~The Scarlette Letter~
by The Smart One 64
"You say Bobbery won't go to sea, huh? Well, can't say that surprises me..."
Podley sets the down the cola mug he had been polishing and starts again on another in nonchalant cadence, his eyes not bothering to look at the interrogative party. Goombella frowns, positioning herself in one of the bar seats to better study the unexpressive bartender. He clears his throat. "The real question is, are you folks really sure you want Bobbery back on the water?"
"We really don't have a choice, darling," Flurrie explains, tracing her lavender finger around the ring of a condensed cola glass residue. "The vessel we wish to travel aboard is lacking in the navigator department, and it is absolutely imperative that we find one and soon."
"Besides, Admiral Bobbery's the best of the best, right?" the Yoshi kid pitches in. "If Keelhaul Key is as dangerous as the rumors say it is, then we could use a professional like him."
His hand stops polishing. "Oh, is that it?" Podley affirms in a hushed tone. "Now I see...you want to mount an expedition to Keelhaul Key..." Mario nods. The bartender's face lights up a little. "Rough seas out there. Most sailors would meet their end. Not old Bobbery though..."
"That's what I don't understand," voiced Koops. "If Bobbery's such a legend, why would he pass up an opportunity like ours to cruise the open waters again?"
In silence, Podley grabs the cola mugs he had been polishing and places them in the cabinet behind him. His listeners watch him hesitate for a few moments. Finally, he bends down behind the counter and, using a key he retrieves from his apron, unlocks a seemingly untouched drawer. From it, his hand protrudes an envelope, faded from the strains of time.
Vivian notices the envelope. "What is it?" she asks innocently.
Podley quickly shoves the envelope and the key into his apron pocket. Realizing the awkward abruptness of his actions, he tries to grin before returning to the glasses he had been polishing. "The fact of the matter is..." He pauses, clearly struggling to produce the words appropriate for what he wishes to convey.
"The fact of the matter is...Admiral Bobbery's tale is sad. Horribly sad, actually." He looks at Vivian. "You'll probably end up crying." Vivian readjusts herself, uncomfortable by this direct remark. "But I'll tell it to you, if you really want me to."
Goombella smiles reassuringly at her. "Whatever his story is, we can handle it, right? Besides, it is a matter of life and death."
The dirty dish rag lands in the sink with a plop. The weary bartender pauses a moment in a sort of meaningless trance, as though regretting the completion of this simple chore. He turns to the plumber, who himself seems able to sense the pain behind those bloodshot eyes. Fortunately, a new set of stained glasses arrives on the bar counter. With a sigh, Podley returns to his idle task, staring at nothing as the bitter words surface to his lips.
"In that case, get ready. Bobbery's tale of woe goes something like this..."
April 23, 1977
After ignoring the first few knocks, she reluctantly headed to the door. "Zess!" she said, startled by the visitor. "Can't this wait? I have to finish hemming these dresses before work tomorrow."
The yellow-spotted Toad at her doorstep shook her head in brisk jubilee. "Sorry sister, but I need you to come with me. Right away!"
"Is something wrong?" she asked in immediate concern. "I'm not really in the mood to sample one of your mystery dishes right now."
Zess grabbed her hastily by the shoulder. "Oh, quit fooling yourself and just follow me!" Skeptic, the girl grabbed her keys and locked the door. "I'm not going to need my purse for this, am I?"
Zess laughed. "Nope! I'm pretty sure the purchase has already been made!" The woman found it hard to keep up with her culinary friend as Zess raced ahead through the cobblestone streets of Rogueport. She found herself flooded by apprehensive thoughts. She knew she needed to finish the dresses before morning. She'd had to restart one altogether because of a careless error she had made with her sewing machine. It had acted up again right as she was finishing the midriff and the mistake was irreparable. Her boss had chewed her out for trying to pass it as acceptable the day before, and was dangerously close to losing her job. If she only could afford to replace her machine, then she would have no difficulties reaching her quota. She had been desperate for the job and didn't want to lose it. One could only earn so much by running errands at the Trouble Center, after all, and she remembered how gracious her boss had been for hiring her on such short noti-
The keys fell from her hand.
Zess had already sped down the steps leading to the harbor. Instead of the usual shipyard chaos, all work had ceased. The iconic scene of sweat-covered sailors loading cargo onto merchant ships was devoid, replaced by a naval barquentine. Pristine uniformed sailors and rugged merchants alike lined the decks. The gangway had been extended towards the boardwalk, where at the base, a young Bob-omb sailor awaited holding a small, red box.
