Catch

Another Day

The sea has so many faces. Sometimes a gentle lover, sometimes a joyous child, sometimes a roaring fury. I've been living my whole life on the waves. Quiet waves, lazily rolling back and forth. Wild waves, enthusiastically greeting you with white foam. Monster waves, suddenly turning up out of nowhere, towering above you and swallowing your ship whole.
But not today. Today the sea went so quiet that I wonder if she has died. Not a single ripple disturbs the surface. Just a mirror reflecting the sky that stretches out to the horizon all around me. I can hardly believe it.
I dip a finger into the salty water and enjoy the cool sensation. It leaves behind a little wave trail, disturbing the peace. I'm sitting in a little wooden fishing boat with just enough room to stretch my legs. It belongs to my grandparents. We used to go fishing on the lake in it. My grandfather was a fisherman, just as my father and then me after him. He was a blue pike catcher on the great lakes. Made him a small fortune. He never really got much joy out of his earnings, though. Never spent much, never changed his lifestyle of working hard and praying hard.
Now there are no more blue pikes. People blame the fisheries, say we caught too many of them. My grandfather never believed it. He said it was because of pollution, chemicals from factories dumping their wastes.
"Our chemicals are killing the land," he used to say. "We should never have started making them! They blame us honest fishermen for killing off the blue pikes, eh? Well, in my day fishing was fair. We hunted fish with simple nets. Look at the floating factories they build today! All machines and computers and chemicals. Nothing is getting done with hard honest work anymore. Promise me this, Ned, my boy. Promise me you'll never do what your father did. Never buy one of these so-called 'modern' boats. Machines and chemicals are going to kill us all. Progress, they call it! Pshh! A man has got to earn his bread with his own bare hands. Nothing good can come of it otherwise."
My father endured those speeches silently. With an amused twinkle in his eye, but careful not to laugh. He loved the old man and regarded his opinions as charming oddities.
"Don't mind what grandpa says, son," he used to say when grandpa couldn't hear us. "The old man is a good fellow. He just never got used to modern times. Never will, too."
My dad was captain of a huge fishing trailer, roaming the Atlantic. It was equipped with the most novel techniques available, from autonavigation to the latest computer guided deep sea nets. The catch was pre-processed on board before it was refrigerated. It really was a floating factory. My father was very proud of it, often taking me aboard and showing me how everything worked and how to operate the machinery.
I look up and stare into the distance. A very thin mist covers the sea. Nothing that you will notice when you look around you, but still enough to hide the horizon in a grey blur. I wonder again at the stillness of the sea. There are always waves, even when there is no wind. How can the water be so still? And why is it so green here? I've only seen this hue in coral reefs, but I'm not nearby any reef now, am I? I realize that something is very wrong. Suddenly it feels as if I'm trapped here, on this little boat, alone on the middle of the sea, or is it an ocean? I swallow nervously. The silence. God, it's so quiet. My forehead prickles. I wipe away the sweat.
Just as I'm about the let out a scream, I suddenly hear it. The voice. A high voice, so pure, so beautiful. My fear is gone. I stop breathing, my heart skips a beat. It's a soft sound, coming from afar. I've heard it before, but when? It must have been long ago. Too long. It fills me with the sweetest sadness and intense happiness at the same time. If only I could see her. I must see her. If I can get to her everything will change. Everything will be right. I will finally be all right. I must get to her, now.
I pick up the oars. They're heavy and unwieldy, but I don't care now. I no longer care about anything. Who can be singing so beautifully? I need to see her, must not miss the chance. I start rowing frantically. My back and arms soon start to hurt, but I barely take note. "I am coming!" I yell. "Here I am, I am coming!"

***

Something wet licks my face. Warm and wet. It barks into my ear. Barks? Licks my face? Where am I?
I feel around and open my eyes. I'm on the couch, with my little dog on top of me, licking and waggling its tail enthusiastically.
"Yes, Buddha! I'll get your food. I.." I let out a moan. A familiar pain is pounding in my head. It must be late in the morning, there's so much light. I push Buddha aside. The pain and the waking up on the couch can only mean one thing. I've been drinking again, haven't I? The empty bottles on the low table next to the couch look at me accusingly. Yes. Again.
God, why am I such a loser? Didn't I promise I would quit? Why don't I quit? You idiot, Ned. Falling into that same old trap again and again.
I grab an empty bottle and stare at it. A few drops of fine whiskey are all that's left in it. The instrument of my self destruction.
"I hate you!" I throw it on the ground. It crashes into the floor with a bang, right amidst the litter. I can't even clean my own room. It explodes into shards with a terrible noise that must wake up the neighbours. Except that it doesn't, because normal people with normal lives are already at work now and don't sleep half the day away, like me! Do they? I grab another bottle. Buddha barks madly and runs up and down the room. "Ned, you stupid jerk!" Crash! The next bottle smashes into the floor. "You good for nothing! Your parents worked so hard, did so much to make sure you had a good life. Why do you keep ruining everything? Wasting your life!" Crash!! The whole floor is covered in glass shards. I fall back down onto the couch and bury my face in my hands, sobbing.

