The Ship and Her Anchor

There is told a story to the children in Seattle, a tale of sadness and hope. As they are placed in their beds and tucked under their woven blankets, their parents weave the threads of a wondrous yarn. It is told to the children that in the midsts of an ocean, there is a ship. A ship of grand design and masterful artistry, with a sturdy, elegant mast, untearable sails, and a blue flag atop the crow’s nest center. But this is no ordinary ship, as you might know. It was made with the purpose of adventure.

For that is the purpose of ships, you know: to explore; to brave the uncharted, unmapped unknown of the far away and out there; to risk home and security for the sake of discovery and wonder; to see what has yet to be viewed and touch that which has never been handled. Such is the life of a ship, and this ship was made for grand adventures! However, her captain, the man entrusted to her, had left, gone away, unheard, unseen and unexpected to return, leaving the beautiful vessel alone and without hope. She became a lost ship. She was neither misplaced or taken away but indeed was altogether lost.

On a cold spring morning, she left the safety of the harbor and ventured unmanned through the uncharted depths of the vast and endless sea. It was the wind that carried her out, and she was helpless to raise her untearable sails and escape the gales that blew her from lostness to lostness, for she did not have an anchor to hold her steady against the winds. And so, she was doomed to forever wander wherever it would be that the winds would take her, without hope of ever truly finding her way.

However, there was also in that same ocean, an anchor who rested at the bottom of the mirky deep. He was rusted with corral and sand, left behind by another ship long ago, a ship that was thought to be a perfect match for this anchor. But, alas, he was dropped, plunged into the fathomless gorge, unwanted, uncared for, and unintending to return to the surface. Creatures had found shelter and comfort beneath his shadow and the water dwellers grew accustomed to the metallic trinket and he to their company. He found a sort of peace, not really accomplishing what he had been made for, yet still being used for the benefit of others.

Yet, there was an oddity about this anchor: his chain did not sink. No, the rustic loops formed a band of an untearable fetter and yet it would reach for the refracted light that sifted through the wafting currents in search of a ship to call his own. So the metalsmith who had forged and molded him had intended the anchor to be. For an anchor is not meant to travel, but to provide a safety, a harbor in harborless regions and terrains; to be trusted to hold fast to his vessel when the storms rage and the gales howl; to be as sturdy and stubborn as his ship is flexible and flippant. So the two were always meant to be.

And so the two waited; one blown by the wind and the other submerged beneath the elements; one carried everywhere but home and the other rooted to the only place he called home; one always in motion and the other always moved upon. This was to be their existence: in need of the other but never knowing the need could be met.

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His hands were like shells, coarse and weathered, yet, much like an oyster, he had held his share of pearls. He was a simple man of stubble and nails of trapped dirt. His palms were rough and worn, like the hands of a clock; such hands had carried and lost much in his time.

This was the life of such a simple man: to breathe, to work, and to enjoy the two together. It was was not a difficult life but it was one of consistency and importance, for the world has a severe lack of men who are both consistent and important. Yet, he did not but that which he knew to be good and true and helpful to the town in which he dwelt, nor did he fancy himself to grand drinks and extravagant evenings with dancing and merriment, not because those thing were evil in his eyes, but because he was a simple man with few friends, and not a dramatic fellow with many acquaintances.

Not surprisingly, because of his contentment of life and luxury, he was often seen as an eccentric, a hermit, a man of odd sorts and even temperament, though none of these were the cases. No, he was merely a man of simplicity and equanimity. But this did not stop the townsfolk from spinning old wive’s tales about the fellow, and he was not unaware of such stories concerning his name. Rather, he found them humorous and intriguing, what other people thought of him that is, and preferred to not disillusion the thoughts of other people, wrong as they might be, for what good would that be to defend an undependable name.

On a Tuesday morning, before the sun cast her wakening shine across the sleeping port, the man rose and prepared his nets and lines for the day. He cooked and packed his meal. He dressed himself for the long, cold day ahead with gloves, layers upon layers, and a handmade scarf that he had enjoyed even as a child, courtesy of his mother who had now passed on some years ago. Running his fingers through his dark hazel hair, he breathed in the morning through his nostrils and breathed out the night through his mouth. And thus, he began his day.