Tears were already welling in her eyes as the sailor approached her. He knelt. "My love," he began, his voice light but firm. "Time, like love, is a tide. Consistent, powerful, endearing...that very tide flooded my heart when I first lay eyes on you. My one wish is that I may spend my eternity with that love." He opened the box, revealing a glistening ruby ring.
"Scarlette...would you make me the happiest sailor alive...and marry me?"
"Bobbery was once married. He had a wife of enduring beauty named Scarlette. The two of them were madly in love. The sort of love reserved for fairly tales..."
October 8, 1977
"Oh Bobbery...this is..."
"Breathtaking, I reckon," the sailor finished, stopping the rowboat. He had rowed out from the harbor to a secluded landing hidden from the dirty streets of Rogueport above. Beyond the horizon, the distant sun was just beginning to fade behind the horizon. The expanse of ocean before them, highlighted yellow by the sun's glinting rays, seemed to extend endlessly.
Scarlette sighed. "I've never seen the water so...so clear before. The seawater in the marina is so polluted from all the cargo. But out here..."
POP! She jumped back in alarm, only to laugh as she saw the Chuckola Cola oozing from the bottle Bobbery was holding. "Mighty fine view for a mighty fine drink with a mighty fine lass." Bobbery grinned as he pulled out two glasses from under the wooden seat of the rowboat. "You can thank Podley for his generosity."
She nodded in agreement. "That inn's only been open a couple of months and already that fellow's mastered the secret of brewery." She held the glass to her lips and sipped the acidic but refreshing beverage. As she set it down, it seemed as though all the anxieties of the day had vanquished as a result.
"I wish I could live in this moment forever," she stated, staring out over the open waters. "I know I'm sharing for your love with these steady waters, but...I love them too."
Bobbery sighed. "If only I could share both..."
Scarlette turned to face her husband. Fear was evident in her eyes. "What do you mean, love?"
Bobbery removed a folded letter from beneath his cap. His eyes read over the words once again, as if searching desperately for a change in content, but receiving nothing. "The naval office wrote to me today. They want to promote me to Admiral."
"Oh Bobbery, that's wonderful-"
"I turned them down."
Scarlette gave no reaction, as if subconsciously trying to reassure her husband by not making a scene out of the issue. Slowly, she moved in gentle elegance from the head of the boat to sit beside him, speaking to him, though not with words.
Bobbery rushed to the defense. "They offered me a boat. Wanted me to head it. Scouting voyages, places like Lavalava, Delfino, Yo'ster...Keelhaul Key..." Still Scarlette gave no response, though Bobbery still felt pressured to justify his actions.
"I couldn't accept it. The treks they wanted me to map would mean I'd be away from home for months at a time. And there's no way I could put that burden on you, not when we live in a slum like Rogueport, and especially not when we're trying for a child..."
After deciding that Bobbery was finished excusing his actions, Scarlette looked up at her husband. "Here's what you're going to do. You're going to row us right back to the harbor, where you're going to help me out of this boat like a gentleman, and then you are going to escort us straight to the navy yard office and tell the man in charge that you were mistaken and would love the opportunity they have offered you. And when we have finished, you are going to escort me home where I am going to make Zess's Shroom Steak recipe, your favorite, and we are going to redrink that Chuckola Cola to celebrate. And if you even think to deviate from this plan I promise you I will light a fuse right here right now. Understood, Admiral?"
The sailor knew better than to refuse his wife's adamant agenda. Nevertheless, while he was excited about the job offer, the decision evidently pained him. "You are one with the sea as you are one with me," Scarlette reassured. "Do not lose both your life's loves."
"Now Bobbery was a renowned sailor, so he was away from home for long periods. Scarlette never complained, though, and always waited faithfully for Bobbery's return..."
March 13, 1979
The teardrop landed delicately on the dress she was embroidering.
Scarlette quickly stopped her sewing machine and reached for a handkerchief to wipe her welling eyes. Bobbery's boat would arrive in half an hour. She had tried sewing as a way to distract her mind-mainly her heart-from the pain inside, but nothing worked.
Any woman worries when they realize they are unable to conceive. The love she longed to share, the child she longed to raise, but nothing worked. In his latest letter, Bobbery had finally decided on a name if the child was a female: Josephine, after Scarlette's grandmother. He had already settled on one if it was a boy: Podley, after his trusted friend.
