The Mariner

“You can’t take the health from a man and leave only the rotten! You can’t judge him man based on that. Come back to us, not just a little closer as you did before, but fully. Return and go to sleep! You woke too soon!”

“Nothing is perfect. The woman I loved was not perfect. That wasn’t the problem. The problem was I couldn’t understand there is still beauty in imperfection. Plato’s forms don’t mean shit. I understand that now. I emotionally ran away and in the process became corrupted and rotten. I know what it’s like to be too scared to accept the whole, of myself as well as another, but if you don’t learn to accept, you’ll never find peace. You’ll become obsessed with my failings just as I became obsessed with hers.”

He sank to his knees, legs giving way, and cried as he confessed. “If you don’t accept me, if you don’t accept that large parts of us do feel wrong, are ugly, then you’ll be chasing a fantasy, a dream of perfection, one that can never be achieved. You’ll always remain Shattered.”

“Don’t be.”

“Then you’re just as bad as me, another fantasist fleeing reality.”

The Mariner closed his eyes, completely drained by the scale of maintaining a bond with billions of minds made one. “Please,” he whispered, his lips against the wood. “I know my mind’s disgusting, but you’ve got to overcome it, even if just for yourself. Come home or take us all.”

And with that the link was severed. The Mariner felt his whole body relax, like an electrical current turned off. Physical relief however, was overshadowed by frustration. A slither of energy remained, available now the voice of the Wasp was gone.

“You have to make a decision!” he screamed, but knew the Wasp wasn’t willing to talk any-more, though he could still feel it watching.

“Arthur!” It was McConnell, calling to him as he climbed a rope-ladder onto the deck. “Your ship’s sinking, quickly, get on mine.”

The Mariner turned his head to look at the reverend. The holy man seemed just as tired as he, deep lines crossed his face and dark pouches beneath his eyes were puffy from tears.

“I’m sorry Christopher, but we’re at the end. I thought for a while I might fix it and get a happy ending. I guess for some people that’s just not possible. For some that can never be.” He spoke wearily, and McConnell ran to his side to support his swaying body. “The Wasp must choose, and it must choose now.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s scared of me, scared of my sins. For a while… it considered coming back, Grace and I almost tempted it, it inched closer and so brought back the zoo, but then it changed its mind. I guess what I did to Grace made certain of that.”

“You didn’t.”

“What?”

“You didn’t kill Grace, Harris did. You must have been so drunk…”

The Mariner shook his head. “Even if I didn’t do the deed, the eels told of my lust for her. On the way to the Pope, they tempted me with her body.”

“No!” McConnell shook him vigorously. “That was meant for Harris, not you. It was his sin, not yours.”

But the Mariner couldn’t be persuaded. He walked over to the anchor, and began to attach a loose rope. “I want to believe you, but I know the truth. I called out her name. Ask Heidi.” He flinched, remembering what he’d done to the poor woman to facilitate his escape. “If you could ask her, she would agree. I spoke Grace’s name in lust and gave voice to my demons.”

Now two ropes were attached to the anchor, one connecting to the Neptune, the other loose. He took the loose one and tied it to his legs.

“What are you doing?” McConnell asked, not alarmed, he was beyond excitement, there was just an exhausted resolve within.

“I thought I could talk it around, but it’s too afraid to make the decision. So I shall make one for it.” Once tied tight, connected to the great weight, the Mariner paused. “You say I didn’t kill Grace. But surely innocence of one crime doesn’t excuse a multitude of others?”

“No,” McConnell agreed. “It doesn’t.”

“I deserve to die.”

The reverend paused, about to lie, but finally relented. “Yes, you do.” He pulled a small hip flask from his pocket, a small trinket he’d found back in his church. “One last drink?”

The Mariner looked at the container and shook his head. “No. I don’t need it. Don’t want it. I was never an alcoholic, just a man who woke up one day believing he was.” He sighed. “My mother tried to kill me when I was a boy. All these years I’ve known deep down that one day I would have to finish the job. It seems only proper I should drown, here at the end of it all.”

He sat on the edge of the boat, and looked out across the glinting ocean, much closer now the Neptune was sinking. “Heidi scared me on the gallows. She said that when we die, it doesn’t end.” He looked into McConnell’s eyes and the revered saw the Mariner trembled like a child. “I’m terrified she’s right. What if there is a hell? What if Diane was correct and we start all over, right back at the beginning? I can’t live this life again. I can’t live this life any longer.”