behaviour from the captain of a boat accepting travellers who thus ought to set a good example with pleasant conduct and reception.
But I say nothing. I have not yet learned to stand up for myself. I have still not learned to dare to speak up when I or anyone else is being unfairly treated… just like my mother.
It takes time to relearn, it takes time to break habits.
It takes no time to be who you really are; it just takes courage.
The courage of a lion, as Bo expressed it.
I rouse him gently where he lies curled in a foetus position on the hard wooden bench in the cockpit.
He awakens with a jerk and mumbles that his shift is already over.
I help him sit up and give him the glass of water.
His hands tremble as he brings the glass to his cracked lips.
“Bo, seriously, you must eat.”
I place the glass on the table shaking at his hand.
“Do you think this stomach looks like it can take more gluten?”
He removes the blanket covering him and displays his wiry thin body where a big round tummy sticks out.
“Val, I’ll feel worse if I eat more pasta and bread… I’ve not been to the toilet for a fortnight, I’m sure… what the hell is this, haven’t we paid for food on this trip?”
Janek walks past us down to his cabin and mutters in a foreign language. Sounds like swearwords I’ve heard in Croatian.
He sticks his head up again and shouts that he’s sorry the menu doesn’t suit his lordship.
“Shit, that guy doesn’t feel good. So damn tired of his talk about previous girlfriends and their sex. Yuck!”
Bo tries to shake off what he just said.
“What? Nothing you need to listen to, of course not, Bo! You need to stand up for yourself, protest!”
I teach others what I need to learn myself.
“Maybe we could change shift partners again for a time, most likely it’s me who needs to learn to stand up for myself and protest Janek’s infractions.”
I tuck the blanket round Bo’s bony body when a cold gust blows and rustles the sail.
“If there is anything I can do on this boat; it is to protect you from becoming a victim of his overstepping the line. We will NOT change partners, Val!”
He places his hand on my shoulder and says he’s going down to sleep a few hours before breakfast.
I take his hand as he passes and say today we’ll eat fish for lunch.
He looks at me a moment, kisses my head and staggers down.
I get up and look toward the bow. The light from Nora’s lantern shows on deck.
“Where’s the fishing pole, Nora?”
She looks up from the log and various other books and papers.
“Nice, will we have sushi for lunch? There’s a fishing rod under the bench by the helm… good fishing luck, I’ve not managed to catch a single fish so far, incredibly.”
She shakes her head and returns to her papers.
“Good idea, Valentina.”
She smiles broadly and shows thumbs up.
Crossing my legs and with a firm resolve, I latch my gaze on the bobbing bait a few yards from the railing where I sit.
Soon the sun’s first rays of morning will reach my skin.
Soon light will replace the darkness.
This, however, is right before.
Before noise replaces the quiet.
Before the mental story will commence.
An instance prior to the illusion of separation between us and you.
An instant to be free.