Thrust: A Novel

I can see what’s left of the hull and the iron frame of the decks. I can see the engine standing about twelve meters above the ocean floor, I can see several of the ship’s boilers, the propeller, the masts. The iron is covered with ghostly purple, green, and gray anemones. Small striped fish swerve in and around the carcass of her. Sea bass and blue cunners navigate the maze of sea fans and coral. Mussels line the shipwreck’s bones, strange thumb ridges. Limpets and barnacles adorn the spokes of the helm.

“Beautiful.” I sigh, not knowing what else to say. Aster is smiling. I try to remember other times I saw him smiling. With peace. I cannot. I start to ask him a question, but my mother appears, standing next to him, and I think maybe my heart swallows everything about me. Standing there together, they look wed.

Wet, I mean. Beautifully wet.

“There are more than three million shipwrecks spread across the planet,” I add. “They carry history.”

“Hello, Laisvė,” my mother says.

Whatever happens next, I know that I will be leaving the water alone again. This time, truly alone. But I also know that there is a floating boy in a boat above us, and I will not abandon him, even though my heart feels like it is rising up my throat into my mouth.

“Is there a story?” It’s all I know to ask.

“Yes,” my mother says. “My love, listen carefully. A tsunami is coming that will raise the waters even higher—”

“Tsunami — it means ‘harbor wave’ in Japanese,” I say, reaching back into my memory library. “But that’s not entirely accurate. A tsunami has nothing to do with harbors. Some people call them tidal waves, but that’s wrong too. Tsunamis have nothing to do with the tides, or the moon or the sun…” It’s hard to breathe. A world of words and images scrolls through my head: migration histories. The face of Bertrand. The voice of Bal. My brother as a baby. The laughs of worms.

“Do not be afraid, Laisvė. You’re right, my dearest. About the waves. These waves will destroy the rest of The Brook. They’ll destroy the Sea Wall too. But anything de-storied can be re-storied. These waves will reshape the order of things. But you are not part of the ending.”

“When will it happen?”

“It’s happening now, my soul. Do not be afraid.”

The sea floor lurches and vibrates. “I left a baby boy in the boat; I have to go—”