“You are the youngest captain in the fleet,” Columbus said, “you work for Via Hetaio Shipping Lines, and you command the bullet ship Caislean Clocha.”
I stared at him in disbelief. Admiral Columbus, a tall, dark man with a shiny jet-black hair had black eyes that were filled with warmth. He talked to me like a father, and I bet patiently restrained himself from knocking me to the ground. I repeatedly told him he was a hoax but he kept his cool. His parting words were intriguing.
“I understand. You have been in this island for six weeks with practically nobody you know. You’re very confused because what I have told you is something very grave. But if you want to talk, I take a walk along the beach every morning. See you, son.”
I went back to the castle and had a hearty dinner. That night, I tossed and turned in bed. Not even the sweet voice of the chambermaid lulled me to sleep. I was too bothered by my conversation with the admiral earlier that evening. I could have dismissed the whole thing immediately, but I couldn’t. As the conversation was played in my mind, I realised some of what he told me made sense. I started to ask questions.
The following morning, I slipped into my jogging clothes and headed to the beach. The first rays were not yet up; my breath rose into a mist. I saw a tall solitary figure shadow boxing—Columbus. He greeted me and I returned his greeting. We jogged together before we proceeded to the local diner.
“Glad you wanted to talk,” he began.
I sipped my coffee. “Yeah. Haven’t slept last night. So, er—Admiral, what have you for me sir?
“Well, I could help you regain your memory. Your past, I mean. If you want me to,” he replied.
“Okay. I’ve had questions myself. Where do we start?”
He took a deep breath. “You were enrolled at the most prestigious maritime school, Schiff und Heck.”
“That explains what you said about me being a very young captain,” I commented. “No offense, but have you got like a proof of my ‘lost’ memory? A letter to you from me or a diary or something?”
He pulled an object from his pocket: a diary. “You wrote this during your stay in the office and your time aboard Malipayong Buntag and the bullet shipCaislean Clocha. I got it from among your personal items that were salvaged.”
I turned one page, dated June 13, 2007. Suddenly, the words came to life.
Friday was one of those days that I hated. Admiral Columbus, my superior, had given my assignment—the ship I would command. Plus he awarded me a solid blow. It was not because I forgot my homework nor did the computation of knots wrong. No. He silenced me because I said I’d navigate where the sun sets as soon as I get to sea.
“Why are you so obsessed with the west, Captain?” he asked.
“Not obsessed, Admiral. I just love the sights. The spots are breath-taking. I’m pretty sure that my passengers will be awed. The cruise showcases the Thames and Seine, to name a couple. The history of these places are fascinating, perhaps the most exciting.”
The admiral’s eyebrows went up.
“With due respect, sir, Thames or Seine holds more grandeur than the sights we have on our waters. There are lights at night, fabulous places. We don’t have those here.”
I got a stern reply, “Orders are orders, Captain. You will run theMalipayong Buntag while I am admiral in this port.”
I saluted my commander and exited his office, cursing. The Malipayo? That’s tantamount to letting me into the Holocaust’s gas chambers. Commanding the ship is a boring job. It is a cruise ship, but it does not provide excitement. Navigating in our waters didn’t endear me, or rather, never endeared me.
Well, I am Captain now, quite young for my rank. I am in my twenties; others are in their thirties and forties already. Being the youngest captain in the fleet is something I am proud of. Looking back, I haven’t really gone far. Here I am, stuck in Malipayo, whereas I should be in the Caislean Clocha, touring better destinations. But what can I do? I have superiors to follow and orders to obey. So for now, I have to work. Today, I set course for Colon.
“Good evening ladies and gentlemen. Welcome aboard the Malipayong Buntag, your cruise ship bound for Colon. This is your Captain speaking. We’ll be navigating at 21 nautical miles per hour. We will spend three days there, then head off to Alona. Hoping you enjoy your stay with us.”
While at port, retreated to my cabin and worked on the assignment Admiral Columbus gave me. I am supposed to speak to students at my alma mater. What am I to say? This came as a shock.
“You will speak to the students at Schiff und Heck, Captain. Exactly three days after you return from Alona,” he informed me. I was getting ready to go home when Columbus told me this.
“Uh, sir, what am I to say, and what’s up?”
“Ah, yes, forgive me. Your alma mater is having a mini series of lectures and talks on the anniversary. You’re aware of the anniversary date, I take it?”
“Yes, Admiral. But what am I supposed to tell them? I can’t stand there for half an hour or so and lecture them on nautical miles.” I failed to hide the sarcasm.
“You will tell them about your life aboard Malipayo,” Columbus replied simply.
“Yes sir.”