But now that was just fantasy, chopping up scraps with a knife.
She grabbed her coat and headed to the harbor. She would do as she had always done. She would stand among the loading crew as they hauled cargo all around her, but not once would she move. She would wait, wait for that ship to pull to shore, for that anchor to splash down in the water, for the gangway to be lowered, and for Bobbery to emerge on the other side. Every time, Bobbery would march in proud tempo, first in line, towards Scarlette. Once he had reached her, he would blow one last kiss towards the sea, as if paying an homage of gratitude for safely delivering him home to his love.
Today was no different. The ship blared as it entered Rogueport Harbor. The anchor splashed, the gangway lowered, and there was Bobbery. There was her Bobbery, and yet she couldn't even bring herself to look at him. The pain bore too closely this time. The fear bore too deep.
But Bobbery did not hesitate for a moment. Leading the crew, he marched proudly down the gangway and onto the boardwalk. Other sailors flocked to their wives, but Bobbery just paused when he reached his, speaking to her, though not with words.
Scarlette rushed to defense. "We tried everything we could. The doctor said we stood a greater chance of making it past the first few weeks this time. Zess helped me to eat healthily so I could ensure the baby got the proper nutrients. But this time it was unresponsive...the doctor, he tried whatever he could, but the baby...the doctor, he tried..."
After deciding that Scarlette was finished excusing her actions, Bobbery looked up at his wife. "Here's what you're going to do. You're going to fall into my arms, and you're going to let me carry you up those steps and home, where you are then going to iron my best shirt and pants and put on your best dress. Then, you are going to let me take you to Podley's where you are going to celebrate with me about how lucky an undeserving bloke such as myself is to return home to the most beautiful wife that ever was. Understood, madam?"
"But Bobbery..."
The admiral turned to face the sea. As was tradition, he blew a kiss to the sea, the exotic and exhilarating home he sincerely loved. When this was finished, he turned to Scarlette and drew her close. The teardrop landed delicately on the uniform she had embroidered.
From that moment onward, Scarlette never doubted her husband's love for her. Just as a tide continues to rise, so his love for her continued to grow.
"And Bobbery... His eye never drifted. He loved only Scarlette, truly and deeply. So they lived, and found happiness where they could. And all was good, for a time..."
November 28, 1979
Stars dotted the heaven above the water. Most of the crew had retired to their sleeping quarters for the night, but the Admiral remained on deck, leaning against the starboard railing. Beneath the light of a lantern, he unfolded the creased letter and read it silently to himself. As his gaze passed over each word, the voice of his beloved Scarlette sang them in his head in a tender soprano.
Pa-Patch climbed down the crow's nest and stood beside the admiral. "Must be some special dame to keep you so concentrated at this 'wee hour o' the night," he observed.
"She writes," Bobbery explained. "Every chance she gets. Seems like every port we arrive at offers a new letter. Her language is so powerful...one line and I'm enthralled." He sighed, gazing out at the currents produced by their ship's sailing through the night. "I like to come here at night and just continue to read until I doze off. And each time I sleep peacefully, knowing that back home she's doing the same with the letters I write..."
Pa-Patch stared down at the wooden deck, shuffling his feet together pensively. The nobility of the admiral never ceased to inspire him. "Wish I could 'ave just a pittence o' that kind o' love," he chuckled, admiring the sincerity Bobbery had shared with him. His feet continued to sway as he lifted his head to the horizon. "Must be some special dame..."
"How do the clouds fare for tonight?" Bobbery inquired, seeking information about Pa-Patch's duties.
The youthful sailor whistled. "Clouds looked mighty peaceful up ahead. Currents seem to be 'olding steady too. I 'eckon we can bank on some smooth seas tonight." The admiral nodded in professional confirmation, showing no signs of escaped emotions.
"Thank you, Pa-Patch. You...you go on and catch some shut-eye now, I'll keep watch tonight," the admiral offered.
"'Ay, you sure? I'm perfectly fine to take shift for...for a few h-hours..." Pa-Patch struggled amidst a yawn. "Aw, damn it be, I'll 'appily take my rest when it's offered to me." Bobbery didn't hold back his smile as the tired first mate stepped drowsily down from the railing, grabbing a lantern off of a nearby barrel before heading below deck for the night.
