A Ship’s Demise and a Sailor's Freedom
By Kaitlyn
Inspiration taken from Gabriel Garcia Marquez's The Handsomest Drowned Man in the World
Inspiration taken from Gabriel Garcia Marquez's The Handsomest Drowned Man in the World
He was the best captain in all of Spain; Esteban Ricardo could sail a ship anywhere, anytime, through any conditions and survive. Esteban grew up by the ocean along the shore. His father was a local fisherman and his mother mended nets. He had devoted his whole life to the sea. So it was no surprise that when he was older he became a well known sailor. His physique allowed him to command a crew effortlessly. He was tall, with broad shoulders, rippling muscles, a chiseled jawline, sandy blonde hair peppered with silver, and tan, weathered skin. He had a deep, smooth voice that crisply dictated commands while out at sea. Also, his stark blue eyes analyzed the ocean constantly while he worked.
Esteban ran a shipping business off the coast of eastern Spain, which carried goods to western Portugal. He took the same route constantly transporting goods such as vegetables, wicker baskets, and prized champagne. Unfortunately, the next time he would set sail, wouldn’t be as pleasant.
“Drop the mainsail, turn the wheel to starboard!”, Esteban shouted at his crew as his hair whipped in the wind and the salty sea sprayed in his face.
He loved being out on the ocean, he could see for miles across and the sun was high in the sky. He stood at the bow of the boat letting the scorching summer sun beat against the back of his neck. Esteban and his crew had just set sail an hour earlier for a customary shipment of goods to Portugal. They were making exceptional time and relishing the views that the ocean provided of schools of scintillating, vibrant fish and leaping, charcoal colored dolphins.
Eventually the sun steadily dipped below the sea as the last rays of light shown on the ship, which cast dancing shadows on the wood, and the crew went down to their quarters. Esteban lingered on the bow of his beloved galleon, admiring the gorgeous oak and pine and the sparkling gold mast of a princess that was hung on the front of his ship as a figurehead. This, this was his home. He lived for sailing and relished every minute of it. It nourished his soul and invigorated his spirit. However, soon after he finished admiring the beauty of his ship, he began to notice the darkening sky was not only due to the setting sun, but the abundant clouds that quickly began suffocating the innocent sky. They rolled in without a moment's notice, the pitch black clouds spontaneously filled with hideous thunder and crackling lighting. The crew awoke just as the torrential rain began to pour down onto the deck and the once peaceful environment turned into complete entropy.
"Hurry! Keep working men! Lower the sails with haste! " Esteban screamed through the cyclone that was terrorizing his surroundings. "Grab anything to get the water out of the ship! Faster! Faster! Faster!"
Esteban made his way to the stern of the ship and was attempting to steer his way out of the roaring waves that had become the Reaper of his once peaceful sailing. Lightning flashed all around the sea and a tremendous crack sent the main mast plummeting toward the crew. His men were tumultuous as they scrambled; many jettisoned into the ocean as fast as possible, not willing to risk being fried by the prodigious lighting.
Then the hull of the ship split in half and the boat began to rapidly slip away into the ocean like an anvil in quicksand. During the chaos, Esteban was knocked unconscious attempting to sustain the galleon, but alas the captain went down with his ship. Anguished cries of men were hastily drowned out by the unsteady crackling of energy surrounding the solemn ocean and the night was filled with terror.
Esteban awoke many hours after the storm, just as dawn was approaching and the sun once again flitted listlessly above the water. The carnage of the night before was hardly noticeable, except for a few decimated boards that floated around, such as the one that his torso was resting on. He must have gained enough consciousness during the storm to hold onto a piece of wood. Esteban layed there for hours, contemplating his worth as a human being and the horror of the travels in which he could not navigate through. He couldn’t accept the fact that he had failed and was responsible for the death of his entire crew. He did not deserve to live when all of those he once commanded were dead.
The time finally came as Esteban drifted aimlessly, farther out to sea, in which he could not hold on any longer. He was thankful when it happened, when he could finally give up the struggle of trying to stay afloat on the rickety splinter of wood that had saved him from his ship’s demise. He had finally given up hope that he would be rescued and allowed himself to slip off the salty brown wood into the warm inviting ocean. As his head dropped below the surface, his lungs slowly filled with the smooth salty water and his heart stopped. He didn’t struggle at all, he had come to accept death. However scary it would be, it could not be worse than seeing the casualties of his crew.
When he died it was peaceful, but he did not find rest. His consciousness was not in his body anymore, but he was still connected to it, his soul could not leave and only later would he realize that he could not pass into the afterlife without a proper ceremony celebrating his life and honoring his death at sea. Esteban drifted through the water sometimes slowly, other times briskly, brushing up against vibrant coral reefs and spooking exotic fish. His body rapidly acquired mud, seaweed and other aquatic remnants before he eventually drifted onto a beach.
The island on which he had landed was a beautiful scene of a setting orange and red sun, a sandy beach, small fishing boats, tall palm trees, little rolling hills, and an abundance of tiny mud huts that dotted the surroundings. It smelled of tropical fruits and humidity; the sounds that drifted to his ears were of gorgeously colorful birds that chirped appealing melodies.