I went straight to the port’s parking lot, where my friend Mel was waiting. I told him about my assignment, and he came clean.
He said, “What can we do, buddy? He’s boss. Let’s roll, Issa’s waiting. She brought a friend for you—” I raised an eyebrow—“Don’t give me that stare James Bond; we know how you are with women. Let’s not keep your Moneypenny waiting.”
Shaking off the recollection, I faced the blank Microsoft Word screen of my laptop. What life is present here, I asked myself. I am Captain of a cruise ship that sails to Colon and Alona, yippee. Clap your hands, let’s celebrate. Crap. And what should I tell them? I’m leading a bummer’s life, gentlemen. I’m commanding theMalipayong Buntag. Well, I could spin a tale of good life, like say, enjoying the sights of Colon or being glad to sail on our waters. Whatever.
I browsed through one of the books Columbus gave me, a history book by Konstantin Owe. I was as puzzled as anyone else might be. Maybe it was one of those weird moves of his. Columbus was admiral, yes, he was made to sail. But he is a man of hidden interests.
“These will help you, Captain. Read on these sections—” he handed me a piece of paper—“then do you speech. You’ll be amazed afterwards.”
I had every urge to question him if he was serious, but I bit my lip instead. His black eyes found my brown ones and bore through. It was as if he was silently commanding me to definitely read the books. Columbus was a man of few words. In the instances that he spoke, he uttered very little words that had the power of daggers.
The book was not about maritime life, obviously. It was a book that recounted happenings of the place where the sun rises: our place. Konstantin Owe’s books say that time has come for the people of where the sun comes up must write about their events. It is much like saying that sailors should navigate their own waters, right?
“Don’t listen. You have a brighter future if you get to Cailean Clocha,” a voice in my head was saying, as if to justify the revulsion I hold for having to run theMalipayong Buntag.
My meeting with Columbus—the day I got the books—flashed back. “I am not against your wanting to command the Caislean Clocha, Captain. My point is that your love for navigation should be balanced. You have to navigate our waters, too.”
And then I remembered the poem I read in high school. It was by Joseph Ricefield. I do not remember the exact words but one thought that caught me is this: those who do not learn to love navigating in their own waters are worse than those that rot at the bottom of the sea.
“Shut it, boy. You know your future. Shut the damn book and focus,” the little voice in my head was a little stern.
I tried to imagine myself commanding Caislean Clocha. It was awesome. The bullet ship’s passengers sipping red wine at the dining hall, anticipating glorious days in the Thames and Seine; then my voice being heard over the speakers, welcoming them. And then I imagined the smoothness of the ship as it moved through the water, its speed: 70 knots. And the fulfilment I would have. The joy in my heart and my father’s voice telling me he was proud of me. Then I willed myself to imagine life aboard Malipayo. Dull. Boring. Stale.
“You are extremely young, Captain. But you’re bright. You know what I mean,” I heard Columbus’ voice in my head.
Without warning, I was whipped by the words of Owe. The lashes were very painful. My insides were twitching, my throat constricted. But I treasured that moment, that sweet, sweet moment. I savoured each lash that sent a clear message to me.
I stared once more at my laptop’s blank Word. I felt very light that time. Every word just came flowing, and sentences and paragraphs were formed. It was as if someone else had written my speech for me: the Muse perhaps. That’s what literary people say, do they not, if they come up with a masterpiece?
I read my finished speech. It was a story of my life aboard the Malipayong Buntag. I remembered Columbus and smiled. Had he not given me the books, I wouldn’t be thinking what I was thinking then: I have to appreciate navigating our waters, and I will.
Back to the diner....
“That was one hell of a story,” I commented. “I guess it makes sense, huh. I’m fascinated with boats, you see. Jet skis, speed boats. How’d I go after that?”
“Your speech was applauded and you asked me if I wanted to be your mentor. Right there. On national television,” Columbus replied, beaming. “It was one day I’ll remember with pride. Move on, will you?”
I obliged. The page I read was dated October 6, 2007.
It has been four months since Columbus knocked some sense into my head. Since then, I’ve been commanding the Malipayong Buntag with pride. I could not explain how I felt, though. But I was sure it wasn’t Cloud 9 yet. Anyway, I somewhat understand now the feeling perhaps, of teachers who have been in the profession for decades and can still teach with passion. Boredom is the risk of doing the same thing over and over. But not me. Each time I steer the Malipayo feels like I’m doing it for the first time. And I wouldn’t trade anything for the feedbacks. Notes and cards have been sent, saying thank you for the great time they had aboard. The crew did the work in the comfort-the-guests part, but I am filled with joy whenever I see a sentence that says the guests enjoyed the sights of Colon and Alona.