"...unknown waters out there, admiral." Pa-Patch's voice carried softly across the deck like a chilling wind creeping towards the admiral. "Supposedly some o' the most treacherous conditions known to sailors. Lots o' ships 'aven't returned. And the rumors..."
"I've heard the rumors," Bobbery said, sternly but not aggressively. "But your assignment-our assignment-isn't to speculate about rumors. Our job as sailors is but to find and map out a navigable route to the islands." He paused, however, as if in careful consideration of his next words.
"As a sailor, you learn how to hush what's in your head...and listen instead to your heart."
The young novice nodded in solemn admiration of the revered admiral. "I'll see you in the morning," the words eventually settled. The sound of a creaking door signaled Bobbery that he was at last alone.
Bobbery retrieved a leafy parchment from his waistcoat pocket and unfurled it in his hands. He had charted few additions to this regional map, but within the coming days, he anticipated that ink would dance across the width as coastlines, peninsulas, archipelagos and more. In his other hand, he slowly revealed the prized letter from home. Three days had passed since their last port, where he had been rewarded with this cherished prize. It would be the last words from Scarlette he would receive over the next several months. Such was the painful cost for this revolutionary voyage.
Miles ahead, the rocky isles of Keelhaul Key tantalizingly prepared for the admiral's arrival.
Podley pauses momentarily, expressionless, before turning away from his audience. Mario could sense that, even after so many years, the following words still produced a bitter taste for the poor bartender.
"...But not all good things can last. It was a particularly icy winter when it happened..."
January 25, 1980
Her boss had let her clock out of work early after the furnace in the office failed to operate. Much to her relief: more time to hurry home and hopefully maintain a fire before the evening chills hit.
The storm had come from the north and was expected to worsen within the coming days. Officials had not predicted how abruptly and powerfully this system would behave, and as such authorities had done little to prepare the city for its onset. As a result, few people had sufficient time to prepare themselves or their businesses before the temperatures plunged.
Scarlette wrapped the scarf tighter around her face in a pitied effort to block out the wind from bombarding her with its icy missiles. As she hustled across town, she cursed to herself that she had not mended the worn threads on this fabric she now wielded as a pitied shield.
Forgiveness was quick to reach her lips: this scarf was Bobbery's first anniversary gift to her. Of course she would never alter it.
Despite being a port town, snowbanks had already gathered high along the walls of shops she passed on her route home. Most signs that the snow hadn't obscured were closed, their shopkeepers hunkering down at home instead. She observed this trend with Zess's kitchen, though as she passed by, she could not detect any traces that the Toad was inside cooking. Whatever errand Zess was running, Scarlette hoped her friend would not be out long in this weather.
She coughed lightly as she passed by the item shop. The frost was nipping at her face once again, and only grew harsher. Scarlette held tightly onto three dresses she had promised to take back home with her to work on. Wrinkling them soon became the least of her concerns, as she draped them around her shoulders for some added warmth.
Although she hated looking at the gallows from this spot, it offered excellent views of the harbor on days of fairer weather. Even in whiteout conditions like these, however, Scarlette could detect bits of water through this fog of white. Uncomfortably for Scarlette, such vantage only emerged by peering through the loop of the dangling noose. Through its ominous rope lining, she could see plumes of ice jotting the edges of ships and the water. It pained her to think of her husband's beloved harbor brought to such a standstill. But whenever he returned, she smiled a little to think that he would be at those docks, come rain or come shine, picking up after the lost time.
Scarlette coughed again as the winds garnered more power. Despite earning a position closer to the wealthier west end of town, she and Bobbery could not afford such a lavish lifestyle and thus lived on the lesser developed east end. On extreme days like these, the commute was even more unbearable. As she struggled to trudge forward, she noticed a light shining through the frosted window of Podley's bar. Longing for temporary shelter from her unpreparedness, she found herself knocking on the rusty door, unable to open it from the ice.
Seconds later, Scarlette heard rustling from inside the bar. The frozen doorknob rustled gently before breaking loose and granting her entrance. "Scarlette?" the youthful bartender asked, concerned about the state of the chilled woman outside. "Goodness, come get warm! I'll start some coffee, come get dry."
"Already on it, Podley," a voice rose from around the corner. Zess emerged, also apparently seeking solace from the storm. The Toad was quick on her feet to find the coffee pot as Podley removed the damp dresses and ran upstairs to grab a dry blanket from the inn.
