A Snow, on Cherry Blossoms - 6
A novella
2
Moments can blur, or they can be quite specific in their intensity. A single instance can be etched upon one's mind, or it can be gone as the melting of a gong in the wind. What does this I do not know, but it is with these moments of reflection – and the blur of the remaining time – that marks each person the way they are. In that moment when I released the boat, with my companion the other side, a course was set – leading to the mountains that I am in. I can still see the red of the rising sun – as it reflects off the bridge, as the sky grows darker, then to silence this into the gloom. I can still remember, as well, the birds climbing upwards – with the men cast as dogs beneath them. The semen wished that they, too, could just stretch their wings. The sea grew to black from the blue of just moments before, and crest with an enormous strength that was unknown just a few minutes before. The ways grew from undulating to cresting in that few minutes – taking a different form that seemed to crush the trawler.
Across the raft, I looked at the 1st mate – indeed, I now looked at him with tenure perception. He was just slightly taller than average, but with no more build than an officer would have – there was a difference between the crew and the officers, of course. What struck him as different was a scar on his the way that he rolled up his sleeves – as if to accentuate it. The muscles bulge from his upper arms, but not from his legs – it showed that he had been a member of the crew once upon a time. But not for long.
Spirit wandered across what it was brought him here – but we 1st had to survive, and get away from the trawler. With every passing moment, the swells grew stronger, and very soon were larger than the boat we were upon. We realized that we were no longer under the protection of the trawler, and were out on our own, with the storm cloud overcast. There was no light, there was no life, and for about half the time, the sign of man was not in view. We were alone. Very alone. But not quite safe – we were hauling on the oars, not for dear life – but to accomplish our mission – my mission, in point of fact.
Redness cast a pall over the eastern half of the sky – as if it were making one last chance to seize the day. One could see in the distance – we had covered at least 2 miles from the boat – a scene out of a navigation book. The cutter was directly heading towards them and had started to fire their guns. The trawler had no such capability, but it did two things: one which was normal the other odd one. The normal thing lights a series of rockets and hopes to signal other vessels. The thing that was unusual - was that it stopped the engines, and then started them again, and then stopped – until it became obvious that it was signaling, signaling with the steam. Then gradually it spelled out: “S. O. S.”, and did so repeatedly – it was a very new thing introduced by the Germans, and the captain was aware of its meaning. This made the cutter even more aware that it had to silence, even if it did not know the meaning, it could guess. The engineer on the Russian vessel drained the last ergs of its own engine plowing down – into the deep, if necessary.
Comes at a time, when it is clear that the metal engine will crush the civilian cargo ship. It seemed to move in slow motion – but we could watch only with our eyes, Though both of us had binoculars, we were still fighting with the oars. So we could only see the smashing with the cutter's prow through the wooden ship. And then it was gone, there was no great plan aboard the captain's mind, and it merely sank in a few minutes. I could not see but could imagine, the wailings of men in the water. Desperately waving their hands, and trying to be rescued. But the cutter went on as if nothing happened. Everything that we had known on the ship was gone as if it were dust only to be remembered in the memory – and then even forgotten by that. The faces, the figures, the illusion of masks of men were the most fleeting – and now they were gone.
Design how did that even the memory gave way – now it was the Russian ship against the little life raft. The only advantage we had was that we were invisible, and it would take some time for the military vessel to locate us. If it did not we may escape, but it was more than likely that the same fate would happen to us. Involuntarily, I clenched my teeth – and drove out the thoughts, not only of death but more of the horror of knowing that I was dying. I realized that the code that I subscribe to said that I should be as if I were already dead – but my will could not encompass such a state, when I was being swallowed, whole, by the living water. Fear enshrouded my heart. Blackness held my mind.
Clouds then covered the entire sky, and it was clear that we were on the boundary between the river, and the great sea. I remembered the map of the city, there were two divisions – on the west side was an emptying of the tributaries fed from fresh water, and then there was a crest that formed a crescent. Farther out this crescent gave way to the ocean. The boat then tilted sideways – as we were dredging in 2 the hard see, from the shallow bay. We were drenched in a huge wave – and it seemed more was to follow it.