I am a tour guide too, besides being captain. This newfound hobby I took ever since I learned to appreciate the sights. Nothing is more rewarding than seeing the guests ooh and ahh in delight. Cheerio!
I smiled as I looked at Columbus. “Fast transformation. All thanks to you.”
He smiled back. “Nothing is more rewarding to a father than to see his son be a man. You are my greatest achievement, you know. You are living proof that the choice I made—my short stint in Schiff und Heck I mean—was not a waste.”
“Why am I not surprised?” I said teasingly. “So...what other adventures does this diary have? Looks like majority of November through February are day-to-day records. What an anti-climax.”
Columbus shook his head. “Young people,” he said. “Your ‘adventures’ included nights out with your friend Mel Peralta. From what I heard you were a lady magnet.” He winked.
“I see. That explains why there are many ladies at my place too,” I said in mock realisation. I skipped pages and read March 16, 2008.
What a beautiful night! I am alone, out sailing aboard my sailboat Firebolt. It has been ages since I did this. Being busy with the cruises made me forget the wordrelax. I am at the deck, a sandwich in my hand. It makes me wish to go back to the mainland and beg Issa to make some more (Mel would probably shove me out their door).
The silence is broken by the occasional rush of waves and the sound of my boat bobbing on water. My lights playfully entertain me. Honestly, the whole thing is so perfect—the wind, the water, the food. What would I not give for another night like this? This is a total bliss.
I must go for now. There is a very sweet voice I hear. That must be a singer from the nearby hotel resort. They have these beautiful singers every night. Maybe I’d spend the night there or just check the sights. Cheerio!
The entry ended. There was no other entry either. I looked up at Columbus.
“That was your last entry. After that, you never came back. Mel said not to expect you for three days—you usually prolonged vacations—but days turned to weeks. I led a search party to the Casey Manua Waterways, that’s where we found your Firebolt, but you were nowhere to be found in the vicinity. It was a puzzle to us, because your boat was intact, no scratch.”
“I’m confused,” replied I, “I’ve been the owner of Chateau Perte since I can remember. The caretaker said I inherited that from my parents when they died eight years ago.”
“Clearly, you are being brain-washed,” Columbus concluded. “There have been rumours that Nerises have taken as captive many sailors who passed by the Waterways. They wipe out the captive’s memories and plant a new one. When the captive is no longer of interest to the Head Neris, he is killed.”
“I’m not a prisoner there, Admiral. I’m treated like royalty; the maidservants are at my disposal. They don’t object orders I give. I am a free man,” I countered.
We said goodbye after breakfast and I went back to the Chateau. My maids greeted me with utmost respect as I arrived. I was told my bath was ready so I went straight to my room. As I scrubbed, I thought hard. Again, Columbus’ words made sense. There were various times that the housekeeper refused to answer questions about my past. And she got mad once. Threatened me I would regret it if I asked one more. Then she softened again and was once more motherly. I brushed the thought off. Was I being too paranoid?
That afternoon, I was able to get out of the housekeeper’s clutches. I shook my head as I walked to the gate. She treats me like a baby and she freaks out if I’m not home by seven in the evening. I went to Columbus’ friend’s apartment. He was playing chess with the owner of the diner when I arrived.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi,” I replied. “Maybe I should come back later.”
“Oh, no. I think Lex has kicked my butt enough. Have a seat.”
I told him my recollection of the housekeeper being mad at me. His brow furrowed and he sighed. He excused himself and retrieved a book from his room. When
he came back, he showed me the title: All Bliss is not Peace by Jonathan Clark. It was a memoir of Clark’s days as a captive on an island by Nerises. My stomach flipped as I read. He recounted how he felt like a king on the island, served by the most beautiful ladies he ever saw. They made him believe he was an aristocrat who lost his memory and was recuperating there. All was well until he lost the favour of the housekeeper that he was about to be killed. He escaped from his cell as the Nerises were preparing for his execution.
My hands became numb. Clark’s experiences were identical to mine: the feeling of royalty, the loss of memory, the anger of the housekeeper. I knew that the ladies in the Chateau were Nerises because of one thing: the food they eat—algae. I had to escape. And if I can, retrieve my memory from the Nerises. According to the book, captives’ memories were kept in a secret vault, in a place they value most. Without a word, I left, angry but determined.
Upon arrival, there was the usual greeting. I went straight to the eastern wing, direct to the room where I was forbidden to enter. It was unlocked. The room had algae-coloured tiles, a high ceiling and a table used for rituals. Wires were at the head of the table. There was nothing else. Frustrated, I scanned the room. The ceiling had a painting of a ship anchored, a sailor entwined with a Neris, and a palace. The walls were painted mint-green. Four posts stood on each corner of the room. The post nearest to where I stood had a small knob-like stuff.