However, this day, though it started off normal enough, would be one he recalled time and time again. Many called him uncommon, daft even, but some cleaved to his story and somehow knew it to be true, as uncanny and impossible as it might seem.

As he walked towards his small boat, a voiced called out to him.

“Oi!”

He turned to see a young woman, short and bundled up with her red hair being moved by the morning wind. She was of sturdy built but not plump to say the least. She wore a blue coat, gloves and layers upon layers. The man starred at her, curiosity on his face.

“Oi,” she called out again. “You there!”

She answered the look on his face with, “Yeah, you! Slow down.”

The young lass made her way quickly to the man, caught her breath, and asked, “Are you Tom?”

Tom, for that was the man’s name replied with a nod.

“Of course you are. Quiet man. Good build. Nothing out of the ordinary about you. Brown hair. Green coat and thick scarf. Glad I caught you this morning, I am.”

Tom, not knowing what this was all about then, decided to wait quietly for the girl to continue.

“Hannah.” She looked at him intently and held out her hand. “I’m called Hannah. Like the Bible character. Good name Hannah. Better than Tom, though not as short. Anyways where we going?”

Perplexed, Tom provided her with a look of slight confusion and slight annoyance. Hannah was quick to respond.

“Don’t look at me like that. I need a job and no one is hiring. You have no one else working with you and I need a job. So, I will ask again. Where are we going?” She pushed her hand through the air and closer to Tom.

Tom was intrigued by Hannah, to say the least. She was not the most well built of women, nor was she really grand in stature, but for some reason, Tom thought she might just be the strongest woman he had ever met. So he took her small hand, enveloped it in his own and shook it as a sign of friendship.

Hannah’s eyes grew with excitement. “Does this mean I got the job?”

But before Tom could answer her, she jumped up into his arms and enveloped her own around his neck, kissed his cheek and began to shower him with Thanks You’s, You Won’t Regret This’, When Do We Head Out’s, and other such expressions of excitement and already strong commitment. Tom shrugged his shoulders, heaved a sigh and began walking to his vessel. Hannah followed soon, when she realized that she was enthusiastically celebrating alone on a street where the few morning shop openers were staring at her with grand perplexity and slight concern for their business if she should stay there in her current state of jubilation.

Catching up to Tom, Hannah asked, “What’s her name?”

Tom pointed to the back of his boat, which they had just arrived at. Looking at it Hannah saw the faded blue and letters. “The Patience,” she read out loud, “well that’s a dumb name.”

Tom furrowed his eye brows at the young lass, who catching his stare quickly added, “Unless you realize the great importance of Patience. Especially with work!”

Smirking, Tom let the issue go and crossed from harbor to boat in one fluid, simple motion. Hannah propelled herself through the air with a mighty thrust from her legs, only to snag her foot on the ropes and fall face first onto the deck. Before Tom could reach her, the girl was up on her feet brushing off the embarrassing tumble. “I’m fine. Just fine. Nothing to see here. What?”

Tom’s smirk grew into a grin as he scratched his head.

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Into the morning haze from the ocean’s unusually calm waters, Tom brought Hannah down into the body of The Patience. The boat was also a haven for Tom, and rarely if ever did he invite others into his floating sanctuary. There was a bed, a shelf of books, and a small desk with maps, letters, and more books.

“Oh, this is quaint and roomy,” Hannah explained, having never been inside a boat such as this before. She shuffled through the maps and skimmed the books, sporadically releasing an educated “Hmm” or “Hmhm” or the soft giggle. For Hannah was rather well read for a girl her age, though her demeanor and manner would not always show it, and though this literature was foreign to her, it intrigued and fascinated her.

There were books of stars and fish, lines and rope, sails and anchors, but there was one book more worn but more well kept than the other. It was a leather bound volume with a brown cord woven around it and knotted to contain the pages and hide its contents. Hannah started to reach for the book, but Tom gently stayed her hand and ushered he out of the room. Looking back, Hannah wondered what was hid within such a mysterious book’s pages.

