Archivist note: This post is from an older recovered archive.
((Posted by Queer Hermit on June 28, 2010))
I really must send Tepic a thank you note. While reflecting over the situation with the water spirit and the appearance of the sea turtle that darling boy went and made the suggestion that the two events might be connected. That’s twice I missed the clear solution on this assignment. I need to think if I should be returning to the temple for additional training. But not now, for today I shall find out if Tepic’s idea is the correct one. I walk down to the shoreline with my shamisen and a blanket to sit upon. The day is clear by Babbage standards; the sun peeks through the soot layer on occasion. I set up my location, tune up the shamisen and begin to practice as I have been doing. I do not want to change the ritual in order to give everything the best chance to happen as I hope it will. The droning tones of the instrument seem to be a perfect counterpoint to the tones of the steam turtle’s exhaust almost if we were in harmony to each other.
Then a wake forms in the water and the head of the turtle breaks the surface. It slowly moves at its own pace towards me and beaches itself just in front of the blanket. It lies there motionless, listening to me. I see a tear form in its eye and slowly descend to the bottom of its beak-like chin. I complete the song and let the last note fade into the air as I enter the space of here/not here and issue the call.
http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7155/6687127149_fedf7f2177.jpg
“Who glides below the surface of the water of life as one reborn? Who knows the meaning of the word duty so well as to die for it? Friends who live in other spaces call to those who gave all for them so that they may thank them properly. Who knows of the death of the Triton and would wish for the truth to be known?”
Quiet reigns on the shoreline, the lapping of the waves seems muted. Patience, be still as a stone Iyou wait for the sea as it has its own pace.
“Those who fly beneath the air and water hear the words of the friend once known and loved as a brother. Rebirth through death is the reward and boon for those who love so well. Duty and honor are kin to love and sacrifice and all are known by me. The Triton’s truth shall be known so it will swim again.”
I bow humbly with respect towards the turtle whose voice is as low as the deeps of the sea and as slow and sure as the tides.
“I am sent by the one who thinks of you as a brother and who still grieves as deeply as any member of the family. I am the conduit of that love and would like to speak for him if you allow. You are Charles Oliver Lane, late of the command of the Triton?”
“I am. I stand the watch upon its ruined bridge, protecting the souls who lie there. You have called using the name of a dear friend. Is he well?”
“Yes, he is and successful. He wants you to know that an inquest cleared you all of any error. The Triton was built flawed.”
“Flawed? That can not be. We spent countless hours on its design. How can you even think to say that?”
“Your pardon, the design was never in question. It was the equipment used.”
A pause, a long one…
“My life was forfeit because of someone’s greed?”
I bow again to express my sorrow…”I am afraid so.”
“But MichaelD survived and is well you say. Then my death was not the total meaningless thing I thought it was.”
The surf washes over the turtle bringing out colors that shine in the sooty sunlight as it ponders something.
“Can you deliver a few messages to those I cared about so much? I never said some things that I always wanted to say. It seems that is the way of the world I used to know. Never enough time and everything in such a rush.”
“It would be my honor to do so. This is what I have trained for in the temple since I can remember.”
A low bass chuckle rumbles from him…“I know, the dragonfly told me all about you. He said I could trust you but I wanted to wait and see for myself. Which is why I never spoke and waited for you. He did also say that you would probably not see me for what I am.”
Ouch….
“Are you ready? There are only a few I want to leave words with.”
“Of course. I shall remember it all and write it down as soon as I return to my home.”
“Tell Liandra that I shall always remember how close we were. Tell her not to blame anyone for my death, as it was my choice to re-enter the Triton to see who else could be saved. She understands duty and love and those were the reasons why I went back in. Let her know that I miss her but I pray that she remembers me fondly in her heart. Tell her…tell her to be happy.”
“I understand.”
“Let MichaelD know what became of me. Let him know that there were no others alive, that all I found were bodies as I made my way back in. You may not understand this, but tell him the exchanger valves were leaking around the stems and it was impossible to reach them. Bigger blowoffs might have saved us but we never thought of that in the design. Tell him that the design is still solid and that the Triton should be rebuilt. Let him know that there is nothing left to salvage, that the wreck should lie where it is untouched as it is our tombstone.”
“I will do that for you.”
“One more thing if you would please. When you see MichaelD will you let him know that I will always love him as my brother. I do not understand how I came to be reborn but I am sure that someday I will pass on. When that happens, I will happily rejoin him and clasp him to my bosum and cry for happiness. Tell him to be at peace as I am. I serve as the commander of the Triton as she lies at the bottom. It is a lonely duty but one I suffer gladly since I know he lives.”
I bow again and feel my tears stream down my cheeks. Such love! Shall I ever be lucky enough to share something like this?
“I will not return again. There is no need to. Your task and mine have been faithfully discharged. I wish you well.”
The turtle slides back into the waters of Babbage. The head disappears and then the wake smooths out. The captain of the Triton returns to his post. I pick up the shamisen and begin to play one last time in his honor. Then I pick up and fold my blanket, shoulder my instrument, and with tears still running down my face walk back to my flat to write the last words of Lt. Cdr. Charles Oliver Lane.