***

While having lunch I decide I will change my life. I need to change. If I don't change this is going to kill me. Today will be the turning point. I call Frank.
"Ned, you old little bitch! How are you, mate?"
"Fine, Frank, fine. Hey, I was wondering, did you have any plans for today?"
"Who, me? Franky is sitting on his lazy ass today, as usual. What were you thinking?"
We laugh.
"Say, Frank. Why don't we go out today, with the fair going on? Get all dressed up and hit up on the ladies?"
"Swell idea, Neddie. I'll wear my bow tie and trendy cowboy hat. Makes me irresistable."
Frank is living in a minivan just outside of town. I got to know him ages ago, when we were both still in high school. Got back in touch after a long time. Frank went a different way back then, studied and became a stock trader. Did well, too. Made hundreds of millions, or so he said. I can barely even imagine what that means. How do you even start spending that much money?
But then the market crashed. And Frank had made all the wrong investments. In one day he went from filthy rich to bankrupt. It all just went poof. Something to do with bubbles and pig cycles, Frank told me later. I'll never understand stock trading. All that money that comes out of nowhere and then vanishes into nothing. I understand fishing. You catch fish, you sell them, you trade the money for other goods. But what is a stock trader even selling?
So the day came that Frank had no more money. And it didn't stop there. Most of his friends went with it. Turned out he had very few friends left at all. And then his wife made a confession. She'd been seeing another man. An exciting man. An artist. She'd been missing something in life, lately. And now she suddenly realized what it was. It was this man, his art, his way of life and all that he stood for. It wasn't his money, no.
So his wife left too. Took the two little boys with her, to her new luxury apartment in New York. That would be a much better way for them to grow up then in poverty, wouldn't it? All in the best interest of the children.
Frank never talks about it. He just lives out his new life in his minivan, drinking his days away. Like me.
I meet up with Frank in the Blue Jive cafe, next to the wharf. I spot him sitting there, having a beer. "Ned! Come over here, man! Did you hear the news?"
"Frank, howyoudoin? What news?"
"McCobey is out of the race for president, guess how?"
"What? How?"
"They caught him doing cocaine in the freaking toilet."
"Heh. I bet they're all doing that in the White House. Not that I care. If it makes him do his job better, sure, why not?"
"Uhuh."
"Just let him do all the drugs he needs. Let's choose a presidents based on, you know, actual competency and vision. Instead of electing the bigger hypocrite, the guy that wins at mud slinging."
"Yeah, I guess all those politicians should have a good dose of weed, huh? Would make peace negotiations so much easier! Peace, man!"
A waitress joins in our laughter. "How can I help you, sir?"
"Ehm, can I have a glass of water please?"
"Sure! Would you like some weed with that?" She winks and leaves.
Franks looks at me, frowning. "Water? What's up, Ned? Sore head?"
"No. I mean yes, but I'm quitting drinking, too."
"You're kidding."
"I mean it, Frank. I need to change my lifestyle for the better, for real."
"And how long will you keep it up, this time? How many minutes?"
I give Frank an annoyed look.

***

Late at night. We're walking along the shore, me and Frank. Both of us piss drunk.
"Frank, Frank. I gotta tell you something, Frank. You won't believe this."
"Buy it today, before we're out of stock! Not for 90, not for 80.."
"I met this girl from Russia, Frank. On the internet."
"... not for 70, not for 60..."
"She says she loves me. And I believe her, Frank. This is real."
"... not for 40, no, only THIRTY dollars for this wonderful radiographic golf ball!"
"I know what you're thinking. But I swear, she is just right for me."
"Remote control not included. We can not be held responsible for any accidents."
"I'm going to get married."
Frank suddenly stops staring at the moon.
"You what?"
"I'm getting married."
"To a hedgehog?"
"To a woman from Russia."
Frank giggles.
"Old Ned and the Russian bride! They're the beauty and the beast. You the beauty, she the beast!"
"I'm picking her up in Thailand. I'm off to Thailand with my shrimp trawler to marry her. Start a new life."
"Brilliant! Can I come along?"

***

On the Move

I am flying. Our flock is making the great journey. I don't know the way, or what our destination is at all. But the stronger and more experienced gulls guide our group. I loudly call out to announce the world we're coming. We're strong, we're healthy and we'll steal your food!
I look at the gull next to me. His feathers shine brightly white. And he's found something to eat. I jealously check what he's got in his greedy beak.
Then I feel the blood drain away from my head as I realize what is going on. The little thing in its beak is Frank, wriggling like a little worm. In a reflex I attack the gull. But my muscles suddenly seem to fail me. I'm paralyzed. I can't move, I just keep hanging in place, frozen in the sky. I try to scream, but no sound leaves my lips. Yes, lips. It seems I am a man. Regardless, all I can do is stare into that big, black, hypnotizing eye that is turned my way. The gull that catched Frank suddenly grows to enormous size. It happens very fast, it's like an explosion, but without the noise. In a few moments its eye fills the whole sky. I must resist its will! Must save Frank, now, or it will be too late! The eye is now a black abyss without a bottom. Helpless I fall into it, tumbling down, deeper and deeper into the darkness.

