Ch. 3 – A Visit With the Captain

"Charlie, don't lean out too far now." Stone admonished the boy for what seemed like the millionth time. Charles was definitely not afraid of the ocean as he continued time and again to push the limits of how far he could see straight down into the water. Stone still could remember the look on the boy's face when he had entered that cabin two days ago and produced a fishing rod from behind his back. Charles had jumped up and down on the bed, much to his mother's dismay, clapping his hands and squealing with utter delight.

Captain Apollos had given it to Stone that morning as they went over the day's events. When he had inquired as to where the Captain had found it, the man's answer that he had found it somewhere in one of the cargo holds was not convincing. Things did not just lie around forgotten onboard this ship. Knowing the Captain as he did, he was sure that he had spent the last week and a half since meeting Charles, crafting the pole instead of sleeping.

Captain Apollos was very skilled at creating things. He had many strange contraptions lying around his cluttered cabin. Some were recognizable for what they were supposed to be, a timepiece, a model of the Fereshteh. But others were completely unrecognizable and at times he had seen the Captain pick one up to use it in a fashion that Stone would never have thought possible. The man who commanded this ship was surely gifted in many areas, more than just in running cargo and managing the vessel. Perhaps that was why he always sensed that the man was never quite content. He was a successful man of business and very well respected by his crew. But Stone knew that unlike himself, Captain Apollos's heart belonged to more than just the sea.

Just in time, Stone ran up behind Charles and grabbed the seat of his pants to pull him back on the deck. "Charlie, you've got to be careful. If you fall in the drink, your Mama will kill me and you'll likely end up living in the belly of a whale like Jonah!" Exasperated but amused by the boy, he walked back to his post to supervise the crew and his five-year old charge.

Very soon the Captain would come up on deck with the excuse that he had something to discuss with Stone. Then he would proceed to ask Charles about his luck in catching anything. Within a few moments he would be taking Charles back to his cabin to show him something that he had collected on his travels, or to feed the boy and they would spend the next few hours together. This had become the routine since the day that the fishing pole was given to Charles. He did not know what the boy and the Captain talked about, but his commander had never been in higher spirits than he had been of late.

When Stone had informed Christine of their afternoon meetings, she was a bit wary at first, but when her son returned to their cabin that afternoon with stories of the Captain's many voyages to exotic lands and of the mechanical toys that he allowed Charles to play with, she confided to Stone that she felt happy that he son had found a friend to make the trip go by faster. He sensed then that she was deeply suffering from cabin fever. "Can you sew ma'am?" Stone had asked "The men have a terrible habit of ripping their shirts and pants. We used to have a man that could do it but he didn't come on this leg of the journey. We'd be grateful if you could take over that duty for us."

Christine's sewing skills weren't perfect, but she was sure that she had enough knowledge to do patch jobs for the crew. "I will do my best, Sir." Since that day she had become head seamstress aboard.

As the first mate had predicted, Captain Apollos emerged from his cabin at just that moment. He made his way down the companionway, stopping in his tracks as he heard a familiar sound. He felt a constricting in his throat as he slowly approached the outside of the de Chagny's stateroom.

She was singing. His mind reeled and he had to will himself to stay in the present. Visions of the Opera house, her dressing room, his former home all swam into focus in his mind. He could almost smell greasepaint. Had it really been almost seven years since he had heard her sing?

Lightly, he pressed his open palm to the wooden door followed by the left side of his face. He closed his eyes and listened to the subtle intonations of her voice. No one knew her sound as he did. She was most definitely out of practice. Probably hadn't practiced in years. She wasn't singing for the masses anymore, and from the sound of it, she didn't sing much for herself either.

"Think of me
Think of me waking silent and resigned
Imagine me trying too hard to put you from my mind"

He could hear that she was crying as she sang. It was getting harder to distinguish the words as she sobbed them out.

"Recall those days,
look back on all those times
Think of the things we'll never do." As she said these words, she began to weep uncontrollably.

Softly, in a whisper, he breathed, "There will never be a day, when I won't think of you."

His fingers caressed the wood as he wished he could caress her face. Suddenly he remembered where he was. It certainly wouldn't do for his men to find him in the hallway, embracing a door. He straightened to his full height and continued to the end of the passageway and climbed the stairs.

Like clockwork, he appeared at Stone's side a few moments later. "Have you set the men to preparing the sails for possible hurricanes?"

"Yes sir," Stone answered promptly. This question was likely to be his most lame yet. It would be like asking if you had lifted the anchor before departing. Elementary.

"Good. Good." Abruptly he turned to look at Charles who was once again climbing up the railing to see some strange formation that the water was taking as the ship sliced through it. "Charles. How goes the fishing today?"

As he always did when the Captain would question him, Charles snapped to a respectful stance and looked the man in the face. He had been taught well by his parents. "I think that my bait is no good. I haven't caught anything at all today."

The Captain squatted down in front of the small boy to look at him eye to eye. He sympathetically said, "Not every day will be rewarding Charles. Yesterday you caught a magnificent fish, did you not?"

