Desafinado: Slightly Out of Tune - 8. Indigo

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CHAPTER 8: INDIGO

So there I was, frantically looking for Albert in the middle of the night, searching wherever my feet dragged me. Ending up on the main deck and then the saloon; he was nowhere to be found. I stripped the upper decks looking for him, as well as the gym. I even scoured the bar in the plunge pool and searched the sun deck, but he wasn’t there. I checked the ensuite rooms to ask the guest if he’d seen him. My reputation at the time was questionable. But I needed to put my pride aside to find him. I first went over to ask the most obvious person, Erik. He opened the door, looking like I might have interrupted his sleep.

"Yes?" he said, rubbing his eyes in a daze.

"Er—sorry for the late visit. I just wanted to ask a question." My heart was pounding at the thought of them together, and, my eyes were darting at the space within the opened door to take a peek inside. It wasn’t a lot, probably five to eight inches where my eyes could do the inspecting. "Have you, er, seen," I said, while my head was slowly squeezing itself into that tiny opening, "er—Albert?"

My head was nearly inside. I could see that a single lamp shade dimmed the room. There was a pair of shoes at the entrance. No. Wait. Two pairs. He’s here! As I was ready to bolt through the door and enter, he pushed my forehead back to where it belongs, back to the outside, and said, "He’s not here." He yawned and called me out while still rubbing his eye. "You really should control yourself. If you’re looking for him for a quick hook-up, that one’s a virgin Mary waiting to be blessed by the Pope for his vow of chastity."

"What?"

"I've been trying to see for the whole day if that one’s going to budge. But he told me he’s not interested and only sees me as a friend. What a loser." Dropping his hand, his black eye was painted, and he was screaming vividly. Erik was indeed a scumbag. So what better way than to add to his collection and give him another. "Motherfucker! Why’d you punch me?"

I wanted to give him another work of art, right between his guts, so he’d truly feel the pain of a real-life scum artist. But a shadow came blitzing outside the bedroom; a half-naked, brown-skinned man gazed at us, looking surprised.

"Ser Damien?"

"Carlo?" I said. It wasn’t surprising that the bartender at the saloon would be in bed. But I’d be surprised if he still keeps his job, given how unprofessional he’s looking right now. I’m definitely firing his ass the next morning.

"Why are you calling him sir?" said Erik. "You’re just co-workers. He’s not your boss."

I left while I could still hear my heart pounding. Thump, thump, thump, was the only relative noise my brain was registering. It’s one of those moments where you’d have to slow down or stop. Otherwise, you’d be breaking shit or going on a rampage. Or possibly get an aneurysm. Or a stroke. So I calmed myself down. But where is he? I was worried. And I was scared. I asked the other passengers if they’d seen him.

I went over to the main cabin, the largest cabin on the yacht, and Rocky answered, looking irritated at my presence there. He wasn’t interested in answering any of my questions. Immediately telling me to "Go away" wasn’t exactly a friendly way to tell someone off, as I heard Diana asking, "Babe, who’s at the door?" and Rocky answering with, "No one important." Talk about manners.

I then headed over to the old lesbian couple, but they didn’t see Albert. I knocked at the German couple’s cabin, but they also haven’t seen him. Where could he be? Where is he? Then my last option, my only option, my final option, my only choice, was to go to Candy’s room and ask if they’d seen him. I knocked at the door, and Candy greeted me.

"Oh hi," she said, sounding like she'd been up late at night—still awake and still very alive.

"Sorry, did I wake you up?"

"No. You don't," she said, with a poker face.

"Oh."

"I just got up to answer the door."

"Ah. And you sound like that?"

"Yeah. I drank too many Red Bulls, so I’m too perky tonight. So, what’s up?"

"Er, yes—have you seen Albert?"

"Hmm." She paused like she was thinking, then said, "No."

"Oh. Ok. Not a problem. Thanks." I wanted to get out of there. It was embarrassing enough that I asked the person who’d started my ordeal at dinner for help. I didn’t want to prolong the pain of conversing with her any further. But then, she said something that surprised me—an amazing gesture that I’ll never forget.

"Do you want my help to find him?"

"What?"

"I’ll help you find him."

"Why?"

