The Sea Makes Fools of Us All

            Edna Elizabeth Franziport sat by herself at a table for two. Chandeliers bathed the cruise ship’s deserted dining hall in soft light. The beads of her embroidered gown twinkled in the amber glow.

            “Damned doctors’ orders,” she muttered, scowling at her gold-rimmed plate. Steamed carrots, unseasoned white fish, and unsalted potatoes. She shifted her scowl to her fork before plucking it up. “Being old is a travesty. Just running out the clock, sans butter.”

            A glass façade spanned the wall to her left. In the harbor far below, search boats trawled the water. Their mounted floodlights spun slowly. Beyond the otherwise dark shipyard, past the closed tourist shops, the village lights winked and trembled. The island was still awake.

            Ping-ping. Two notes from the PA system echoed across the empty tables.

            “Hello! This is your captain speaking again.” There was a small cough. “We’re still seeing a delay”—another pause—“but we’ll be on our way as soon as the harbor master gives the all clear. Please continue to enjoy the facilities!” The captain launched into the standard announcement outlining the Oceania’s offerings.

            “Hah! ‘Delay’ my fanny.” Edna rolled her eyes as the notes sounded again, concluding the announcement. The Oceania should’ve departed hours ago. But as the ship left port, three local men—all island fishermen—had ignored the horn. A fat tip earlier that evening had elicited the gossip from the young man returning her dry-cleaning: their wooden skiffs had been crushed. “Damned fools,” she hissed at her damp carrot wedges. Sailors. Always too curious for their own good.

            Now the Oceania was stuck in limbo, and Edna with it, while in Miami the panicked managers scrambled to control the PR and legal ramifications. The ship had been ordered to stay put until island authorities declared the search complete.

            She prodded the fish with the tip of her fork, considering calling the young waiter over a fifth time. Too cold? Too wet? She’d have a complaint ready by the time he reached the table.

            “Come darling, don’t bother that poor boy again.”

            Edna’s fork clattered to her plate. 

            “Wha—” It took a moment to gather sufficient disdain. “Who the devil do you think you are?” She spat the question at the man who now sat across from her.

            He reclined in the upholstered dining chair, legs extended alongside the table, one ankle crossed atop the other. The pose indicated an ease few people could muster in her presence. His greying hair hung in neat, thin locks, trimmed to his chin. Tall and dark skinned, he wore a vibrant purple suit. One of the bar’s musicians, she assumed.

            “Really now,” he chided. “The kitchen is long past closed.” He unhooked his ankles and leaned forward, eyes glittering. “And you know it.”

            She couldn’t place his accent—a touch of French, perhaps? Irrelevant. Edna set her jaw in a rigid line. “I am a triple Pink Diamond passenger.” She leaned in as well. “The kitchen closes when I leave.”

            The man burst out laughing. “Brilliant, hah! Oh, of course it does.”

            The next words out of his mouth, Edna told herself. The very next words, and she’d cut him off, call for the last two waiters skulking in the kitchen. Have him dragged away and fired.

            But he didn’t speak. He only relaxed back into his seat, regarding the harbor below. In the silence, Edna’s eyes drifted toward the window as well.

            With a gasp, she snapped her attention back.

            He’d changed. She stared at his gaudy suit. Yes, he’d changed just then! Silver stitching graced the seams of his sleeves. Embossed feathers, maybe vines, twirled around the chest and arms of his jacket. Gold beads dangled near his dark eyes, woven into the coiled locks. Focusing on him now, she saw it all.

            Yet, as she glanced away, letting him slide from her direct line of sight, the man… faded. In her peripheral vision, the vivid purple sank to a dull brown. The fabric became smooth and plain. His very body changed. He seemed shorter. Hunched. Boring to the point of invisibility.

            Shaken, Edna pushed her cranberry juice away. Her disgruntled server must’ve snuck a finger of vodka into it.

            “Shame about the men, don’t you think?” The man’s voice resonated through her, as if sharpening her ability to focus on him. Edna blinked. Gold cufflinks too? Had those been there a moment ago?

            “Three of them, wasn’t it?” Edna’s tartness was crisp and practiced. It had, after all, been polished over some twenty years of registering complaints.

            The man made an affirmative hum. “One has four children,” he added.

            She smoothed the napkin in her lap. “They shouldn’t have been so curious.”

