Holden stretched, and reached for the ceiling of the small cabin. He was moderately pleased to once again, be able to see his hands this new day. Pulling back the porthole cover, he realized he was well into the new day at that, judging by the lilt of the sun, whose rays were well above the opening where the morning’s first light should shine through. He had no way to gauge how late he had stayed up. The lights on the far side of the river had never been doused, and the crowd, while eventually growing thinner, had never fully dissipated either. He simply couldn’t fathom any reasons why.
He had stood, sat, and stood again through the long dark hours, watching the unending traffic up and down the river. Even seeing with his own eyes, he could not believe the size of the ships that passed by. His mind struggled too, with the mass of the ships, and the lack of proportionate displacement. To his thinking, the river should have swelled up and beyond the banks repeatedly, but never did.
Long before he emerged to the deck again, he heard the cacophony of noise from across the water. Though he expected that nothing would have changed, he dressed first just in case. He wistfully wished for a cup of coffee. He didn’t need one, any more than he had actually needed to lie down for sleep, but there was something about standing at the prow with a cup of steaming coffee in hand that was quintessential to mornings on the water. How strange after so long to wish for something cliché.
He checked the weights, and made sure that he hadn’t drifted during the dark, before moving up the starboard side of the tug. Everything was right as rain, just as he expected it to be. Looking across the water, he shook his head. It would take far more than a day of watching this crowd to understand, or appreciate this new reality. It was too foreign.
Hands on the rails, he watched the hustle of bodies moving along the western shore. Like the day before, no one seemed to notice he was there. Part of him wondered if it was a fluke, and he had somehow tripped into seeing this time, but he was misplaced, and not meant to see, or ever participate in it. As he watched, he couldn’t decide which was worse, seeing it but not being a part of it, or never having seen it at all, left to drift through the mist as he had for who knows how long? Eventually, he decided neither.
Activity on the water had slowed dramatically. Through the night, ship after ship trekked up or down the river like a line of ants stocking the colony for the coming winter. He had been content to watch them, but was newly content to see beyond them. Catching his attention, a huge stone structure with large walls of shiny surfaces glinted back at him. Strange little decks with rails stuck out at even intervals and seemed to climb sixteen levels high. He wondered openly at it, and how it remained steadfast without somehow collapsing on itself was a curiosity.
Allowing his gaze to drift left and right, there were others. Not all were so big as the first one, but many looked as though they could be, if they just grew a little. Part of him was debating how to go about investigating them. It had been an extremely long time since his one foray down the gain way. He vacillated. Did he dare consider trying to leave the ship? With the veil of fog lifted, or parted, could he bring himself to attempt it, if he could see what was at the end of the plank? If he left the ship, would he be able to return? And, once he stepped off, would he still be as though he weren’t present, or would he, once again, become corporeal?
The heat of the day had not fully set in, yet he was damp with perspiration. He had not eaten, nor felt the need to consume anything in ages, and yet, he felt nauseous and sick to his stomach. The memory of stepping off the gain way with just a single foot, one time, rushed forward and buckled his knees. If he hadn’t been holding the rail, he knew he surely would have been on all fours heaving.
A moment later, having let go the rail to reach up and wipe his brow, he did just that. In the span of a moment, his knees found wood, and his hands grasped for purchase against the worn, but well-polished surface of the deck. Just when he thought his hell was ended, a brand-new one appeared. No longer trapped in the mist alone, he was within shouting distance of hundreds of people who could not hear, see, or interact with him. Now, the idea of leaving the ship to reach them and try was debilitating. Death would have been preferable.