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The Odyssey of Jonah Abbott: Part 1
PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3
This is a limited serial! I am leaning towards 2 parts but there’s a non-zero chance this becomes a 3 parter. This story idea came to mind on a long drive, and was further developed under the influence of this song. I hope you enjoy!
It was cloudy that morning, I remember. Instead of the brilliant, fiery sunrise, it was a muted morning blue-hour. I watched the sky awaken, and the waves flow seamlessly out from the horizon. A moment when heaven and earth touched—just a moment. I remember I watched sandpipers run along the shore, to and fro, fleeing the crashing waves and chasing them out again. They crossed a dark shape on the shore. I snapped to my senses, and I stood, to see better. The dark shape was a man lying face down on the sand, his tattered clothes moving uneasily around him as each wave passed.
Go to him.
I stepped down from my porch, and approached him slowly at first, thinking him dead, afraid of what I would see. Then I saw him move—a kind of half-roll of his head, like he was trying to wake up from a nightmare. I began to jog towards him. He lifted up a shaky hand, reaching towards some unseen point away from me: I began to run.
Go to him.
The next moments were a blur. I called to the man, and he immediately slumped back down. When I got to him, he was unconscious. I shouted—more people from the village poked their curious heads out of their doors. A few men rushed to help. We lifted the strange man onto a stretcher, carried him half at a run to the clinic. The doctor ushered us out, and tended to the man.
Wait.
And I waited.
“He’s in some kind of shock, best I can tell.” Doctor Lee told me.
I nodded solemnly. “But he’s awake?”
“Yes—not quite catatonic, he still reacts to stimulus. But it’s clear he has been through some kind of trauma. He has some wounds but they are minor, all told. Blunt force trauma of some kind.”
“Can I see him?”
The doctor paused, and furrowed his brow. “Like I said—he’s not quite all there. And there’s the question of his wounds…”
“What question?”
“He has clearly been in a fight. Bruises all over his body—but likewise, there’s blunt force trauma on his hands. I hope he gave as good as he got, but the fact is we don’t know this man or anything about him. He could be dangerous.”
“I see.” I said.
“Right now, I don’t think he poses any threat. But, Elder Jonah, with all due respect: you and I both know we’re going to have to talk to the village about him.”
“We have nothing to say except guesses,” I replied frankly. “I would like to see him.”
“Suit yourself. I’ll be nearby—just a shout away.”
“Thank you, Dr. Lee.” I stood, and followed the doctor to the strange man’s room. Dr. Lee ushered me into the room and I took a seat by the door. He stared for a while, and then left—the door closing with a gentle click.
The stranger was sitting up in his bed, his legs covered by a white blanket. He was shirtless, his tattered and water-logged tunic surely in some other part of the building being laundered if it hadn’t been thrown away. He had bandages on his torso and shoulder and forehead—some of his bruises and scratches snaked beyond the white patchwork which had been taped to him. He was thin—gaunt, even, I felt like I could count his ribs. His face was severe, he was bald except for some stringy black hair that fell down to his shoulders. Behind a black eye, crisp blue irises stared out, unseeing, at the world.
Wait.
I sat there in silence with the stranger for a while. I looked him up and down, taking him in. He had a harsh look to him, that was true. But at the same time he looked rather pathetic there, bandaged and bruised. I didn’t know what to make of this man.
At length, I ventured to speak: “My name is Jonah Abbott,” I hesitated a beat, “friend.”
I waited, and there was only silence.
“I found you on the shore. You were in the water. Do you remember?”
Silence stood like a wall between us.
“You’re in the care of the good Dr. Lee. We’re going to help you get your strength back. I…I don’t know who you are, or where you come from. That’s not important right now.”
The wall was unshaken.
“Whatever you’ve been through, whatever your story is—you’re safe now. This village is in the Westerlands.”
The strangers eyes flickered—it was subtle, almost instantaneous. It was as if he had changed from staring into infinity to staring at the opposite wall. It was like watching the arrival of consciousness.
He turned his head away from me, towards a chair on the opposite side of his bed from where I was sitting. It was a slow movement, pained almost. He nodded slowly to the empty chair, like he was listening, closed his eyes in understanding.
Then he turned to me, slowly. He looked at me squarely, with those piercing blue eyes of his.
His voice was like scratching metal on rock—like it came from deep in his belly, and echoed up his throat to spill clumsily out of his mouth. With this voice, he said one word: “Help.”
“That’s all he said, doctor. I tried to get more out him, but that was it. He lay back in bed, and fell asleep.”
It was true that that was all the stranger had said, but it was not true that I tried to get more out of him. I sat there a long while, looking at him. Thinking about the exchange that had just occurred, about the strange conversation he seemed to have with the empty chair. I tried to understand more of what little I had.
The doctor was unhappy. “The second he spoke you should have come to get me.”
“I think your patient needs rest more than speech. It has been hours since we pulled him out of the waves.”
“You’re right.” The doctor put his hands on his hips, frustrated and confused by this strange case. “What are we going to do with him?”
“All that matters is caring for his health. This mystery will unravel itself. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. If he wakes up—come and get me. If he says anything—tell only me. I don’t want rumors to start. All we have is a patient who needs to get well. Anything else is speculation.”
