Ever since Dad passed I’ve been going through the pieces of his life in the attic. I stumbled on this note in an old glass bottle in a box labeled Kiribati 1982. He never mentioned it when he told me about his south Pacific travels, and Mom told me that he didn’t tell her about it either. I hope someone here can make sense of it.
Transcript
I am alone on a sailboat.
I have forgotten the last wave that I saw.
I began my voyage a long time ago. A few days in, a storm struck. I took down the sail, closed the windows, and tried to sleep in the rocking cabin.
When I woke the sea was calm. I went on deck and the sky was clear. Raising the sail I set about inspecting and repairing the damage that my ship, the Penelope had taken.
It wasn’t until noon that the silence truly struck me. Everything was still. My eyes passed from horizon to waterline without finding motion and my skin felt only static air.
Returning to the cabin I set a routine that I have followed since. I made canned spam and drank canned water and orange juice. I read the books that I brought with me - The Odyssey and a collection of Goethe’s poetry. I went on deck and watched the sun set and returned to the cabin to read and fell asleep.
I waited for a wind or a wave. A wind and no wave. Or a wave with no wind. Penelope gave no ripples under my steps.
I have seen no fish in the water or birds in the sky.
A few days after the storm I counted the cans in Penelope and calculated how long I had to live. A few days later I threw out some of the cans, making sure not to count. The cans shouldn’t have lasted this long, but every morning the spam, water and juice are as plentiful as before. The gas canisters on the grill and the lamp still fuel flames. Starvation and dehydration have lost their certainty.
Some days the prospect of eternity weighs on me.
At first I panicked at the silence and the stillness. The boat hadn’t moved in days and I was afraid of death, of eternity on the water. I tried to paddle the boat myself and the sea serenely mocked my desperation. An hour later and inch to the east I screamed myself hoarse, and defeated, collapsed.
After my collapse I waited for a boat to appear on the horizon. Weeks later I realized I was truly alone. Ruminating in the cabin, I found a way out. I dove into the the ocean, and it took me without a splash. I hungrily took water in, and as my vision faded I woke up that morning in the cabin bed, dry but for a single strand of hair.
Some time into the stillness I started tallying the days, and some time later the page was full. I looked at the tally marks and tore the page out of the notebook. I threw it into the water, and as it sunk, there wasn’t a disturbance, not a single ripple.
I will be here forever.
I have forgotten the names of my parents. If it weren’t for Homer and Goethe I would have forgotten that I had them. I would be afraid of what I’ve forgotten, what I’ve forgotten I’ve forgotten, but there seems little use in remembering.
I gaze upon the line between blue sky and blue ocean, and watch it turn to yellow against blue, rose, teal, coral, turquoise, crimson, indigo, ink. The stars turn above and below me in immaculate grace. I am consumed.
The horizon stretches to infinity and I am very small.
Meeres Stille
Deep silence weighs on the water,
Motionless the sea rests,
And the fearful boatman sees
A glassy surface all around.
No breeze from any quarter!
Fearful, deadly silence!
In all that vast expanse
Not a single ripple stirs.
I am the only person in heaven.