Charly Marlowe

Imagine the Romans arriving here long ago—the very end of the world, a murky sea, a sky the color of lead, going up this river. Sandbanks, marshes, forests. Precious little to eat fit for a civilized person. Here and there a military camp lost in a wilderness. Cold, fog, tempests, disease, exile, and death. They must have been dying like flies here! ~ Stay alert, Mate. We have many hundreds miles to travel yet. Weigh ancrhor at night, steer clear of snags by day!

*looking out into the border that lines both sides of the serpentine river, I shudder at the silence that pervades everything. Long ago, a wise one told me - beware the silence, its secrets are full of the horror, the horror. Those words now haunt me as I watch you, Your cold gaze surveying the distance*

There is a saying among seamen: "In every port, you can find a past, and in every port, a future." This may be your port, your future. The river stretches long and far, and is forever changing. Do you feel the pull of this land, lad?

*I spend the remainder of the afternoon on the port side deck, taking readings now and then with a sounding pole and calling out suspicious ripples or any evidence of underwater snags*

*approaches you on the deck, leaning on the railing, watching you closely* How do things look?

*I look up at you from the deck, shielding my eyes from the late afternoon sun which, from which at this particular river bend, is beginning to sink into our wake. The heat has abated since noon, but not by much; my attire is soaked through with sweat* Looks safe enough on this side of the river, up until the next turn at least, then best to lay anchor.