All at once the ocean turned dark. With a glance to my right, I saw that my companion was doing the same thing I was – the 1st thing we had to do was to cover the boat with canvas. Then the only tool we had to work with was an oar – so we applied our muscle – now drenched in water. The idea was to tilt the boat so that it was going over the wave, even if it for a moment would plunge beneath. It was a gamble – but it was the only thing that we knew how to do. We were passing to the maw of the storm.
The prow of the raft entered into the breaker – and for a long instant, we were below the surface – and then out again. We could see the downside of the flood, with a long gulf until the next wave. Now it seemed clear to me that we had passed the narrow shelf, and set out onto deeper waters – and I realized a decision was upon me. Should we continue on the ocean, or set back for the quieter waters near the harbor, with islands that might hide us? I sat and drew a long breath, exhaling it before making up my mind.
The tempting thing was to head back to the inner reaches of Dalian – safer in the turbulence. But I realized that that would be the wrong decision. Nor was setting out for the sea – instead, it was between these where there was life to be had. Rain was pelting my face – but I could see that the raft would only take a few more beatings before it sank. It was in between where the bore broke that are liferaft might survive – and the barrel of the breaking. Neither in the ocean nor the calm of the harbor. We must rush the current. But communicating that to my mate was going to be a problem.
Concentrating on the next wave, so I pushed his shoulder with my arm to get his attention. He pointed out with my arm, repeatedly, until he saw what I was thinking – funnel down the 2 waves that were cresting. Hoping that he had gotten my point, I shoved my blade in and made a passing attempt to steer the float down the middle of the 2 enormous moving ridges. It was a forlorn hope, but it was the best that we could do. It would keep the cutter away from us, and defendants from the open sea – which was all that could be expected.
Heavens of those were not a single shade of blackness, there were deep patches of light gray amidst the rings of deep black. It seemed as if a god was inflicting his wrath on everyone in his path, I could hear the clattering of a metal gong in my head – as if were rehearsing crashing cymbals: crack, crank, Crank. It was far away – but inside his head. The drone overwhelmed his and the monotony semper fi.
But he girded his mind – wishing away such useless tones in his brain – and concentrated instead on the undulating patterns of the swells. He had to reach the top, and then slide in and catch the wave as it broke over him. His boat was small, and he hoped that while running the gauntlet they would lose the cutter – which was much smaller and could not fit. It was a hope, but nothing more. As he pushed up the backwash – seeing the rippling sky above, with its terrible face – his mind drifted to 1 of the Zen Buddhist sayings, which reminded everyone that we are going to die as part of the natural order of things. The storm would die, the ships maneuvering through the gale would die, and then men on board, the ships navigating the tempest would die. It is life that is a folly, and as the outpouring scattered rain on his face, renewed his sense of purpose.
Scull dipped into the water with an intoxication, his teeth were girded – as he looked to his companion and chanted as if to war. Only a growling came out at 1st, but then a clear sign of “Banzai! Banzai! Banzai!” He was one with his anger, with the feeling that he was the tip of destruction. They reached the top of the and maneuvered. They were now cresting the wave, to be along a tangent – to their left was the open sea, and to their right was the inner bay. In front of them was the peak of the crescent of the city. The harbor was divided into 2 two parts: a commercial harbor and an industrial harbor. The industrial harbor pointed inwards to the great expanse of China and Beijing – the commercial harbor was pointed out towards the Pacific Ocean, with only Korea in its way, and of course Japan. I bowed in the movement – every inch of his spine was devoted to keeping the car moving. Stretched out with my back parallel to the deck – and I hoped my companion was as well. But I did not look.
Russian cutter, however, was behind him, and he dared not to look. But then, suddenly, two guns splashed in the water, almost too close for comfort. A desperate wish to look back consumed his mind – he wanted to see whether the military vessel was closing, or not. However he realized that would be a deep mistake – instead, he had to push with all of his limits towards the end of the wave, because the cutter would not be able to even come close. With discipline, he continued to do nothing else than keep the oar straight and pray for deliverance. Then something is back, and then again, and again. Suddenly his eyes focused – and he saw a flying fish, and then another one on the awning of the raft. Then the wave of fish swallowed them for an instant and was gone – replaced by a sound that could only be made by man. It was a twisting torquing sound – which could only be the noise of metal twisting. It was clear that the cutter was too large for the wave as it broke onto the shore. He looked towards the shore to find they were much closer than he expected. He also noticed that the dark clouds were thinning; the storm was dissipating.
