“His name? It was William. Why?”
“I don’t recognize it.”
“There’s no reason you would. His career ended before his reputation could become known.”
“Why?”
“Mutiny.” The single word was spoken succinctly, and he didn’t look at me when he said it.
“Oh,” I answered meekly.
“They’d taken a vessel destined for the Americas and looted it. And then his first mate locked the passengers into the cargo hold and set the ship ablaze.”
“Oh, dear. Is this customary?”
“Perhaps on some pirate ships but not on his. The first mate knew it would lead to mutiny.”
“How?”
“He knew my father would disapprove and demand they stop. He’d already had a good portion of the crew on his side by that point. So when my father tried to stop them, he turned the crew, saying my father didn’t have the stomach for piracy.” The captain looked thoughtful. “Which was true in a way. By then my father had met my mother and was planning to wed her. He knew he had to change his ways to do that.”
“So what happened?”
He leaned back in his chair and began to feel in his jacket for his pipe. He withdrew it. It was a habit I’d witnessed only rarely. “Some of the crew stayed loyal to my father, and there was a battle. My father lost his ship, but was able to escape with the other vessel. By then it was aflame, but they were able to put it out before too much damage had been done.”
“What did he do then?”
“When they reached port, my father and his crew were pardoned for their heroism. The owner was so grateful for his life he offered my father the damaged ship in gratitude. He accepted it, married my mother, and began his new life as an honest mariner.” He took a puff.
“You still haven’t explained the
treasure
.” I said the last word with a sort of reverence.
He smirked.
“We don’t have to talk about it anymore if you don’t want to,” I told him.
“We’ll do as you like. For the sake of those precious, all-consuming notes.” I looked at him to see if he was being sarcastic, but he didn’t seem like he was. I think he might have been laughing at me in a vague way, but not irritated. He stood and stepped to my chair and pulled it from the table. “But let’s finish the discussion in the privacy of the cabin. It’ll be warmer there.”
I followed him, taking his arm as a matter of course now. He pulled out chairs for me, opened doors, stood when I entered a room. All the men did. It took some getting used to. At first it made me uncomfortable, perhaps even slightly insulted as though they thought I couldn’t do these things for myself. But it did not take long for me to grow used to, and even to enjoy the chivalrous treatment.
There was something reassuring and oddly touching about his awareness and concern. And perhaps the gestures I have so long held in distain contained a wholly different meaning than I had ever before understood. I would not snub them now. I had no inclination to.
Though I was glad that none of my colleagues could be privy to it.
We went to the cabin, and he seated me in a chair by the desk and took the seat beside me.
“First of all, there is
no
treasure,” the captain told me without any preliminaries. “It’s just a myth, a family legend.”
“What family?”
“The owners of the looted vessel. Maharahi ….”
“Maharahi?” I gasped. “They’re Egyptian.”
“Yes, they are Egyptian,” he confirmed. “Is the name familiar to you?”
Boy, were they familiar! A great Pharaoh, a king among kings by the same name was shrouded in mystery to the present day. It was a great riddle to the academic world. When his tomb was excavated, there had been a buzz of excitement since it was still unopened, great hope that priceless treasure would be unearthed. But the archeologists entered to find nothing. Not even a sarcophagus.
“They were the family your father’s ship attacked?”
“Yes.”
“Go on,” I barely breathed.
“There’s not much to say. Their ship was looted, a map discovered. When questioned, the passengers explained it was a family heirloom. It led to the resting place of one of their ancestors.”
Meaning and purpose suddenly inundated me again. All at once I felt renewed and rejuvenated.
“And they’d never bothered to unearth the treasure?”
He eyed me curiously. “The map was illegible. There was no legend, no way to read it. It was useless.”
My face fell.
“But that didn’t stop Looper.”
“Looper?”
“Marshall Looper. The first mate.”
“Didn’t stop him from what?”
“Wanting to search for the treasure. My father refused. Said it was foolhardy.”
I sat there in silence, digesting all I’d heard. The captain asked if I wanted a drink, and I nodded. He poured one for me and one for himself. But when he placed the drink before me, he didn’t return to his seat. He uncharacteristically paced the floor.
I turned to him. “So what were the pirates after? Why did they pursue your father again? I presume it was years later, wasn’t it? Did he still have the map?”
He looked at me blankly for a moment, as though he’d forgotten what we were talking about. Then, shaking his head, he said, “No. Marshall Looper took the map. They somehow had the impression that my father had a key to the map … a legend. I’m unsure how. At the time of the mutiny, Fredrick arrived and informed my father of what the men were doing and my father absent-mindedly shoved some papers in his jacket pocket before hurrying out the door. So perhaps, when Marshall found out, he assumed they were pertinent.”
“Fredrick?”
“One of the loyal members of his crew.”
“And
were
the papers pertinent?”
The captain shook his head.
“Do you still have them?”
Again, he shook his head. “They were burned long ago.”
He sat down on the edge of the small bed.
There were still more questions to ask. But instinctively I didn’t ask them. It seemed the captain was through talking about it.
“The delve into our histories, though entertaining, is irrelevant. I still don’t know what to do with you once we get to port.”
I sighed and leaned back in my chair, Two years of my life’s work, my drive and ambition and purpose … and for what? Was there no greater reason behind it all? Was it just cruelly arbitrary? Had I simply proven a hypothesis? And now I’m stuck here, vulnerable and alone? I couldn’t bear it if that was true.