***

My trawler looks nothing like the modern giant of my dad. It's a small old shrimp catcher, taken over for a bargain price. Its name, Hercules, can be read in red letters on the front, although with difficulty, as they partly eroded away. The boat itself is colored with blue paint and brown rust. But I love it no less. The hum of the old, petrol guzzling Ford engine makes me feel at home. I know this boat inside out.
That is why I immediately know where I am when I am woken up by the sound of the copper bell. I'm in the sleeping cabin and I have a visitor. Luckily my head feels better than yesterday, even though I've been drinking again. In the back of my mind I realise that I have broken my vow to quit all too soon again, but the bell gives me no time to think about it, which is secretly a relief.
I rush to get dressed, or at least presentable. As I'm running around looking for a pair of trousers, I notice someone on the couch. It's Frank, still snoring under a blanket despite the noise from the bell. Whoever is ringing, he's not giving up easily.
Who could it be? I never have any visitors here on the boat, or at least didn't have any since that lost postman a few years ago. Few people even know to look for me here on the boat, when I should have been at home.
A few moments later I open the door, panting. I am staring at a man dressed in an expensive looking bussiness suit, wearing black leather gloves and dark sunglasses. His black hair is slickly combed backwards. He looks comically out of place aboard the Hercules.
"Mr. Hornsby?"
"That would be me. How may I help you, mister.. ?"
"I am Dimitri. I'm here to hand over the luggage that you promised to deliver to my sister Anatalya." He puts two large metal suitcases that he'd been carrying down in front of me.
"Oh, so you're Dimitri! Pleased to meet you! So glad you managed to find me here, on the boat. I'm sorry I wasn't home. Do you want a coffee?"
"I will never have a hard time finding you, mister Hornsby," Dimitri responds icyly. "Perhaps you'd do well to remember that."
Taken aback by the sudden threatening tone I stumble: "Well, I didn't mean to.. I mean.."
"Take good care of my luggage. It's important. Anatalya will reward you well if you bring it to her safely and intact. If not.."
He doesn't finish the sentence. There is an awkward silence.
"Good luck, mister Hornsby."
And with that Dimitri leaves me. With quick, efficient steps he gets back onto the shore, where a black limousine awaits him. He gets into the back seat and the car rides off at high speed.
"Right.." I turn around and find Frank standing right behind me in his boxer shorts. "What was that all about?" "That was Dimitri. He's the brother of Anatalya, my love from Russia."
"I see. So it's really true what you told me last night? You're off to Thailand?"
"Uhm, I told you?" I blurt out sheepishly. I feel ashamed. Frank must think me a fool.
"Dude, I'm worried. I don't know who the hell this Dimitri is, but I'm sure he ain't Russian."
"Why?"
"Because he's got a fat Italian accent, that's why. Didn't you notice?"
"Uhm.."
"Right. I suppose you don't know what's in there?" Frank points at the suitcases.
"Just some gifts for Anatalya," I reply weakly, without believing it myself anymore.
"I see. Will you at least do me this favour, Ned. Let me have a look, just to check if there's drugs in them. You do see how that could be a possibility, I hope?"
"Yeah, I see. Go ahead, Frank."
"Thanks, old Ned. Good boy." He pats me on the back.
Frank kneels next to one of the suitcases, but then shakes his head after a quick look. "No way I can break that lock. Listen, Ned. I know a guy who can help us with this. His name is Paul. I will give him a call and let him handle it, okay?"
"I don't know. It's still not our stuff and all. Are you sure he can be trusted with this?"
"I know what I'm doing, Ned. He's the one we need now. Just please don't ask him about his past."
"Right. Okay, I'll trust on your judgement, Frank."