"Thank you..." Scarlette managed to mouth between coughs. She hadn't realized how cold she actually felt until she discovered she was shivering. Zess helped lead her over to a seat at the bar nearest the stove. "Goodness, I hope Bobbery isn't caught up in this storm. I can't imagine what perils he might be in..."
"Honey, your hubbie is prolly surfing the southern isles right now," Zess encouraged lightheartedly as Podley returned with a blanket and a candle. "There's no chance he's caught up in this little penguin pool party."
Scarlette tried to chuckle, but this only brought upon another onset of coughing. "Goodness, drink up!" Zess exclaimed, her joyful approach quickly turning to one of concern. Scarlette tried to rise, much to the protest of her companions, but soon discovered that she was too weak to stand without support and quickly clung onto Podley.
"Bobbery," she gasped hoarsely, the words barely surfacing. "B-Bobbery..."
The coughing never ceased.
"Scarlette fell ill. A virus? A passing cold? No one knew, but it soon turned serious..."
January 26, 1980
"MAN OVERBOARD! MAN OVERBOARD!"
Thunder cackled overhead as the torrent of rainfall bartered the poor ship. Visibility was poor, illuminated only by the fury of lightning dancing across the sky. Unfortunately, in the early hours before dawn, these precious scintillas of illumination were welcoming in the otherwise void darkness of the storm.
Bobbery dived out of the way of an overturned gunpowder keg, rolling with the angle of the inclined vessel. Up above in the crow's nest, Pa-Patch attempted fruitlessly to launch a flare, but the tossing of the ship turned this quest into a battle to keep balance. "Which side?" Bobbery called out, the words roaring from his lungs to reach enough decibels that he could be heard.
"Starboard! He went over starboard!" Pa-Patch cried, struggling to ignite the flare in the rain. Bobbery quickly rushed to the right side of the ship, where two other crew members were battling to regain control of the sails.
"Who is it?" Bobbery shouted, furiously searching for a buoy he could toss.
"It's Koovin!" a Doogan sailor responded, pointing at the waters below. "We were untying the lines when we were tossed aside and the beam knocked him off!" The depth from the railing to the water was constantly shifting with the lapping of waves, but it certainly made for a decent fall.
"Oh God, we never should have sailed through the Key!" came the distress from a Toad sailor, desperately uncoiling the ropes to the sail. "None of this is worth the cost of our lives!"
"I SEE HIM!" Pa-Patched howled, having finally struck fortune with the flare which he had launched over the side of the boat. In the water, a young Koopa was clutching onto a fruit crate with little success. One hand waved freely, both as if to signal his position and tread above the water. Seconds later, the waves had swallowed him again.
"Hang tight!" he Doogan shouted. "We'll throw you a li-Admiral!"
Without warning, the young but salty sea dog dived over the railing, a bowline knot wrapped tightly around his torso. The bewildered sailors quickly reached for the remainder of the line, watching in horror as their beloved admiral plunged into the violent waters below. By this point, the waves were likely strong enough that resurfacing from such a fall would be a feat of its own.
Koovin, meanwhile, had lost any form of grip on the crate and was now battling to stay above each wave as it hit him. His body still ached tremendously, both from being catapulted by the beam and from crashing into the unforgiving ocean. Still, he fought desperately through the pain to stay afloat, for he had watched Bobbery make the terrifying plunge. However, Bobbery had completely disappeared after that point. Flood by emotions of fear and survival, Koovin thrashed in the water, waving at the ship and fighting for opportunities to breathe. The next wave was brutally high, however, and the power of the current proved too much for the young sailor.
"BOBBERY!" The Bob-omb admiral had resurfaced with the energy-depleted Koopa across his shoulder. The sailors on deck immediately sprung into action. "Pull, dammit!" Pa-Patch shouted, speedily sliding down from the crow's nest to lend assistance. The sailors tried their best to anchor their feet firmly to the waterlogged ship, hoisting up the rope in successive bouts of adrenaline.
Both admiral and sailor collapsed upon reaching the deck. However, Bobbery made no indication of his own exhaustion and quickly helped Koovin lean over onto his knees as he coughed up bursts of seawater. None of the crew spoke a word: the thunder made enough sound for all of them.
Although the storm was nowhere near over, the rains had lightened up ever so slightly. Eventually, Bobbery rose, heading for the ship's wheel. Nobody made any interjection as their admiral rotated their ship to port, gently enough as not to interfere with the present unease about the ship's swaying. Up ahead small orange billows of light peeked far towards their horizon, covering the rocks of Keelhaul Key in a haunting red glow. Though they may have overcome this storm, the skies predicted unsettling weather ahead for the coming day.
