Marina, The Daughter of the Sea

1. The Tempest Date: 13 January 1941 Time: 08:00 Place: island of Rhodos, South-eastern Greece   That wintry day dawned with incessant rain. Andrew woke up, listening to the raindrops hitting forcefully against his window pane, producing weird thudding sounds. He had not expected that unheralded change of the weather, and instinctively in his mind, some sort of a sensitive alarm went off, warning him of an impending danger. He springs out of bed like a jack-in-a-box and looks curiously out through the fogged glass of his room window to check the weather. Yet, he is unable to understand what exactly is going on and with a clockwise sweep of his right hand, he cleans the glass carefully, leaving a large transparent hole on it. Through that, he gazes at the outdoors surrounding the motel he is staying at. It’s literally pouring down like hell. The rain is falling from the gloomy sky with an unprecedented mania that he has not seen in a long time. The wet branches of an old, tall eucalyptus tree that dominates the inner garden of the small courtyard of the building are moving, having surrendered to the wind that is blowing dangerously. To his eyes, that worrying sign looks like a strict warning. It looked as if a huge trunk full of hands looming before him was signalling him to stop and avoid doing something that would put him at risk. He had to definitely refuse to do what he had resolved to the previous night, just before he hit the sack. His warm breath freezes as it comes in contact with the icy surface of the window pane and fogs it. He remains riveted on the spot. He is thinking. Something inside him keeps telling him…’don’t do it!’ At the same time, a second voice does not leave him alone and becomes persistent. It is nothing else than a financial issue and the obligations that need to be settled back at home. He makes a hopeless effort to think clearly but his mind is just as fogged as the glass. He feels frustrated as his position is particularly difficult. He is the captain of a small fishing trawler that had arrived the previous night with its crew at the island of Rhodes which was under Italian occupation. After unloading the cargo of fresh fish destined for the Italian Army, they spent the night at a stone inn at the old stone city. But the quiet night that they spent sleeping to replenish their strength was succeeded by an unexpectedly wild day that dawned eventfully. He could spare no more time remaining there, closed up in the luxury of his room, waiting for the rain to stop. Besides, he would never allow himself to be scared of the weather and feel numb. That would amount to certain death for himself and he would not allow the mere thought to cross his mind that something like that might happen to him. He was deeply worried about his little boat that was being battered mercilessly down at the dock. He had become deeply attached to it. He felt and cared for it as if it were something alive, with a soul and a body and he wouldn’t want his ‘Francesco’ - as he called it - to come to any harm in any way. Only some coward and callous person would remain there idle, but Andrew was not that kind of a man. Andrew is an experienced, brave-hearted captain and knows how to handle tough spots with enviable skilfulness. He had to show courage and act as fast as possible. For the sake of himself as well as of his comrades, he realizes that he must shape up and regain control of the situation immediately. His first concern was to make sure that all the rest of the crew were ready to embark the boat, bound for their beloved hometown, Sicily. The most serious reason that was churning up in his mind, making it impossible for him to postpone the return trip are his responsibilities back in his town – Palermo – that were holding him literally bound. He knows only too well that he was the only one holding the key that would free him from the prison he had been unwillingly locked in, and certainly he did not plan to remain there for a long time, idle, crossing his arms in wait. Like a caring big brother, he knocks on all the rooms of the crew and after he gathers them all beside him, they are presently walking down to the docks, united as a fist. Thankfully, the rain and wind show signs of abating. Upon reaching the harbour, they are glad to see their reliable vessel that would get them back to their homes safely. They board the trawler and start her up. She starts groaning like a wild animal and some puffs of black smoke are released from the funnel that swirl away thousands of times. A careful check of their provisions on board shows that they are ready to set sail. Both the fuel as well as the provisions are enough for an uneventful journey home. Yet, riveted at the bridge of the boat, the captain is observing the open sea in awe. The only thing in his mind now is the weather and its unknown vagaries. He makes up his mind to wait up for a little longer, so that the rain will stop completely and the wind calms down. He turns the engine off and his heart starts pounding all the more intensely due to the anguish he felt. The trawler continues to crash against the pier as if it were angry for some reason, but it calms down in a while. The sea calms down completely and the little boat stops rocking. It is time for them to leave and, grabbing the opportunity, the crew leader gives the order to set sail. ‘Weigh anchor, time to be getting back home, lads…’ he said decisively. ‘Aye, aye capn’!