Short Story: Jonah: A Tale Of The…

Short Story: Jonah: A Tale Of The Old Man In The Sea

Every person, no matter what their status in society, has an underlying fear of death; fading away into an unknown dark eternity filled with tormenting demons and fire, justification for a sin filled life where no pleasures or desires were restrained. Others contemplate a light filled Utopian eternity where the complications of their mortal life are forever entombed and cast into the abyss with the mass collection of others who had passed on into this blissful, mystical, spiritual realm, reward for obedience to a faith which required a quarantine from societies pleasure filled, fleshly and materialistic indulgences. In either case, no one really looks forward to dying, but it is something that every human being must acknowledge. Unlike the brave martyrs of times past who for a certain faith took the painful, horrible torturous executions one can only read about in modern times, we hope for a simple end - disease perhaps, or a quick unforeseen tragedy of a sort, but no lengthily sufferings.

Death crept upon a small fishing boat and its crew as subtle as a viper upon its prey; the god of the sea arose and desired to consume the frail craft and its crew for his own delight.

Skipper, a muscular, bearded man with sun dried, wrinkled skin from prolonged exposure to alcohol, the sun, and salty sea water, was uncontrollably vomiting in a corner; the other five crew members nervously scampered about the ravaged hull while the deck above was undertaking a violent thrashing from the ferocious waves and thunderous winds. Blanketing the ocean where the boat was trapped were Ivory Black storm clouds, shaded with dirty Ultra Marine Blue, which flooded down mercilessly atop the feeble craft. Though it was only half past noon, the eerie darkness was illuminated by flashes of massive, untamed lightning bolts that snaked out in all directions over the skies for miles. The Atlantis was in dire trouble; questionable was its fate - doubtful, even.

Neither the vessel nor its crew had ever experienced such ferocity.

In a corner clinging to an anchored table base in the boat's galley was Nathaniel Hester who surprisingly didn't seem as panicked by the mayhem as the others.

The frigid, salty sea water gushed in through shattered port holes, flooding the hull. Long ago had the boat lost its ability to be considered sea worthy; Skipper, an experienced thirty year veteran of the industry, would have given orders to abandon it had it not been for the treacherous swells that no human could survive. Bubba Stevens, a young African American who had taken a job as a deck hand to pay for his forthcoming college tuition had already fallen overboard, but the stormy cataclysmic weather had thwarted any efforts for a rescue attempt.

Ocean water was flooding the engine room and the hull where the crew had subsided, awaiting an unimaginable doom. For the vessel to survive, it could not take in any more water. Khan Nguyen from Thailand was trying to start a portable water pump to save the boat, but the water had unfortunately flooded the small device rendering it useless. Christopher Lincoln who manned the fishing nets was trying to assist by scooping up buckets of the flooding sea water and pouring them out of one of the broken port holes, but his efforts were no match for the invading water. The remaining crew had given up long ago. One prayed, while the other freed his emotions for the last time, crying while he thought of family and friends he would never see again.

Earlier that morning, while the sound of crickets polluted the night’s silence, party goers faded into an onset of massive hangovers, and the insomniac crowd slipped in and out of consciousness, the Atlantis and its crew headed out to sea; the vibrant full moon glowed high above, indicating the days catch would be bountiful. Hours later, as the Atlantis roared across smooth sea - the crests of the waves shimmering like polished diamonds by the reflection of the intense sun - a school of dolphins bobbed in and out of the ocean by its side. Sirius Flats, a mass of ocean near a small uninhabited island where fishing was bountiful at full moon, was where Skipper had set his waypoint, in the depths of the Atlantic Ocean. Tuna and Grouper, both high market catches, were lucrative there.

According to meteorological reports, there were no storms near Sirius Flats in the forecast that day. While Skipper was navigating the massive vessel, fish nets stretched out like a bat’s wings, Christopher was securing them for the day’s fishing. In the distance, he saw what he thought was an inner tube that had probably washed out to sea from one of the beaches. But as the boat drew nearer, he saw two arms flagging in the air; someone was inside the inner tube.

“Skipper,” he nervously yelled at the top of his lungs alarming the rest of the crew. “There, nine o’clock, man overboard."

