Siren of the Celebes


Perhaps I knew more of the captain's death
than the troubled mate's report revealed.
I'd seen his tired eyes some days before,
and though not last to see the man alive,
had I borne witness to his suicide?

I looked across the bay beyond the port,
and shaded my eyes as the setting sun
dipped beyond the dry and distant hills,
and I grew chilled, unsettled, as I read,
for doubt with guilt conspired in my mind.

All captains bear a burden in command; 
in time, their lonely duty wears them down.
Yet, how could I have better helped the man?
Had he conveyed such grim intentions then?
What might I learn by hindsight's perfect lens?

I turned the page of that report and read on…

‘...1900 hrs: the captain dined with the officers
as usual. He chatted with the chief about the
spares needed for the engine room, all the usual
maintenance and routine things.

…2000 hrs: The third mate took over the watch.
The captain joined him on the bridge, checked
all was well, wrote his night orders including a note
to “call me at 0600 hrs,” then left the bridge.
It was all routine. A typical night for the Celebes Sea.’

Yes, how well I knew the Celebes Sea,
the warmth of her peaceful and starlit skies,
where the lightest of airs fill the pale shrouds
of the spectral lateen-rigged dhows that ply
between the islands of the archipelago.

The luminescence paints her gentle waves
aglow, and flashing blades of silver fish,
will dart to and fro, calling mariners
to feel the softness of her dark embrace.
I knew the Celebes; I knew her well.

In my mind’s eye, I saw that siren call
the captain in his torment, to submit,
to walk on deck and climb the safety rails.
Perhaps he briefly paused to pray or think,
Yet chose oblivion and the silence of the Sea.
Location: Celebes Sea, Indonesia

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