Mini-gories
These short allegories are my way of trying to shed light on sometimes difficult questions I have asked myself or others have asked.
I invite you to read through the story and try to guess what question I was dealing with. Then click "The Question" button at the bottom of the story to find out.
Mini-gories:
The Pleasure Cruise
A sleek pleasure-cruiser is moored in the harbor, its deck hung with festive lights. The smell of barbeque and freshly baked pastry wafts towards the dock, along with the bright beat of dance music. The hull gleams with glossy white paint, and the gang-plank is down, welcoming all aboard.
A banner draped over the rail proclaims, “Free Cruise!”
But on the dock, just next to the gang-plank, hangs a large sign with a warning in bold red letters: “DANGER. Do not board this vessel. It is not sea-worthy. Entrance forbidden by order of the Harbor Master.”
The music sounds so cheerful, and the boat looks so proud and modern that many ignore the sign, and the line soon stretches down the dock as hundreds wait to board.
A few concerned people stop to talk with those in line, pointing out the warning. Most of those queued up ignore them, but a few argue with them, saying the sign doesn’t literally mean no one should board. Or that it probably referred to some other boat moored there long ago, but not to this beautiful modern vessel. Others say the sign is a fake, placed there by some killjoy who doesn’t want to see anyone enjoying a free cruise.
A handful of people are persuaded to leave the line, but the rest inch forward and the cruiser steadily fills. At last the gang-plank is raised and the pleasure boat launches to the sound of cheers and the clink of champagne glasses. Laughter and song fill the air, and the lights of the harbor disappear into the night as the cruiser sets out to sea.
As the party pulses on, the passengers toast their good fortune. They hardly notice the first raindrops and the rocking of the boat. Then the rain begins to fall in earnest and drives the party inside.
Finally, the pitching of the cruiser becomes too sharp to ignore and the music ceases. Plates and glasses break, along with a few arms and legs, as the screaming passengers are tossed about below deck. And the storm grows still more violent. Loud creaking, followed by pops and snaps of wood and plastic, confirm the shoddy construction of the boat.
The next wave tears it apart.
It turns out that the pleasure-cruiser had neither lifeboats and nor a single life-vest aboard. The passengers are left to struggle in the churning sea, treading water or clinging to smashed table-tops, fragments of the hull, or a few inadequate beach balls. No one realizes it, since a headcount is impossible, but against all odds everyone has survived the destruction of the boat. Nevertheless, they are in desperate trouble – far out to sea at night, striving to keep their heads above the stormy waters.
The passengers struggle on, calling out for family members and fighting, sometimes with each other, to stay afloat. Hours pass, and the waves have begun to calm a little when a searchlight appears on the horizon. The light grows and at last they can make out the shape of big rescue cutter.
“Ahoy!” cries a strong voice over a bullhorn. “This is the Harbor Master. We’re lowering rafts into the water. Everyone climb in! If you need assistance just call out – my crew will help you!”
Dozens of big orange rafts, manned by sailors, are soon among the passengers. Some people scramble in immediately, and others, too weak to even grasp the handholds, cry for help and are lifted to safety by strong hands.
“Climb into the rafts immediately!” commands the Harbor Master. “The storm is getting worse again and we must get you aboard.”
The rain is pelting down harder and the waves growing, but the sturdy cutter takes them in stride. Yet many of the passengers are strangely slow to respond.
When urged by the outstretched hands of his fellow passengers already in a boat, one man says he’s heard a rumor that another pleasure cruiser is coming along any minute, and he’d much rather wait for that than to ride back on a rescue cutter with no amenities.
“The Harbor Master?” says a young woman, indignantly. “He’s the man who wants to order everyone around. ‘Entrance forbidden!’” she says in a mock-baritone. “And now he thinks he can just order us to get on his boat? Well I don’t have any master, so he can go jump in a lake!” She has to shout for her rebuke to be heard over the growing wind.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” says another woman, in an expensive, now-ruined, cocktail dress. “I just have to find my cell-phone. It’s waterproof and floats. It’s got to be around here somewhere.” She's paddling in weak circles looking this way and that.
“Leave everything behind,” says the Harbor Master. “It's urgent that you come aboard now!”
“Not without my phone!” replies the woman. “My whole life is in it!” She paddles off again to search amidst the debris and is never seen again.