"Cause…"

"You’re kidding."

Like, no, I’m not. Like, I’ll help you."

"Really?"

"Yeah. It’s cool."

I wasn’t convinced. There might be an ulterior motive behind the scenes. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

I had to ask. "How come?"

"Tonight’s a truce. Right?"

"Well, er, yes."

"So let’s go. Let’s go find lover boy."

I smiled. I wasn’t expecting this turnout, but I’d rather have a frenemy than no friend at all. The two of us searched the yacht. She went upstairs to the upper decks while I searched the main deck and the lower deck and was running desperately, given that there was no more area within the ship that I hadn’t looked at.

Gazing up, my hat was blown away by a waft of wind, as the northeastern current formed a storm in the angry swells of the night. Darkened skies pre-emptively circled the ocean, and from where we’re looking, it will graze us enough to cause rocky sailing. I tried to catch my hat, but it flew into the darkness.

"You search the front, while I search the back," I shouted, as the winds and light drizzle began rocking our footing and the yacht was shaking like an awkward animal struggling to be free.

"Ok. I’ll run back to you if I find something." I nodded as she traversed the slightly tilted walkway from the yacht’s trembling.

Then I saw my hat hidden behind the stairs as I was heading out to the swimming platform. Bending down to pick up the hat, I saw Albert. He was standing at the edge of the platform, his back turned against me, with his arms steadily on his hips, just gazing there.

"Albert?"

He turned his head to look at me upon hearing his name. And then he fell. Or, as reality dictated, he'd jumped.

"ALBERT!" I called out his name as I dove into the unknown waters to save him.

The cold waters were like spikes nailing my lungs shut. It was hard to breathe, let alone see in the darkness. The freezing water hardened my muscles. I had to fight the sheer coldness; otherwise, I would have died along the bowels of the ocean. The rush of the cold water seeped through my nose, swallowed all the oxygen out of me, sucked me under, and paddled me in a violent tornado as I was gut-punched to the surface, only to gasp a single breath of air to be stolen by the salty water rupturing through my nose and then back to my lungs. My body was twisting and turning, and my arms and feet were working frantically as I fought against the pressures of the goliathan ocean, which was aiming to swallow me whole. Then, panic strengthened my core to swim to a piece of fabric my fingers had held onto. I didn’t let go. I’d rather die than let it go. I pulled it close to me with my working hand that wasn’t bound in the plaster cast; it was heavy. And it was him. It was Albert. I knew the dividing line between luck and the insurmountable odds pitted against me was astronomical. But in my hands, someone’s life was guaranteed to be saved—I took my chances.

With a single pull of all the strength I had, Albert was in my arms. I held him close to the right side of my chest as I heard my name called out in the open.

"Damien!" said Candy, screaming. "Answer me! Where are you?"

Not having the energy to shout back a response, the skies began pouring, and the waves were thrashing against the weeping of the currents—lifting us up and tossing us down. Instead of words falling on deaf ears against the thunderous rain and lightning, I waved my hand, hoping we’d be found. She saw me and threw us a lifebuoy. Swimming to it with Albert hanging on my chest; the seconds were turning to minutes the longer he was unconscious. Once we reached the swimming platform, Candy dragged him to safety. I was grovelling against the railing, trying to catch my breath.

"Damien, he’s not breathing," said Candy in a fit of panic.

I jumped to his side and performed CPR. His face had turned blue as I tilted back his head. I sealed his mouth with my own, pinched his nose, and blew air into his lungs. I repeated this five times. But nothing.

"Come on, baby. Please," I cried, saying an endearment only the winds could hear, as I prayed he would wake up from the chest compressions. I believed in myself that I had saved him before—maybe, just maybe, I could do it again.

I pinched his nose and blew air into his lungs. But there was nothing. I did more chest compressions. And nothing. 10 seconds passed, and a few more seconds later, he would be pronounced dead. My teeth were gritting as I pumped his chest; his hands were heavier and more pronounced. My eyes were so inconsolably tired that they shed tears of desperation, needing him to wake up and live.

"Damien…" said Candy. "I don’t think."

"NO!" I yelled. "No. This bastard doesn’t get to choose when he’ll die. NO. Please wake up… please."

