by Kim Ekemar
Please let me hear from you soon,
JP
January 30, 1973 (first entry)
Last night I went to bed with an awful longing for Mary Jane … I will hold out, though, I know I have to alienate myself from the habits I acquired in Nam. The package from Johnny Push-push hasn’t arrived yet, although I wired him the money, what, five or six days ago.
January 30, 1973 (second entry)
Surprise, surprise. The Greyhound bus line has managed to keep its service open despite the heavy snowfalls. Today, just in time for lunch with his sister, in walked Xavier and a friend he never bothered with a look while repeatedly referring to him as Vicente. “Hermano mio!” Inocencia exclaimed when she opened the door. Fifteen minutes was all the time I needed to tell me that no brother and sister could be more different.
Xavier arrived sharply dressed and instantly prepared for any hip New York event. This of course implies he did not come at all prepared for the snow we’re experiencing in Harbor. He danced into our quiet little four-person household on ballroom shoes of alligator hide that look as if they have cost him 200 bucks. He basked in his sister’s attentions and her exclamations about his elegant appearance. The best clothes, gold watch, thick gold bracelet, a fat jewel-studded cross of gold hanging around his neck. Black shirt, black leather jacket, black trousers, black dancing shoes and golden fat glistening in his fair hair.
Yes, whereas Inocencia is dark, her brother is fair-haired and fair-skinned. Where her features are soft and beautiful, his are handsome and disdainful. Yet his facial features are such that I can clearly see they share the same parents. They both have attraction and presence, but while Inocencia is spontaneously generous and so full of understanding, Xavier is studied and distant. He has an arrogant frown that never leaves his face, and he is patronizing toward everyone, including Inocencia. Strangely enough, she doesn’t seem to notice. Inocencia just keeps chirping happily about her big brother who’s come to visit after so many years.
The friend he brought with him, now, he’s another ticket. Vicente reminds me of the essential lowlife GI going to the brothels in Saigon to beat the girls up only because they didn’t put up enough resistance to his abuse. Punishment for not being interesting enough. People hardly worth the trouble to flex muscles and superpower status and macho satisfaction for. But, I could understand it then, at least sometimes, because when you have almost daily near-death experiences you need to take that frustration out on something or someone. Sex was one way, violence another. Many of us combined the two. Darryl was of course the one who always went further than the rest of us, and now he has a divorce and a two-year sentence pending for beating up on his wife last year.
Vicente has a constant weak smile on his lips. Although he is dark and very obviously someone born in a Latin American country, he doesn’t come across that way. I get more the feeling of someone who doesn’t belong anywhere … yet everywhere. He is puffy without being fat and, as far as I understand them, impressively tolerant to Xavier’s sarcasms. Sometimes they speak in English but most of the time in Spanish. Xavier’s tone of voice gives him away, though, but not to his sister who happily chatters away and accepts his every whim while she ignores his lack of social graces.
Meanwhile it was interesting to see how Vicente had Inocencia for first course, looking her up and down while inhaling deeply to get a whiff of her most secret scent. I think he got some surreptitious warning glance from Xavier, though, because suddenly Vicente turned his attentions to Lorena, who just kept on yawning over his unexpected preliminaries. Vicente is one those empty-headed Latin lovers who think they can conquer the world, and any woman in it, by flaunting their crude macho prowess. ‘Let the female get a smell of stale male from last year’s rutting season’ kind of thing. No subtlety required.
Letter from PBC to JP on January 30, 1973
Dear JP,
I send you the draft to my second chapter, which to my surprise flowed out of my pen uninterrupted and as of its own will. Perhaps this is due to my eagerness to know how the following chapter will end – I have already outlined a good part of it, and it will be much longer than the previous. For some strange reason I feel physically upset at what is going to happen. Titillated. Nervous. Anticipating the dark forces that are about to be unleashed. Am I overreacting when I say this, or can you also sense the suspense that is building up? After these years of being unproductive I am suddenly writing as if possessed, and I perceive every minute detail in my surroundings as possible elements in the story I am writing. I wonder fleetingly if I can still tell reality from fiction, past from present, true feelings from deceptive behavior … I think that you’re aware I have always been susceptible to images. They project on my brain, and with a pen I transfer them onto my literary canvas. One way to consider them would be to dub them creatures of my imagination. I feel stressed by all these images, and only after diverting them into the book I am writing do I feel relief.
Being in Harbor at this time of year helps to build up that eerie feeling of living slightly beyond reality. Somehow Harbor isn’t tangible. It’s too perfect. I’m fascinated with the never-ending snow. Every individual I meet seem to be somebody who merits a novel based on his own personality. It’s an apparently tranquil place with a hundred of turbulent stories hidden below an inviting layer of recent snow.
In the enclosed second chapter of The Ship you will notice that I have taken your advice to my chest. As always I will appreciate your further sage comments to help me shape the forthcoming chapters (I’m not trying to be flippant!). In Chapter Two it’s all about discovery and the desire to penetrate the unknown domain of the ship - or perhaps I should write soul? You can see for yourself that I have taken your advice and done my best to nail the hardships firmly under the reader’s skin. Can you imagine how I did it? I thought of every hellish thing I went through in Viet Nam, and transferred them to this totally contrary setting. To do this, the present weather in Harbor has been very accommodating to me.