“Sure, Jonah—but-”
“No but’s, Dr. Lee. It’s for the patient’s safety.”
“I understand.”
“I will get some fresh clothes for him and some food, and come back in the evening.”
I left the doctor feeling uneasy. This man was a strange, strange omen.
My errands took twice as long as I intended, because I was bombarded by questions.
“Elder Jonah! The stranger—did you see him?”
“Elder Jonah! What’s he like?”
“Elder Jonah! Where is he from?”
“I heard he was bitten by a shark.”
“I heard he’s got one hand and a glass eye.”
“I heard he’s just a drunk who fell over on the shore.”
“No, he’s a drunk who fell off his own boat.”
I felt myself begin to get irritated. I didn’t confirm or deny their rumors—I just said, “Is that so?” and moved on. The village was curious, to say the least. They had good reason to be—it was exciting. A stranger! What a drama unfolding in their quiet lives.
But this drama was unfolding between me and my errands. I visited Mrs. Telulah to get some clothes, Mr. Jaffries to get some food. Everyone wanted to talk, and all I wanted to do was think.
When I had the clothes and food in my arms, and I was on the dirt road through the village that led to my home, I could finally think. My home was near the shore, where I began what I had expected to be a very different day.
My wife was there. She was corralling our children and making sure they were attentive to their studies. She looked at me with eyes filled with worry. I read in those eyes the unanswered question: What is going on. I nodded wordlessly back, as if to say, All is well. I greeted her with a hug and a kiss, I wished my children a ‘good morning’. I put down the wares I had acquired, and I went into our bedroom and closed the door. I pulled a chair to a window, and looked out at the sea, the rolling blue waves under the white-grey cloudy sky of the morning.
When she had a quiet moment, she came in behind me, and shut the door, wrapped her arms around me and rested her chin on my head. “Everything OK?”
“So far.” I reached up and rested my hand on her cheek. She was warm, filled with love. I needed that.
“What’s going on with that strange man you found on the shore this morning?”
“He is hurt, not in great shape. Mentally he’s…something isn’t right. But he is conscious now. He was able to speak. He said only, ‘help’. I don’t know what he needs help with.”
“How is Dr. Lee?”
“Suspicious, but not without reason. There’s evidence the mans wounds came from a fight of some kind. We don’t know if it was a fight he chose or a fight that found him.”
“You don’t know if he’s innocent or not.”
“Yes, exactly.”
My wife sat on the bed next to me, and left her hand on the nape of my neck. I reached up and laid my hand over hers.
“You are carrying burdens that aren’t even ready to be carried yet. Let the man heal—you can’t worry about what you don’t know. You’re a good man, and a smart man. You won’t let him surprise you.”
“But what does it mean?”
“Why does it need to mean something? The man needs to get well: help him get well! Then, see what happens next. Trust your instincts. I know you are unnerved—but you’re unnerved for the same reason everyone else is excited. It’s different.”
I smiled. “Thank you, Layla, dearest.” I turned to face her, and brought her hand from my neck to hold in front of me with both hands. I kissed her hand. “You always see things so clearly. Anyway, time enough for worry. How are you?”
I brought the clothes and food to the doctor as the sun began it’s descent down the western sky.
“I’m glad you’ve come.” Dr. Lee said gravely, as he took the supplies from me.
“How is our patient?” I asked.
“He must be feeling better. When I leave him, he begins babbling, speaking to himself. He goes silent as soon as he hears me approach. I’ve tried sneaking up on him, but can’t ever catch him speaking. I haven’t heard anything he’s said.”
“Well, let’s go and talk to him.”
Dr. Lee led me to the strangers room again. He opened the door and let me enter. I sat in my usual seat, and Dr. Lee excused himself with his usual promptness. I sat, and looked at the man.
Listen.
He was more active now—less ‘thousand-yard stare’ and more manic energy. He was wringing his hands. He was concentrating on some point at the end of his bed.
At first I said, “Hello again. I am going to sit here for a time. I am here to listen, when you are ready.”
And I sat, and I watched. I waited. The manic hand-wringing eased, the electric feeling about him slowly calmed. His eyes shifted focus, eventually he closed them. His shoulders gradually relaxed into his bed, and after what felt like an hour of this gradual calming, he let out a deep sigh.
He turned to me—blue eyes aglow in the evening light—and said, “We are ready now.”
Listen.
His voice was mellow, calm but strong—not tinny like it was before. I raised my eyebrows, not expecting this gradual yet sudden change. He seemed recollected—like he hadn’t been catatonic all day.
I asked the first two questions that came to mind.
“Ready for what? What do you mean ‘we’?”
“Ready to tell our story, and seek your help,” he said, matter-of-factly, before gesturing to the empty chair: “My ghost and I.”
To be continued…
Did you enjoy this story? Would you like to read more? Check out other flash fiction from The Volume section of Gibberish!
Thank you for reading!
AJPM
Love it. Waiting for more.....
What an unexpected treat - a surprise serial from Scoot. Strong dialogue throughout - all the exchanges with the doctor, Layla, and the man at the end do a good job of keeping things tense and mysterious.
My vote is for 3 parts.