Christy Mulligan

Little is known about Christy's background, or really, Christy at all. He claimed that he was born a sailor——maybe he was. Any history of his family, his hometown, and early life is known perhaps only to a mother and father on a quiet distant shore. Otherwise there's only one person that truly holds his memory. 

At the age of fifteen, Christy slipped away from home in search of a way he could "make a man of himself." Many of his friends had done the same, and Christy was discontent with being the last to do anything.  

Enticed by the opportunity of a career for unskilled young boys, Christy joined a whaling crew to kickstart his life alone. Though the work was filthy and backbreaking and horrifically taxing on morale, Christy remained cheerful in his own quiet way. His perpetual carefree smile and placating monotone garnered him favor amongst any crew he traveled with, and he was oft regarded as a mascot of sorts.  

When in conversation with his peers, Christy stood as an outlier. Nearly everyone else had other aspirations and goals; whaling was a trial of an interlude, a stepping stone to something lucrative closer to home. Others missed parents, friends, or sweethearts. Christy had no sentiments to draw him back. He was in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean for the foreseeable future, and that was his only concern. Wherever he ended up afterwards was a situation he'd face at the time. For now, he was satisfied. 

It wasn't until stopping at a port in Poland that Christy experienced a domestic notion that gave him the feeling that home could be somewhere. He met Anna Juszkiewicz. 

She loaded him up with everything in her bread basket and he didn't even have to ask. She looked at him as though she'd never seen anything like him. Christy noted her spotless gown and crisp apron and decided that she must be appalled at how his own clothes were stiff with filth and his hair was ragged with whale grease from some weeks prior. But she didn't leave. She stood close, close enough to hear him over the thrumming crowd, and it felt like a summer sunrise over arctic glaciers.  

Something about her was brooding. There was a haunted sort of world-weary sadness that made her eyes not match the rest of her face. She asked about the voyage and seemed almost envious. Christy asked about her life. If she had brothers or sisters. What she enjoyed doing. He commented that her bread was perfect and she laughed in a shy way and said she wasn't sure; he looked hungry enough to eat anything.  

They talked for hours; until the bustle of activity around them faded in the twilight. Somehow Christy dreaded watching her leave. He talked of everything and nothing, just to keep watching the glitter in her eyes. He asked if he could walk home with her before darkness fell, and a shadow overcame her smile. She took back her empty basket and said she would be all right—but couldn't she meet him again sometime? He told her that the ship would stop in England in some months. She promised she'd send a letter. 

She left, and for the first time he could remember, Christy was lonely. He didn't know when he could return to Łeba. He'd never anticipated feeling an attachment anywhere. Voyages took months. Years. But he knew that, somehow, he'd come back. 

The promised letter awaited him at the next port and Christy cherished it more than he would've cherished the deed to a house and land and a life of comfort. He couldn't read, but the sight of her effortless looping hand was enough to thrill him to bliss. Somehow he couldn't share that with his shipmates. Not even to hear the meaning of those delicate words. It was too much, too personal. He pointed out nothing but the address and asked if Gradsky could send a note with a list of the ports they would visit on the voyage.  

The letters were scarce, but Christy was addicted. Anna thought of him. After months and months. Christy wondered if there were letters she had sent that never reached him. Ones that were forgotten by a holder after too long of a delay, ones that were lost among hundreds, ones that were simply overlooked. He kept each one pinned under the ribbon of his hat and treasured it like luck itself. His shipmates knew, regardless of how characteristically laconic he was. He was even more quiet than usual, and his unwavering smile had all the warmth and brightness of a supernova.  

Eventually Christy did meet her again. Now eighteen, he determined to let not a moment pass with Anna feeling any less than truly loved. She seemed so tired. She was older than him but seemed so more in decades than months. Time had seasoned their affections, as well. Christy loved her more than ever. He told her so.  She asked when he'd come home, and he knew she meant Łeba. He promised that after this voyage, he would. He'd have enough money, then—enough for a home, a family. She took his hands, not caring how rough and dirty they were, and held them more gently than he'd ever been touched in his life. He could've cried right there on the quay in front of everyone.  

When he boarded the ship again some days later, exhilaration mingled with the yearning for that distant day that would mark the end of the voyage. He clutched those old unread letters close and prayed that somehow he could wake up and the time would be gone and he would be on land for good, with Anna's arms around him and wanting for nothing else in life.  

Perhaps the daydreams filled his head too much and clouded out judgment, blotted out focus. But perhaps even at his most keen, he could have done nothing. He was one man—one boy—against an endless violent sea.  

The storm crept up like a stalking panther, black and fast and terrifying. Sails rent like paper. Icy waves churned with foam and climbed, cracking boards and splitting masts and beating the ship into the thrashing water. Amidst the deafening violence and frantic chaos, Christy felt strangely calm in a numb, frozen way. He thought of Anna and the warm little house they'd buy and wondered if their children might have red hair like hers. The water in his mouth was cold and sour. Anna's hair had so much sunshine in it. Warm—all of her, right down to the soul. He wanted to go home.