Sabastian's Journey

Sabastian awoke from a restless doze to find himself soaked to the bone in rain and mud, sitting on a wooden plank amongst a row of great oak barrels and linen sacks of foodstuffs. He reached over, pulling out his rock-sharpened pocketknife and slashed trough one of the sacks, dug his hand in and pulled out a what happened to be a handful of sunflower seeds, which he stuffed into his mouth. They were neither salted nor roasted. In fact, his face soured at the acrid chalkiness in his mouth. But he continued to stuff them down and swallow hard until a coughing fit overwhelmed his throat. Then he leaned back against a heavy oak barrel and took a swig of buttermilk from the cat bowl he’d swiped on his way inside.

Sabastian was 12 and gritty. He had a round, attractive face, a healthy build, and a mop of dirty blonde curls. It was hard to tell the true color of his skin – save from looking at his hands and ankles – because he always wore a faded, yellow bandana around his nose and mouth.

He wasn’t supposed to be there. He knew he’d likely missed the ship by now. His face was starting to burn red in a heap of chagrin.

That neatly written letter had come two days too late, and he’d run as fast as his legs would carry him to reach the western coast by Sunday, noon.

It was nearly Sunday morning. The rain had stopped him before he could make it across the last mountain pass of the island. Mudslides had made the footpath almost impassable, and the slopes were too risky to take alone. He had no choice but to wait out the deluge and hope that the ship would hold anchor for another day.

Sabastian had snuck into the old, blue barn adjacent to the Earling Brother’s tobacco plantation hours ago, but his clothes were still drenched.

He sat and looked up at the lines of dark, sweet tobacco leaves drying in the barn.

“Why couldn’t I have picked a mango farm,” thought Sabastian as two calico kittens wandered up to him.

He quickly grabbed the bowl of milk and held it up out of their reach. But that wasn’t enough to deter them. The two kittens started climbing over his legs and echoing broken meows across the barn.

Sabastian flashed a devilish grin and as he brought the bowl to his lips and chugged its dregs.

Then the sirens started. The cats stopped meowing as the lighthouse and its twin, inland lookout station echoed against each other. A hurricane was coming.

Sabastian’s eyes went wide. Before he left town, he’d tossed a coin into the wailing well on a wish that he’d reach the ship before it – and his pa - were gone.

“That’s my hurricane,” whispered Sabastian to the kittens, who had quickly multiplied into five…no, six.

BOOM! The barn door banged open. Sabastian dove behind the tobacco press and hid himself between two rows of recently cured tobacco leaves as big as his shirt.

Sabastian caught a glimpse of two pairs of boots running in. Then he heard a medley of clinks and clambering before the boots ran back out, and then the barn was empty and quiet again. Sabastian peered out from his hiding place and crept over to the door. It was raining hard as two people in raincoats packed up an old pickup truck near the Earling Brothers’ main house.

Sabastian had no clue where they were going, but his best chance for reaching port was in the back of that pickup. Sabastian grabbed his knapsack and ran along the edge of the barn, out into the rain. He slipped and fell face-first into a puddle of mud just as someone turned the engine over. He was only a few meters away. He scrambled up and lunged forward to grab the flatbed door just as the truck backed up to head down the emergency road. Sabastian made a move to hop over the door, but realized his hands were too caked with mud to secure him a landing inside, so he scurried over the door, messily, ungracefully, but ultimately successfully.

The back of the pickup truck was full of tools. Sabastian caught a messy socking from shovels, axes, sandbags, hammers, and a large spool of orange cord as the truck made its descent down the winding mountain road.

After about 40 minutes and an unbelievable number of bruises and scratches, the truck came to a stop in front of The Montague Hotel.

Broken red shafts of light spreading across the horizon hinted that dawn was near.

Sabastian hopped out of the truck and ran for cover behind a fallen palm tree just as – who Sabastian could now see were – Jacob and Saul Earling unloaded the truck to join a group of workmen and hotel staff in digging a trench and loading sandbags on the side of the hotel facing the sea.

Sabastian doubled around the hotel and ventured out towards the boardwalk to get a better view of the port, about 2 kilometers away.