***

Frank and I feel refreshed again, standing on the boat, looking out over the harbor and the sea beyond. We watch gulls fly to and fro. A car comes driving in on the shore in great haste, tires screaming. It's a classic orange Cadillac. A thin guy wearing a tracksuit and a baseball cap gets out. He grabs a toolbox from the backseat and jumps onto the boat.
"Frank!" he yells. "How are you, man!"
"Great, Paul! Couldn't do better," Frank grins back.
"I can see! Nice new apartment you got!"
We laugh and chat. I make them a strong cup of coffee. Then we turn our attention to the suitcases. Paul runs his fingers across the rim and has a closer look. He whistles. "Not too shabby! Solid titanium, latest tech. These are serious locks. Nearly impossible to open them without heavy damage."
I mutter: "I'm not sure I'd like to see them damaged."
"I said nearly," replies Paul with a wink. "That's why you need Paul." Paul starts rummaging in his toolbox with amazingly nimble fingers. He takes out a number of tools I've never seen or heard of before. I nervously sip my coffee as I watch him do his magic.
Ten minutes later he puts both cases on the table and effortlessly opens their lids simultaneously. I start to applaud, then fall silent as I see the contents.
I've seen this often in the movies. All the more surreal to see it in front of my own eyes now. Both cases are filled to the rim with bills of one hundred dollars.
"Well, well," says Frank. Nice gift for a sister. Great job, Paul!"
"I have codes for you," replies Paul. "You'll also need a key to open it. I can make a set of them, but I'll have to do it in my lab. It can be arranged in about four hours total."
"You're the best, Paul. How much do I owe you?"
"Consider it a payback," winks Paul.
I wonder what it is that Paul is repaying Frank for, but don't ask them.
"Okay, so you do want the keys?" He asks, looking at Frank.
"Yes Paul, that would be splendid. Oh, and before I forget. Did you check for secret pockets? Could there be drugs hidden in there, too?"
"Nope. I'm quite sure there isn't. Scanning didn't reveal anything. Just a packed main section."
"Thanks again, Paul. We'll stay on the boat until you're back. Right, Ned?"
"Yeah. We'll wait for you. And thanks!"
"All right, see you soon then." Paul has already packed his belongings, even as we discussed this. His fingers nonchalantly dancing around and never missing, always on the move. There he goes, jumping out of the cabin. "Later alligator!" We hear his car and he's gone.
I go back to the suitcases, gaping at the wealth I see. "It looks real," I start. "But why?"
"Money laundering," says Frank, "that's why. Can I have another coffee?"
Frank sits down and lights a cigarette as I poor him his coffee.
"Do you know the penalty of smuggling a large sum of ill-gotten cash out of the country?"
I shake my head.
"Five years. That's a long time, Ned. You're being used as a money mule. Nothing looking as innocent a little fishing boat sailing out. And if you do get caught, our friend Dimitri stays out of trouble. You would be the one who gets nailed."
"You're probably right, Frank." I say. But I don't really believe it. Don't want to believe it. Deep down, against better judgement, I keep hoping that Anatalya is innocent, even if maybe her brother isn't entirely kosher. My sweet Anatalya. She is so understanding, when I chat with her online. I only need to say half a word and she gets exactly what I mean. Cheers me up when I feel down. Gave me new hope when I felt desperate. And why would a criminal have bothered? Why would they have put in so much energy? That wouldn't make sense. This has to be true love.
But I don't want to explain it all to Frank. How could I explain? He wouldn't believe me. I have to come up with an excuse, a reason why I would want to go to Thailand anyway, even if it's a trap.
"But say I call the police," I object. "Dimitri said he'd find me and take revenge if I don't deliver the cases. He was very clear about that, he'd kill me. I'm scared --"
"Ned, Ned," interrupts Frank. "You've got it badly, haven't you?"
I flush with embarrasment. "I.."
"Thought so." Frank lights another cigarette. "Don't worry, Ned, I won't stop you. But can I ask you a favor?"
"Sure, I guess. What is it?"
"Will you let me come along and keep an eye on you? Nobody messes with Ned, or they will have to deal with me too."
I swallow. "I don't know how to thank you."
Frank sighs. "I'm bored with rotting away in that fucking van, anyway."

***

We play a game of poker and have ourselves a beer as we're waiting for Paul to come back. Frank is beating me squarely, I lose round after round. The radio is on, playing "Paint it Black" from the Stones. Then the news is read. The trial of McCobey gets a lot of coverage. Journalists don't tire of telling us what a scandal it is, or speculating how many years the guy will go to jail.
"You know, Frank? You have to wonder what sets him apart from us. Coke is addictive, but booze is just as bad, damn if we don't know it. Coke can make you violent? What else does alcohol do? Coke can make you forget your limits, drop your morals? Booze does it even more effectively. Coke can kill you if you do too much of it? We'll we're getting ourselves killed too. And yet McCobey will go to jail for it, but we're left alone by the cops even as they know what we're doing."
"Best not to say that too loudly, my friend," Frank says drily. I snort beer through my nose.
The copper bell rings. I shiver. "Must be Paul, huh?" But I fear it is Dimitri instead. What if he came back, what if he sees us with the open cases? Damn, why didn't we close them? I smack them shut, then run off to the cabin door.
It's Paul. "Come in! Gosh, you gave me a scare." I laugh with relief.
The keys fit perfectly. Paul puts them in an envelope, together with a note with the codes. "Good luck, guys! And don't tell me anything, I don't want to know what it's about. The less I know, the better." He winks at us and is gone again before we know it.