            The man’s lips twitched, as if he were running his tongue along his teeth.

            “All three had wives.” He cocked his ear toward her. An earring glinted in the chandelier light. “Three women, all left behind, to grow old alone.” Edna’s cheeks flushed. “Can you imagine? Many lonely meals ahead of them, I suppose.”

            “To hell with you,” she snarled, hurling the linen napkin to the floor. Slapping a hand onto the table, she made to push out her chair and storm off.

            As if he’d anticipated the intention, the man lurched forward, trapping her fingers under his own. Her body went numb. Every muscle melted into her bones. Her limbs sagged like wet dock line.

            She couldn’t move.

            “Oh, Edna.” Despite the paralysis, her body tried to shudder. His large hand weighed hers down. “Do stay.”

            “Who are you?” She squeaked the question. Even her tongue felt thick and frozen.

            “Oh! I’m not about to whip anything wayward out of my pockets—no scythes or pitchforks, I mean.” He flashed a row of straight, white teeth. “I’m a harmless merchant. Or a broker? I’ve never found quite the right word. Dealer? Unique commodities, rare artifacts…”

            “I don’t want anything.” Edna’s forearm felt fuzzy. She had the unnerving thought that when he lifted his hand, underneath would be nothing but an empty silk sleeve and a puff of smoke.

            “You misunderstand,” he huffed. “I’m the one who wants something!” And with that, he released her.

            The feeling rushed back to Edna’s limbs. Mercifully, they were all still present. She withdrew her tingling hand.

             “Money?” she hiccupped, massaging her fingers under the table.

            “Hm? Oh, money—no, no. Nothing so quaint.” He gestured at the viewing glass. “I mentioned the wives, Edna, because one of those three women? She has a bottle. A very old one. Blue glass. Tied up in the tree in her front yard.”

            Edna fought the urge to glance at the window. “Wha—what of it?”

            “I want it.”

            “You want…you want her bottle?”

            “I do!” His face lit up. “I’ve been trying to get my hands on this bottle and its, ah, its contents, for quite some time.”

            “What’s—” Edna winced as she pinched her fingertips. “What’s in the bottle?”

            “Immaterial to you, dear Edna.” He flourished his hand, dismissing the question. “All you need to know is that tonight, the stubborn creature is ready to deal. And this evening,” he added, leaning forward again, “you may be a beneficiary of my greed.”

            “Why me?” Edna’s toes curled inside her slippers. The soles of her feet were still prickling. “I don’t want anything!” she repeated. Her eyes had started watering. She’d been blinking as little as possible. “Why don’t you just nip up the tree and take the damned bottle!”

            The man’s boyish delight evaporated. His thick eyebrows knotted. Underneath, his eyes clouded with offense. Where it rested on the table, the hand that had covered Edna’s clenched. A powerful smell—earthy and wet, like an ancient, dredged-up shipwreck—wafted into the air, as if emanating from where he sat.

            “I,” he began, the scent intensifying, “never”—the word oozed with emphasis—“steal.” He spat out ‘steal’ as if it tasted foul.

            Then, with a deep sigh, he unfurled his fist. His face softened again. His graceful fingers flexed. The smell dissipated, only the mild stink of Edna’s cold fish remaining. Edna could only tremble in response.

            “My dear, I could bask in your company for many happy hours. But the woman whose bottle I’m after, she drives a hard bargain.” He settled both of his forearms on the table. His diamond-studded cufflinks glittered; Edna was certain they’d been smooth gold squares not a moment ago. “This woman, she demands all three men, back safe and sound, or she’ll smash my bottle and throw the pieces into the sea!” His voice choked up at the thought. He shook his head, and the gold beads in the locks swayed. “In short,” he said, “I have a busy night. You are only my first potential beneficiary of three lucky individuals.” His hands clasped. “I must cut to my pitch.”

            What do you do if a big wave is coming?

            A familiar voice, sharing old advice, sprang to mind with startling force. Twenty years, now? Yes, at least twenty years had passed since she’d heard that voice, yet the words had leapt to her consciousness as if whispered straight into her ear. Edna’s stomach fluttered, and the trembling stopped. What do you do… She took a deep breath. You match its speed, she replied, sitting up straight.

            “Spit it out, then,” she barked.