The path before me was bleak and uncertain. I still needed food, shelter and clothing. I needed to make a living, some kind of life. And how was I to do that, displaced and disoriented as I was here, away from my home, my people, my world and my work? I couldn’t live off the captain’s kindness forever.
I stood up and went to him and sat down beside him on the bed.
“What are
your
plans, Captain?” I asked, watching him closely. “How long will
you
be ashore?”
He sighed, running his hand down his hardened, weathered face. “Not long. I have to see my backers, take inventory and get paid and, in turn, pay my men. A few weeks are usually all it takes for a new assignment.” Seeing the look on my face, he hurried to say, “I won’t leave you until you’re situated.”
“I know,” I said quietly.
“Are you trained at all? Could you work? I hate to ask it, but ….”
“I suppose I could teach, couldn’t I?”
“A woman?”
“Surely with my credentials they would overlook my gender.”
“What are your credentials?”
“I have doctorate and post doctorate degrees …” I began.
“From where?”
I told him.
“It is unfamiliar to me.”
“Surely it is obvious I’m educated.”
“Yes. But one needs documentation.”
We both sighed, sitting there side by side. I shook my head and clenched my fist. “I will find a way. There
has
to be a way. There has to be meaning in all of this.”
“You need a husband.”
I looked up to find him watching me. His face, which I have described as unexceptional, suddenly seemed extraordinary to me, the shape of his dark, melancholy eyes and the way his springy hair fell on his brow, suddenly poignant. I wondered how it had eluded my attention for so long. If I had been an artist, I would have wanted to sketch it.
“I used to scorn statements like that,” I murmured. “Strange. I have no inclination to do so now.”
“The sea is all I know. If I led a different life then ….” He made a helpless gesture with his hands as his voice trailed off.
I looked at him thoughtfully, taking my time, gazing at his weathered face with leisure. His eyes were a deep brown, his skin tan. His lips were pale and slightly parted, his teeth a steady row of white. I saw that scar again, peeking up at me over his collar and it seemed to beckon to me.
I felt something deep inside me budding, taking new shape and life, something novel and strange. I didn’t try to analyze it, instinct warning me that dissecting it would surely destroy it, and I couldn’t bear to do that.
All I know is, I felt
alive
. And I knew … I knew that I had never been alive before in all my life, my rigid, academic, unfeeling life.
I leaned closer to him, answering the call.
After a moment of hesitation, he, too, leaned forward, bringing us very close together.
My thoughts ceased to exist. There was no time, no earth, or sun, or moon or stars. Suddenly, and against all laws of logic, the universe collapsed, leaving just him and me together. I will never understand it.
He whispered my name, and just as I was about to close my eyes and surrender to this strange, tangible atmosphere, something flashed below me. I looked at it, my eyes focusing on it in an instant.
“Captain!” I cried, stooping to look at his belt buckle. “It’s impossible.”
“What?” he exclaimed, alarmed.
“Those markings … that’s shorthand.
Modern
shorthand.”
*** *** ***
“Why is it I’ve never seen this buckle before today?” I asked breathlessly.
By now I had the buckle in my hands. I hadn’t asked him to take off his belt, but when I stooped to get a good look at it, the captain pushed me away and tore off the belt, nearly tossing it at me.
“Obviously because I hadn’t worn it until today,” the captain answered, his voice something between irritation and resignation. He lay on the bed, a hand to his head.
“But why not, sir? If I’d seen it earlier, it would have saved me much anxiety.”
“I only wear it with … particular clothing,” he said.
“Particular clothing? And what are those?”
He didn’t answer me. He seemed very surly and cantankerous all of a sudden, when only moments ago I thought him inordinately gentle. I looked at him lying there on the bed. And for the first time, I noted that he wore a jacket of rich, soft red, the cuffs slightly frayed, and pants … breeches, they were called, that were very dark. His stockings were white and his shoes shone.
“Did your father give you this buckle?” I asked after a moment, holding it out to him.
He looked at me in surprise. “How did you know?”
I went to him and dropped to my knees by the bed. I could feel the glow radiating off my face when I whispered, “Captain, don’t you see? This is it! This is the
answer
. We needn’t worry anymore.”
“What on earth are you saying? What’s the answer?”
“This,” I said, holding it out to him. “You know what these markings are? It’s shorthand.”
He took the buckle from me and looked at the strange markings engraved on it. “This isn’t shorthand,” he scoffed.
“It’s American shorthand,” I said.
“What are you talking about? There’s no such thing as American shorthand.”
“There is. You just don’t know it.”
I took the belt back, and rubbed it almost affectionately with my fingers. This was it: my calling. This was why I was here. Incredibly … somehow, someway, writings from the future had found their way into the past. Present day, American shorthand wouldn’t be invented for at least another 150 years. And yet, here it was, in my hands, taken from ancient documents that were thousands of years old. The Maharahi Pharaohs reigned well before 2000BC. How could this have happened? How was it possible?
But it
was
possible. I was living proof that it was possible. And my mission was clear: I had to unearth this priceless treasure and present it to the world.
“Oh,
Captain
! We needn’t worry about anything anymore. Don’t you see? This is the answer. This solves all our problems.”