***

That afternoon we both go home, to pack our stuff. I order supplies for the journey at my usual address. Food, water, boozes, magazines. It's a much taller order than usual. I get nervous. What if it makes them suspicious? What if they guess what I'm up to, leaving the country to smuggle a suspicious, forbidden load? Claire, the woman on the phone, seems to respond normally. I tell myself to stay calm. They must get orders this size all the time, right? Did my voice betray anything?
I can't wait to leave. The sooner we leave Dimitri and the police behind us, the better. I stroke Bhudda. He turns on his back, tail waggling. "Aww, I know what you want." I scratch him on the belly.
I will write Anatalya. Will tell her that her brother brought the luggage as she told he would and that I'm coming. Should I tell her anything about how her brother behaved? I guess not. I definitely can't tell her how we found out about the money. Should I even mention that Frank is coming with me? Will she notice from my writing that something is amiss? I bet she will. She knows me all too well. I sigh. I will write her another time.
Buddha barks and bites my hand. "Oh, I'm sorry! Did I hurt you?" Bugger. That's what happens when you don't pay attention.

***

I wake up in a lot of noise. Gah! It was such a good sleep. It's my alarm. An old-timer that I inherited from grandpa, real hammer and bell. I rarely set it. Why did I last night?
Then it all comes back to me. Today is the day I'll leave the country. The trip to Thailand. Dimitri. The money. I grab my stomach. I feel feel sick.
Why did I have to make such crazy plans? There might still be a way out of this, a way back. I could call the police. Explain them everything. But Anatalya..
I make myself a coffee. I feel the warm beverage sink down into my guts. I calm down a little. I turn on the computer. Anatalya. I start reading back old email conversations I had with her. The jokes we made. How we talked about what we felt. How she told me all about her hobby, folding paper cranes. It sounded so lovely when she wrote about that. How her ex husband abused her. How she escaped him.
Could it really be that I had been talking to a hardened criminal all along? Or to a fake persona, even? Suddenly I imagine a room full of gangsters in a shady room, reading my letters aloud, mocking my sentimental words, joking about the things they could write back for fun. I start to cry. Grab a bottle and start to drink, hardly even realising it. If this is fake, I will kill them. Whoever is behind it will pay. They think they can fool old Ned, eh? They will regret it. They don't know old Ned.

***

I'm back on the boat. Before long, a truck arrives with the cargo I ordered. I sign for delivery. The guys doing the delivery all know me. "Heavy load this time, Ned! Are you migrating or something?" they cheer.
"Nah, just making a longer trip and taking a friend along," I reply. I help them carry the goods aboard. I've hidden the suitcases, haven't I? They'd better not see that.
Ten minutes later I feel relieved as they have left. I get one of the suitcases back from under the couch. Wipe the dust off it; lots of cobwebs under the couch.
Wow. So much money. I could use it so badly now. I reach in my pocket and take out the envelope. I only need a little bit, you wouldn't even notice it. There must be over a million in there. Surely I could just take out a few thousand? I take the suitcase with me to the sleeping cabin.

***

I tremble. I've stolen from Anatalya. I'm horrible. I tell myself I will pay her back. I will stay with her and sell shrimp until I've made enough money to pay back everything. I will explain her everything. She's so sweet, she will understand. And if she isn't real.. no harm done.
But how about Dimitri? Maybe he's been watching me all along? Or had me stalked by a henchman? I nervously look about me.
There's my goal. Juans weapon shop. The only one in town. I've never been there before, although I walked past it often enough. I wonder if they check your blood for alcohol when you buy weapons.
Juan greets me warmly as I enter. "Good day, amigo! How may I help you?"
"I need a weapon," I say bluntly.
"Then you've come to the right place! What kind of weapon are you looking for? An automatic rifle? A revolver? A shotgun for hunting?"
"I don't know. It needs to be deadly. What is the best you have for under thirty thousand dollar?"
"The amigo is joking?"
"No, that's my budget. If I counted right." I take out the stack of one hundred dollar bills and start counting. I feel light in the head. Not sure if it's the booze or the money.
"Ah! The amigo is a good customer!" Juan says with a big smile. "You will get a special offer. Come, follow me! Let me show you the best I have!"
Juan walks to the front door. He changes the sign from 'open' to 'closed' and closes the door. Then he rolls down a steel rolling shutter. He walks back to the back of the store. "I have seen you so often, amigo. Ever since you were a little boy. It's a shame you never visited before!" He opens a curtain and beckons me to follow him. I step in. It's dark in here. Juan turns on the light. We're in a small concrete storage room. Not much to see here, just a few crates and boxes and a metal.closet with heavy locks. Juan reveals a key and opens it.
"My best piece, signor! Please have a look."
I come closer. Juan takes an automatic rifle from the shelf. "Special offer, amigo! A real AA-12, just for you. The best automatic rifle ever made! Almost no recoil. A child can handle them. You cannot buy these legally, signor! You promise not to tell you bought it from me, no?"
"Perfect! Just what I need, man. How does it work? Can you show me how to load it?"
"Of course, amigo! Juan will explain you everything. I have lots of different types of ammunition for this baby. Normal, explosives, fragmentation.. Here's how you load it. Simple! And when you want to shoot, there is a safety handle here."
"Can I try it?"
"Of course, amigo! Here, try it yourself! Easy!"
I take the gun. I feel at the trigger. I hear a deafening blast. I close my eyes in a reflex. "Jesus Christ! Couldn't you warn me? Juan?"
Juan has disappeared. I see specks of blood on the closet. Then I see Juan. He's on the ground. There is a dark bleeding hole in his chest. I feel myself go light. I stumble. Then I throw up on the ground.