Instead of heat I envision cold. Instead of still, damp air and suffocating vegetation I imagine icy ferocious gales of dancing white flakes so cold they hurt your lungs. Instead of lush, rich, inviting colors and the complexity of the jungle I see the vast, desolate, isolated space of solitude. How much farther would it be possible for me to get away from what I lived through during those three years – or for that matter, from my first book? You will soon find I named the ship Pandora. I did it on a subconscious impulse and with a vague memory of the legend, but later I looked it up. Pandora, as you are probably aware of, was according to Greek mythology created by Zeus. The devious gods gave Pandora not only beauty and allure, but also curiosity to go with these traits. She was sent to Earth with a sealed box, inside which the gods had each left a secret gift. Pandora was warned that no matter what, she was not allowed to open the box. Her curiosity got the better of her and she looked inside. Out slipped the ailments and calamities the gods had locked away, although she slammed the lid shut as soon as she understood what they had done. Only one thing was left inside – hope – and ever since that day it has never abandoned us humans.
And it’s my sincere hope, JP, that you look favorably upon my advances of late, because I don’t want to disappoint you. I welcome all your suggestions as usual, because as far as this work goes I’m off my former turf. It’s not something I have studied for years or have observed by participating in a petty cynical war; no, this is something I subconsciously feel will come with a lot of clues to the human psyche, and perhaps even become an answer to why some of us acted as we did in Nam.
Awaiting, as always, your speedy reply,
Paul
Note from JP to PBC, dated February 3, 1971
My dear Paul,
It is always impossible to predict what you are going to write in your next letter, and I promise you that whatever you do write, the surprise is usually a pleasant one. Although you still won’t let me have a synopsis of your book in progress, I
perceive also your latest work the very same way. It’s interesting, full of small but unexpected turns, and with new elements introduced into the story – despite the fact you once claimed you are looking for simplicity in your life and in your future work.
As I have told you before, I’m not accustomed to review a work in progress unless I have a definite idea of the author’s intentions. In your case – for some obscure reason I cannot fathom – I’m making an exception. Perhaps I have a sixth sense telling me that the tension you are building is going to erupt into a literary epos of suspense …
So the two companions seek to get on board the ship while the narrator is reluctant to do so? I perceive between the lines that you really want to let Corey loose on some metaphorical soul-searching, meaning that whatever he would encounter onboard must be a reflection of his proper self. So far Corey has all the signs of a weak, wavering character who possesses strong desire but shies from its toll.
Perhaps you are aware that there are four basic flavors through which we distinguish all we taste. Less known is that there are eleven basic scents through which we determine all smells. Imagine then a handful of base instincts making up the palette on which we humans draw to satisfy the pleasures our egotism covets.
Did you know that some ancient scholars came to the conclusion that the source to all other sins can be synthesized into seven deadly ones?
Look them up and tell me what you think. Would it be very inopportune of me to suggest a confrontation between Corey and the deadly sins? It would be interesting to know what happens to an indecisive individual who suddenly has to confront his unknown darker self. A spiritual coward who finally faces the latent weaknesses - or perhaps they are desires he admits to - of his character. The definition of a deadly sin is that it is fatal to spiritual progress. Could this be what your book is about?
Or did you have something else in mind? It’s very hard for me to judge, since you insist on writing without the firm outline of an idea.
Where will all this end?
Yours affectionately, JP
The Ship: Chapter II
THE LIGHT
Not even an hour had passed after Irving had left us when the sliding door opposite me was suddenly jerked open. The light in the ceiling automatically went on with the door opened, and I could see that Oona also had her heart in her mouth from the unexpected action.
The person we could see in the dim light was covered with snow. With difficulty one could distinguish the ocher color of his coat.
“Irving!” Oona exclaimed. “What happened to you!”
Irving shook himself and brushed off the snow inasmuch as it was possible. He jumped into the van and turned on the ignition to get some warmth with the motor running. Both of us could see that he was in an excellent mood.
“You can't imagine what I've found!” he beamed. “Close by we have accommodation for the night!”
“Incredible!” Oona cried. “Oh, Irving, you always manage to make things turn out for the best … “
I suppose I could not help feeling doubtful. What kind of accommodation could he have found on this rocky, abandoned coast?
Irving didn’t notice my skepticism.
“Not even twenty minutes after I left you a light coming from the sea suddenly caught my eye. At first I thought it was my imagination playing tricks - what kind of light would be strong enough for me to discern through this blizzard? Once again it twinkled, and I became convinced that something was out there. My curiosity made me leave the road and walk in the direction of the flickering light. I made it to some trees where the wind wasn't blowing so hard. The light was alternately weak and strong, as if something was on fire. I finally reached some cliffs that sloped sharply into the sea. After crawling up on a rock I got a good view of the source of the light. Less than a mile from the shore there’s a ship stuck in the ice. Aboard the ship there was a light so strong that it must have come from a fire.”
