A cappella

Chapter 16: Nightmares

Joseph Vernet
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The pendulum clock of the living room, inaudible when the living room was filled with noises and movements, had resumed its job. The twelve strokes of midnight ineluctably collapsed, and Max told himself that nothing recalled the passing of time and death hidden in the shade as much as this silent old house, the Louis XIII arm chairs, the chest of drawers with wrought iron, Surmounted by family photographs in black and white in small silver frames, and on the wall, the large watercolor painting by Joseph Vernet, representing the port of Bayonne in the XVIII century, with its sailboats and its exotic merchandise, the likes that would never be seen again.

The guests had left, the grandparents had gone to bed, and Max remained alone in the living room again. 

"You will blow the last candle," said his grandmother, "I extinguished the oil lamps. Good night, Max ..."

And now he sat there, surrounded by all these antique furniture and trinkets full of history. The fire was slowly extinguishing in the chimney and the candle was dancing flames in the eyes of yellow pearls of the big porcelain cat watching on the mahogany games table.

He had laughed tonight with the guests, he had joked a lot, leading the conversation, talking loudly and firmly and making others open up too, with his proven talent to pose to each one, in turn, the right questions, which brought about the reaction he was looking for depending on the flow of the conversation, but always aiming to create a happy mood. 

He had enjoyed himself, yes, until things had taken an unexpected turn when he found himself alone in the darkness near Marion. He looked to defuse the tension, which he felt suddenly was imposed on the both of them, but she had preceded him, impulsive, irresistible.

Yet all this time, among them, inviting itself to the party, death had been there, or rather the idea of death. He had felt it in him, around him, its discreet, attentive presence. It would not hit, no, not tonight. It was just there to remind him, he who thought of settling down someday. "Nothing lasts," it whispered in his ear, in his heart, "life will pass you by in a flash. What do you want to do with yours?"

His parents had called him during the day, his mother told him about his younger siblings, and questioned him about his work, and his father told him the terrible stories of the recent Syrian refugees he had met and who he tried to help, their senseless journey to sea, their superhuman efforts to survive ...

Max blew out the candle, but still sat a little in the dark, staring at the reddish glow of the last embers. He felt too tired to move, and in his head jostled all the words exchanged that day.

"Baba, every one of us must do something for these people. All of us ... States aren't doing enough to respond to tragedies of this magnitude. God will question us one day about what we have done to help our fellow humans, especially we, who are Syrians like them."

"I spoke to an Austrian who is director of a company. He also wants to do something. Can you imagine, he knows nothing about the sea, but he still bought a boat, a big boat, and he hired a crew. He wants to leave for the Mediterranean for six months to save these migrants who are trying to reach Europe by the sea. This will be his contribution to them, and as he needed help on this mission, I decided to go with him, at least serve as an interpreter, most of these unfortunate are speakers of Arabic. What do you think of it? Come with us! It's time, Max, to grow up and take responsibility ... You too, Max, are half Syrian ..."

Max had gathered his group of friends at the cafe des Remparts.

"My father is crazy ... He's thinking of leaving to save the migrants in the Mediterranean! He wants me to come with him!"

"Good idea," said Babakar, "but when exactly? Before or after my wedding? This is not really the ideal honeymoon..."

"I don't know my family," said Danielle. "Not even my real name. I would not want to lose my life on this trip, its all I have left."

"That's so stupid, egoists!" exclaimed Marion. "Saving lives, helping people is what I always wanted to do! I'll come with you, Max," she said forcefully, throwing her arms around the young man's neck.

Max wanted to tell her the truth, that he wasn't interested in her, but how to do that without hurting her? She was his friend, impulsive but kind, he did not want to hurt her. He, the cruel wolf, impossible to tame, found himself trapped in her arms.

And time passed, inescapable ... Tic, tac ... the large clock of the living room struck, and the day of departure at sea had come.

Max's father was there on the deck of a tall ship like those of past centuries, with ropes and entangled pulleys, and sailors climbing along the masts to look out the ocean in their telescopes, and give the alert, when a boat loaded with migrants approached.

He smiled with joy at the sight of Max, his eldest son, who had agreed to share with him this generous adventure. Marion was there too, as promised, and she jumped happily on the boat's accommodation ladder. 

She had worn a white doctor's blouse on her jeans and her white and blue striped sailor t-shirt.

"What? You still hesitate?," She asked, turning to Max on the platform. "Come on, come on, take my hand," She smiled, and it seemed to Max that her small teeth had become sharper than before. He walked after her, his heart heavy, and the bridge was lifted. 

The siren of the boat made a muffled sound, like a muffled groan, and the sailboat set in motion, heading towards the high seas...

The Austrian, captain of the boat, gave his orders. "Take your responsibilities, Max!" he shouted, and Max found himself at the bow of the ship, the rudder in his hands, while the waves became more and more menacing. Soon the wind blew in a storm. Buckets of seawater fell on them from all sides, and Max regretted the absence of Babakar, who knew the prayers by heart and knew how to sail in the fog.

"Men to the sea!" Shouted the sailor from the top of his mast, which bent like a tree in the tornado. And Max, anguish in the heart, recognized his father who looked out the sea with a spyglass. He smiled, clinging to the mast, but Max was very afraid he would fall. The captain finally replaced Max and asked him to go and help recover the shipwrecked.

Max would have wanted to tell his father to come down, that it was too dangerous, but he could not be heard, so much wind and waves.

He jumped into the rescue boat which was descending towards the people in peril among the waves. There was a woman in the water, almost drowned, her face hidden by her brown hair. Max was able to seize her by the arms and pulled her with all his might, heavy as a dead woman, but when he lifted her up to the boat, he recognized her pure face and gentle smile. What was she doing there, his Russian princess? His heart exploded with anguish, he began to cry so much that the boat sank, and they were both thrown back into the water.

In the living room the lights had returned, the room was cold, the fire extinguished for a long time. Only the imperturbable pendulum struck with a beat stronger than the heart of Max, who had finally awakened.

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Heey lovely readers! It was a difficult chapter to write because one only realizes at the end its only a nightmare he's having!

Thank you so much for taking the time to read and maybe, just maybe, vote :)