"Yes sir. But today I wanted to catch a bigger one!" Charles said with great exaggeration. As was becoming quite customary when around this boy, Apollos laughed. "Young man, patience is the golden rule to fishing. This is the exact reason why I have never been a fisherman," he stated very seriously then followed with a full grin. Slapping the boy on the back he rose and asked, "Have I told you about the fisherman that I knew in Russia? He swore that he had caught a fish as large as a borzoi. Would you like me to tell you about him?"

Charles's eyes lit up as they always did when he was confronted with the opportunity to hear one of the Captain's stories. "Oh yes sir. I just need to collect my pole."

Stone watched the pair disappear below deck and snickered at the contrast between them. The man was tall and very broad in the shoulders. Having worked with him for so long, he knew the Captain to be in excellent shape despite his age. Stone knew that Apollos was at least two score, but his body did not show signs of its age. The boy was very small and thin, but not sickly as some children that he had seen before. They looked like David and Goliath, and as he made the comparison, he thought, David has indeed already defeated Goliath in this case.

He had never thought that the Captain would make a good father. He was much too content being sullen most of the time. However, since his first meeting with the boy, that had all changed. He seemed to much prefer Charles's company to his former self-induced loneliness. But could this newfound contentment last very long?

Captain Apollos was fully animated as he continued to tell the story of Durov, the Russian man who was trying to convince his village that he had indeed caught a fish as large as a borzoi, which it turned out was a big Russian dog, and the villagers who threw him promptly into the sea after having enough of the man's lies. Charles loved the captain's stories, but mostly loved the way that the captain told his stories. As the boy nibbled on a crust of black bread, he watched wide eyed as Apollos weaved the story with dramatic gestures and foreign accents and a cast of different voices for each person that spoke. As he wound the story down, he came to sit across from the lad a little short of breath and with a bead of sweat on his brow. "So you see, young man, if you ever catch a fish as large as a dog and lose it, keep it to yourself or you just might find yourself treading water!" Rewarded by the child's giggling laughter, he sat back in his chair satisfied with his performance.

The peace of the moment was interrupted when Charles innocently said, "My Papa used to tell me funny stories too. He wasn't as good as you though." He shoved another piece of the bread in his mouth after he had imparted that tidbit of information as if he were reporting on the weather. The effect however was like a shock of electricity through the Captain's body. He sat forward, all calmness gone from his mood. However he did manage to keep his tone soft as he asked the boy the question that he had held back each day that they had met, "Where is your Papa, Charles?"

"With God," he said with a shrug.

Two simple words that had explained so much. Raoul was dead. How long? He knew that in his mind he had secretly hoped that she had run out on him, but at the same time knew that she wouldn't have done that to her son. He sank back once again and thought about this information. Christine and her son were alone and she was desperate to leave France. Stone hadn't told him anything of her circumstances and he hadn't asked. Certainly he had been curious, but fearful at the same time. He had never adhered to the old adage; the truth shall set you free. He felt that the truth would more likely creep into your body and fester in your soul.

"How old were you Charles, when he died?" He spoke the words carefully as he didn't want to upset the boy. But his curiosity was stronger right now than his concern for the child's feelings.

"Mama says that I was three. I don't remember a lot about him, but I remember him telling me stories. Sometimes I get mixed up. Sometimes I tell Mama about something that I did with my Papa and she says, 'No that was your Papa Robert'."

"Who is Papa Robert?"

"He takes care of our house and me and Mama. He's really old and he doesn't have any hair on his head at all. He's the one who taught me to fish. And his lady, Mama Charlotte, cooks the best tarts in the whole world."

So the servants of the house had been taking care of the widow and her son since Raoul's death, he had been gone for over a year and Christine was now, for some reason, desperate to flee her home. What kind of trouble had the girl gotten herself into?

He ceased his speculations when the boy quietly said, "Mama is sad. She cries a lot. I tell her to be happy and she says that she will try, but she always cries again. She says that she lost her Papa too. Then her Angel and then my Papa."

"Her Angel?" He said incredulously. Could he have heard right?

"Her Angel that makes her sing. She sings so beautiful. But it always makes her sad and she misses her Angel." The boy paused, and then abruptly switched gears. "Can I play with the music box sir?"

Distractedly, the man handed Charles the music box with the monkey that sat on top. In the back of his mind he heard the boy's sweet voice singing along with the music as he had taught him. He crossed to the window and looked out at the horizon lost in his thoughts. The child would have no reason to lie and he couldn't possibly know of Christine's Angel unless his mother had told him. The realization was too much to bear. She thought of him. She missed him.

"Charles, I'm afraid that I do need to return to my duties," he said without turning from the window. He needed time to think, a lot of time. And though the boy's company was enjoyable, he needed to be alone right now.

"Yes, Captain. I'll go back to my room now." Charles stood and replaced the music box on the shelf from which Apollos had retrieved it. He moved to the door and opened it.

Still gazing out the window, the man said, "That's a good lad," and he was alone again.

Hope your curiosity is piqued. Please review on the way out. Since I'm a new author, I'm desperate for feedback! Thanks to those that have reviewed already. I'm baking chocolate chip cookies for you!