Figureheads contain the spirit of a ship. Against all logic, a ship’s history is etched into the wood of its figurehead. In its eyes. Without knowing why, I draw closer without stepping into its sights, till I stand beneath it with shivers on my spine.
It was wrecked. I know that much without needing to be told. I imagine it tossed amongst grey waves, the men on deck scrabbling desperately at the ropes and rails. I get the feeling it looked on as its crew thrashed in the seas around it, endured as its mast creaked and timbers moaned and men’s corpses floated up beneath its very chin. I get the feeling it watched, impassive as only a wooden face can be, as the end of the ship it led was carved into its memory.
I step back and to the left, and its gaze falls on me.
One eye looks away, through some unseen veil, and I know it will never focus on our world again. The gaze from the other is tangible enough, though complicated and filled with emotions I don't want to understand.
It has the sight of a dying man, caught at once between this existence and the next.
An unassuming information plaque lies close by.
Washed up on shore a few months after the wreck... I stifle a smile. How predictable; how clichéd a story. Amusement fades as I stifle a shudder instead, for I see now that her face is unmarred. Though her shoulders are pitted and worn from weeks spent amongst the waves, her features remain perfect.
She was just miles from home when she sank. Nearly at her goal. Surprised, I double-check the information. The name. I wonder, has anyone else realised the parallels?
Don’t look back, Orpheus. Look back, and you lose all. Do you know the story?
Her men had sung, clinging to the mast in the moonlight as the waves tossed them, the rescue boats unable to get closer for fear of wrecking themselves. They’d sung their last lament, as night fell over them. Orpheus’s last lament could not save him from the waves either. But what else did they expect?
They’d followed their ship across the oceans, through calm seas and storms, only to be thwarted sweet miles from their victory. Orpheus defied gods to save what he loved, but he lost her.
The figurehead is smiling, I see now. Or is she? There is no joy in the expression. In the end, no-one can defy the gods.
Months later the waves pulled her ashore, eyes mismatched, white-painted wood soaked in what some would call a curse. Much the same as Orpheus wandered, his lyre mournful, shunned by all. He used to make the tides dance with his music, but now all he could do was cry.
She never would have made it home. Not with that name on her bow. Not with that story.
Who, who was idiot enough to name a ship Orpheus?
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