Candy ran to the upper decks to seek help. While I kept trying to save him. Pinching his nose and blowing air into him did nothing.

Out of rage, out of fear, and out of sadness, I slammed both my fists onto his chest. Albert gasped for air, wheezed the salty water out of his nose, and started breathing. I propped him up, and he continued coughing and wheezing till there was no more of the ocean to spit and sputter. Seconds later, he tried saying something.

"Why’d you save me?" The words that came out sounded raspy and hoarse. He looked in pain just as he uttered the words.

"You jumped," I said, going straight to the point as I wiped my eyes and hugged him.

"You shouldn’t have saved me." He spat on the floor and wiped his mouth.

"Don’t say that." Dismissing what he’d said, my arms instinctively wanted to cradle him.

But he pushed me and glared at me like I was a rabid stranger he’d met on the high rise of the tides. I knew he was angry, but not like this. "You’re obsessed with me. You barely know me yet you think we’re lovers? This obsession of yours is disgusting. I’m not interested in you. Do you understand that?" He grabbed my shirt and wrung me by the neck, as I gazed down at the floor, afraid of what he looked like, so angry and filled with hate. "Do you fucking understand that?" I nodded reluctantly as he held me by the collar. "So stop stalking me! Stop following me. Get the bloody fuck away from me and leave me alone."

All he said were lies. Or as the accusations grew, things I probably did but never considered rang a bell that spoke of truth. However, this wasn’t about me. This was about him and what he was doing to himself.

I pulled him into a tight embrace as he tried to get up. Pushing me away, he slipped on the wet floor. I held both his hands on the ground, trying to bring him closer to me. He rallied and kneed me in the torso as he got up and threaded to the ocean to meet his fate.

"You’re not going anywhere!" I cried.

If he was mad, I was more than mad. It disappointed me that he’d choose death over saving himself. I had the instinct to grab him like a wet noodle and establish my bigger and larger height and frame by grabbing him and tossing him to the side. Hearing him wince as he slammed on the rails, knocking the air out of his lungs, I raced to his side, held onto his shoulders, and apologised. "I’m sorry. Are you okay?"

"Get your hands off me!" he shouted while I pinned him to the floor. He kicked me and tried to run to the open waters. For a quick save, I grabbed onto his ankle. His face clopped to the floor as I slowly dragged him closer to my chest.

"Stop this, Albert. Please." I begged. I really begged, clasping my arms over him as he did all he could to be free.

"Get the fuck away from me! GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!" he said, screaming. He thrashed. He wriggled his arms and fingers as he scratched my chest and face, tearing a piece of my skin as he bit my arm. We were tousling and jousting in a semi-locked embrace on the ground. But I had to hold on to him, or the ocean would sweep him away, never to be found again. I had to. I had to…

We were both exhausted. Tired. And wet. Mostly, we both gave up fighting for our causes—for him to leave me and for me to want him to stay. With no more fight left, none of us would be the victor. We were both lying on the ground, chests heaving, as we both gasped to get some air. I turned to him and saw him freezing. I pulled him closer to my chest for an embrace he badly needed as he was shivering from the cold. I told him not to fight it. And he didn’t this time.

"Come here. I’ll keep you warm." I faintly lifted an arm over his shoulders and tugged him closer.

Then he said, "I was with him. We were happy."

I wanted to tell him and remind him. As my mouth spoke of the truth he needed to hear so that he’d choose to live, my heart ached to say the name of a man I didn’t know and will never know.

"Daniel’s dead," I said. "Your husband’s dead."

"I know."

For me, the name meant nothing. To Albert, he must have meant the entire world. And to be jealous of the dead man that haunted him, that was low—really low. But I was. I was jealous that he was his moon, and that to him, he was his sun. That he was all around him. That he’s in the water that carried this ship to where it needed to be. That he’s in the sky that helped grace the birds to fly high. He’s in the very air his lungs need to breathe. To be remembered even after he was gone. I was jealous that someone had loved him fully. This much and this big. Unaware of the tears that had fallen from my own loneliness, I swiped my eyes away so he wouldn’t notice.

"You loved him, didn’t you?"

"Yes," he said, confessing to the ghost of his past.

"And he gave you that love back?"

