Читать книгу Let them all tell you what happened - Mercedes Pescador - Страница 17

March 26th, Day of Our Lord, 2020. Eleventh day of confinement on the ship Our Lady of Literature.

The crew’s mood alters during the course of each day. You can tell that they are not guys used to this type of journey. They are not demoralised yet, but they are worried, uncertain about how many days are left until they can put their feet on the ground.

The oceans of information we’re sailing through, are unknown. When we set sail, there were talks about it being only for two weeks, although I think not even our commanders trusted that prediction. For sure the lack of government on the ship is the most pressing problem. The history of Spain repeats, a great country dreadfully ruled.

We get news from other expeditions which with different perspectives. The most terrible ones are those which have sank, and we also know about others which are going through terrible difficulties. It’s specially worrying the fact that there are not enough shipyards to fix certain damages, and they say the lack of materials can even force them to choose which ships continue their course and which don’t. It’s terrific to think that our destiny is in the hands of people who are more interested in saving their own backsides than looking for solutions.

Each day, on the eighth evening hour, we can hear how other ships cheer the shipyard technicians who are fighting against adversities with such few resources. On our ship, we try on the first day, in hope, but when we stick our heads to starboard we discover in despair that the rest of the ships had a route in the direction out at sea, but our route, no matter how much we advance, it’s always towards the cliffs.

We fight against monotony trying to keep as active as possible, considering the limitation of our resources. That’s why we force our imagination to use fantasy and oneiric resources to make up for the lack of other realities. Physical exercise is repetitive but necessary, and reading turns out difficult at times, as it’s hard to concentrate our minds in the narrator’s story while our heads are filled with dark clouds. It’s complicated not to have our minds on the hard future ahead once we disembark. Maybe it’s wiser not to think too much about that matter during the sleepless nights: the important thing is to reach port, and about tomorrow only God knows.

This insignificant Captain hopes to have managed to reflect his reality in this log book. If other captains were so kind as to share their thoughts, it would be comforting, for sure. After all, to know that we are all in similar adventures allows us to look into the future with optimism and smile with the perspective of a happy ending for the majority of the expeditions.

Commended to the Virgins of Carmen and Guadalupe, Captain Javier Santiago, nicknamed “the one with the clear forehead” bids farewell.