Chapters

On this page we provide a chapter from both published and unpublished books.

On the ferry

This is a chapter from a book “With Different Eyes,” by Colin Mallard, which will be published shortly.

CHAPTER THREE

On The Ferry

The wind gusted in the empty parking lot, sending patterns scurrying across the puddles. Pulling the scarf closer around his neck Michael pushed his hands deep into the pockets of his jacket. The mountains stretched to the north, their peaks lost in cloud. Steep ravines dropped almost vertically into the gray-green ocean. At the counter he bought a ticket for the ferry and started the long walk along the corridor to the cafeteria and passenger-holding area. The ferry had arrived and most passengers were already on board. He climbed the stairs, walked up the inclined corridor, and crossed an open ramp to the main deck. The wind struck him, bearing with it the cold chill of snow.

Michael had a quick breakfast in the ship’s cafeteria, then settled comfortably in a seat beside the large windows of the promenade deck. The ferry slipped out of the harbor and threaded the waters around the clustering islands. The big ship shuddered slightly as power to the engines increased. Ten minutes later the ship changed course, thrusting its blunt blue and white bow into the rolling waves of the strait. The wind blowing from the northwest struck the ship broadside as it moved from the shelter of the islands. Michael watched as snow swirled by outside softening the beauty all around. The forests on the rocky islands receded steadily in the distance. The rumble of the engines provided a background to the murmur of voices. Outside, gulls glided beside the ship, their wings responding to the changing conditions. Then, with a slight tip of the wing, they’d wheel away and vanish.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

Startled, Michael turned to find himself looking into a pair of dark eyes. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” the man said. “I’m Joshua.” He extended his hand. It was firm and warm with tough calluses on the skin. His face was dark and weathered, and silver hair curled from beneath an old felt hat.  An eagle feather and small red beads attached the hat band. He wore a denim shirt and faded blue jeans. A red Hudson’s Bay jacket was slung carelessly across his shoulder. He smiled, and the intensity of his dark eyes lessened.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“I’m sorry,” came the reply. “It’s Michael.”

“Well, I’m pleased to meet you,” he said. “Care to join me for breakfast?”

Michael said he’d already eaten.

“In that case,” Joshua asked, “would you mind keeping an eye on my things until I get back?”

Michael agreed, and Joshua placed his jacket and a worn deerskin bag on the seat before he left.

Michael watched out the window. For a while the sheer beauty held him in thrall. Soon, however, the reality of his situation intruded on the calm peacefulness he often felt when immersed in nature. Lost in thought, he let the scene around him fade from awareness.

In a matter of several hours he’d be home. His wife, he hoped would be waiting for him, and there was no doubt in his mind she would be very angry with him. He certainly couldn’t blame her. He feared this meeting. It was the first time since the birth of his children that the sound of their voices would be absent from his home. He felt a wave of sadness and overpowering regret. The past two days, lying on a steel cot, confined by bars, had only added to his misery. How could he have done what he’d done? How many times had he gone over it, and to what end? If he got another chance he’d do it differently, he thought. Would he, though? That was the real question. Would he? Here he was in his early thirties. If he had not learned to curb his anger by now, what assurance was there for the future? Recent events did not bode well.

Burned into his mind was the look on Jason’s face as he had tried to twist out of his father’s grip. Michael could still feel the rage with which he’d seized his son, twisting his arm with a vicious wrench. The muffled crack of the breaking bone was audible. The pain on Jason’s face and the shocked look in his eyes were images Michael would never forget. How could he have allowed things to get so far out of hand.

“It’s not as bad as you think.”

Michael jumped, startled. He hadn’t heard Joshua return. For a moment he had the distinct feeling that Joshua had been privy to his thoughts, but that wasn’t possible. Michael tried to smile but the heaviness in his heart was too much.

Once more the voice came, “It’s not as bad as you think. Come on, put your jacket on. Let’s go for a walk.”

Before he could resist, Joshua handed Michael his jacket and scarf, and turning toward the exit, stepped over the sill to the outer deck. The wind pulled at them, and snow stung the exposed skin. They climbed the stairs to the upper deck and, leaning into the wind, made their way to the forward observation deck. Surrounded by glass and open to the lee of the wind, it afforded protection from the storm. No other passengers had braved the cold.

The big ship shuddered as it plowed into the waves and spray flew far from the bow. Away from the direct onslaught of the wind, the snow swirled in eddies, forming small drifts on the deck. On the deck above, the wind moaned through the wires and antennas. Making their way deeper into the shelter they found seats that afforded a view and relative quiet. They sat for a moment to catch their breath. A big hand brushed the white hair as Joshua stuffed his hat back on his head. Sitting across from him, Michael felt humiliated and strangely, a sense of relief.

“It’s all in how we look at it,” Joshua commented.

Michael looked into those dark warm eyes. There was a clear peacefulness about the man.

“Things happen that can’t be changed,” Michael said.

“That’s true, but things aren’t always as they appear,” Joshua responded.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, for instance, take yourself. Something happened which is causing you a great deal of suffering. It’s how you see the events that’s the cause of your suffering, not the events themselves.”

“Not so!” Michael cried. “What I’ve done is unforgivable, that’s a fact.”

“No,” Joshua said gently, “that’s not a fact. The facts are the events themselves, not your interpretation of them. That’s an important distinction to keep in mind.”

“You’ve no idea what I’ve done, so it’s all right for you to talk.” Michael felt anger surging through him. Who is this man, he thought, what right does he have to talk to me like this?

Joshua was looking into Michael’s eyes. There was an intensity that he’d not felt with anyone else before. His thoughts came to an abrupt halt.

“There’s an intrinsic harmony in life,” Joshua said. “It can never be seen, however, when we cling to beliefs about ourselves and the world. What we believe is not necessarily the truth, and the truth can never be known without abandoning belief. To believe that we know the truth is the height of ignorance.”

Through the glass, winking lights marked the rocky shoals at the entrance to the inlet. The harbor itself was protected from the northeast gales that swept down the strait in winter. As power was cut to the engines, the vessel slipped through the opening into the quiet waters beyond. Abruptly, the wind died away, and in the ensuing silence, announcements and departure instructions came over the public address system.

Joshua stood and, extending his hand, shook Michael’s warmly. “Think about these things,” he said, “perhaps if the gods decree we’ll meet again.” For a moment they faced each other, then with a nod of his head Joshua turned and strode off. Looking through the glass Michael could see the black pilings of the dock. Snow, no longer driven by the intense wind, swirled unpredictably in every direction. The engines shifted into reverse, and with a shudder the huge vessel was maneuvered into place.

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