            “Oh, so eager!” The man cleared his throat. “First, let’s acknowledge that most people believe a man is only two things: A body and a soul. A corpse and the breath that animates it. Corpus and animus. But there’s a third piece.” He wagged his finger at her. “Nobody discusses it much, despite its importance. This third piece is, for want of a better word, the glue.”

            Edna raised a sharp, penciled eyebrow, and the man lifted his hands, hovering them palms-up above the table.

            “A body, still intact, is easy enough to find.” As he said this, he plucked at the table, as if snatching something up, and sealed his hand into a fist. “And a soul, especially one freshly, ah, evicted…for a day or two, it can usually be found where the owner left it.” He grabbed at the air, as if catching a firefly. “But without the glue, well…” He knocked his two large fists together hopelessly.

            Edna jutted her chin out at the man. “You promised me a pitch, mister. Not a philosophy.”

            Another toothy smile flashed.

            “Cards on the table, then.” He straightened each jacket cuff with a brief tug. “Three men need three, oh, donors, let’s say. I hope you’ll be the first.”

            “So I’m a corpse ripe for the harvesting, eh?” Edna rapped her manicured nails against the table.

            “Quite the opposite! In fact, donating the aforementioned item will lead to, shall we say, a marked transition in your state of existence… But Edna, I plan to offer something you’d value much more than another decade or so of just letting your glue dry out.”

            “If you expect to tempt me, you’d better have something damn special ready.” She gestured at her beaded ball gown, the private table. Her rings gleamed. “I’m not a woman who wants for much.”

            Steely confidence flickered across the man’s eyes. “Edna, of all the ships, you chose the Oceania. A woman of your means, well. It’s surprising to see you on a ship where most guests still smell of sunscreen at dinner.”

            Edna snorted. She reached out, tracing a finger along the chipped railing. The silverware on the surrounding tables gleamed, but sat crooked. Several tablecloths hung unevenly.

            “Staff has gone downhill,” she murmured. “Wasn’t always this way.”

            Indeed, she recalled her time aboard as a young woman, back when the waiters had been charming and focused. The varnish on every banister had shone. The light itself had seemed brighter, more golden. There had been sunhats and laughter. And Albert. There had been Albert.

            By the end of her first summer cruise, he’d gone from a great barman to a great friend. By the end of the second, he’d asked if he could write her letters. He was eager to hear her dreams, share his own stories of the sea.

            The fourth summer, he’d proposed, right on the promenade, her family aboard to celebrate her college graduation. Father spewed a mouthful of whisky into the wind at the question. Mother’s martini crashed to the deck at Edna’s yes.

            Yet all the warnings later, after the poorly attended wedding, even after the inheritance, Albert had stayed Albert. Generous with love and liquor. Curious about the world. Desperate to sail. Why had she bought him that damned boat twenty years ago? It wasn’t as if—

            “Edna.” She jumped. “Could it be that you chose this ship for a reason?”

            Her throat tightened.

            “There’s an odd thing about dying at sea.” A stray searchlight, or perhaps moonlight reflecting off a cloud, swept across the man’s face. “Such souls tend to wander, drift. Can’t blame them.” He nodded at the distant waves. “Bobbing along like flotsam gets dull. Nothing to look at but fish. Everything smells of kelp, and—”

            “Your point!” Edna snapped. She could feel him rummaging about in her heart.

            “My point is that souls lost at sea tend to pursue anything more interesting than sea foam. And the bigger, the flashier the thing, the more souls it attracts. So cruise ships, hah—like ants to a dropped pound cake!” He scuttled his fingers across the table at Edna, as if she were a cruise ship herself, his hands hungry insects. One of her knees thumped against the table bottom as she jerked in surprise.

            “And you know,” he continued, ignoring her grimace, “connections to a ship can amplify the attraction.”

            She swallowed hard. “Connections?”

            “Such as memories, perhaps.” He tipped his head. The silver earring winked at her again, featuring delicate engraved swirls now. “From time spent aboard, that is.”

            “What about someone special?” Edna fingered a loose bead on her gown’s collar. “A person the soul cared for, aboard as a passenger?”

            His white teeth all went on display at once.

            “Why, that soggy soul would surely be nearby. I could tempt it to this very table, if that were the case. I’m blessed with that sort of know-how. Of course,” he added, “I’d perform such a task at no cost, should anyone request it.”

            Edna took her time in the pause that followed.