***

I'm shaking, I'm sweating as if I have a fever as the horror sinks in. I killed a man. I need to get out of here, or they will find me. I run away, as if they're already on my tail. Where to go? I try a door at random. It opens to a stairs downward. My heart is pounding. I hastily go down and look around to see where I ended up. I fitness machines, mats on the ground, towels on the wall. A mirror covers the entire left wall. A dark hallway leads out of here.
I stop breathing. Did I see that right? There, in the mirror, behind me. I nearly start to scream, but somehow remain silent instead. Time seems to stand still.
In the mirror I see Juan. He's standing behind me, still bleeding from the gaping hole in his chest, but somehow walking as if nothing unusual is going on.
"Ned! Amigo!" he cheers. I turn around and see it wasn't just the mirror playing some devilish trick. No. God no. "How can I help you?" he says with a broad grin, displaying a row of white teeth.
I let out a terrified moan and run into the dark passage. There is no time to think. Please, don't let it be a dead end.
It's a long dark tunnel. I run and run. After a while, (or maybe after a long time; I can't tell,) I see light. I start to run faster. There are merry voices coming from there. Childs voices, cheering and yelling excitedly.
Suddenly I am standing in broad daylight. Kids run around here, on a blue tiled floor. One of them jumps into the water. It's a swimming pool.
As I gaze around, wondering what to do next, I feel a hand on my shoulder. "Anything I can help you with, amigo? You've come to the right place!"
My panic is total. I wildly shrug his hand from my shoulder and run for it like a madman. Behind me I hear a bang, and another one. Gunshots. The children now join my panic and start screaming and running around blindly, like me.
Then I hear my phone.

***

I make a few confused spastic movements. Then I open my eyes and hear it again. My phone. I'm on a cold hard floor, still in the little storage room in the weapon shop, in fact. I must have passed out. Please, no, let this not be true. Tell me I'm still dreaming, please. Tears well up in my eyes. I pick up my phone.
"Hello?" I say through a rough throat.
"Ned! Where are you, man? I've been waiting for hours!" It's Frank. "And I think your dog here needs to pee or something." In the background I hear Bhudda barking. "Yes, good doggie."
"Uh, yeah. Sorry about that." I manage, as I look at Juan. Yep, he's still lying there, still as a rock. I nearly throw up again.
"I'm sorry, Frank. I, uhm. I haven't been well. I'll be with you as soon as I can. Yeah."
"What's the matter? Should I pick you up?"
"No, no, I'm fine. Just a sudden headache." I hear myself saying. Ridiculous. Sudden headache? "I'll be with you soon, maybe half hour from now."
"All right, dude. See you soon, then. You sure you can make it?"
"Yes, don't worry. The dogfood is in the green bag, second cupboard from the left. Just a handful will do."
"Okay, Ned. I'll take care of it. Oh, and guess what I brought you?"
"What?"
"Well, I noticed that you shipped a good supply for the trip and I wanted to do my part, so I brought something that I thought you might need."
"Well?"
"Guns."

***

I cannot afford to waste any more time here. I've been here far too long. So I command my guts to calm down and command my mind to stop thinking about having committed a murder. There will be time to feel bad later. I force myself to forget about it, for now. The guy is dead. I cannot help him any more. No one can.
After a short search I pick a firm cardboard box. I carefully lay down the rifle inside. Then I grab some of the ammunition from the closet and put it in with the gun. Bunch of these, bunch of those ones. There, that should be enough.
Should I erase the evidence? My mind is racing. I'm lucky that Juan closed the shop. It should take a few days before he's found, hopefully. Should buy me enough time to sail off and leave the country. Would the police be able to find out it was me? I have no idea. Maybe I should burn the body. But I can't see any oil lying around. Never mind. Let's just close the curtains and get out of here.
I take the box and start searching the building for another exit. It turns out that the back door is much easier to find now than it was in my dream.

***

Frank looks at me in surprise. "What the hell, Ned? An AA-12?"
"Yeah."
"Good grief! Are you going to fight a war?"
"Well I heard it's a good weapon, so."
"You heard it's a good weapon?" He laughs. "This is the top of the cream, Ned. It's a big machine gun with nearly no recoil, probably the deadliest weapon that a man can carry. The marines would be jealous of you. Totally illegal, these. I don't know where you got it from, Neddie, but I have a feeling we'd better leave Canada soon now. Real soon. Like, yesterday"
I look at him earnestly.
"Frank?"
"Yeah?"
"You don't have to do this, Frank. I feel it could get ugly. I don't know what I am up to, but I don't expect to come back alive. This is serious. I don't want you to get involved."
"No way, Neddie. What are you thinking? You think I will chicken out? Stay here to rot away on my own, while you're having all the fun? No way. I made my decision and I stand by it, Ned."
I wipe away a tear.
"We're team Hercules now!" Frank exclaims, as he hands me a beer. We cheer.
"Team Hercules!" I repeat.
Bhudda barks in agreement.