"So much," he muttered, "...so much." With his face straddled on my chest, he sighed, and said, "He was very much alive in my head."

"Yeah. He was," I answered. "But it’s probably a dream."

"I would very much like it if I could see him again. Can I?"

I gently cupped his face. "No. You can’t. He’s gone."

"I see."

Then he started sobbing. They were gentle sobs—tears offered to the lowly and meek. But he wasn’t alone anymore. I’m here now. And that’s a promise I’m keeping.

Candy arrived with the help and was on the main deck looking down at us when she said to one of the crew, "Guys, I think we should leave."

Albert cried until the rain stopped. I held onto him for a minute, revelling in the moment that he was in my arms.

"I didn’t jump. Just so you know," he said, wiping his nostrils.

"I know you didn’t."

"But when I slipped and I could’ve climbed back, I thought to myself, maybe it’s better this way."

I was quiet for a minute. It took me moments to process his admission of the truth, which no one would hear except me. I wiped my eyes and said, "And that’s why I jumped and pulled you back."

"Because you wanted to save me?"

"No. Because if you were gone, I would’ve been very lonely and alone." I told him the truth and the truth about himself. "I can’t save you. You’d have to do that for yourself. But I can protect you—even from you."

"Thanks," he muttered.

"You're welcome."

"I owe you my life now."

"You don’t."

"I don't," he said, looking up at me.

"I told you I'd help you forget about him, remember?"

"I know," he said. "And that sucks."

If only there was a microscope to see what’s inside a person’s mind, I’d have gone through every cell in his body trying to figure out what’s in his eyes that sees no value in living. But all I had was my instinct. All I had was my mouth to speak to him and my eyes to see what he saw. All I had was a hunch. A hunch that there’s an underlying wrongness in the rightness of how he perceives the world and how the world treats him in his struggle to be alive. There’s no way I can put myself in his shoes. There’s no empathy for anyone suffering from it. All I can do, as someone who cares, is look where he’s going and hope to God that I can lend him a hand so that whatever he’s holding onto is a wall—a firm, solid, concrete wall, able to shield him from the agents of his own grief, loneliness, and apathy...

Moments later, he asked a question. "Is it possible for you to get hard on while we’re out in the rain, freezing and wet? I’ve always seen movies have this moment where they passionately kiss afterward, make out, then have sex in the rain like it’s no one’s business. That’s a theory I’d like to test out."

The way he asked it, he was too serious. "Are you going to help?"

"With what?"

"Making that ‘hard-on’ happen?"

"No—I’m too tired. I’m honestly quite famished. I wonder if they still have some crabs left."

I chuckled. "Seriously? Why are you thinking about that now?"

"Would you rather I think of my dead husband when you clearly just said forget about him?" That was the next best thing I’ve thought about, boners in the rain."

"You’re a fucking psycho, you know that?" I said, kissing his forehead as I nodded sideways.

"Yes. I’ve been told by a professional and by acquaintances."

I held his face, knowing well that he was going to be okay, and said, "Come on. We have to get you inside. We’re sopping wet."

"I see a sexual pun in there, but I’ll keep quiet."

"No, go ahead. Say it. I urge you."

"Er—what goes in hard and dry but comes out soft and wet?"

"What?" I asked.

"A dildo."

"A dildo? Aren’t you supposed to say gum? Dildos don’t come out soft and wet."

"But dildo seems relatively more in context with the pun. Gum is too literal."

We were both standing up, staring at the carpet of stars above us. It was beautiful. "You do not know what a pun is, do you?"

"I do."

"I doubt it."

Then suddenly, he collapsed.

I slouched into the chair and leaned my arms across the bed. The sheets whispered as my hands ran over the stiff, white mound. My mind became a fogged cloud, no longer capable of rational thought. I was holding my breath while I stared at him. Downcast eyes hung low, and I wiped them with a firm swipe of my fist. At that moment, I decided that I'd never break, as I blamed myself for what happened to him. He needed me as much as I needed him. He never should’ve drowned on my watch. Not on my watch. I watched as they wheeled him away for surgery. Only God, or whatever being grants pity to us fools, can help him now.

Please, God, please help him," I whispered as I prayed. "Don’t take him away from me. Please."