We stuck, nor breath nor motion;
As idle as a painted ship
Upon a painted ocean.
Unable to sleep last night, I went up on deck. Midnight had already struck. Most of the crew lay on cots in the sweltering heat. How any one could sleep in this heat was beyond me. I made my way to the forecastle where a glowing red light lit the night watchmen's face.
The ship I put on with is part oil, part wind driven. When winds are favorable the engines are cut and we glide through the water. Our route passes through 2 areas where winds are very rare which is why we have the oil engines. When the ship is being loaded the captain decides between how much cargo and how much oil to carry. Since the captain is paid by the load, he prefers to sail with a full cargo, just bringing enough oil to get through the doldrums. He has also invested in equipment that lets him measure ocean temperatures and see real time satellite data for our route. He changes the route according to ocean temperature and satellite imagery, moving the ship ahead of the low pressures as much as possible.
When I reached the forecastle deck, I was surprised to see the captain there, not the night wtachman. "Midnight passes and you are above deck, Mr. Jacobs. Is that really the best choice? When you put on with us, I understood that you were to remain in your cabin. You cannot trust this crew and your condition, especially now requires you to remain isolated".
"We are becalmed Captain, and I grow restless in my cabin. I have done my work. I have read what I could. Although it may not appear so, I long for the world of action. I want to feel the weight of lines resisting my pull. Surely, there is something I can do above deck".
"The only thing you can do, Mr. Jacobs is return immediately to your room. My orders may not be interpreted. Your life is at risk with every minute above decks. Even more so if you pass by that heathen lot" he hissed pointing at the sleeping crew in cots. " Either you go now or I call your two attendants - but what have you done with them? How did you get past them"?
My two constant companions were sleeping comfortably in the anteroom to my cabin. I had saved my nightly doses of Ativan and made them tea for the evening.
Above deck even with the stagnant air, the great leaden horizon penciled in dark grey, the night sky pierced with so many brilliant lflickerings, the men's voices floating above the heavy listless sea took me, if brieflly, out of myself. Gone was the pain, gone was the weakness, gone was my medicine pack with its constant drip, gone were the hourly interruptions of the two constant ones as they monitored my condition.
How to find the strength to return to my cabin, knowing that the ship's stagnation equalled mine? Every minute longer on the sea meant time away from port. Port, the very place where my condition must improve, might as well be on the opposite side of the world.
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