Dave and the Sea Captain
The old sea captain was a regular. Something like 900 years old or so, full of stories, and cold sober until he was dead drunk. Just his way, I suppose. Some people are like that. Five, six beers, couple of whiskies, nothing. Smiles and stories and memories, clear words, thoughtful reminiscence. Then it comes. The there-it-is. With me, it’s like a warm cozy that sneaks in slowly before winding me up. With the old sea captain, it came all at once. Like it had been sitting in wait, skipping the warmup altogether, finally pouncing all in one go. When it hit, he usually had the sense to walk out and stumble home.
Once in a while, he stuck around.
Let his secrets slip.
Sometimes it started as a sort of braggadocio. I’ve ruined more men than you’ve ever met, to which I would smile and nod and avoid the bait. Sometimes, it was friendlier, though with more than a hint of sarcasm. I could make your wildest dreams come true, to which I might come back with something like, that’s alright, Captain, I’m doing just fine. Sometimes, it was desperate. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Son. I can’t…I have no…why can’t I ever just…and then, with piercing eyes that made me want to crumble on the floor behind the bar until he’d left, but held me frozen in place, Never trust me. Never.
And I never did.
Dave didn’t deserve it. I’m not saying he did. But it’s over now, and there’s nothing for it.
It was just one of those nights. Not that crowded, but enough so that I kept busy. Dave came in and ordered the usual as he sat at the bar next to the captain. No surprise there. They’d talked plenty before, mostly contractor stuff, this or that job gone wrong, the idiots who couldn’t maintain a house to save their lives, that sort of thing. Honestly, I was pleased they each had someone to talk to. I had a few new folks at the bar and a crowd getting rowdy in the back. I was grateful to put my attentions elsewhere.
I caught just enough of their conversation to get a sense of it, though maybe without the detail. Dave had a tough day helping out a friend with a job he should’ve charged for but didn’t have the heart to. A bad back getting worse. More work in front of him than behind. Just one of those days. The old sea captain commiserated, talked about that time he did a favor for a friend of his late wife, only to be sucked into a two-year project that not only left him deep in debt, but with a bad knee that never got any better. Something like that, anyway.
Just two old guys, one getting there and one on the other side, talking about hard times.
About that time, we got busy, and, other than a couple of refills, I lost sight of them altogether. Not till the end of the night did I listen in again, see where the conversation had gone. I’d just called it and was ringing up checks at the till. Dave was in his cups and louder than he needed to be.
“But if you can, why wouldn’t you?”
“Listen to me, friend, this isn’t a thing you want.”
“What do you know about what I want?”
“I know plenty.”
“But you can do it?”
“I told you to back off, and I’m telling you again. Back. Off.”
Of course, my ears pricked up at that. Last call is a tricky time, and violence is always just around the corner. I hear arguments, raised voices, I focus in. If I’ve learned anything in my years behind the bar, it’s that you have to diffuse this stuff early, or you’ll lose your chance altogether. The excuse of closing time helps, but it ain’t over until they’re on the sidewalk with the door locked behind them.
I took my time cleaning dead glasses from the bar, ready to step in if needed, but they both seemed to dial it back enough that I could relax a bit.
“Look, Captain, I’m not…please don’t…it’s just been a long day, y’know? To hell with that. A long year. I’m done, I’m done, I’m done. Tomorrow morning I’m gonna wake up and do it all over again, and for how long? What happens when I can’t? When it hurts so much to get out of bed I just give up? I’ve done my time. I’ve earned my rest. I’m not trying to trouble you. I’m listening. I really am. You think if you do this thing, I’ll become some sort of monster…”
“Not monster. I never said that. I’m just saying that…”
“No, let me finish. Maybe I will. Maybe somehow this…what did you call it? A gift?”
“Just put it to rest. You don’t want this.”
“I get it. You can’t demand a gift. Even asking for it seems wrong. A gift must be bestowed, with generosity, with love. I get it. I’m just asking for…there I go again. Maybe I don’t know you well enough. Maybe I don’t deserve it. I don’t know. But if I haven’t deserved it by now, if this isn’t my moment, then my moment isn’t coming. This is it, Captain. This is my last chance. I’ve earned this.”
“I’m not saying you haven’t,” he said a little too easily, a subtle smile creeping across his face.
“But you’re dangling it in front of me!”
Dave slammed his fists on the bar, which was my sign. I interrupted and suggested it was time to settle their bills. Dave shook his head as he started to dig cash out of his pocket. I left them for a moment to nudge the rowdies in the back. I turned off the music, and Dave’s voice carried over the newfound silence.
“Maybe it’s like this. Here I am, paying my tab. The good news is that I can cover it, but what if I was short? What if I was short and you said, I got enough to cover you, and just as I was about to thank you, you said, but I don’t think I will. That’s what this feels like. It’s bad enough to be short. I can live with that. It happens. But knowing help is here, right here, and then seeing it taken away…. it’s just too much. If you’d never told me…I mean…that would be different, wouldn’t it?”
“I only told you to make point…”
“It doesn’t matter. You didn’t have to tell me, but you did. And now I know, and you know that I know, and to take it away…”
“To fail to bestow…”
“No, Sir, to take it away. You fail to bestow upon every person you meet, every person you pass on the street, every possible connection. You are in a constant state of failing to bestow. Once you have made yourself known, though, and choose not to, you are taking it away. There is no way to sugar coat that.”
The old sea captain sighed. A sigh of 900 years. Of fools. Of unfortunate wisdom. Of regret. “This will not make you happy.”
“Give it to me.”
“You are wrong to trust me.”
“Give. It. To. Me.”
A broken glass stole my attention. Instinctively, I moved quickly to the back where I was greeted with profuse apologies and sheepish goodnights. By the time I was behind the bar again, they were in a stare down, silent. I reached over to collect Dave’s cash, but the old sea captain stopped me.
“I’ve got these.”
I nodded. Dave stared.
The old sea captain dropped his cash on the bar, shook his head, and stood up to leave. He put on his coat, took one last look at Dave, then turned to me and said, “Keep the change, Son,” before stumbling out.
Dave looked down at the last half inch of watered-down whiskey without daring to look at me. He shook his head from side to side as he spoke the last words I would ever hear him say.
“What have I done?”
By the time he raised his glass, something had changed. Hard to say what. Maybe a sort of new confidence mixed with dread. What I can say is that when he put it down and stared at me, I was paralyzed with terror. His eyes pierced a shell I never knew I had. Cracked what little confidence I owned and brought me to my knees. Though I could not see what he saw, I could see that he saw. A knowledge of the world too bold to share swirling through his mind, a raging battle between hubris and humility. Hubris for what he knew, humility for what it meant.
I never saw him again.
And hope to god I never do.