Wilson and Ferdent

The first line of any story will tell the reader if it is going to be a good story, or a bad story. It defines the premise, horror, love, fiction and so on. The most important sentence of any story is the first immutable line
We, each of us are born of death. With the first cellular tear as mitosis builds our bodies from zygotes to newborns the fuse is lit and time begins the race we are destined to loose.
I was aware of this contest from the instant I was able to conceive the world around me. As I stepped out of the gloaming of innocence and into the fresh new dawn of the corruption of adulthood, I saw it all around me. Tree’s sprang to life in the Early Year and died in Latter Year. As bird and fish and all gods creatures lived, created new life and died, time that furnace in which we all burn carried on without so much as the slightest glance at those it passed by.
The most impossible and uncaring of all mans creations took its toll on the world and its inhabitants much like the great beast of Passover swept over Egypt on the gentle breeze of a warm summer night oblivious to its terror comforted by nothing, an emotionless fiend bound by contrivances barren and unsympathetic.
It is how we spend out allotment of this communal perception is in our control alone. There are those who have assigned a weird and wonderful persona to time, a faceless personality that nourishes itself on our fear of it and subjugates us to it. How many times have the words been spoken “If only there were more time”, “Gone before his time” or “There is never enough time in a day”?
This invisible master to whom we are compulsorily obliged to suckle from our entire lives, this mischievous slave to whom we must serve and pay homage to, this sheep in wolves clothing has determined the very fabric of our lives even before we are spat forth from the womb.
It was in the Early Year of ‘ when I saw the masters of our master take control of their race and face the fire of time head on with no fear, but more an attendant assisting their savior servant as a last defiant act of charity.
Wilson and Ferdent were the last of our kind untouched and nonconforming to the ages of the Village generation. You see Wilson and Ferdent were the last of the original settlers of the Village.
Wilson was the elder of the pair at the age of one hundred sixteen. Wilson had served in the militia that first tamed the Valley. He spent his days constructing the houses that lined Century Lane and put the last nail in the first ship of our fishing fleet.
Wilson accrued his wealth on the backs of those who lived on the slopes of the Peaks in his factory and docks. He was not a work of misdeeds, he was in fact the man responsible for the school and church and should anyone be in need, he would lend them all they would need only asking for payment when the means became available.
Ferdent was his servant, his aid his mans man and had been for the century he first took employ at the ripe old age of eight years old. Ferdent was as dedicated to his master as we are to time. When Wilson was about town, Ferdent was there one step behind, to open doors and protect his master at all times.
The story was that Ferdent lost his parents on the trek to the Valley and Wilson’s father took him in as Wilson’s valet and they grew to be so very much more. Ferdent spoke very little, being as his role was that of “seen and not heard” however when he did speak, the most inconceivable truth notions sprang forth, so much so that his words often inspired some of the most prevalent members of our society. It was said of Ferdent that his words could inspire a deaf man.
As I had revealed earlier, it was Early Year of ‘ when I saw the end of a generation in the most defiant way possible
The Great ship of our fleet had come to port in celebration of its one hundredth voyage and the Village was all a twitter for it. The town square had been decorated and filled to the brim with vendors and entertainers of all nature.
There was to be a dedication to the vessel, a plaque was to be fixed to her wheel house by the builders of the good ship, Wilson and Ferdent. They were there when her keel was laid and took the most opulent birth as she set sail on her maiden voyage. As a show of generosity tickets were handed out to every one in the Village and there was to be a drawing for those who would sail the shoals of the Sea of Despair for free. To culminate the celebration, there would be a fireworks display at days end as the Great ship entered port.
The day was grand. People laughed and drank as they did when I was a child. The perfumes of the ladies filled the air and mingled with the soft scents of roasting meats, baking goods and the pipe of the men of the Village.
My father my brother and I walked though the winding carts and vendor tables eating the food, drinking the drinks and sating out sweet tooth’s on some of the finest confections a person could hope to taste.
It was the first time I had ever seen my father smile a genuine smile. You see my father had always dreamed of putting to sea, however our station did not afford him such a lofty position and he was forced to slave his life as a carpenter. I could tell his hopes, the very last of them rode on a small slip of paper he had stuffed in the pocket of his shirt for he would often tap at it to reassure himself that the thing was still there.
By midday the speeches began. It would seem that those who had nothing of importance to say took the longest time to say it. it has been said that those who speak often and loud, fear they will be seen for the blundering fools they truly are and the Village as every town, was ran by the greatest of fools.
Wilson and Ferdent then took the podium. Ferdent assisted his master to his feet, then took one step back and stood with his hands folded behind him as a proper servant should. I was awestruck by the grandeur of their presence, for even at their age, and in such frailty, Wilson and Ferdent still commanded the respect of generations of us.
Wilson spoke of the days when he was young and how a good many of us were not even thought of yet. How the Village endured through disaster and calamity. How he watched as a settlement of only a few people had blossomed and spread out to become the Village of today.
He spoke of the people he had known along the way, the people who stood out to him for their excellence and for their grace. He spoke of Eme Brown and to the fine quality of her husband and the Village itself for reaching out like they had to the spirit of a lost lovely girl on a dark and stormy night.
He spoke of the character of the Villagers. How no one was ever alone and how we would pull together in crisis, a trait instilled in us by our fathers, by his great generation.
I listened to the man and saw that he acted more the part of an actor than a realist, for I knew too well the truth on the slopes and the way of the Village as it would shun anything not main stream, still he was an old man from a far better time.
Wilson concluded his speech by drawing numbers from the mayor’s hat and reading them aloud. This was the drawing for a birth on the ship and the event my father had waited for the entire day.
Number after number rang out and when the number matched a person in the crowd a great hoot would spring up and the person holding the ticket would run for the stage to show off their victory. As the count went forward, my father grew more anxious and fearful.
Then my brother’s number was called and two numbers later mine was called! We had won spots on the ship! We were to go to sea and still my father waited for his number to be called. It was not to be. The polling had closed and he was not on the list. The sorrow on his face was palpable even to me.
He led us to the stage so we might show our tickets to board. We presented them to a man setting at a table who looked at them, then to us and then to my father. He asked for his ticket and my father told him he was not picked to board.
The man looked down and sighed. He said that we were too young to board the ship without our father and therefore could not go. My brother broke into tears, my father fumed and spouted insults in rage at the man and all I could do was stand there looking at the stage where Wilson was being aided down by his man.
For only the scarcest of moments did we lock eyes, but it seemed it was enough as he shuffled his way over to see what all the commotion was about. It was explained to him the circumstances and he nodded his head as he listened.
“It would seem those are the rules.” He said with a soft smile.
“If they cannot board without their father, then he shall have to board with them.”
And that was the end of the matter.
“Sir” my father began, but Wilson cut him off with a gesture of his hand.

