On His Journey To Forget

Chapter Six

He headed his boat for the Strait of Gibraltar, once he was through that part of the sea, he would be pulled out into the Atlantic Ocean. Then the possibilities were endless of where he could go, maybe north, heading up to Ireland or maybe England. Then there was also the Canary Island, or he could take that long trip across the Atlantic towards the Islands, the Bahamas, St Lucia. He wouldn't make any decision right now, once he was through the Strait he would decide. The wind was light so it would take him a while to get to the pass, maybe he should go below to the head and take a  shower, give his hair a good scrubbing and try to look like he was alive. His beard and hair  had grown dramatically, making him look shabby and dirty. He had let himself go as the torture of thinking about Sanem had overtaken his mind, but the least he could do was stay clean. He dropped his anchor and lowered the sails, he would try and make himself presentable even if it was just for the arrival at the Atlantic Ocean. Maybe it would make him feel better.

The shower had done wonders, he didn't realize how long it had been. He combed through his long wavy hair, letting it flow down past his shoulders. He groomed his beard, making it feel more like hair than wire on his face. He looked at himself in the small mirror that was over the lavatory, the image still a bit ghastly, with his face considerably thinner than before and the dark circles under his  eyes were courtesy from lack of sleep, or sleep that was furnished by the finest whiskey he could find. He searched his eyes for the person he knew, he needed to somehow get back to the Can he had always been. But the thought of Sanem immediately formed in his head, the tears streaming down her face as he told her he was leaving for the job assignment with Polen. She had said many things to him, but none stuck in his head like this time, "You are angry with your mother for leaving you, but you act like your mom, running from everything in your life." Did he want to go back to that same person, the old Can Divit, the one that couldn't except a flaw in anyone, a person that expected the one he loved to be perfect and incapable of being human. He closed his eyes tightly, remembering that feeling, remembering how he thought he was right, and she was wrong. 

He could hear the wind pick up from down below, it brought him back to the present, with one last look at himself in that small mirror, he knew he had to change. He grabbed a shirt and slipped it over his head and climbed the ladder to the deck, yes the wind had made it's appearance, and it was just in time to carry him through the Strait in record time. He lifted the sails, and pulled up the anchor, and felt the boat lunge ahead, starting its journey toward the passage. It wouldn't take long to get to the Atlantic at this pace, he thought, as the wind whipped his hair across his face. He had never sailed this far alone, in fact he had never been on the Atlantic Ocean in a boat before, but he knew it was the only way.  He was leaving a life he had wanted so badly, a love that he needed and a woman that he would never forget. 

The trip through the narrow slit of water between Spain and Morocco, had taken longer than expected. The traffic had been heavy as this was a major pathway for some of the larger vessels. So he had to be on his best sailing manners to make it through unscathed. It was like a breakthrough to another world as the boat bucked and bounced about on the strong waves of the Atlantic. He was in awe of its vastness, it was endless and once he had made it through he seemed to be all alone. Where had all the other boats gone that passed through with him. This was the first time he had ever been scared on a boat, or apprehensive of what was to come, but his heart was beating fast as he quickly lowered the sails and grabbed the map from below. He had to make some kind of plan, where was he headed, he searched the map and did his calculations. The Canary Islands were the closest so maybe he would anchor there for a day or two just to get his bearing. He took a deep breath, " Ok Divit, let's get going, these waters sail the same as any other." He smiled slightly, something that took him by surprise, he hadn't smiled in a long time.

He fired up the motor and watched as the sails billowed in the wind, his heart confused and heavy. He was getting further and further away from home, from the place he had found happiness. He couldn't help but think of the first night at his mountain hut with her, the dance, it was so vivid in his mind as he let the movement of the boat hold him in his trance. He had wanted so badly to tell her that night that he was the man that kissed her in the dark, the man that had breathed in that intoxicating smell from her perfume, the man that had fell under her spell without even knowing who she was. He closed his eyes, letting the full effect of the memory unfold, reliving the image of her dancing when she didn't know he was watching, the effects of the wine and the incessant talking. All these things had been his attraction to her, the reason he couldn't look away from her, the reason to be near her. 

He never knew how she came to be in that loggia that night of the 40th anniversary party, he thought is was Polen. As he entered the dark room, all he saw was a figure, and he reached for her, eager to welcome her with a kiss. But as his arms formed around her, and the feel of her skin warmed his hands, he knew this was not Polen. He knew it before he let his lips touch hers, he knew it when he sucked in that aroma that seemed to be of a field of wildflowers, he knew she was someone special. In an instant it was over and she was gone, but the smell and the feel of her skin was permanently affixed in his mind. He had an overwhelming need to touch and smell the scarf, as he reached into his pocket and pulled it out. It was never far away from him, he needed for it to be with him at all times. He kept his eyes closed,.....and brought it to his nose, that faint distinctive smell still lingered there, or was it just his imagination, either way,....it was all he needed to keep his heart beating and his soul alive...

His mind refused to move on, his heart still ached for the touch of her, his soul still begged for her smell, but all he had was this memory. Why had he fallen so deep, so strongly and totally in love with this woman. She was the person he so wanted to be, he needed to be, but had pushed away with his untrust. 

He had always wondered why she called him the " Bad King" that night at the hut....

Maybe he knew now.....

Even back then, she knew he would break her heart.......