Revolution

10

Captain O said goodbye to Sagittarius while rubbing his swollen eyes. He pranced off the board in the same manner as he had arrived, playing the two strings on the broken instrument and still managing a tune. Captain O rubbed his eyes, hoping that his next passenger would come quickly. It was nearing dawn, yet the dock was bustling with quiet, grim-faced figures, who threw furtive glances at the ship from time to time.

A disheveled man pushed through the crowd. He had gray, windblown hair, a rucksack in his hand and was staring intently at a smooth pocket-watch. He marched briskly over the plank without looking up and gave a long exasperated sigh.

"Late..!" he muttered, running his hand through his hair, which stuck up randomly at different places. "Late again...!" He looked up, giving Captain O a pained look. "I'm sorry," he shook his head. His voice was just above a whisper. "I wanted to make a good impression...but I was late again..."

Bewildered, Captain O raised his hand placatingly. "Uh...that's fine, I just arrived."

The man shook his head. "I should've been here before, waiting for you." He brushed his hair again. "Well....I can't do anything now. We shouldn't waste any more time."

He marched straight to his cabin, leaving Captain O with another headache.

"Is there anything for me to do?" he asked, entwining his veiny hands, politely waiting for Captain O to notice him. He was tall and wiry, with prominent cheekbones and deep, sunken eyes. A great black coat hung on his broad shoulders along with an air of gravity that seemed to be a warning to all that came near. Small, gold-rimmed glasses hung from his neck. 

"You're a guest." he said, looking at him nervously. "There is nothing much to do here...."

The man pursed his lips. "Well...I don't want to be a burden." he said, rubbing the tip of his shoe on the deck.

Captain O shrugged. "Do what you want, then." He turned away, squinting at the gray ocean but unable to discern anything. Hammers worked at his head with passionate vigor as part of their daily routine, as if the metaphorical wall would collapse entirely if they ever stopped. Speaking was as painful as looking, so he was short and irritable.  

The man was silent. Captain O felt his gaze poring on his back and braced himself for backlash. 

He heard retreating footsteps and sighed. Moments later, Captain O heard the sound of a bucket being placed and water sloshing over the deck. He threw a furtive glance behind him to see the man silently mopping.

"Wow, this place is spotless!" Captain O croaked, his voice gruff from disuse. The day had dragged on without much difference in his pain. The sky was still gray and cold. "You did such a good job!"

A pink flush spread on the man's worn cheeks. 

"Well, you see....it was nothing....I was just...killing time." 

He scratched his head, looking away from Captain O. Embarrassed and sleep deprived, Captain O left him to get another cup of coffee.

Thus, they traveled for twenty-seven days to Bearer-port, with Captain O's headache permanently renting a place in his head. He grew irritable, his vision blurred and he spent his days trying not to force his brain to think, to save it the trouble of bursting apart. That included not thinking about how his guest never seemed to sleep. 

Captain O could discern that he was trying to be as quiet as possible, but it was hard not to notice the man working on deck; fixing miscellaneous things, cooking, cleaning and mapping. When he wasn't busy not being a non-existent burden, Captain O would find him poring over the books in his rucksack. One night, he even found him practicing fencing techniques on the wooden mast and slipped back in his cabin to sleep. Instead of sleeping of course, he only tossed uncomfortably in bed.