“I have heard it more times than you have spoken it sir, there is no need to go further and I’ll see you on board.” He said as he turned to my brother.

“Here now,” He smiled and dug into his pocket.

“No tears on such a fine day.”

He slipped something in my brother’s hand, shook my fathers hand and patted me on my head, turned and walked away.
My brother opened his hand and there in it was a “Tenner”, the equivalent of one of your ten dollar bills only in the form of a coin. This represented the full week of work for my father and the presentation of such a gift was an honor that humbled the man.
We made for Annie Way to the docks and the bristling masts of the Great ship. To this day I can remember no greater sight than those grand beams jutting forth into the midday sky. Ropes and timbers massive sheets of canvass rustling in the wind and oh the smell of her!
History has a wonderful scent, a cross between the must of age and the cologne of oil, paint and bitter bouquet of steel all wrapped in the pungent aroma of sea air. It was a harsh life, to be a sailor, and a dream of mine to one day be at sea.
We trampled with the stampede up the gang and onto the main deck. We stood staring at all the rigging and the machinery that made it work. In one fleeting moment my father, my brother and I were one person in awe of this majesty. One dream shared by three people, coming true in a single moment. There will never be any words for the feeling of that moment.
Then the crew came about and the captain stood on the mizzen deck by the wheel and began to bark orders. With such speed and efficiency as I have never before seen, the crew sprang into action and the ship began to slowly pull from her moorings and we were put to sea.
Halfway through the voyage around the shores of the Valley, I saw my father leaning on the rail of the ship looking out into the water, smoking his pipe. He looked so very comfortable, so happy that I dare not disturb him.
Then there was a hand on my shoulder. I turned to see it was Ferdent, he told me that Wilson wished to speak to me and off we went to the mizzen where he stood by the wheel as the captain steered.
“You glad you came?” he smiled.
“Not so much for me, but for my father, sir.” I said looking back at him.
“You’re from the steppes, I can tell. It must be a hard life for you.”
“I don’t mind so much. We get by.”
“I want you to have something.” He smiled.
“Sir, the tenner was more than enough. We could live well on that for a week.”
“Oh, a whole week then?” he smiled brightly.

“Here, have a good month.” He said as he tossed me three more coins.

“The truth is I wanted to give you a look at the world from a different point of view. The world will march by long after you and I are long forgotten. There is no escape from that truth, but I want you to look upon the faces of all these people. Look at how they soak up the new experience, how they dance in it, how they stomp all over it and revel like pigs in mud.

