ELJARA:
“He’s telling that story again.”
SEAN:
“Third time tonight.”
ELJARA:
“And every time, the wave gets higher.”
SEAN:
“By dawn, he’ll have fought the sea itself.”
Across the tavern, a sailor stands on a chair.
He is explaining how he survived the storm.
His friends know he spent most of it vomiting into a bucket.
Nobody corrects him.
Not tonight.
ELJARA:
“Celebration makes terrible liars.”
SEAN:
“Or honest ones.”
A bottle passes between them.
Someone sings badly.
Someone else sings worse.
A woman who has spent three months threatening to stab anyone who touches her knife is asleep with her head on another sailor’s shoulder.
Nobody moves her.
ELJARA:
“The armour comes off quickly.”
SEAN:
“Not all of it.”
At sea, fear has uses.
You hide it.
You turn it into anger.
You make a joke.
You give an order.
You sharpen a blade that does not need sharpening.
You do anything except admit that the dark water frightened you.
Tonight, someone does.
A sailor stares into his cup.
SAILOR:
“I thought we were dead.”
Nobody laughs.
Another man answers.
SECOND SAILOR:
“So did I.”
A third raises his drink.
THIRD SAILOR:
“I pissed myself.”
Now they laugh.
So does he.
ELJARA:
“That’s almost healthy.”
SEAN:
“Careful. You’ll ruin their reputation.”
The laughter fades.
Not completely.
Just enough.
The first sailor looks towards the door.
SAILOR:
“I saw Tom go over.”
Nobody answers.
SEAN:
“There it is.”
ELJARA:
“What?”
SEAN:
“The thing underneath.”
The sailor drinks.
SAILOR:
“I could have thrown him a line.”
SECOND SAILOR:
“You’d have gone over too.”
SAILOR:
“Maybe.”
SECOND SAILOR:
“He was already gone.”
SAILOR:
“You don’t know that.”
The room around them keeps celebrating.
Dice roll.
Rum pours.
Boots strike the floor.
But this little corner has become very quiet.
ELJARA:
“Guilt.”
SEAN:
“Perhaps.”
ELJARA:
“You think he could have saved him?”
SEAN:
“Doesn’t matter.”
ELJARA:
“It matters to him.”
SEAN:
“That’s what I mean.”
Another bottle arrives.
The sailor pushes it away.
For the first time tonight.
SEAN:
“People think drink makes you forget.”
ELJARA:
“It can.”
SEAN:
“Sometimes it just makes remembering harder to avoid.”
The second sailor puts a hand on his shoulder.
No speech.
No forgiveness.
No declaration that he did everything he could.
Just a hand.
The sailor does not shrug it away.
ELJARA:
“So that’s celebration?”
SEAN:
“Part of it.”
ELJARA:
“Fear, guilt and bad singing?”
SEAN:
“And surviving long enough to admit to all three.”
The fiddle changes tune.
Someone calls for the sailor.
He looks towards the noise.
For a moment, he stays where he is.
Then he stands.
He does not look happier.
But he goes back to the others.
ELJARA:
“Armour back on?”
SEAN:
“Not yet.”
Outside, the harbour water moves beneath the moon.
Something knocks once against the pilings.
Then again.
Perhaps driftwood.
Perhaps not.
Inside, somebody begins another song.
This time, the sailor joins in.
What comes out when your armour finally loosens?
Enter a Pirate Borg world that remembers what you did: