#willabethweek

He hesitates. There is so much to be said, so little time to say it; and although he has carefully planned what he wants to tell her, silently rehearsed it in the dark stillness of the night as she slept curled into his side, words fail him now. It will come back to him later, when he eventually allows pure, blind rage to take over him and shuts himself in the captain’s cabin, wrecking it methodically until he is reduced to a throbbing mass of strained muscle and bruised flesh; now, however, the only coherent thought he is capable of formulating is: please, God, let me stay; let me stay.

He knows he can’t – the Dutchman must have a captain – and yet his mind is still persistently racing into alternative scenarios in which the wretched ship is not looming ominously on the horizon and instead of ten years of banishment in the land of the dead stretching ahead of him is a lifetime of sunsets and sunrises with the woman he loves; the wife he married in the middle of a sea-battle. If only he had the time to get used to thinking of her in this way; if only he was allowed to keep the vow he sealed when he kissed her in the pouring rain –  

The uncomfortable weight of the Chest and the sickening thumping of what’s inside snaps him out of his reverie. There is so much to be said, so little time to say it; and yet all that comes of his mouth is: 

‘Will you keep it safe?’

Earlier that day, when he made an attempt to approach the subject – ‘Ten years is a long time, Elizabeth, and I don’t expect the world to stop turning’ – she shook her head vigorously and said, ‘I don’t even want to hear this.’ He tried to press the matter, but she cut him off with a kiss, and although the subject was promptly cast aside, the words he should have said left a poisonous aftertaste in his mouth. The question she didn’t let him pose, however, now reverberates in the silence between them as clearly as if he articulated it.

She knows that the urgent need to ask has nothing to do with his lack of faith in her and is motivated purely by his insufferable selflessness. Although she has made her decision when she took the golden medallion off his neck and is not about to change her mind now that she has finally claimed his name as her own, he is still determined to grant her the only thing he has left to offer: the freedom she has always longed for. He may be bound to the Dutchman, but he refuses to allow the damned curse to tie her down as well. He will not constrain the beautifully fierce spirit he has always loved and admired by holding her to a marriage vow he himself is about to break in every possible way; if his life is being wrenched away, it only seems reasonable to him that she should live for the both of them. A part of him still hopes she will make the sensible choice, but he also knows she’s too maddeningly stubborn for that; and just as he expects – he is not sure whether the feeling that washes over him is exhilaration, relief, dread, or a combination of the three – she nods.

‘Yes.’

She walks towards him and takes the Chest into her hands, her roughened fingertips grazing his. This time, she won’t run away from sharing his burdens. She has made this mistake once and she has no intention of repeating it ever again, and if this means that she has to take a decade of loneliness in return for just one day, so be it; she will not let him face this bloody curse by himself.

‘Yes.’

And he knows this to be a promise: I’ll wait for you.

Everything that happens afterwards is a blur to him: the hazy outlines of her face he steals one more glance at as he presses his forehead against hers; the ghost of her breath tingling on his lips; the sound of waves breaking on the shore as he walks towards the ocean, his legs so heavy he can barely force one foot in front of the other, his eyes squeezed shut to resist the temptation of turning around to look at her one last time. And then he hears her call his name, and his body responds instinctively – he spins around to see her running towards him and catches her in his arms, and the kiss is unlike any they have shared before; feverish and raw, it is both a plea for forgiveness and an absolution; a farewell and a refusal to say goodbye. Ten years may seem like an eternity, but it isn’t, and soon enough the relentless passing of time will become a sign of hope rather than despair, every minute bringing them closer to the day when they will meet again; because they will meet again – no curse and no sea goddess has the power to keep them apart indefinitely.