Bobbery grasped the wheel firmly, as if pouring his remaining energy into the ship's navigation. Then, with weary eyes, he blew a kiss.
"Please, return me safely to my love...my dearest Scarlette..."
"Bobbery, at sea on a long, lonely voyage, knew nothing of his bride's suffering..."
February 15, 1980
Three weeks had passed since that treacherous night. Every day, Bobbery had but one vision in mind: to fall into the comforting arms of his beautiful bride.
Rogueport Harbor was still recovering from the arctic plunge that had battered the port town with its frigidity. A coat of blunt gray seemed to have been painted across every surface, even piercing through the chilly air. The usual bustling and loading of cargo from maiden ships was nonexistent that morning. Nothing stirred in the harbor.
The anchor made very little splash as it sank through the water. On deck, the crew unloaded the gangway; Pa-Patch brought down the ropes to further secure the ship. One by one, the drained sailors marched down the ramp, carrying very little with them at this time. None of them roused any emotion: all were just relieved to be home.
The voyage had not been fulfilling. Despite their best efforts and navigation expertise, the conditions of the accursed isles of Keelhaul Key had made the journey too dangerous to pursue. While some cartography of the terrain had been accomplished, no viable route for docking and exploring the islands had been accomplished. Not with their wearied ship, at least.
Bobbery could not remain discouraged, however. For him, the safety of the mission was more cherished than any monetary acquisitions. He would, of course, have to endure the bereavement from his charter and accept the responsibilities for their missed success as admiral, but that was a later concern. For now, one thing and one thing only mattered: returning to his beloved.
Though by no means officers, the crew saluted their admiral as he cautiously walked down the gangway. The air was still chilly enough for his breath to be visible. Bobbery hardly took notice of either of these occurrences: his mind was already home.
As was tradition, Scarlette would wait steadfastly at the shore for her husband to appear from the docked ship. And as was tradition, when they at last reached each other after so long a time apart, Bobbery would turn to face the sea and blow it a kiss, as if extending his love to the sea for safely returning him home to his other life's love. And as was tradition, Bobbery would embrace his precious bride, her head tenderly resting over his heart. The passage completed, Bobbery would carry her home in his arms, at peace with this transition.
That morning, tradition was broken.
"By the time he returned, Scarlette had succumbed. She was gone."
Finishing the last of the dirty glasses, Podley returns the rag to the sink. Finding no other task to perform, the bartender appears pained by the lack of a performable, paltry chore to distract him from the agonizing memory he is relaying. He continues to face the wall.
"Bobbery, of course, blamed himself," he sighs, addressing the ridiculousness in his tone. "'My loving wife perished because of me...If I were not at sea, I could have nursed her to health. I could have saved her...'" Podley chokes as he repeats these words.
"...he was overcome by such thoughts. They tormented him always, haunting his sleep...he has never gone out to sea since."
In spite of concluding his story, Podley remains with his back turned on his listeners, thankful that his glasses help to conceal his face. For several moments, it as though all life has halted inside of the bar. The strength of Podley's storytelling had silenced them all.
"I...I can't imagine what that poor man went through," Vivian stutters, her eyes welling as their host had predicted. Flurrie offers her arm to the Shadow Siren as Vivian delicately wipes her face.
The Yoshi kid whistles, though with empathy. "Gee, what a downer," he offers, unsure himself what the ideal response to this heartbreaking tale should be. "I guess that's a pretty good reason for hating the ocean..."
A customer from across the bar sets down his empty cola glass and a handful of coins, prompting Podley to gratefully return to his dishwashing routine. This freedom gives Podley the courage to turn back around. "You all know his tale now," he hums, picking up the customer's dirty glass to polish it. "So, tell me: do you still want him to return to sea?"
Goombella bites her lip, the ball now in their court. "Well, we really don't have much of a choice," she explains, looking to Mario as if he could provide the words for her. "We absolutely have to head to Keelhaul Key, and our ship needs a navigator with the know-how..."
Podley nods slowly to himself, accepting a decision that culminated from years of absent action. "Very well, I understand," he admits with humility. "If you're that determined, then I'll give you this..." Setting down the glass in his hand, he bends down, using the key from his apron pocket to open the dusty lockbox hidden he had withdrawn towards the beginning of their conversation. Pausing momentarily to maintain emotional neutrality, he reaches for the yellowed item at the top, clutching it close to his breast.
"What is this?" Koops asks after being offered the item by Podley. In his hands, he examines the faded envelope with confusion, until his eyes scan over the words "To Bobbery."
"On her deathbed," Podley begins, albeit with difficulty, "Scarlette wrote Bobbery a final letter. You hold it in your hands. I don't know what's inside...but I can tell you what she told me as she lay dying..."
February 10, 1980
The girl at the inn returned with a cool rag from downstairs, offering it to Podley. Scarlette laid limply in the bed next to him as he applies the damp compress over the beads of sweat on her forehead.
"Did you see a ship?" she whispers hoarsely, clutching the blanket tightly over her shoulders.
"Not today, I'm afraid," Podley answers. "But don't give up hope. There's a great chance they'll dock tomorrow. Meanwhile, you just continue to fight this bug and be strong for him once he returns-"
His motivational words were cut short by yet another coughing episode. When Scarlette withdrew the handkerchief from her mouth, small drops of blood could be observed on the cloth. "Probably ran off with some mermaid of the sea," she smiled in childish humor. While Podley was encouraged by this jovial response, he himself fought to conceal any of his own alarms to her condition. Then the smile vanished.
"Podley," Scarlette said, almost whimpering. "I need to request a favor of you."
"Hey now, you just take it easy," Podley hesitated, his nerves now heightening from her comment and changing complexion. "You'll pull through this just fine, and Bobbery will be home tomorrow to help you recuperate, and-"
Despite Podley's protests, Scarlette gathered the strength to sit up. Reaching from behind the pillow, she withdrew an envelope sealed with a red stamp. "Promise you'll tell him it's not his fault. None of this...none of this is his fault."
"Scarlette, please, you need to rest-"
Again, the bartender was interrupted by the unpleasant brute of her cough. "Oh...how I fear that...that he should lose..." she murmured, the fatigue coating each spoken word. Trembling, she extended the letter to Podley.
"If I should succumb to this plague, and if my love should blame himself for my death...then give this letter to him, so he may hear my voice." And with that, the beloved bride breathed her last.
Arduous memories play through Podley's mind like a movie reel. The funeral at the harbor, where he watched Bobbery lay the floral wreath in the water. The cemetery, where under an umbrella he huddled with Zess as they watched the admiral, fully uniformed, kneel before her marble tombstone. This very bar, where he watched an admiral once bubbling with life and energy slowly wither in form and in presence as he sat many a night alone in a booth, fighting back the burning tears. And Podley would stand there, heart hurting as he polished glass after glass, tormented with the question of when to react, whether to reach out, how to reach out.
But he never did...he never could. And so for years, the Scarlette letter laid untouched in a bar lockbox.
"It was her last request..." Podley explains, the feeling of guilt evident in his voice. "But when I saw Bobbery in misery, trying to forget the pain as he mourned his wife...I just couldn't bring myself to present this letter to him. I've regretted it ever since." He stares at Mario, and in this moment, makes every effort to remove this shaming burden.
"Take this letter, and do the deed I was too cowardly to do: take it to Bobbery." Mario, as if entrusted to be Podley's redemptive angel, nods assuredly. This simple gesture speaks measures to Podley...though not with words.
Flurrie rises slowly from the bar stool, helping the timid Vivian to do the same. "Podley, dearie...thank you for everything, sincerely. We'll ensure this gets delivered to Bobbery."
"You feel better, ok?" the Yoshi kid offers, patting the bartender on the shoulder. For the first time in a long time, Podley manages a subtle smile, nodding to his audience as they exit the bar. As the door creaks behind them, the environment of the bar continues around him. Taking his rag, he reaches for another cola glass.
"That goes for you too, Vivian," Koops says outside in an attempt to comfort the Shadow Siren, realizing that the story had probably affected her the strongest.
"I just hope we aren't too late," Vivian says concernedly. "I mean, I hope this isn't too late for Bobbery's sake, you know? It's been so many years since the death of Scarlette...I hope this will provide him with the closure he needs."
"Now I understand why he was so hostile towards our proposal earlier," Goombella reflects as the group walks back to the Admiral's abode. "I mean, like, I couldn't imagine going through half of what he faced. But that doesn't change the fact that we've got a ship in desperate need of his credentialed navigation skills."
"Well, there's only one way of knowing," Koops reckons, pointing to the door of the worn-down home. He looks to Mario for leadership, to which the plumber responds with three final knocks.
"What?! Oh, by Blabberton's beard! Not you again!"
The group files silently into the barren living quarters, surrounding Mario as if lending him their support. Bobbery, irritated by yet another interruption from his solitude, refuses to give up any leverage.
"No matter how many times you entreat me, my stance is firm! Now away with you!" the admiral spits, gesturing towards the door in his attempt at anger. But the plumber held his own ground, surrounded by his five partners. Flurrie nods to Mario as he withdraws the fateful letter from his pocket.
Bobbery eyes this motion hesitantly, appearing even more startled when the mustachioed man hands it to him. "Pardon? A letter you say? F-for me?" Thoughts of doubt and fear immediately fill the admiral's head, but something about the plumber's sincerity encourages him to open the seal. In doing so, he struggles just to prevent the letter falling from his hands.
"What?!" he cries out, eyes widening in confusion. "Scarlette! This is Scarlette's handwriting!" Some essence of life resurfaces inside of the admiral that ultimately overpowers his conflicting emotions enough to pursue answers for this conundrum. The party watches as Bobbery stumbles backward, somehow locating a chair to collapse in. None of them make a sound, absorbing the poignant scene unfolding before them.
"Scarlette, my love..." And suddenly, the words morph into those of his bride.
My love:
If you're reading this letter, than I am no longer by your side. Because fate has stepped between us, I have decided to write you this letter.
If you're reading this, I must have passed away while you were out at sea...I can only assume that you will blame yourself for it, my sweet Bobbery. Although my life was short, you gave me more than a lifetime's worth of joy. Though you will mourn, I beg that you remember:
Time, like love, is a tide. You are one with the sea as you are one with me. Do not lose both your life's loves.
(The pen trembles as she concludes her letter. "Oh, my sweet Bobbery..." she sighs, breathing comfortably for once in her suffering, finding peace in memories of her husband, the admiral. Delicately, as the tear falls onto the parchment, she signs her name:)
-Scarlette
For a moment, the world has come to a standstill: like an anchored ship bobbing atop an expansive and peaceful ocean. Mario removes his hat as he watches the eyes of the wearied admiral scan the page over and over, absorbing every bit of energy the ink can provide.
"Time, like love, is a tide...you are one with the sea as you are one with me..." Bobbery's lips quiver as he recites this redeeming mantra by his bride. Realizing that he is still in the presence of others, he quickly rises, the letter clutched closely to his chest. "A...a thousand pardons...but may I have a moment please?" Gathering his strength, Bobbery floats to the back room, as Mario and the others politely offer him his solitude.
For the devout husband, however, the elements of that back room transform the scene. As the door shuts softly behind him, the bright beams from the sun blind him momentarily as gulls flock past overhead. The gentle crashing of the waves laps against the edges of this vessel, tenderly rocking him with each crest. The admiral, fully uniformed, removes his hat as he marches across the deck to the bow. Leaning against the railing, a radiant young Bob-omb maiden awaits him. In that moment, her eyes have the power to shatter every excuse, fear, outburst, and bout of anger, of blame, of guilt and of grief that kept the poor sailor from cherishing this time of renewal. And so, Bobbery collapses at his bedside, his head lifted up towards his beloved.
"Yes, love...I was happy...my sweet, sweet Scarlette...I love you still."
The origins of this story had almost nothing to do with Paper Mario: The Thousand Year Door as it did with reading Hawthorne's The Scarlet Letter freshman year of high school and creating a cute ploy out of its name. (Definitely no inspiration on content :P) The first three sections were written around that time with no real direction as to where I wanted to follow this seemingly trivial idea, but as time progressed little by little the idea grew. Now, as a freshman in college desperate to avoid having to study for that plague known as finals, I returned to this concept and in the end wrapped up this oneshot into the package that it is.
As far as romance goes, Daisies are Yellow was sort of a romantic comedy I wrote that was designed to be cheesy yet touching. With this, I wanted to experiment more with a more serious type of romance circled more around tragedy. Hopefully I succeeded in that regard.
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed it, don't hesitate to leave a review! Also, if you're interested in checking out some of my other works (as well as getting some news future updates), take a trip over to my profile! And for all you scholars enduring exams...well, that's its own sort of tragedy. :)