***

The Waves

I untie the ship. Frank offered to help, but I'll handle the boat on my own until we're well off the coast. We're in a hurry. I know exactly what to do, having run this ship for so many years. Tutoring Frank as a new crew member is only going to take extra time, if I do it right now.
So I routinely start up the Hercules and navigate it out of the harbour, while Frank is doig something on his laptop in the main compartment of the cabin, which serves as a living room.
We're on the east coast, not too far from Alaska. To reach Tokyo is going to take three to four weeks. It is by far the longest trip I ever made with my ship and the most dangerous one. If we get caught in a hurricane we're lost, no doubt about it. The Hercules is in a better shape than you'd guess at first sight and yes, it's sea worthy. As long as the weather conditions are reasonable. Our best hope in case of a heavy storm is to avoid it. When I'm out sailing I religiously follow the weather forecasts, three times a day. As I often did before, I ponder the irony of the name of the Pacific Ocean. Peaceful? Well, if you're lucky, yes.
The coast is already a line in the distance. We're fully onto the sea. The sun hangs low on the horizon, ahead of us in the west. Gulls fly about our boat, no doubt hoping to take their share from the spoils of this fishing trawler.
I feel myself relax. So much went wrong lately. The money, Dimitri, Juan. Here, out on the waves, none of it seems to matter. I'm home. I whistling the melody of a song that I can't remember, standing behind the wheel. Behind me I hear the thumping sound of the old, but trustworthy and well maintained engine.
Frank walks in, rolling a cigarette. He comes to stand next to me, watching the endless sea ahead of us with me. "Off we go, Ned."
What are we getting ourselves into? For the moment I'd rather not worry too much about it. I nod, confirming: "Off we go."

***

We improvised a makeshift bed for Frank out of the couch, a low table and pillows in the living room. I smile as I see that Frank still asleep. I go off to the kitchen to make us a big breakfast with bacon and eggs. We'll need it. I toss Buddha a few bits of meat. He enjoys them so much. He catches them out of the air, then crawls into a corner to chew them up. My little doggy. If only I could teach him to catch fish for me, like a hunting dog. I bet he'd love it.
Frank sleepily walks into the kitchen in his night gown. He yawns: "morning", then takes a beer from the fridge.
I look at him as he opens it and sigh. "Frank?" I start.
He looks at me, somewhat annoyed now. "What?"
I'm not sure what to say. I am an addict, but not when I'm sailing out. At sea I don't drink much. I have to stay sharp to survive here. I can't get drunk and lose control of the ship. It's a rule I do not break. Although it's not a rule as such, more of a matter of course that I never even really thought about.
But there is one taboo between Frank and me. We know each other through and through after all these years and discuss nearly everything. But we do not tell each to quit drinking. Or even suggest it. If one of us tries to quit, that's of course no problem. We both have attempted it so often. But saying the other should? Oh no. No way.
I awkwardly stare at the eggs I'm baking, saying: "Never mind, it's nothing."
Judging by the way Frank walks away without looking at me, I pissed him off big time.

***

I continue operating the boat on my own. It's easier, anyway. I can handle it alone on a regular fishing trip. And this time I do not need to bother catching shrimp. It's awkward not to set out any nets, actually. I keep feeling like I'm forgetting something important. I walk up and down the ship all day, repeatedly checking that everything works fine. It gives me something to do. And it is also an excuse not to confront Frank. He has remained inside in the cabin since this morning, while I've been keeping myself busy.
But I can't keep avoiding him forever. It is already evening now. High time to prepare a dinner. I have to go inside and cook me and Frank a meal.
I nearly stumble over him as I enter the cabin. Frank is on the ground, lying face down in a puddle of his vomit, motionless. In his hand he is clutching an empty bottle. I look about the cabin. It's a battlefield of empty bottles. With a shock it sinks in. Frank has consumed an unbelievable amount of alcohol today, even by the standards of addicts like us. It almost looks like he's downed our entire supply.

***

I'm exhausted. The cabin is finally cleaned up. Frank is lying on the couch now. You don't know how heavy a person is until you've had to drag him along while he's unconscious. It took me all my strength to get him there. He's breathing regularly, but nothing I tried could wake him up. Washing his face with cold water didn't help. Neither did patting him on the cheeck or pinching the soft skin of his hands. I even tried yelling his name into his ear. To no avail. Frank is looking pale.
I'm too tired to know what to do about it. I give up and go to bed. I fall asleep before I manage to undress.