On the deck, Tom took to the sails, untethered the boat from the harbor’s safety, and pushed off into the ocean’s blue and the morning’s grey. The waves were hinting at a storm though his eyes did not spy any such movement beneath the clouds which, though grey and sulky, did not bubble at the thought of rain. Peering out into the openness, he planned the route in his head and stayed the already determined course. All the while, Hannah had taken it upon herself to explore every plausible nook and cranny of the vessel. It was a simple boat for a simple man who lived a simple life rather simply. She hummed to herself as she discovered corners and nails.

“Hey Tom, sir!”

Tom looked to where the voice had come from off the starboard side. Gliding through the mist was Eric and his ship. It was a larger ship for Eric sought to ensnare marlin, while Tom took to smaller game. Because the ship was a fresher model and though Eric had left after Tom, the newer vessel caught up to the old one rather quickly.

Smiling, Tom waived back.

“Looks to be a promising day, huh? I heard that you took on a girl. Some say that she took on you!”

Hannah stood up proudly on the deck and retorted, “I offered my services and a business proposition fairly! It’s not my fault he didn’t say no!”

Eric’s laughter carried far into Tom’s ears. “Looks like you have quite a catch on your hands! She might be more slippery than any fish you catch, Tom!”

Hannah’s face grew red as she shouted, “Just watch Mr. Tom and I will bring more fish pound for pound than you and your fancy boat!”

“It’s a challenge then, eh?” Responded Eric. “We’ll see when we get back Tom. We’ll see.” And with that, Eric’s boat slipped back into the grey haze on the morning.

“We will see!” Hannah called out, knowing that Eric might not be able to hear her, but still thriving on batting the last word. She sat down with her legs dangling off the side of the boat. The water leaped up at her worn boots, splashing on them, turning the brown a deeper brown where they met the cool ocean. She smiled and remembered the times of summers and lakes, a time when she was younger and without care; how the world could spin while she swam, passing her by, and she would not miss the world for an instant.

Tom had grand childhood memories. His father was a fishermen and taught the boy to be one as well. He knew nothing but the ocean and her mystery.

Hannah stood on the point of the boat, stretched her arms out, making a “t” and recited,

“How deep her vastness and hue;

How far her far-ness does reach;

When fair the weather

Or storms should gather

What grand lessons she will teach!”

As she finished, she turned, sheepishly to Tom, almost embarrassed by her outburst. Her face was flustered red and she pressed her chin onto her chest. “Do you like it?”

Tom stared at her questioningly.

“I did not write it, you know,” she responded. “I heard it once from my father. I could never tell if it was about the ocean or a woman, although he made me think it was about both.” She smiled and stared at the endless morning of grey and marine. “I think he was right.”

Tom smiles in reply and continued to steer the Patience into the misty fog.

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As the fog began to subside, the morning sun darted in fractals across the water, creating a golden atmosphere, for the mist was still present, though the light would break through at changing moments, shining, then, being snuffed out, like a candle, the shine would disappear only to return elsewhere. In their dreamy game of hide and seek, the light always seemed to escape the mist, but, in return, the mist would always find the gleam.

This was Tom’s second favored moment of the day, when the world couldn’t decide whether to be golden or silver. It was a simple, comical battle for the world would always awaken and the gold would over power the silver, but Tom couldn’t help but remember that every morning, the battle of light and mist would continue. It is a wondrous thing to see, the light striving for existence against its intangible foe, the mist. The clash was repeated; the skirmish was constant, yet the victory was certain before the two collided. Tom found a rather simplistic joy in this.

“The sun’s reflection keeps shining in my eyes!” Hannah exclaimed irritably. “How can you stand such blinding aggravation?” She was holding her hand out below and in front of her eyes, hoping to shield against both the mist and the shine. For once dedicated to her tasks, she rarely completed her work without complaint. Tom sighed, shook his head with a grin, and began his work for the day as Hannah watched and learned and worked by his side.

