The Mariner

“I often listen. He doesn’t think I can hear from the outside, but I can. That’s how I knew about Donna and your boat. Thank you for trying to talk to him about the zoo. It’s no good though. No-one ever remembers.”

The Mariner swayed where he sat, trying to ingest the information. “You heard our session?” he asked again, dumbly.

“Yeah. I’m sorry. Did you do it?”

The Mariner looked to the ground and shook his head, chin scraping his chest.

“You won’t get better if you don’t.”

“I know.” He looked at the girl, amazed how calmly she talked with a man she knew to be a dangerous predator. “Aren’t you afraid of me?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because you didn’t do it.”

“But I wanted to. I really wanted to.”

She shrugged as if this was entirely inconsequential. “You still didn’t.”

The Mariner looked up at the sky. The clouds had parted in a small patch, allowing a collection of stars to peek through. They glittered against the black and the Mariner felt small. Small and powerless.

“A memory haunts me, and I’ve spoken to both a doctor and a priest about it. The doctor says I should cast the memory aside, because it only exists in my head. The priest says I should use it to find forgiveness. What do you think?”

She took a moment to think. “That zoo existed.”

“But it doesn’t any-more.”

In the dark it was easy to imagine Grace as being four times the age she was, such was the world-weary sadness upon her face. When she spoke, her voice carried experience beyond her years. “We are made up of everything that’s happened to us. We can’t toss it aside and pretend otherwise. Nor can we force ourselves to feel something we don’t.”

The Mariner stared at the girl, his breath short, realisation and suspicion running through his mind like heroin in the mainline. “You’re an addict aren’t you? You don’t run this place with your father, he built it to treat you! That’s why he’s obsessed with curing every addiction he finds. What was it?”

“He helps a lot of people. They come and go, sometimes staying just a few days. Other times they’re here so long they become a part of you. You get used to their voice, their scent. But then one day they’re cured and off they go. He never helps me though. He never lets me go.”

“Where would you go?”

She shrugged. “I used to like visiting the zoo. The animals just wander around and you can stroke them if you want. I used to take some fruit and feed them from my hands like this.” Grace held out her palm, flat and upturned. “But now no-one remembers and he says I have to stay here and help.”

The Mariner struggled to understand, so asked his question once more. “What were you addicted to?”

Grace’s sad expression suddenly turned to one of loathing, a sudden rage that almost sent the Mariner falling onto his back. “I’ve never been an addict,” she hissed, tears welling in her eyes. “And he’s not my father.”

And when Jesus Christ returns there will be forgiveness for those who repent. He will sew the world together and all shall be restored.

But for those who do not believe in forgiveness, for those who feel themselves beyond his touch, there will be darkness. Darkness and an endless sea.

— The Shattered Testament by The Reverend McConnell

22. DISCHARGED

TETRAZZINI’S OFFICE DOOR CREAKED OPEN, so softly that the doctor thought it must be a breeze for he was certain that if a person had come down the hall he’d have heard their approach. A dirty set of fingers curled around the frame.

“Is that you, my friend?” he asked, rising from his chair.

The Mariner, looking worse for wear, left arm soaked with his own blood, entered and closed the door behind. The pair stood in silence. And anticipation.

“Well?” Tetrazzini asked. “Did you do it?”

“No, I could not.”

The doctor let out a long breath, glimmers of disappointment carefully hidden behind his objective façade.

“I admire your fortitude of character, but if you want to be cured—”

“I do not.”

Tetrazzini’s mouth dropped in surprise. “You don’t?” Suddenly the gentle man transformed, voice rising within the silent room. “Then perhaps I’m wasting my time giving you bed and board? Perhaps you should go rest your head beside those beasts of yours?”

The Mariner didn’t bite the bait. Instead he barely moved, keeping his eyes fixed upon the doctor with cold intensity.

“Why do you keep track of passing days in a world where dates mean nothing?”

Tetrazzini scrunched up his face in frustration. “What are you talking about?”

“Why?”

“Because time’s important! It’s falling apart everywhere else, so why not try?”