…’ they all said in a single breath, following his order to the letter. Certain that everything is under control, he goes down to his cabin, leaving the control of the ship to the hands of his experienced crew. The afternoon found him bent over his log where he recorded every event. Deep in his thoughts, he records his thoughts on a piece of paper. He starts writing, unleashing all his tension. ‘Today, 13 January 1941, we set sail from the island of Rhodes bound for Palermo. The weather is for the moment normal. The only thing I want is to get back home, to my homeland that I have missed so much’. …and he keeps on thinking while something in him – like a bad portent – keeps nagging him. But he still cannot understand what it is. Suddenly, an unexpected thud wrenches him out of his thoughts. They are three sequential knocks on the door of his cabin that disengage him from the irregular train of thoughts and cause his heart to skip some beats. He looks at his wristwatch out of habit, without responding to the call. The time is nearly five in the afternoon. The door knocks again, harder this time, as the person outside seems to be quite impatient. ‘Yes, who is it?’… he asked drawing a deep breath. Then the door is flung open. Before him stood his best mate, Marco, with whom he had spent his youth growing up in the shantytowns of Palermo, and with whom he had not parted all these years - because he had never let him down – ever since they were children dreaming about long voyages over the sea to magical lands. Now, in his face he could see his childhood, steadfast friend ‘Marco Polo’ as he used to call him ever since they were little, when they were still making paper boats and played with the water in the fountain with the Tritons and the Sirens at the Piazza Pretoria. For Andrew, Marco was a significant fellow passenger on the journey of life that he respected, trusted and sought advice from always. ‘Hey, Marco, what’s up?’ he tells him, inviting him in with a wave of his right hand. ‘It’s nothing, I do not want to spook you up but I’ve been having this uneasy feeling since morning’ ‘Tell me, what’s bothering you?’ ‘You know, perhaps we shouldn’t have left. We took off in a hurry, the weather has started to get ugly’…he keeps stuttering, in an effort to conceal his fear. ‘Relax, pal, that’s not the first time it happens. Besides, the good captain shows his skills in a squall. Let’s climb to the bridge together, there is no need for worry, we’ll make to through’. Upon climbing on to the bridge, Andrew sees that the sky has turned ominously dark. Thick, black clouds appear before them and everything shows that a squall is about to strike any moment. Everyone is at a state of high alert as the rain starts coming down hard, almost brutally. The waters become choppy unexpectedly, spurred by the wind that blew unleashed from above. Andrew was with his hands at the helm of the ship, holding her steady. She flows patiently over the waves that keep getting larger and larger the more they enter the storm. He tries to steer another course, turning the ship’s rudder with swift movements but it is too late. The fuming waves force the small trawler to divert from its initial course and surrender to their will, which finally causes her to drift uncontrollably across the Aegean Sea. Struggling to remain afloat on the raging sea, the little vessel looks like a nutshell in its effort not to be overrun by the waves. With the foaming waves lashing against the bridge, the little boat squeaked and cricked and started leaning all the more precariously to the side. Suddenly, an unknown object – something like a meteorite coming from nowhere – crashes onto the wall of the wooden vessel and right afterwards, it explodes, followed by a deafening sound that ripped through the whole vessel. It was a sea mine. Its shrapnel reduce the bow to smithereens and seriously wound four of the six crew who at that time were on the deck. The small vessel immediately starts to flood, leans abruptly to the side and finally sinks. In this chaotic mess, the only positive thing was that the two seamen are still alive and unbelievably unscathed. While still under the shock of that horrendous strike, they fortunately make it off the ship in time, just minutes before it sinks, jumping blindly into the dark sea. Still under the shock and terror-stricken, they find themselves swimming in the icy waters of the raging sea. It was in that dark hour that ‘they saw death revealed before their own eyes’ as the strength of the waves they were surrounded by was threatening to mercilessly give them the coup de grace at every moment. It was only up to them and the stamina left in them whether they would let themselves flow adrift, victims to the caprices of that uncontrollable element of nature or fight to the end. For the moment, they were holding on to life fighting tooth and nail and everything shows that they have no wish to surrender the effort that easily. And not only do they not surrender, but to the contrary, the two men put up a brave face and fight like true men in that unequal fight. Under these adverse weather conditions, they never stop resisting and ‘putting up a fight’. Even though the icy sea water chills them to the bone, both Andrew as well as Marco still hold on strong and resist surrendering themselves to the foaming rage of the sea. Their will for life is so strong that it forces them to keep swimming desperately, like two untiring engines that see no point in stopping even for a moment. Deep inside them the survival instinct has taken hold over them completely. They know too well that if ‘they let go’ with their fight against the waves, the end will come soon, for both of them, the price being both of their lives. But beyond those thoughts, they also started thinking how painful their death would be for their own people, who would have to go on living – without having them two near them – their beloved. That was an additional reason spurring them on and on and encouraging them to ‘give it all’ in the fight. Showing excess courage, they continue their brave encounter with the raging sea, swimming in the dark waters of the sea for hours, until, the destructive storm shows at last signs of abating.