Into These Waters of My Soul

He finished the book, put a full stop, and came out on deck. Dawn had broken, wrapping everything in hues of pink and yellow. The people were few in their numbers, and those who somnambulistically wandered the ship were all strangers to him: the ashen silhouettes, the phantoms of the rising day to melt as soon as the first bright rays touched them. He too would melt, preferring sleep that he lost due to work and sudden inspiration. The man stretched his legs for a while as he paced back and forth. He took his time smoking a cigarette without really feeling that he was smoking or what he was doing at all. Everything was happening as if through the prism of a dream, as if he was already sleeping. And amusingly, all the actions repeated themselves, as was the case with one of the characters in his book — the king of the underworld. The devil walks among the mortals, pretending to be one of them; like Sebastian Michaelis, he likes to smoke and reflect on things, but in a bored, if not dispirited, mood. Like Sebastian, the devil wears a black coat and an elegant suit. He has black hair and a long, flexible mouth meant to grin or to selflessly, passionately kiss someone’s velvet skin or appetising lips. Some might say that this mouth is wicked and treacherous, but none of them will be women. A gentle breeze carried the sound of water being cut through, and its white foam evoked a hazy, dizzying memory of the contents of the book he had finally finished, let it be damned. The seething foam was like the seething thoughts of Satan. But oh! how beautiful. The book drained Michaelis of all strength, and he would like it to be worth it. And if not?.. To hell with it, he thought with tired annoyance and threw the cigarette butt overboard. For ten years, the black man had been living inside him, and the idea tormented him like a frequent migraine, a callus on his soul, or an overexcited muse — never saying yes to her under any circumstances had long become his habit; it helped him to keep his distance between himself and absolute insanity, and still… I need some sleep, Sebastian said to himself, staring far into the distance. It looked like there was a whale out there. No, he only fancied it. Then he heard someone shout, “Look, look! It’s a whale!” So it wasn’t his fancy. People rushed to their side of the deck. The giant came closer, and it aroused extreme delight among the land’s two-legged inhabitants. “Miraculous! It is enormous!” If his wife Victoria had been alive, she would have certainly stroked the black locks and said something like, “Oh, look at this; even a whale fails to give him joy now! Mister Michaelis, my darling, you definitely need to go to bed; you have extremely overworked yourself.” She would have added this in a commanding tone, and he would not have dared disobey. A little hand brushing his cheek, like a sweet, never-fading memory; the touch of a sun-heated doll; the fragrance of jasmine and gillyflower in the woman’s perfume; boundless tenderness for her that made him dizzy. The goodbye kiss. The setting of the sun. The whale released a fountain of spray. “Is it alone?” asked someone. Always alone, Sebastian thought with a smirk. “A lone whale, poor thing,” lamented a lady somewhere very close. He never noticed how a group of people appeared beside him. He turned to go back inside when someone called out his name. “Sebastian Michalis?” He recognised the man’s voice. Earl Vincent Phantomhive himself — a tall, extremely charming man with a reputation that wasn’t so much impeccable as dangerously high. Vincent was thirty-five; Sebastian was five years his senior. They met in a country club, where, by coincidence, Michaelis supported Phantomhive in a dispute of principle in which the two of them defeated rather nasty opponents. They had become close since that time, but only as close as a sincere wish not to cross the “dangerous coastlines” and to respect a potential rival allowed them, which meant being content with common knowledge. As long as the interests of Count Michaelis and Count Phantomhive did not intersect, the both of them were like two sharks that swam in the same waters, had respect for one another, and supported each other when needed, but! always swam separately and took great care not to touch the other’s fin. As far as he heard it, the Phantomhives had their own ways that were best left unknown. “What a coincidence.” The black-haired man smiled. Vincent was with his family — a wife and children. The men shook hands, and then Sebastian greeted Mrs. Phantomhive. She was a graceful blonde, and everything about her was charming — from her kind, cheerful, warm-smiled nature to her big, expressive eyes. “Say what you like, but the