See the youth.
Alone he stands on a ship’s deck as dozens rush around him in concert with the stentorian bellowing from the far end of the boat. They seem then, as kids in a gymnasium,, in thrall to their coach’s whistle. It is an indiscernible medley of vocabulary, but to each volley of foreign verbiage miraculous things occur.
A sail is raised, it billows briefly before the wind and then fills with a satisfying THUNK.
More words.
Large telephone pole-like lengths of wood move.
Bodies scurry up the ships rigging and climb out onto sticks perpendicular to the mast, impossibly high. Impossible.
More canvas is unslung, and more words shouted.
What are these peculiar incantations that elicit such frantic ministrations and make pulleys squeak and whirr and ropes spool and pile on the deck all around him?
And then the commotion eases, the frenetic tempo slows and he is standing beneath a wall of sail.
He knows nothing of physics but can tell that there are tremendous forces at work here. He can feel them somehow in his chest like the hum of an enormous tuning fork.
Everyone but him has a task. Most are making order of the mess of rope about him. Hanging them from the odd-looking pegs that run the length of the ship up both sides. He feels a touch of vertigo as he looks up. Soon the deck it tidy and there is no sign of the previous chaos.
The small ship begins to lean over at an alarming angle. Should he say something? His feet are awash. They must be sinking but instead of fear the others seem to be relishing this moment. He can feel a tension in the air, a palpable excitement he thinks, but he has never been on a ship like this and maybe it is fear.
The ship makes noise. It seems to breathe like a living thing.
READY ABOUT! Comes a cry from back aft and everyone’s ears prick up alert and they scurry to find a place proximal to this invocation. He alone is unmoved. Anchored to his spot.
ABOUT SHIP! HELM IS A LEE.
And again, all is a-flurry…
There is a great shaking in the rigging. Bodies rush from side to side. The sails thunder and ropes are let go and other ropes are hauled and secured. The ships rights itself and laboriously falls over on its other side.
More shouts.
And then silence again. Just the sigh and breath of the sails and the ship and excited chatter from the others.
Is this some strange and ancient ceremony of the wind? He isn’t certain. He is not certain of anything right now, only that he thinks he might have just witnessed something remarkable, and that he has never been so fucking confused in all his life.