***

I stare into the darkness. It is cold here, but I like that. It makes me feel at ease. It makes breathing easier. I can almost feel the oxygen coming in through my gills.
Far off I can see countless specks of light, like stars in the sky. All of them are delicious fish, food begging me to grab it.
But now is not the time to feed. I have to do something for my mistress. I make a turn and start to swim downwards. In spite of the darkness I know exactly where I am going. I am descending into an undersea ravine, which steeply descends, deep into the bowels of the Earth. Where it is eternally silent and pitch dark.
I can see things nearby by the light I am emitting myself, a sickly green light. While swimming down I encounter a pale, gigantic squid. It stares at me with its huge, pallid eyes, but does not respond to me otherwise.
I cannot resist the urge. Its flesh just looks too juicy and delicious. I bite. I suck and gnaw myself a way in. The squid jerks in agony. That, and the taste of blood in my mouth makes me wild. I burrow myself a way through the soft flesh. I eat and eat. Before long I end up back into the water, leaving its body on the other side. I feel the warmth and nourishment of squid flesh in my veins. With renewed strength I swim further down at a tremendous speed, quickly leaving the angry wounded giant squid behind me, helplessly wriggling about.
I instinctively know how fast I'm descending now. I've passed far beyond the realm where sunlight can reach. This is one of the deepest and most secret places in the oceans. I'm almost there..
Then I finally reach the bottom; a forbidden, nameless depth. In the light of my own body I see a bunch of crablike creatures crawling about. They are feasting on a prey they found. It is made of bones and rags. I feel a little disappointed that most of the flesh is already gone, although I had expected it.
And then it dawns on me. This sad lonely carcass belongs to someone who is dear to me. I suddenly remember again what friendship means. These are the remains of Frank. He is dead, by my fault. I shudder. How could I let this happen? Why me? Why Frank?
I open my mouth to scream. The result is that salty seawater starts to fill my lungs. I can no longer breathe. In fact, the unbelievable pressure at a depth like should have crushed me. Will probably crush me right now.

***

I inhale in a panic. For reasons I don't understand it is air that fills my lungs, not water. I'm still alive. Blankets cover me. Everything is okay, I'm safe. My breath calms down, although my heart is still beating in my throat.
In spite of the situation I laugh. I haven't felt so good as I do this morning in a long time. I have lost count of the days at sea. It must be about two weeks now. Not drinking alcohol all this time has done me more good than I would have thought possible. Only now, now that I'm improving again, do I realise how unhealthy and unfit I have been in the latest years of my life.
It makes me feel unreasonably optimistic. I somehow expect things to take a turn for the better today. Maybe Frank has woken up? Maybe it isn't really a coma after all? Could a normal deep sleep last this long? Or would it be likely to recover from a coma after two weeks? I have no idea, I'm not a doctor. Who knows?
I step into the living room, full of expectations. "Frank?"
The only response is an enthusiastic bark. Buddha jumps up against my legs, utterly oblivious to my worries. "God, Buddha, food really is the only thing you care about, is it?"
I take a closer look at Frank. He is still breathing, but no sign of any response otherwise. Is he looking a little more pale than he already was yesterday, or is that just my imagination?
My desperation returns from the corner it was hiding in. I need to find a hospital and get Frank treated, if I want him to survive. But the closest know hospital is over three thousand miles away from here.
I start to wash his face with cold water. It's become my morning ritual. I don't know what else to do, besides hoping for a miracle.

***
It is late at night, but I cannot sleep. I am outside, leaning on the rail and staring out over the sea. It is a bright night, full of stars. The silence is intense. I shiver.
A storm has been predicted to arrive soon. But for the moment it is awefully quiet. Weirdly quiet. You rarely see such a smooth surface, such a lack of any waves at all. I can’t remember seeing such a totally flat surface. Or can I? A vague memory pulls at the edge of my mind, but then dissolves into nothing.
I have to think of Anatalya. She knows I’m coming. I promised her to pick her up in Tokyo. It is the closest to a half way point that we could think of. Although I was certainly surprised when she first suggested to meet up there, of all places. But it makes sense. It is much more doable for me to sail there than to sail all the way to the west coast of Russia. And for Anatalya it is a reasonable trip as well.
Could it really be that sweet Anatalya is fake? It seems so bizarre. Although there is the money. But other than that, no reason to get paranoid, is there?
Ah, the money. Relieved I think of the money I took away. Thank god that I didn’t end up spending it. I can just put it back now and it will be as if I never took anything out in the first place. I guess I should feel embarrased for being relieved about it. Killing a man is better than stealing a few paper notes? I should be ashamed.
And yet I’m not. Stealing from Anatalya feels like the worst sin I could commit, worse than killing old Juan. Absurd, but I can’t help feeling so.
A faint voice whispers in my ear, so softly and distant that I am not sure if I really hear anything or not. I didn’t drink tonight, did I? Well, besides that one bottle of wine. But that was nothing. It sounds so beautiful. Makes me feel warm and at ease. All my fears, all my worries are gone. Everything is okay.
But this can’t be real, can it? There is not so much as a dead rock anywhere near this part of the ocean. It must be my imagination. Or a memory. Or maybe I am dreaming? For the moment I just stand there and listen, marvelling at the moment.

***