Near the side of the rescue cutter a portly man is clinging to a ruined section of the buffet table, where he’s managed to salvage two lobsters, a large bowl of fruit salad and a bottle of Tequila.
“I might just wait for the next cutter,” he calls up to the Harbor Master, his mouth stuffed with lobster. “What are you serving on your boat anyway?” But before he can receive a reply, a wave crashes down on him, splintering the table and driving him under.
More than a few athletic passengers say that they've had enough of boats altogether, and they are going to make their own way back to land. They set off swimming in various directions, all ignoring the Harbor Master’s warning that they are more than 100 miles from the shore.
The storm has fully risen again, and the crew hurries to lift the life-rafts aboard as the Harbor Master calls out again. “This is your last chance! Come aboard now!”
Yet, in the end, more than half of the passengers of the ill-fated pleasure cruise choose to remain in the water, and the Harbor Master’s boat turns for shore.
*****
Back in the town the tragic wreck of the pleasure cruiser, and the many people drowned, are lamented for weeks.
"Shame about all them people on that cruise!" says a gray-bearded man nursing a beer in a dockside tavern one evening.
The business man on the next stool nods. "It was a beautiful ship, too," he says.
It's a conversation that has been repeated throughout the town countless times in the weeks following the tragedy.
"I can't recall the name of the captain," he continues, popping a pretzel into his mouth. "But he had quite a boat. The wife and I are going to take a cruise like that next summer."
"That sounds mighty fine," replies the first man. "I hear the buffets are really somethin'. But none finer than on that pretty boat."
"Mmm," replies the businessman. "Those people must have had a great time right up until the wreck. My wife cries every time they mention it on the news."
His companion takes a long, thoughtful daft of his beer. "You know what I can't get over?" he asks, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. "It's how the Harbor Master let so many people drown. Wicked that was, I say. Downright wicked."
The businessman snorts. "Harbor Master my foot! I think he's a big phony. If he was any kind of real Harbor Master he would have saved everyone. Harbor Master - hmph!" He shakes his head.
"Excuse me," says the waitress, setting a bowl of chips between the two men. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but I was on that cruiser when it sank. And you've got it all wrong. The Harbor Master had enough boats for everyone. He practically begged the people to get in, but some people wouldn't do it. I don't understand it, but they just wouldn't. It's not the Harbor Master's fault. He was wonderful. I owe him my life!"
The businessman turns an indulgent smile on the girl.
"Well, you would think that, of course, because you're in his fan club. But I say that makes your perspective just a little bit skewed, don't you think?"
The waitress looks confused and begins to protest, but the bearded man interrupts.
"Sweetheart, you're crazy about the Harbor Master and that's just dandy. But please keep your opinions to yourself. And bring me another beer." He hands the empty mug to the girl, who flushes pink and turns away.
"Cussed Harbor Master," he mutters as the waitress walks away. "And those wreck survivors are the worst. Harbor Master this, Harbor Master that..."
"Tell me about it," says the businessman. "My delivery guy is one of 'em."
"You know what I saw this morning?" says graybeard. He pauses for suspense. "Another sign – that's what!"
"You're kidding!" says the man in the suit. "From the Harbor Master?"
"Yep! Right by that pretty yacht at the end of the harbor. 'Vessel not seaworthy, entrance forbidden... blah, blah, blah... by order of the Harbor Master.'"
The businessman shakes his head in disgust. "What right does he have to tell people what to do?"
At that moment the waitress returns and sets a new beer in front of the bearded man. "Well, he is the Harbor Master, after all," she says, her voice barely audible.
"Ha! So he says," replies the businessman. "If I was in charge of the harbor, I'd get rid of him. Who needs him anyway?"
"Got that right!" says graybeard.
And the two men raise their glasses in a toast.
Saved?
It was a beautiful Sunday afternoon, despite the wind, and a perfect day for a walk along the beach with my friend Jacob Armin. Friends since college, we’d stayed in touch off and on, but didn’t see each other often, since we now lived on opposite coasts. So, when a trade conference brought him to my part of the world, we’d seized the chance to get together.
The beach was crowded with sunbathers, volleyball games and families building sandcastles. Jake and I were enjoying catching up on everything that was going on in our lives when our conversation was interrupted by shouts and a commotion at the waters’ edge.
