Course

"Peter, come back," Dr. Shew says. I know it's Dr. Shew because his is the voice that always calls me back. He taught me that method. It was daytime then, of course, and he taught me, "You need to find a peaceful center to find your way back to, Peter." And I chose him.

"Come back now, Peter." I turn the ship's great wooden wheel and I hear the rudder groan under the hull. For a second I am a fish, a marlin--maybe a whole school of marlins--swimming along with the ship and suddenly the rudder jerks right and we jet out of the way of the swirling current it generates. Our sleek, silver bodies drink in the moonlight and carry it, echoing like sonar down into the depths of the sea.

"Find your center, Peter." I straighten the rudder now that I am on a due-easterly course. I know east by the stars, of course. If you were here you would see it clearly too: the woman who lays naked across the sky. The contours of her body are simply specks of light, simply burning infernos of deadly gases billions of nautical miles away. Her hair drapes down to the horizon, a never-ending meteor shower. The tip of her nose is due north, her left heel due south. The third star from her left nipple is west and I am, of course, running straight away from there.

I ride this ship almost every night and when I wake sometimes I taste the sea salt on my fingers. I keep them in my mouth all day to remind me that come nightfall, I can have my whiskey and my stockings and the stars will come out and my ship will be there and this time, of course, I will remember to follow Dr. Shew's voice back to my peaceful center. And I will breathe the sea air.