            The flavorless food before her sat cold and untouched. The moon hung in the sky. The searchlights spun. And for the first time in a very long time, Edna felt curious.

            With her forefingers, she scooted her plate aside. Lifting her own forearms atop the table, she clasped her hands. Settled her feet flat upon the floor. And she trained her icy blue eyes on his.

            “Alright then.” Her voice came out strong and steady. “I’m ready.”

            “Oh, but first, sweet Edna, I should warn you—”

            “Don’t take me for a fool.” The dining hall fell silent again. “I’m ready to hear the real pitch.”

            It took the man a moment to realize his hands were still raised, caught mid-reveal. He lowered them. Edna thought the gaudy hue of his suit faded, adopting a hint of grey.

            “The soul is bound to be slippery.”

            “Slippery?”

            “Yes,” he said, his showmanship replaced with a pout. “Fragile too, after all that time pickling in saltwater. Like a greased eel with mist for guts. Squeeze it wrong, and you’ll find yourself alone, covered in sea spray.” He smoothed his jacket’s front. “Only a very special item could prevent that situation. You’d require a merchant, I’d say, to find it.”

            “A dealer, perhaps.” Edna caught the twitch in the corner of his mouth. “I’d expect to define the details of such an exchange in no uncertain terms. I demand a certain quality of service, after all.”

            “I take some pride in my own work as well, you know.”

            “I don’t doubt it.” Edna’s took a deep breath. “Sir, there is, as you put it, a soggy soul that interests me. I might be amenable to joining that soul, and even to letting you collect whatever goodies are left in my own ethereal wake. But it seems I find myself in need of a particular item. Something that could ensure the stability of a sailor’s ghost.”

            “As it happens,” he said in a low voice, “I possess an item that could do just that.”

            The man glanced about, making a show of checking for eavesdroppers. Then he stretched two of his long fingers into his chest pocket. As Edna watched, he extracted something the size of a silver dollar. It flashed in the light. He palmed it before extending his closed fist to Edna.

            “The particular function of this lovely piece,” he crooned, “is to sturdy one soul by binding it, quite permanently, to another.”

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            “Alright, everybody. Line up!” The dining hall director stepped atop an upside-down orange crate. Beyond the dining room doors, hungry passengers murmured. The breakfast crowd was bigger and rowdier than usual. “We’re going to give our guests five-star service today. Am I right?”

            “Yes, ma’am!” The staff responded in unison.

            “Good! Now, listen. It was a wild night. You all know we had an Operation Rising Star about 23:30. Not like we didn’t see it coming, but we’re gonna respectfully keep Ms. Fitzgerald’s table reserved the rest of the day. Just say it’s for Pink Diamond cruisers only.” The woman snapped her fingers at a young waiter with freckles, whispering to a busboy in the back. “I see you, Freddie! Don’t speak ill of the dead. Or of guests in general, not on my watch.”

            “Come on, Susan.” A veteran chef waved his hat in the air. “Get to the big news. We all heard the fireworks this morning!” The others babbled in excitement.

            “Alright, simmer!” Susan shouted. “The captain’ll have a statement to read in an hour. But I wheedled the story out of ground staff this morning.” She bounced onto the balls of her feet. “They found them. All three men, alive and well!”

            A cheer went up, a tantalizing one that reached the eager passengers through the door.

            That morning, for the first time in two decades, the Oceania’s dining hall seemed alive with the buzz of a shared adventure. Waiters sprang to tables, never slouching against doorframes or gazing dejectedly out the viewing panes. Guests engaged, begging new details. Not a single diner complained about the salmon’s temperature.

            It was an excellent story, eliciting excellent tips.

            And amidst the hum and hustle of human noise, several children waved their syrupy forks toward a table on the second floor. The few adults who glanced over, for the five or six seconds before they turned away and loss interest, glimpsed a tall figure.

            It was a man, standing beside the table for two, his neat locks trimmed to his chin. Silver manta rays swirled around his vibrant Hawaiian shirt, a purple and gold sunrise in the background. His purple swim trunks tied with a silver cord, and he bounced on a pair of purple flip-flops as he spoke. Indeed, though the two chairs sat empty, he chatted and laughed as if a couple sat before him.

            With his free hand, he gestured at the island beyond the glass façade. His other hand rested on a filthy blue bottle. It sat like a trophy on the table, its mouth corked with black wax, frayed jute dangling from its neck.

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