His consciousness looked on as many young village boys gathered his body and began playing with it in the soft beige sand until some adults came along and sounded the alarm that the children were playing with a drowned corpse. Esteban hoped that this might be his chance to get a proper funeral.
Eventually, the children were told to get away from the body and the villagers carried Esteban to the nearest hut. There, the women cleaned his dead body and admired the pride that his corpse presented through his strong eyes that didn’t seem lonely like most drowned men. They talked about him in hushed tones at first, constantly making remarks on his size, handsomeness, and ruggedly strong body, but then they grew quite fond of him. He was almost completely different from them. A total stranger. They were rather short for adults, with dark long hair and chocolate brown eyes. Their muscles were lean and weak from exhaustion. The villagers also spoke a different language than him and smelled of smoke, sweat, and earth. The one thing they had in common was their tan skin which protected them from the beating sun.
Yet despite their differences, the small women fussed over him with compassion as they swiftly set to work on making him some new clothes. The clothes that he had were simple tatters of fabric that smelled of rotting fish and sea salt, and hardly concealed his body. After they had cleaned off his body they covered him in incense and sewed him a shirt and pants. They regularly encountered lost sailors on their shores, but this one was different. Esteban was from foreign lands, he looked different, and his body conveyed strength, dignity and honor. So, they decided to treat him with the utmost respect and hold a funeral for him so he cold rest in peace.
His consciousness shuddered when he began recounting the events that had occurred which brought him to this small island. A flashback transpired of the pouring rain that besieged his ship, the terror that he saw in each of his crew’s eyes, the crack of the mast, and the booming lighting which tormented his thoughts to this day. His guilt was so immense that it crushed his spirit and will to live, which lead him to slipping off that piece of wood.
Esteban couldn’t believe what these people were doing for him. He didn’t deserve to be cared for, he had let his whole crew be killed because he hadn’t noticed the signs of a storm. He couldn’t understand why these people he didn’t even know were helping him. They didn’t know what he had done.
The men began working on a raft by tying together dried bamboo and creating a small sail made of woven palm fronds. The women set out to gather abundant amounts of flowers to surround Esteban's body with for his funeral. Once they were content with their arrangements they gathered the whole village together and stood on the beach just as the sun was beginning to set. They had a single torch on the raft along with Esteban’s corpse and plenty of flowers. Then they laid a small copper compass in his hands and folded them over his chest to represent his death as a sailor.
The villagers slowly pushed the raft out to sea and as Esteban’s consciousness watched, he was moved by the compassion that these small strangers had shown to a dead body. As his body gradually drifted away, back to the sea where he would be home, he began to feel released of the burden of his flesh. He was free to roam wherever he wanted, but Esteban decided to stay in the small village by the sea that had rescued his soul and given him a second chance. He flitted around the island encouraging compassion and kindness, and blessing those who do good as well as all sea faring voyagers. This island had saved Esteban from a certain demise and blessed him with the opportunity to help others even though he wasn’t able to help his crew.
Esteban ran a shipping business off the coast of eastern Spain, which carried goods to western Portugal. He took the same route constantly transporting goods such as vegetables, wicker baskets, and prized champagne. Unfortunately, the next time he would set sail, wouldn’t be as pleasant.
“Drop the mainsail, turn the wheel to starboard!”, Esteban shouted at his crew as his hair whipped in the wind and the salty sea sprayed in his face.
He loved being out on the ocean, he could see for miles across and the sun was high in the sky. He stood at the bow of the boat letting the scorching summer sun beat against the back of his neck. Esteban and his crew had just set sail an hour earlier for a customary shipment of goods to Portugal. They were making exceptional time and relishing the views that the ocean provided of schools of scintillating, vibrant fish and leaping, charcoal colored dolphins.
Eventually the sun steadily dipped below the sea as the last rays of light shown on the ship, which cast dancing shadows on the wood, and the crew went down to their quarters. Esteban lingered on the bow of his beloved galleon, admiring the gorgeous oak and pine and the sparkling gold mast of a princess that was hung on the front of his ship as a figurehead. This, this was his home. He lived for sailing and relished every minute of it. It nourished his soul and invigorated his spirit. However, soon after he finished admiring the beauty of his ship, he began to notice the darkening sky was not only due to the setting sun, but the abundant clouds that quickly began suffocating the innocent sky. They rolled in without a moment's notice, the pitch black clouds spontaneously filled with hideous thunder and crackling lighting. The crew awoke just as the torrential rain began to pour down onto the deck and the once peaceful environment turned into complete entropy.
"Hurry! Keep working men! Lower the sails with haste! " Esteban screamed through the cyclone that was terrorizing his surroundings. "Grab anything to get the water out of the ship! Faster! Faster! Faster!"
Esteban made his way to the stern of the ship and was attempting to steer his way out of the roaring waves that had become the Reaper of his once peaceful sailing. Lightning flashed all around the sea and a tremendous crack sent the main mast plummeting toward the crew. His men were tumultuous as they scrambled; many jettisoned into the ocean as fast as possible, not willing to risk being fried by the prodigious lighting.