“All hands on deck,” Skipper ordered, thrusting the engine in reverse to break its speed. The others scurried to the deck.

“What’s the matter?” Khan asked, awakening.

“There’s someone out there in the water,” Christopher answered.

“We’re more than one hundred miles of the coast. What the hell are they doing out there?” Khan asked, not really expecting any reasonable answer. That is what everyone was wondering.

By now, the Skipper had located the person through his binoculars and was navigating the boat in their direction.

Khan grabbed rope and prepared to toss it.

As the boat approached, they all saw a sun burned, drenched aged man dressed in a withered, dirty T-shirt, bobbing up and down with the motion of the waves. Khan tossed the rope to him, but he was too weak to catch it. Bubba dove into the ocean, grabbed the rope and tied it around the man’s waist. Khan reeled the man in while Skipper killed the engine and dropped the anchor.

Christopher grabbed towels from the laundry then waited on deck aside Khan. As they hoisted him to the deck of the boat from the water, they could see that the he looked like he had been out there for a long time. His grayed hair hung well below his shoulders and it was apparent that he hadn’t shaved since about the time of his last hair cut.

Bubba hurriedly untied the rope from around his waist. Then for no apparent reason, he jumped away from him as if he had been shocked by electricity. The old man quickly turned about at this. “Are you all right, young man,” he asked. However, as Bubba looked into blood shod, dingy, hazel colored eyes, it was apparent to everyone on deck that he was frightened. Skipper thought that the heroic dive into the ocean may have spooked him. He was an eighteen year old teenager, but he was also a strong athlete who didn’t frighten easily.

“Yes Sir. I’m OK.” His widened dark eyes revealed the lie in his testimony, though. Generally exposed behind smiling full lips, his genuine pearly white teeth were concealed.

“Go get yourself cleaned up, Bubba,” Skipper ordered. “Still got ‘a big day ahead.”

His tall muscular frame, with salty sea water dripping from his long, nappy dreads, disappeared into the hull of the ship. Christopher handed the man the towels while Skipper wrapped a blanket around him.

“How long you been out here?’ the Skipper asked, scanning his pickled, frail body for any trauma.

“The Poseidon went under about three weeks ago.” The old man didn’t appear grateful to be found. Or perhaps, the Skipper was wondering, if the length of time he was in the ocean caused him some underlying psychological injury.

“What’s your name?”

“Nathaniel Hester, but most people only call me Nate.”

“So you haven’t had food or water the whole time?”

“No.”

Skipper ordered one of the crew to prepare food for him; another brought him a bottle of water.

“Did your captain get out a distress call before the boat sank?”

“I think so, but I can’t be certain. If he did, no one came that’s for sure. Didn’t matter anyway…they all drowned.”

“How many were on the manifest?”

” Can’t be certain, but I think there were around thirteen of us.”

“What happened?” Skipper asked, still marveled at the man’s calmness in light of the tragedy he had endured.

“I had fallen asleep in one of the cabins below. The captain had announced over the intercom that he had picked up some arising stormy weather on radar; he was changing course to evade it. Nothin’ unusual at sea, so I fell asleep. The next thing I knew, the hull was flooding. When I attempted to go above, I realized that the boat was already under water. As I swam upwards, I saw some of the drowned crew floating in the water. When I reached the surface, I saw sharks eating some of the other crew; I swam away as fast as possible. I found this tube floating in the water and grabbed it, and I have been clinging to it ever since. I didn’t see any other survivors. Three days ago, I saw a large cargo liner, but it didn’t see me. I thought that was my last chance for any rescue.”

“That’s strange.” Skipper lit a bowl of pipe tobacco inside a decorative pipe, sending swirls of aromatic smoke into the air. “We haven’t had any weather like that in these waters in over a month.