Not only was the ship anchored at port, in the bay, but it was still docked. Sabastian started running towards the dock.

He could see the sailors working on the top deck as he got closer, but hadn’t yet spotted another yellow bandana – the one that belonged to his pa.

Just as Sabastian reached the dock a gale swept up from sea and sent a flurry of waves crashing up onto the dock. Sabastian crouched down to let the waves pass but got pulled near the edge by the weight of the water. He spit out the salty spray and huddled his way towards the ship’s frontmost hatch.

A large, dark man with no shirt and tattoos all over his arms and chest walked out onto the deck carrying a bundle of rope. He stopped in front of Sabastian, surprised.

When Sabastian had finally found his footing, his hair now plastered to his forehead and his bandana so drenched that he almost couldn’t breathe through it, he looked up at the ornamented sailor, and mustered all of his courage to ask to board the ship.

“You lookin’ for a dry place to wait her out?” said the sailor, nodding towards the sea.

Sabastian, stunned, nodded.

“Alright,” said the sailor as he flung the rope over his shoulder. “Wait here while I go take this here to Merlin Mandy across there.”

Sabastian nodded and stepped aside as the large sailor meandered over to the shallow side of the dock, where Merlin Mandy – a local fisherman – had been dumb and crazy enough to go fishing last night and had gotten stuck in the port without an anchor.

As soon as the sailor waved to Merlin Mandy, Sabastian slipped into the ship and made his way through the maze of the ship until he found his way towards the lower deck. Men were working about the deck, tying up sails, sweeping water overboard. Sabastian grabbed a spare mop leaning against a beam and pretended to push water towards the deck’s edge.

Just then, the wind let up and the rain halted almost instantly. The waves wanned and were now losing their fervor and height. They were now in the eye of the hurricane.

Sabastian passed by every crew member out at deck and found that his pa wasn’t among any of them. Sabastian huffed and abandoned the mop with a wet clank as he climbed up to the top deck.

The ship had gotten quiet, and everybody had their left eye hooked onto the sea in search of a sign for the tempestuous surge of the storm.

Sabastian reached to top deck and spotted the faintest hint of yellow as he reached to top of the stairs.

“The wind be still,” shouted one of the sailors.

Everyone knew that meant that the eye was finding its way to the hurricane’s wall.

The sailors all started making their way to the cabin.

Sabastian kept his eye trained on the spot of yellow tied around a bear, bronzed arm. Then a flurry of brown tresses was pushed up back on the gent’s head and there he was – Pa.

Sabastian made his way against the stream of crew ushering inside.

“Pa!” yelled Sabastian as he was pushed over by a burly woman with a ring of keys.

Sabastian got up and yelled again. “Pa.”

Pa heard the call and stopped in the middle of the deck, scouring the space for the source of the word.

Then he found Sabastian’s spot of yellow hanging over his face. He moved towards Sabastian just as Sabastian was pushed over by another sailor, smaller and burlier than the last. Sabastian lost his balance and fumbled at the wooden railing. Pa rushed over, shoving the other crew members out of his path.

Pa had almost reached the railing when Sabastian’s yellow bandana flew off to reveal a feminine, freckle-spotted, cinnamon face.

Pa plunged his hand below the railing to grab hold of Sabastian’s arm. But it was too late. The wall had finally reached shore with a gust of unanchored rage. Pa’s hand just barely caught hold of Sabastian’s shirt as he plunged some 30 meters into the water below.

“No,” yelled Pa. “Sébastienne!”

Sabastian had been Sébastienne.

All was dark and still.

Sébastienne awoke with a start from a restless doze to find herself soaked to the bone in rain and mud inside the old, blue barn adjacent the Earling Brother’s tobacco plantation, a soaked letter in her hand.

The ink was starting to run off the page, save for a few lines.

Dear Seba,…going to America…working… ship’s no place for a little girl…. I love you lots….a better life with your ma…Love, Pa.

Sébastienne got up and peaked outside of the barn. The height of the sun told her that it was hours past noon with clear skies overhead. She’d missed the ship, but at least she’d gotten to see her Pa before he left.

Pa thought that making it on a ship was something only a boy could do. But loving a pa couldn’t be done better than by Sébastienne, on or off a ship.