Irving's cheeks were red from his walk in the cold and the excitement of his discovery. He kept on talking animatedly without pausing for our reaction.
“There is a crevice close by where it will be easy to get down to the ice. I didn't want to continue without you, so I decided to return. Let's gather whatever we may need for the next couple of days and leave immediately for the ship.”
His summons sounded like an order; a decision that was unilaterally made. I just shook my head and at last he noticed my lack of enthusiasm.
“Now what's wrong, Corey?” he said, irritated. “If a light is shining from a ship close by, this means that there are people on board and that it's sheltered. Surely that's better than sitting in the van freezing – or walking ten miles in the dark to Haven, for that matter.”
“Although it's cold and unpleasant in the van we know what we can expect here,’ I answered. ‘Who knows what that light aboard the ship means – ?”
“It means that there’s warmth and food and human companionship!” Irving interrupted me cheerfully and turned towards Oona. “Don't you agree that wading half an hour through the snow for a nice fireplace is better than remaining here, Oona?”
It wouldn’t have made any difference if he had asked her to follow him to the Sahara via the South Pole. Her eyes told all present they thought Irving to be infallible.
“I absolutely agree that we leave for the ship, Irving,” she replied, and raised the hood of her fur coat to show him she was ready. “Of course you will join us, Corey?”
What could I do? The prospect of being left behind alone in a broken-down van while the snowstorm escalated seemed somewhat gloomier than the ship Irving had found. Reluctantly I gave in.
We packed a few things but not more than we would manage to carry. Irving locked the doors carefully before we left the van.
“It's better to be foresighted,” he mumbled to himself. “Considering that we do have three months of research material in the van.”
Irving went ahead of us along the road. After walking some distance, he stopped and spied towards the sea. Snow and wind had by now of course blurred the tracks he had previously left. At last he cried out, at what I don’t know, and turned off the road. We waded after him through snow that reached to our knees. It felt heavy walking, like trying to run in water. At least we now had the wind on our backs and it no longer stung our faces.
How Irving found his way I can’t imagine, but I presume he must have chosen some landmarks on his first trip. I, for my part, did not see the light that Irving had mentioned or anything else besides the snow, which was now falling thicker than ever. The temperature must have dropped to ten below zero. I did not feel the cold, though, thanks to my warm parka and the exertion needed to plod through the drifts.
We trudged among windswept trees surrounding us like bent exclamation marks in the snowfall. Repeatedly, when Irving discovered that he had led us in the wrong direction, we had to turn back. My hope that nothing would go wrong was rapidly vanishing. I could hear Oona's panting over the wind; she did not have the physique for this kind of hardship.
Finally, Irving waved eagerly for us to hurry to a rock where he was waiting. It was hard to trudge through the snow now; almost an hour had passed since we had left the van. The darkness had completely replaced the sparse daylight. I climbed up on the rock ahead of Oona and looked down in the direction Irving was pointing.
“The light is much weaker now”, he shouted at me, “but it is still there.”
Caught in the ice, perhaps half a mile from where we stood, the outline of the ship that Irving had described could be seen. On the ship a steady light shone, although it was almost indistinguishable in the snowfall. I could not understand how it had caught Irving’s attention when he had walked down the road. Perhaps it was as he had said, the light was not as strong as when he first had seen it.
Oona came over and placed herself between us. Irving was quick to give her encouragement.
“Out there we have shelter from the storm, Oona.” In spite
of the foul weather he managed to add some tenderness in his voice. The great protector. Come, be safe in my embrace …
Oona did not reply; she was catching her breath after the long hard walk through the snow.
“Over here is the crevice where we can get down to the ice.” Irving shouted, and walked ahead of us between some rocks. Oona and I followed him.
The ravine that we had to descend was perhaps three hundred yards long and not too steep. It took a good while to make it to the shore anyway. Carefully we probed our way between the overhanging rocks difficult to make out in the blizzard. The drifts were deeper here since the snow came blowing straight in from the sea and buried the hillside. Irving led our procession, immediately followed by Oona and then me as we tumbled through the deep snow. It was impossible to walk upright. Most of the time we moved by sliding down until at long last we reached the shore.
By the foot of the cliffs there were large boulders covered with snow. The wind had stacked huge ice floes on the side of the boulders that faced the open sea. With some difficulty we passed between the boulders and started to climb the ice floes. The wind was more intense here than any place since we had left the van. It was so piercing the teeth seemed to come loose from my jawbones.
Irving helped Oona over the hardest parts. Since I’d decided not to take any unnecessary risks in the darkness, the others outdistanced me. Finally, the pack ice lessened and it became easier to walk. Sometimes the ice cracked beneath my feet and I worried that it was not frozen enough to carry my weight. I began to step in the footprints left by Irving and Oona as far as it was possible. Some distance away I could make out their shadowy bodies, and I saw Irving stop now and then as if to find his bearings. The light from the ship was now almost non-existent. We were three lost souls in search of light and warmth on a sea of ice.