local ocean is the best decoration for your fairy beauty, Rachel.” Sebastian put his lips to an elegant hand in a blue lace glove, its colour matching that of the woman’s eyes. “You are most kind,” smiled the Countess. Sebastian knew Vincent’s wife from some of those social gatherings, but he never saw the children. There they stood, two young men, one an exact reflection of the other. Both were of Vincent’s breed, but their eyes of dark blue colour were clearly their mother’s — incredibly big, expressive, and deep. Their figures were slight, but they held their heads proudly. The skin was smooth and shining from the inside, devoid of any natural flaws. Even one wonder like that was a rarity, and there stood two of them. The dual beauty. A double magical trick of nature. Just like two porcelain dolls, thought Sebastian. He felt something keeping his eyes on the twins; a moment longer would make it ill-mannered. “And these, I suppose?..” He smiled graciously. “My children,” said Vincent as he put his hands on the shoulders of his descendants, “Ciel and Gabriel.” At first glance, there appeared to be no differences between Ciel and Gabriel, but after taking a closer look, Sebastian could see one. Gabriel, who stood at his father’s right hand, spoke confidently and loudly: “Pleasure to meet you.” He smiled charmingly. The other followed him shortly. His smile was quieter, lighter, and shyer as he repeated his brother’s words, once again quieter and lighter. Like a shadow. Interesting, thought Michaelis, who had never met such charming twins in his entire life. “The pleasure is mine,” said the man. Vincent asked what Sebastian was doing there. “I decided to take a break by the sea and finish some work at the same time. To kill two birds with one stone.” “So we’ll be spending time together. How long are you staying?” “A couple of weeks.” “Is it? So are we. Are you alone here?” “I am.” As they spoke, the twins joined in watching the whale. “Look at this!” they smiled, turning their heads to the others. Rachel, Vincent, and Sebastian approached. “I’ve never seen one before!” Rachel observed with delight. “So huge, I wonder what kind it is,” said one of the twins. The gusts of wind seemed to play with their hair just the same. “Blue,” Sebastian intervened. The other twin gave him a curious look: “I think it’s a fin whale.” “It cannot be,” said Michaelis. “Look closer, young man; this whale is as blue as your eyes.” The boy looked again. While he was squinting his eyes, Sebastian was examining his features: against the cobalt waters burning with the golden glow of the sun, the colour of his eyes slightly altered from dark blue to almost light, and the limbus, still wide as it is for the young, was like a collar guarding the innocent look. The cheeks, which seemed softer to him than a breeze, were painted a pale pink by the fresh air. The boy said something to Sebastian, but his voice was drowned out by the sound of a trumpet. Sebastian saw him start in surprise. “Oh, we’ve added speed.” Vincent smiled and gently patted one of his sons on the head. Sebastian wondered how old they were. Vincent suggested Sebastian meet them for breakfast, to which he agreed before leaving them under the pretext of business. The Phantomhives stayed to watch the whale; someone even kindly lent them a binocular. Breakfast wouldn’t come in three hours. Back in his room, the man fell onto the bed, hoping for sleep to take him. Before his meeting with the Phantomhives, he was extremely tired, and all he wanted was rest, but now, as a paradox, rest wouldn’t come. He tossed and turned as incoherent thoughts and images swirled in his head, all seeming to revolve around one thing. It was of an absorbing deep blue colour. The wind still swayed the thick strands of hair, scattering them over a white temple and the forehead, and the mouth, its upper lip proudly curved, opened again and almost confidently said, “I think it’s a fin whale.” Sebastian started to doubt himself. Was the whale really blue, or was I wrong? Could I be? In his mind is an image of the dark water creature cutting its way through the ocean, but before his eyes stands the porcelain youth, dressed in a white suit with woollen breaches and ribbons to match the colour of his eyes. A pointed knee is pink as it looks out from under the edge of the fabric, and Sebastian almost touches it with his leg when the young man looks overboard. A charming knee devoid of girlish roundness but still too delicate for a… Can he be seventeen or eighteen?.. Vincent told me that they go to school, but now to the same one. Which one of them insisted on a fin whale? He winced as if from a headache. What does it matter? I need to rest, he thought before finally falling asleep.