Being a man of simplicity, Hannah provided Tom with constant complexity. Such is the role of woman to man: to take what is simple and turn it on its head until man has quite forgotten what he was looking at to begin with. Knots were no longer knots, but intricately woven decorative necessities. Sail were no longer sails, but wind holders that were more problematic for your enjoyment of scenery than profitable for the vessel’s progress. Hannah giddily learned the how’s and why’s and what’s of sailing and, to Tom’s quiet surprise, picked up the trade rather quickly.

By the end of the day, she was convinced that she could run the boat without his help, and when he was sure no other problems would come of it, let her have a go with The Patience, of which he learned she had none.

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The sun was casting her last remaining beams across the ocean’s blue surface. They had caught a grand amount of fish, stored is neatly and nicely below deck, Tom made hot tea while Hannah discovered something else she did not like, and she let him know of her dissatisfaction.

“Your boat is far too small for two people, you know.”

He looked over at her questioning as he seeped the tea. She had placed herself on the edge of the starboard side and let her legs dangle, skimming the top of the waves as the vessel tipped up and down against the endless surf. She had laid back and was looking up at the darkening sky. A few stars has flickered into view as the dee blues and purples chased the bright oranges and reds across the horizon.

“You will have to get a bigger boat if we are going to keep this partner ship afloat.”

She looked over at Tom who smiled to himself and wandered how long it would take before he wanted to throw her overboard. He then walked over to Hannah, who sat up at his approaching, and handed her the tea. The steam rose and was carried away by the salted winds. She cupped the tea in her hands and savored the burning sensation on her fingertips and palms. Warmth rushed through her body like a comet splitting the night’s serenity with surprise and comfort. She looked at Tom, his towering figure still large and full against her own small, yet sturdy frame. The two sat in silence as the evening slipped by as they sipped their tea.

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The boat came to a sudden halt.

Tom and Hannah both fell to their left, Tom on top of Hannah. With swiftness uncommon with his size, Tom lifted up from Hannah and helped the lady to her feet. The mugs had left their hands and were last seen being drunk by the greedy ocean. A portion of Tom’s happiness sank with them.

Hannah had raced to the back of the boat and Tom followed behind her.

They both looked at the top links of a chain that was grabbing at the motor and the rotor. The chain was rusted with scattered coral. Some of the links seem to be barely holding together.

Hannah looked at Tom with questions in her eyes, but Tom was unable to answer them. He remembered the story of the ship and her anchor told him by his parents as he grew up in the bay, but he knew it was just a story. Surely. A story and nothing more. Still the chain held tight.

Looking back, for the first time in many years, she was speechless. A magical chain, clinging to a boat.

After a few stunned moments, Hannah ventured, “Tom? Just to be clear, there is a chain wrapped around the motor.” Tom affirmed her statement. “Ok,” she sighed, “then we’re both crazy.”

Tom smirked slightly at her. He walked to the chain and tried to remove it from the rear of the vessel. The chain did not budge, as though welded to the rig. Hard as he tried, with every piece of tool he had, Tom was unable to move the chain at all.

After several minutes of futile struggle, Tom sat down, starring at the links with perplexed frustration on his face. His knuckle and finger nails were bleeding slightly from the endeavor. Hannah sat next to him and sighed.

“What do we do, Tom?”

What could they do, he thought. Nothing, he replied to his own question. Just wait. He was a patient man, but even patient men can run out of a good thing.

So, they waited in the growing dark. Tom lit a few lanterns and Hannah checked their food at Tom’s request.

Sitting on the bow of the ship, sipping tea from other mugs, Hannah and Tom relished the quiet, a quiet they could get used to as it surrounded them like a warm blanket.

“I wasn’t like this, you know?”

Tom looked at her.

“This forward and confident. Dad left when I was little. Left my mom and my three kid brothers with me. Before that I was a girl - pink and princesses. That’s when I learned there are no such things as princesses or princes. Just fathers and their empty promises. But, you know what, I was better off without him. We all were. He didn’t love us, really. Just casually, when it was convenient for him to love. Me, I learned that love can be empty if you don’t show it. So, I decided to be strong for my family, for me, and for everyone else who’s ever experienced a father’s empty promise.”

