Page 43 - Exile-ebook

42 AN EXILE OF THE MIND THE FLYING PRIEST OF CAMIGUIN 43

wear. Squalls were a welcome sight to warn ships of our presence failed present or future. My soul was free teeny eyes at our red-bottomed hull.
and we stood under droplets of rain to alert their lookout on watch. to take flight on the wings of this An amorous rendezvous? Or to
with soap at the ready. A quaff or two of the Consul’s wine adventure in an ocean more ancient charge like a bull at the red cape of
On a calm evening a low rumbling was taken to soothe frazzled nerves than mountains. Unhurried by the a boat? A collision with a whale at
was heard but nothing could be seen and slow down the heartbeat as we laws of space and time I thought sea is a sailor’s biggest fear, more so
on the darkened sea. The growling recovered from the near collision. of my earlier travels in the opium than pirates or an unlighted tanker
grew louder and we quickly shone On a quieter night a full moon den of remembrance where it is cleaving a yacht in two.
our powerful flashlight onto our rose bright above the mast, painting never where you think you left it. An A caravan of land clouds gathered
sails to indicate our tiny presence. A the sails silver and casting a shim- exile of the mind giving meaningful on the horizon, signalling landfall
bright beacon to keep ships at bay mering staircase over the waves. I jiggles and purring quietly to itself over Manila. It was our eighth day at
for miles around. lay cocooned in cockpit cushions whispering sweet nothings. sea. We set foot on an earthshake of
The dark outline of a freighter, with a foot on the wheel to steer by. On a glorious sailing day, several ground and staggered around until
four-storeys high without any lights, The wind whispered quietly to the dolphins frolicked at the bow to lead our sea legs stopped wobbling. Then
suddenly towered above us. I tacked sails and the bowsprit prodded lazily us away from nautical dangers. I it was off to town in a gaily-coloured
out of its path and watched in at a distant lodestar in the southeast. hung from the bowsprit bottom side jeepney. A modern-day charabanc
dread as the giant shape rumbled A guiding beacon to the Philippine up to watch them surface and brush with its mobile canvas of kitsch art
by, tossing the yacht violently in isles ─ the Pearl of the Orient. my hand in a rubbery caress. In a with passengers bundled kneecap
its wake. Our navigation lights and On this vast compass of the Moby-Dick moment, whales ghosted to kneecap with more passengers
radar reflector strung atop the mast ocean I felt at peace with no past, either side of us to squint through crammed in along the way.

Dolphins frolicking at the bow of the yacht. A jeepney displaying kitsch art in Manila.