Then the hull of the ship split in half and the boat began to rapidly slip away into the ocean like an anvil in quicksand. During the chaos, Esteban was knocked unconscious attempting to sustain the galleon, but alas the captain went down with his ship. Anguished cries of men were hastily drowned out by the unsteady crackling of energy surrounding the solemn ocean and the night was filled with terror.
Esteban awoke many hours after the storm, just as dawn was approaching and the sun once again flitted listlessly above the water. The carnage of the night before was hardly noticeable, except for a few decimated boards that floated around, such as the one that his torso was resting on. He must have gained enough consciousness during the storm to hold onto a piece of wood. Esteban layed there for hours, contemplating his worth as a human being and the horror of the travels in which he could not navigate through. He couldn’t accept the fact that he had failed and was responsible for the death of his entire crew. He did not deserve to live when all of those he once commanded were dead.
The time finally came as Esteban drifted aimlessly, farther out to sea, in which he could not hold on any longer. He was thankful when it happened, when he could finally give up the struggle of trying to stay afloat on the rickety splinter of wood that had saved him from his ship’s demise. He had finally given up hope that he would be rescued and allowed himself to slip off the salty brown wood into the warm inviting ocean. As his head dropped below the surface, his lungs slowly filled with the smooth salty water and his heart stopped. He didn’t struggle at all, he had come to accept death. However scary it would be, it could not be worse than seeing the casualties of his crew.
When he died it was peaceful, but he did not find rest. His consciousness was not in his body anymore, but he was still connected to it, his soul could not leave and only later would he realize that he could not pass into the afterlife without a proper ceremony celebrating his life and honoring his death at sea. Esteban drifted through the water sometimes slowly, other times briskly, brushing up against vibrant coral reefs and spooking exotic fish. His body rapidly acquired mud, seaweed and other aquatic remnants before he eventually drifted onto a beach.
The island on which he had landed was a beautiful scene of a setting orange and red sun, a sandy beach, small fishing boats, tall palm trees, little rolling hills, and an abundance of tiny mud huts that dotted the surroundings. It smelled of tropical fruits and humidity; the sounds that drifted to his ears were of gorgeously colorful birds that chirped appealing melodies.
His consciousness looked on as many young village boys gathered his body and began playing with it in the soft beige sand until some adults came along and sounded the alarm that the children were playing with a drowned corpse. Esteban hoped that this might be his chance to get a proper funeral.
Eventually, the children were told to get away from the body and the villagers carried Esteban to the nearest hut. There, the women cleaned his dead body and admired the pride that his corpse presented through his strong eyes that didn’t seem lonely like most drowned men. They talked about him in hushed tones at first, constantly making remarks on his size, handsomeness, and ruggedly strong body, but then they grew quite fond of him. He was almost completely different from them. A total stranger. They were rather short for adults, with dark long hair and chocolate brown eyes. Their muscles were lean and weak from exhaustion. The villagers also spoke a different language than him and smelled of smoke, sweat, and earth. The one thing they had in common was their tan skin which protected them from the beating sun.
Yet despite their differences, the small women fussed over him with compassion as they swiftly set to work on making him some new clothes. The clothes that he had were simple tatters of fabric that smelled of rotting fish and sea salt, and hardly concealed his body. After they had cleaned off his body they covered him in incense and sewed him a shirt and pants. They regularly encountered lost sailors on their shores, but this one was different. Esteban was from foreign lands, he looked different, and his body conveyed strength, dignity and honor. So, they decided to treat him with the utmost respect and hold a funeral for him so he cold rest in peace.
His consciousness shuddered when he began recounting the events that had occurred which brought him to this small island. A flashback transpired of the pouring rain that besieged his ship, the terror that he saw in each of his crew’s eyes, the crack of the mast, and the booming lighting which tormented his thoughts to this day. His guilt was so immense that it crushed his spirit and will to live, which lead him to slipping off that piece of wood.
Esteban couldn’t believe what these people were doing for him. He didn’t deserve to be cared for, he had let his whole crew be killed because he hadn’t noticed the signs of a storm. He couldn’t understand why these people he didn’t even know were helping him. They didn’t know what he had done.
The men began working on a raft by tying together dried bamboo and creating a small sail made of woven palm fronds. The women set out to gather abundant amounts of flowers to surround Esteban's body with for his funeral. Once they were content with their arrangements they gathered the whole village together and stood on the beach just as the sun was beginning to set. They had a single torch on the raft along with Esteban’s corpse and plenty of flowers. Then they laid a small copper compass in his hands and folded them over his chest to represent his death as a sailor.
The villagers slowly pushed the raft out to sea and as Esteban’s consciousness watched, he was moved by the compassion that these small strangers had shown to a dead body. As his body gradually drifted away, back to the sea where he would be home, he began to feel released of the burden of his flesh. He was free to roam wherever he wanted, but Esteban decided to stay in the small village by the sea that had rescued his soul and given him a second chance. He flitted around the island encouraging compassion and kindness, and blessing those who do good as well as all sea faring voyagers. This island had saved Esteban from a certain demise and blessed him with the opportunity to help others even though he wasn’t able to help his crew.