Knob-like? Posts don’t have knobs. I turned the knob. Inside was a silvery thingy floating on a large flask. Beside it was a small basin half-filled with water. I laid the basin on the table and poured the contents of the flask into it. The solution swilled and lo, it showed me in a captain’s uniform. I transferred the solution to the flask and turned to leave.
The doors burst open and the housekeeper-Head Neris came in, others in her wake.
“You are not leaving,” she said. “Put that back, it’s not real.”
“No,” I protested. “You are the hoax. You held me captive here. Everything is a lie. Now let me go.”
Two Nerises blocked my way with spears. They tied my hands. As I struggled to undo the knot, the Head Neris approached and lovingly caressed my cheeks. “Stay with us,” she said, “and you will be this young forever. Or if you want, you can be years younger. No more mortal worry of growing old and dying. No need to work. Here you are a prince.”
“Never!” I bellowed. “You wouldn’t fool me again. You are nothing but hungry scum who only want my flesh. I know about Jonathan Clark! Let go me!”
“All the more we have to keep you,” she cackled. She turned to the other Nerises. “Do it. Remove his memory.”
I struggled again, “Noooooo!”
They sang a very sweet song. It was blissful to hear their voice, so soothing. It felt like every fibre of me was relaxing and I was being lulled to sleep. It seemed I did not care as a silvery something was being extracted from my head. All I felt was total piece.
Then an excruciating pain stabbed me. I screamed for help but no one could hear. The Nerises where oohing. They must be feasting that I would have another blank memory again. I heard a voice call me from afar. I screamed for help and it answered. Fight, it said, fight son. It was Columbus.
“Fight it, son. Keep your memory. This is what you wanted,” Columbus was saying.
“Fight?” the Head Neris taunted, “you will experience only pain and sadness. Let go and you will have bliss.”
It was a dilemma. What would be better: a royal life with a blank memory or a life that has pain with my being in one piece? It was a very tempting offer.
I heard Columbus again, “Come home with me. You know I am a father to you. I would never hurt you.”
“I never forced him to command the ship he hated,” retorted the Head Neris.
Suddenly, she stabbed Columbus. His eyes widened and he fell to a pool of his own blood. I screamed again, calling his name. The Nerises cackled and continued to erase my memory. As hard as I could, I held on to the remaining memory I had, struggling to fight. I grew tired. This was a lost cause. Maybe death was better.
“You’re doing great, son. Hold on and fight,” the voice I wanted to hear. A light blinded me for a moment then I saw Columbus. He was smiling
“Am I dead?” I asked him. He vanished. Then I heard Columbus cough.
“C’mon, boy. Hang on to your memory. Hold on. Retrieve it. Don’t let go. C’mon. Fight,” he said. His voice was raspy.
I struggled to get the upper hand. I could feel the last of my memory slipping away.
“Get out of my head!” I screamed. A surge of energy followed. I felt like being electrocuted. My mind was hazy. It was not electricity, in fact I not what it is. Something had left my body; like something had been ripped off. My head started to clear and my memory came back. It was like watching a quick-speed film. I caught flashes of me in a ship, wearing a captain's uniform; of a young man my age arm in arm with a pregnant lady; and Columbus in his office.
I heard the Nerises scream in pain. That was the last thing I heard before I collapsed.
“Son.”
I was lying face-flat on the floor. Columbus helped me sit, his face concerned.
“You passed out after the Nerises knocked you to the floor,” he explained. “I managed to loosen my bonds.”
“Thank you very much, Admiral,” I croaked. My body was still sore. I sank inches lower. “I seriously thought you died.”
Columbus helped me to my feet, “Come on,” he panted as I stood. One hand around him, I eased my way to the benches. “That was all in your head. The Nerises put that to make you think you were fighting a lost cause. You were screaming for my name. I was knocked out when I tried to soothe you.”
I smiled weakly. “I’m lucky you followed. I wouldn’t have done this alone.”
Columbus winked, “I did nothing. When I arrived, you were already putting up a good fight. Your choice to hold on to your memory was your own.”
“I guess your talks about appreciating our own waters really sunk in,” I said.
“Thank you,” he replied. “Let’s get going.”
I spent another three days at the Chateau Perte, this time with real human nurses. The doctor said I could go back to work in two weeks. I smiled. What more could a man want? I may never have Columbus’ passion for eastern sights but that doesn’t mean I’ll stop valuing them.
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