One Life

One year. One month. One day. One ship. One man.

I shuffled along the deck. The crew dragged bags and pushed barrels. Their skin glistened in the sun, tanned by the heat. Sweat poured down their backs. They tugged ropes and wandered the deck, searching for shade. Soon the heat would dissipate, but their weariness would only increase. Distant clouds threatened rain.

One crew. One secret cargo. 350 men. I was there to change the life of one. I passed the sailors, and wondered if they understood their place in history.

I glided down the stairs. The trapdoor closed behind me. The cool sea air and bright sun gave way to darkness and suffocating heat. Horror. No word could describe it better. 350 men, dying in mind and body. Coughing, and groaning, laboriously breathing. They stared through me with vacant eyes. I could’ve helped them all, but my reasons for being here were selfish.

I stumbled over bodies and passed through blood. I knew the name of the one I was looking for, but I had no knowledge of his appearance, and in the dark bunker of death, I began to despair.

The trapdoor opened, the sun offering the hope of life for brief seconds as men close to death were dragged on deck. The sailors thought the air might restore them. I saw him. A tall, black man whose frame was strong months before was now skinny and shaking. The hot air and utter darkness, and the stench of bodies around him were too much for his soul. He was dragged to the deck.

He was laid carelessly in the sun. He would wake soon. I sat beside him and touched his hand.

“Great-grandfather,” I said. “It’s me, Asha.”

“I don’t know you.” He said.

“You may not, but I need you to live. Without you, I’ll never exist.”

“Existence, girl, is difficult. For me to exist is the most torturous of all. See where I am? I am close to death, and even life is death. No matter where I go, everything I see is death.”

“Great-grandfather, don’t talk like that. Even in darkness, there is light.”

“You’re right. Even now in the shadows of death, I see the sun.”

He woke and looked at me, but he didn’t see me. “Even in the shadows, I see the sun,” he mumbled. “If only I could get out of the shade and stand in its warmth.”

“You can. Have hope,” I said.

The sailors forced him to his feet and pushed him back into the darkness. His dying companions were tossed into the sea.

One man. One storm. One night.

The ship rocked and creaked. Clouds covered the sun. Icy rain poured over the sailors. Winds chilled the hardiest of men.

One man. One storm. One night. One hour.

I ascended the mast and climbed into the flooding crow’s nest. I couldn’t help but shiver at the sight of the endless, storm-tossed sea. The ship looked like a toy below me, the captain one of its figurines. He stood at the wheel and shouted.

One man. One storm. One night. One hour. One minute.

I grabbed the spyglass, which was carelessly left to soak, and descended. Halfway down I saw my mark clearly. I dropped the glass. The captain crumpled to the deck.

I trudged through the flooded deck. I touched his hand.

“They’ll die if you let them out,” I said.

“Some will, but all will die if I don’t.”

“Let one man stay. He will die if you don’t. Give him food later. You know he is weak.”

“He’ll come out like all the rest.”

“If he does, you will never wake.”

“Am I asleep?”

The crew rushed to their captain and carried him below deck. Now I must wait.

The sailors passed the night without sleep. Drenched, they waited eagerly for the warm sun in the morning hours, but the rain kept pouring.

The captain woke in his cabin. He threw on his long coat, and returned to the rain. He shivered. The ocean, once warm, was a frigid sea. It was time. The captain ordered for the men and women to be brought out for food.

In the storm, the poor souls were ushered from their furnace to the frigid deck. I scanned the men’s faces. He wasn’t there. I rushed to the nightmarish bunker and found him, sitting on the floor. He was deep in thought, his face marked by sorrow.

“Great-grandfather. It will be okay.” He didn’t hear me, but his face softened. “Even though your path is hard, and your road dark, push on.”

“I will not give into despair,” he muttered. “My father raised me better. I must be strong, though I do not feel strong.”

“You are strong to have come this far.”

“I know there are those who need me. My life was happy. Now it is sad, but I must be there for the women, and my new companions on this boat. I long for the day we find land, but I fear it just the same.”

“You will have many struggles on land, but you will see the sun again.”

He sat in silence, staring up at the dark ceiling. He smelled the vomit and stench of rotting bodies. The darkness pressed around him.

“I will press on,” he mumbled.

Alas, if only history could’ve changed in this way. I only dream of an alternate reality. In that year, in that month, on that day, on that hour, the man was kicked onto the deck, chained to his brothers. There the drastic change from the oven to the icebox killed him.

Because he died, I will never live. Because he died, he never married. Because he never married, I was never born.

Never will I see the sun, and feel the ocean breeze. Never will I see mountains, rivers, or streams. Never will I behold the snow, or dolphins in the sea. Never will I see these lovely things.

Maybe I will never feel the rain that covers the sun, or the winds that make ships sink. Maybe I will never see clouds cover the mountains and floods in the rivers and streams. Maybe I will never shiver in the winter, or be stung by the creatures of the sea.

But life cannot grow without rain, and the beauty of the sun is more magnificent after the clouds. Reconstruction won’t begin without destruction, and warmth is heavenly after the cold. I will never be stung by the creatures of the sea, but I will never have the chance to see someone have compassion on me.

One year. One month. One day. One ship. One man.

One life that I will never have.