He could see the ship was twisted. It was crushed by the forces of the gale, and he could not see any living seamen from it, just the dead. He thought he could see one face that was into a ghost of mariners at sea. But the vision was gone – and I did not believe in such things, though many swore by such things. And then the ship was gone, though many of its pieces turned over and over again. It merged into the general spray, gone without a trace.
Attention shifted from the dead on the Russian cutter, to our own plight. While we were riding the barrel – with water both above us and below – there came a point when the raft was going to crash into the surf. It was at that moment that the boat was going to either head upwards – and float – or head downwards into the depths. Once more a decision was upon me – upon us actually, but I did not trust my companion to make the right decision. So I needed to make a decision before my companion did because it was obvious to me that whatever he came up with was probably the wrong thing. My brain tried every imaginable method – because the point on the crest was moving up fast, we were no longer at the grandeur of the sea but spread before we were the terrible nature of the land which would consume us.
Spray rolled over us, as we were inside the barrel of the wave. All the world was consumed by this – a single line at the end of which was a field – mixed with air, and water. It seemed as if it was a gullet that we were being rammed down. For a few brief seconds, we had air to breathe – but we knew it would not last. Eventually, the wall to our right to water would collapse – while we were spinning down the tube. Terror was the only thing that we felt, and clenching of teeth was the only sensation from my body – bought for the moment the breakers were holding. And I knew at that moment that I had to make a decision – would I go to the end and feel the roar of the swell, would I go to the left into the wave, or right and hope that we splash out?
Multitudes of decisions came down at that one point, where I decided to roll left and hope that the wave would roll past us. There was a feeling in my spine that the bottom of the sea was quickly upon us – that was the thing that I made the decision on. Because I had an image of the cutter rolling right and it was dashed – so I knew that while my raft was smaller and lighter, we had also been moving a great distance. The horror of being dashed, as if turned into a funayūrei,
It sent a shiver down my spine – even as I took the oar and made it a paddle for my maneuver. Of I could not tell my mate anything – it loud, a kind of boisterous nature. My eyes were repeatedly shut by drizzles of the wavefront, but I managed to keep them open at least half of the time. Perhaps it is that I wished to see what would happen as we rushed through the tormented crest.
Instantly we were through the lather, and on the top of the wave - a yawing of the tide and the overcast of the heavens created a sense of distance. We had gone from a narrow tube to the gulf. The boat was close to the tip of land that extruded from the peninsula – we had only to find someplace to land and we were safe. Or so it appeared. But then the next wave came up, as we slid down. It seemed as if we were going to wave itself. But the bottom was nearer to us than even I had imagined, and thus the sea swell was breaking incredibly fast. Instead of being consumed, the undertow leached and sent it out to the ocean.
Knocked by the grid of the sand, and having the boat slip end over end along its prow – we were suddenly safe. We surveyed the hilly end of the land, with its small buildings – but of Russian rather than Chinese style, it was common for the enforcer of a treaty port to build in its style – and breathed out. I turned to look, and now could see how the bottom came rising and formed breakers, but that had not been visible from the ocean. About a mile there was a smokestack and bridge of the Russian vessel, it was clear that the sea ended very quickly and became rapidly a harbor. There was no sign of life on board, just the skeleton of the structure. There was little on the raft, but since the boat was overturned – what little there was spilled out into the sea.
Inwards at the land, I saw the man who had been with me through this tribulation. I had expected to see a diabolical look on I had imagined something different was going on in his mind. I saw a forlorn face.
Stopped in time – what were the moments that I would describe to someone, and make them understand the mystery and dread – as if they could be stretched beyond their imagination. Almost as if they were snapped to a different place. The rolling of the waves, the horror of waiting for the shells to land in the water beneath the gray skies, the whip of the rain that bristled the face. The panic of those moments which were now behind me – and only revealed partially by the memory of them. How to reach out and explain to someone who has not felt it in detail? As if the covers of a book, sipped with tea could engulf the reader and put him, if only for a moment, where I was. Then to ponder the deep enigmas which were revealed, and thence to dream, but to dream. As if by divine revelation within a wave, perchance.