“Now look at your father, soaking up all the little things of the voyage. See, he actually see’s the water rushing by, how he listens to the sounds of the wind in the sail, how he tastes the salt air and on the occasion he speaks, he does so very well. This is a man who walks beside the experience as a friend he is a man who learns. That is something you must do as time goes by. Learn from every moment because you never know when your time will end and it must be, like these little coins, be spent wisely if you are to be more than you are.”
He dug into his pocket and handed me more coin. More than my father would have made in a year. He instructed me to pay no worship to money. Money is only the effect of labor and the need for labor is to do so out of love, and then he sent me on my way.
I rushed to my father and told him what Wilson had said and done. My father took the pipe from his mouth, turned to the mizzen and stared at Wilson for an eternity. Wilson smiled at my father and tipped his hat, then turned and disappeared from view. The rest of the voyage and how my father and I spent it is far too personal to pass on. It is enough to say that this is one of only three times in my life, my father loved me and my company and I shall never forget that day.
As we drew to port the captain rang the bell three times and everyone grew silent. He told us he would need for us to stand by the rails and observe the festival as we drew in. With that he rang the bell three more times and in response a great ball of gold exploded like thunder overhead.
The fireworks had begun. I watched as detonations of red, blue and green burst overhead and reflected in the water. At one time there were so many I could not distinguish between water and sky, it was as though we were inside a wonderful world where up and down, top and bottom did not exist and Wilson’s words rang loud and happy in my head. I had found the peace he had wished for me to find and somewhere in the clamor I could hear him laughing with me at the joy of this discovery. It was with a strange and shocking interruption, however that we lost our greatest kin.
One of the rockets meant for the sky had been knocked off coarse and crashed into the main sail of the Great ship. It exploded in frightening proximity and the main sail burst into flame. Before there was a chance for any salvation, the rest of the canvass on the mast erupted into flame and began to fall a fiery rain onto the deck.
The crowd panicked and ran about trying to avoid the flames. They blocked the passage of the crew who tried so very hard to put out the flames but could not. It did not take long for the decks to erupt and the captain called for everyone to jump overboard.
People began falling from the ship amid screams and bellows. Some were on fire as they did, others in animal terror, blind to their fellow men, unable to assist anyone other than themselves. The air filled with smoke and choking flames and I had become lost to my father and brother.
Ferdent, of all people came to my rescue as he scooped me up and made for the starboard side. He had found my father who was with my brother, all waiting for me. Ferdent dropped me quickly and told us all to jump as he sped back towards the mizzen and his master.
It was just then that one of the main braces collapsed on the deck, it burst into flame. Ferdent bellowed in rage at his age and for his long loved employer. My father had tossed my brother over the side of the ship and had reached for me as I was stepping towards Ferdent’s side.
The last thing I remember seeing from the deck of the ship was Ferdent walking up a shattered staircase, into the flames that had taken his last and only friend. And then the world spun and I fell into the waters of the Sea of Despair.
I woke much later, tired and confused. I was not sure if it had been a dream I had lived through, or if I had indeed been on the decks of that poor doomed ship. I stumbled down the stairs of our home into the sitting room to see my father sitting in his chair, smoking his pipe with a glass of hard liquor in his hand. He was covered in soot from the ship and in the distance I could hear the knoll of the death bell and I knew.
I looked into my fathers eyes once again we were in the same place. Such mortal sorrow could not be given proper verbiage, suffice it to say a lesson was learned and the loss was terrible.
The Great ship had gone down fifteen minutes after the fire started with all hands plus two. Of the one hundred passengers, twenty five drown. My brother, my father and I survived. My brother caught a slight cold from the experience, my father lost some hearing in his right ear, because of the explosion of the rocket so close to us and I… I never recovered.
I met the oldest wisest and most wonderful of creations. A man of charity and wisdom we will never know again on this planet. Wilson and Ferdent, for all the mistakes of history hidden in the closets and swept under the rugs, made my people who they were and what they would become and with their passing, so ended the template of history, to be reformed in a pale and shallow image of our greatest generation. I mourn to this day the loss of such great men, such wonderful people who could achieve the tallest of heights with so very little to build from. The loss of heart and vision diminishes us all, for it is our doom to forget such great lessons as we suckle from the breast of time.
Time is a thief we allow to pick our pockets and I feel such great shame for it. However, in a small cigar box, buried in the bottom of a small camel trunk, lays an outdated coin given to me by a master of destiny, by a man who has beaten time at its own game, for now, as long as these words exist, so do they.