She looked out to the black sea, as if to convince herself of what she had said. Or perhaps, Tom thought, she is reminding herself, not letting herself forget her past to keep her moving forward.

Tom sipped his tea and pondered her tale.

Hannah jumped up to her feet, pointing into the darkness. “There, what was that? Over there, where the blackness is darker. Is that a blue light in the middle of the night?”

Sure enough, the blackness within the night moved closer toward the boat. The blue light shining in the middle of the pitch became brighter as the darkness seemed to grow. As it drew closer, Tom, who knew the shape before Hannah did, saw the features of an old ship, with sturdy, untearable sails.

Rushing to the chains, Tom saw that they had disappeared from the motor, back to the depths of the sea. Looking back, the blue light moved closer and closer still. Tom knew there was no time to start the motor and move out of the vessel’s path. Still the vessel plunged towards them.

Running towards her, stretching out his hands to protect her, he called out “Hannah!” She turned in both awe and terror as the blue light shone behind her, and he wrapped his arms around her to shield her from the coming crash.

Enveloped in his embrace, Hannah’s heart rushed in joy. In this moment, Tom became the father who only gave full promises, so full that they over flowed and she knew he could be trusted. In that moment, forgiveness came from her heart for all that had been done to her.

Embracing her, Tom knew that he could no longer sail alone on these waters,; that in a short time, she had become as part of the ship, essential to his survival and livelihood and happiness.

Standing there, holding one another, they awaited the impact of the strange vessel. Only, the impact did not come.

Slowly turning around, Tom and Hannah saw that the ship had stopped its progression a few feet from where they stood holding each other, their breaths slipping out past their lips in disbelieved confusion.

Still remaining close, they edged toward the bow of the ship. Looking out they saw that the mysterious ship was beautifully crafted with a sturdy, elegant mast, untearable sails, and a blue flag atop the crow’s nest center. It was a large ship, engineered for adventure.

Hannah reached out to touch the vessel, and though Tom disapproved, he held his tongue and watched, prepared to intervene should he see it right to do so. Her hand caressed the lost ship, and while her hand brushed the figurehead which appeared to an image of-

The ship jolted backwards. Tom pulled Hannah towards his welcoming embrace. She gladly returned to his security. In the darkness, Tom thought he saw the chain that had once entangle his propellor now clinging to the specter vessel. Then a sound of connection echoed over the dark waters, as the links found their resting place on the ship. The ship then pulled up the anchor to her side, and sailed off into the starlit night.

They watched until the blue light faded completely from the landscape. Tom remembered the story he had heard as a child in Seattle, smiled, looked at Hannah, and took the moment to put to his memory this moment, as to not forget. Hannah, simply remained speechless as Tom reared the ship around and they headed back to shore.

They glided through the night, almost noiselessly, a shadow amongst the darkness. Hannah, who was sitting on the port ledge, then took it upon herself to dispel the silence.

“Well, that was a very different ending to the day than I expected.’

Tom smiled.

“I heard a story as a child about a ship and her anchor. I didn’t think it was real. Did you?”

Tom shrugged.

“I liked the story. Made me feel safe, really.”

Tom smirked.

“No one will believe us, though. A great bar story, sure, but I doubt we’d get more than a few drinks off it anyhow until they decide they’ve heard it enough.”

Tom raised his eyebrows.

“Then that settles it then,” Hannah stood up and came next to Tom, and wove her arms between his right one. “We will grow old and become the old crazy friends at the bar who tell absurd stories. They may even make up stories about us. How fun would that be?”

Tom just made sure the boat was headed in the right direction by judgement of the stars and the compass, a smile gentle resting on his somber, grateful face. They sailed on unto the harbor, warmed themselves at the local tavern by covering themselves with a grey and blue cotton blanket, and while the citizens carried about, Tom listened as Hannah told their tale to all who who would listen that night, and every night after. They lived on that ocean it seemed, though they never saw the ship and her anchor again, but their children and grand children always strained their eyes whenever they went out to see if they could spot their storyteller’s story, to breathe life into its sails and see how far it would take their imagination.

And the ship sailed ever on, with her anchor by her side.