The shivering, pickled man mysteriously cased the crew huddled around him as if they were from a distant planet. “Well, I don’t know why the sharks didn’t attack me. Three days ago, a school of them circled me, and that is when I was most afraid. I mean, can you imagine, being eaten alive, while you experience every flesh shredding bite, salt stinging the flesh of every gaping, bloody wound.” The crew was horrified by his tragic illustration, realizing it was a risk they took every time they set out to sea. “And the worst part is that you don’t die right away…it’s a slow painful process, not like a bullet to the brain or guillotine. That’s quick, painless; but a blood thirsty, flesh cravin’ shark, that’s a whole different matter.” His speech became slow and taunting as if the terrorization was intentional. “You know, one of the fella’s I saw bein’ eaten, I don’t think he was dead, but the shark had already gnawed his legs off up to his waistline at the bottom of his life vest, which held his torso above the sea; his blood colored the water the color of Cabernet Sauvignon wine. Never had seen such terror on a man’s face before in all my days, and I’m ancient.”

Skipper had enough, seeing that his crew was troubled by his synopsis. “Well, look, all is well now; you were not eaten or harmed in any way by the sharks, so let’s get you cleaned up and fed.”

A few hours later, they found themselves in the midst of the horrible storm that was sinking the Atlantis, leaving the crew to be devoured in the horrible manner the old man they pulled from the ocean had described. So far, it was only heroic Bubba, Herman Townsend, who had perished. He was the strongest of the crew, and felt he could get the nets, acting as raised sails, reeled in to eliminate some of the thrashing. Though he was correct, and Skipper had pleaded for him to remain below, he heroically went above to his doom, only able to secure one side of the boat’s nets before a monstrous swell overtook the deck, throwing him out into the violent devouring sea.

Now, all of a sudden, Skipper climbed the stairs and opened the hatch leading to the deck; innumerous gallons of flooding water poured in.

“What the hell are you doing?” Yells rang forth. “Get back here, you’ll get us all killed.”

Khan tried to grab him by the leg of his soaking wet suit, but Skipper kicked him back by the sole of his rubbery boot in the forehead, sending him splashing into the side of the watery, inner hull. As the boat rocked to and fro, Skipper slipped, sending him splashing back down the stairs into the flooded hull with a deep, bloody gash in his forehead.

He tried again, and was able to secure the hatch open. Afterwards he climbed back down the stairs and went into the galley, grabbing Nathaniel who was still clinging to the table base, by his shirt. He pulled him away and up slippery stairs onto the deck in the midst of the fierce storm. And for no logical reason, he pulled the feeble old man to the side and tossed him headlong into the sea. By then, the remaining crew was on deck, but too late to salvage the old man they had pulled from the ocean hours before. Like a toilet flushing waste, the old man disappeared below the horrendous swells. Miraculously, after a few minutes, the fierce swells relaxed to a manageable wave then on to a stable calm. Like shades being opened upon a dark room, the thick blanket of storms clouds rolled up like a scroll and faded away into the mystical sky, allowing a vibrant sun to shine forth on the crippled Atlantis.

For a moment, there was utter silence.

The crew was left despondent as if they had just awaked form a bad dream, but they were alive.

After the crew came to the realization that they had just escaped an unimaginable catastrophe, they asked Skipper why he tossed the old man back into the sea.

“The storm didn’t develop out of nowhere until we pulled him onto the boat,” he answered, complexion turned a ghostly pale. “Maybe I was wrong, but I had nothing else to lose.”

After the crew collected themselves, and flushed out as much of the sea water they could, Skipper, set his charts to ride back to port. They all vowed never to mention of the old man who was picked up and later tossed back in the stormy sea. Bubba, amongst many others who was lost at sea, was considered just another casualty. At least this is what they told his mother. Skipper christened the Atlantis, Bubba, in honor of the heroic act he performed to save his beloved, fellow sailors.

No one really knows how long the old man had been in the sea: A year, maybe; perhaps he had been there a hundred. Maybe he had been there since the creation of the world, a time before mankind was created, and the mythical Greek gods dominated the stellar skies and the seas. Perhaps he was as the biblical Jonah who was entombed to the sea until he performed the will of God in Nineveh, and anyone willing to salvage him would fellowship in his inevitable doom.

As the years rolled past, Skipper would hear of ships being mysteriously lost at sea, and he would think of the old man who may be responsible, but neither he nor the crew ever mentioned what had happened to them to anyone. Besides, who would believe such a tale?