A brush with mortality has a transformative effect (mf)
Liam awoke as dawn broke. He sat up in the berth, braced his elbows upon his knees, and held his head in his hands. His sleep had been uneasy, disturbed by nightmares in which he found himself brawling with shadowy adversaries. He smelt his own cold sweat.
Rising, he went quietly into the main cabin, lit the stove, and boiled a kettle of water. Back in his cabin he mixed hot and cold water in the basin and proceeded to wash himself head to toe. He confirmed the main cabin to be unoccupied before he ventured out, naked and covered in soap suds, carrying the blanket from his berth.
Upon deck, he found the calm and solitude of the lake unabated. He dove overboard into the mirror-like water. The cold water invigorated him. He swam round the boat inspecting the hull, then dipped his head under several times to rinse out the soap, before climbing back aboard using a knotted rope hanging over the side. Wrapping himself in the blanket, he returned to his cabin.
When Miss Novikov appeared for breakfast, her air of polite formality had reestablished itself. Liam found himself searching her face for some vestige of the intriguing intimacy he had sensed last night --- without success. While they were eating, she spoke up. "Mr. Thomas, how long do you suppose we shall be becalmed?"
"I canna rightly say, Miss. I have seen places upon the ocean, near the equator, where 'tis always becalmed. They call it the doldrums. But I've never seen the like of it upon the lake --- 'tis extraordinary, so it is." He took a drink from his cup, eying her over the rim. He tried to sound nonchalant. "Be ye in a rush to arrive in Toronto?"
She seemed to hesitate before replying. "I imagine my aunt must be terribly worried."
"Aye...so she must. I thought mayhap ye had a sweetheart there ye were anxious to see." He said the latter in a light, teasing manner, although he awaited her response apprehensively.
She looked down into the steam rising from her tea, before saying: "What a diverting notion."
After breakfasting they continued at their tasks upon the foredeck, she stitching the patch to the sail, he working upon the new shell for the block. He rubbed in a second coat of oil, then did the same to the anchor.
His thoughts were in turmoil. He was struggling for a detailed recollection of the expression he had seen upon her face, or thought he had seen, for that brief moment while he unbuttoned the coat in her cabin last night. What did it signify? Her current demeanor lent no credence to his memory of the incident.
By and by he began to be convinced that it had been merely an illusion fostered by the enchantment of the wine and stars. Or had he with his fairy tale conjured up a selkie that had cast a spell over him? He shook his head in frustration.
Clearing his throat, he ventured the observation that her aunt seemed, by her account, to be a sympathetic woman.
"Yes, very much so," she said.
"Will ye be staying in her home, then?"
"Yes... at least at the outset."
"She'll likely be less restrictive of your pursuits?"
"I expect so."
He was skirting round what he truly longed to ask, but knew not how. What should he say: May I call upon you? May I court you? Looking down at his grease stained nails, his calloused palms, and his coarse trousers, he felt the absurdity of his aspirations --- what could he offer her? He fell silent, feeling too muddled to think on the matter.
He was knackered. Three nights of restless sleep had taken a toll upon his customary self-assurance. He focused instead upon the anchor and the repetitive motion of his hand with the rag, the oily metal glinting in warm sun.