We stopped and turned toward the gathering crowd, following their gaze. Then we saw her. Out beyond most of the bathers, where the water got suddenly deeper and the waves – kicked up by the wind – had grown rougher, a woman struggled. Her head disappeared beneath the waves then bobbed up again, and we could just make out her cries for help.
Unlike me, who can barely tread water, Jake is a champion swimmer. He didn’t hesitate. Kicking off his sandals and stripping off his shirt as he ran, Jake raced to the water and plunged in.
A couple other swimmers had started heading her way, but the waves were daunting, and only the strongest swimmers would dare. Jake soon outpaced the others and was drawing closer as the woman’s cries grew weaker. Along with most of the crowd I was holding my breath.
I jumped when my cell phone rang.
I pulled it out of my purse to silence it, then stopped when I saw the caller ID. My brother-in-law. My sister, who was 32 weeks pregnant, had gone to the hospital earlier that day for a scan following some concerns. It was the only call in the world I would have taken at that moment, and I was glad I did. My brother-in-law, obviously trying to control the panic in his voice, told me they had just taken my sister in for an emergency C-section and asked me to come right away.
I glanced once more at the drama unfolding before me in the water. Jake had nearly reached the woman, but her head wasn’t bobbing above the waves as often. Whispering a prayer, I turned my back on the scene and ran to my car. Fortunately, Jake and I had driven separately, so my disappearance would leave him confused but not stranded.
The rest of the day passed on pins and needles next to my brother-in-law in the waiting room, but ended happily with my sister resting in recovery and my premature niece doing surprisingly well in the NICU.
With my concerns over my family occupying all my thoughts, I actually forgot about the drama at the beach until I was getting ready for bed well after midnight and noticed the text on my phone.
Hey Cali – you OK? Looked for you after it was all over and saw your car was gone.
First thing in the morning, I phone Jake, apologizing profusely and explaining what had happened.
“No worries – you needed to go,” said my friend, and went on to ask me all about my sister and my niece. I filled him in on all the details including how beautiful her eyes were, how tiny her fingers, and when they thought she might go home.
“But tell me about yesterday!” I said. “What happened to the woman? Did you save her?”
“I did!” said Jake.
“Oh, thank God!” I replied. “Say, I know you fly out this afternoon, but do you have a little time this morning? I’d love to take you to breakfast.”
“Sounds great,” said Jake. “We can finish our visit.”
Twenty minutes later I walked into the hotel restaurant and saw Jake waving at me from a corner booth.
As soon as we’d ordered and had coffee in front of us, I leaned forward.
“So how is the woman you saved yesterday? Did they have to take her to the hospital?”
Jake frowned and looked down into his cup.
“Afraid not,” he said. “She died.”
I sat back, stunned.
“But … you saved her! What happened – did she have a heart attack later, or … ?"
Jake shook his head. “No, she drowned.”
“Wait – I’m so sorry! I must have heard wrong on the phone this morning. I thought you said you’d saved her.”
“Oh, I did,” said Jake. “But then she drowned.”
I was completely confused.
“What …? I don’t understand. Did she go back into the water again?”
“No, no. I never got her to shore. She went under.” He shook his head sadly.
“But, then what do you mean when you say you saved her?”
“I did save her,” said Jake. “That’s what’s so hard. She was saved for a good five minutes or more before she drowned.”
I just stared at my friend blankly.
“I had her in my arms,” Jake explained. “And I was making our way back to shore. She was calm at first, and we were making good progress. Then all of a sudden a wave washed over us, and she panicked. Started fighting me. Did my best to hang on to her, but she broke loose and went under.”
“That’s horrible,” I said. “I’m so sorry. So … I guess she wasn’t actually saved – I mean, it just looked like it for a bit.”
“Oh no, she was saved alright,” Jake countered. “In fact, a lifeguard got to us just a minute later. I was pretty spent, but the lifeguard got hold of the woman and saved her again. But the woman started kicking and fighting, and the lifeguard lost her, too, in the end.”
Jake had always had a different way of using words – usually charming, but sometimes confusing.
Seeing his sadness, I realized it wasn’t the time to challenge him about language.
So I simply murmured words of comfort and kept to myself the thought that someone who never makes it to the shore can’t really be said to have been saved from anything.