Changing weather

28 March 2014

Update by Claire:
“‘I’m not really writing my book anymore,’ I told someone on board recently. ‘Everyone else is. The problem is that they don’t always do what I want them to do to make it interesting.’
‘Oh,’ he replied. ‘Have you asked?’
In the Biblical book of Genesis, before God creates the heavens and the earth, we are told ‘the breath of God was on the waters.’ I resist most religious dogmas, but I have always loved this poetic image of God making ripples across a formless universe of water. Back on the 4 a.m. watch for the first time since Week 1, staring at the gray-black void, waiting for the sun to rise, I now know (if you take the Bible literally) what that universe must have looked like before anything existed, and also what it must have looked like when he said, ‘let there be light.’
I have always felt that my mood is affected by the weather, and I know others suffer from this affliction — there’s even a clinical name for it, the appropriate SAD (seasonal affective disorder). But as you might imagine, it’s even more prominent on a ship, especially one traversing the equator. When it was hot, it was a party on deck every day. But since we left Ascension, things have gradually getting more subdued, broken, noticeably, by the eventful arrival of Neptune. Arian calls this Cape Verdean weather, and the difference is noticeable; yesterday I slept under a blanket for the first time in three weeks, and put on a sweater during morning watch. I must admit it’s a bit of a relief, but it’s hard not to go into mourning for the easy informality of the tropics, which we have left behind. Others say the brutal Minnesota winter (which feels like ages ago but that my parents are probably still stuck in as I write this) followed me down almost to the equator; this isn’t as crazy as it sounds. It doesn’t make sense, but growing up in a cold place, sometimes you almost feel it worse.
Today was the first time the chill in the air marked the chill in attitudes. Maybe people are panicking, realizing this trip will end. Or maybe we have at last recognized each other’s weaknesses, and the grace period is over in which they can be easily forgiven. As always, most people on board go above and beyond to make me feel like I belong here, but others are harder to please than ever, as if they just realized that there are some things I’ll never be able to do, like grow six inches taller so that people will stop accidentally hitting me with their elbows while pulling lines. (Believe me, I would if I could.) I’m here, I’m queer (figuratively speaking), and frankly, you should be used to it already, because I’m not going anywhere and couldn’t even if I wanted to (it’s a long swim back to Brazil and I’m no Diana Naiad). Not to mention that Neptune himself personally signed a certificate asserting that I am welcome in his realm and that going forward, I shall be known as False Killer Whale (otherwise known as Orca bastardo).
As I said, the sunrise on the ocean is like watching the world get made anew; from the faintest streaks of purple in the distance to sunlight on an empty canvas waiting to be filled. For us on board it’s sometimes quite literally true. Every morning may seem similar, but it’s actually another chance to do the things we haven’t been able to do; to say the things we haven’t been able to say. Of course, we are human and we usually fail, but the chance is there, and that’s what matters. It won’t last forever, but for a time we can pretend that it will.
But I also have a book to write, and books have endings. It’s the nature of my work. I can’t be Schrödinger’s cat, dead and alive at the same time the moment before you look in the box, and I can’t live suspended on Foucault’s pendulum, as the universe moves around me. I’m not writing the story of the world, the one that has no beginning and no end. Only God can do that. I’m also not attaching strings, playing ‘gotcha’ or trying to nail anyone down. I’m just writing my story, but I’m also watching it be written, waiting to see if it will end with a bang.”