I do not believe that anyone in my position could avoid wondering about Captain Jackdaw’s mysterious companions. First there was the misanthropic lighthouse keeper and the extravagant Captain Ed, then our travelling companion on the voyage to Horta, the adventurous journalist from Voyages Extraordinaires, and now a future passenger, the eccentric Mr Peux, Verlin’s partner in the travel agency Grotesque and Arabesque.
“We shall probably meet him in Boston. I should have confirmation before we cross the Atlantic,” the Captain remarked as we rounded the tip of the island towards the harbour.
“The company of Monsieur Peux you shall adore,” Verlin assured us, wearing one of those oblique smiles that never reveal whether they herald a revelation or an aesthetic falsehood.
The agency run by the two partners specialises in providing services to those who, being obscenely wealthy and trapped within an existence of boredom, seek new and heart-stopping sensations to invigorate body and spirit. From what Verlin explained, these are not extreme activities in the usual sense, but rather a deeper psychological experience.
“Alive us the feeling of terror makes. Experiences that explore the greatest fears we offer,” he said, his eyes gleaming with almost reverential enthusiasm.
“Is it some sort of House of Horrors?” I asked, perhaps with more irony than I intended.
“Leave a House of Horrors you always may. The same certainty with us do you not have,” he replied in a tone poised somewhere between seductive and threatening, as though describing a horror film in the manner of an invitation.
I could not stop my shoulders from trembling as a chill ran up my spine.
Verlin turned towards the Captain and changed the subject, while I remained pondering the sort of grotesque and arabesque adventures the agency might offer. But who would willingly sign up for something like that? I already know what you would say: there are eccentrics for everything. And those whose lives are already made are often the ones most eager to shake them up.
Meanwhile, speaking of eccentrics, the Captain invited me to accompany him tomorrow to meet some others of his kind.
“It’s an informal lunch. Some acquaintances of mine who happen to be on the island,” he clarified.
This came after a peculiar encounter upon our arrival in Horta. Yes, I forgot to mention that. When we docked this morning, a man was waiting for us on the quay. Dark twill trousers, a white shirt, a short-brimmed hat, and the posture of someone who belonged to another age rather than the present.
The man approached, but the Captain did not introduce me. They spoke quietly, walked away from the boat and, from time to time, cast discreet glances towards the buildings on the opposite side of the marina, as though expecting some kind of signal. After less than two minutes there was a handshake, an exchange of serious looks, and the man disappeared down the first side street beyond the marina, as silently as he had appeared.
“We shall stay at a friend’s house. Bring only a change of clothes and your toiletries; everything else remains aboard. Try to get some rest and take the opportunity to explore the town and catch up on your writing. I have arrangements to make for the voyage, and tomorrow we shall go to Peter Café Sport for lunch with some other captains.”
The house where we are staying stands on a side street perpendicular to the waterfront avenue, where the sound of the waves never completely disappears. My room is a tiny cubicle, but it has a small balcony large enough for a chair and a little café table, sufficient for writing and watching the town drift past in slow motion.
Horta is a peculiar place, poised halfway between points of arrival and departure. Along the cobbled streets there is a constant murmur of foreign languages, travellers carrying backpacks and equipped to set sail aboard the next yacht. The marina is a living tapestry, covered with murals and signatures left behind by sailors who have passed through these waters. It is impossible not to feel that every step echoes something ancient and greater than ourselves.
Ah, and Verlin finally set off on his adventure. He announced that he was going to meet a captain, one Antifer, whom he intended to join on a treasure hunt spanning the entire globe. He stepped onto solid ground as though he were entering the stage of an opera.
“Again perhaps somewhere upon this globe of ours we shall meet, Mademoiselle,” he told me with solemn dignity, interrupted by a stumble over a granite paving stone that very nearly ruined his performance. Recovering his composure as though it had all been a carefully rehearsed dance step, he waved farewell with his entire arm and disappeared up the street, French beret on his head and backpack slung over his shoulder.
And me? I shall remain here. For now. Trying to connect the dots between Captain Jackdaw’s encounters, his peculiar friendships, and the invisible threads that bind them together. Tomorrow, perhaps I shall discover more at Peter Café Sport. Or perhaps not. But one thing I learned from Verlin: answers do not always arrive in a straightforward order.
A Tension You Could Cut With a Knife
If there is a film in which the soundtrack is central to the narrative, it is Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho. Composer Bernard Herrmann establishes the tone of the story from the very first minutes of the film and takes the reins during the famous shower scene.
Faial
More than simply a port of call for those crossing the Atlantic, Faial Island has much to offer its visitors, beginning with its magnificent sunrises framed by neighbouring Pico Island, home to Portugal’s highest mountain.
Return to the progressive
A retro-progressive rock band, as the driver of the taxi described when taking us from the marina. In reality, Chon were part of a new generation of instrumental progressive rock musicians, blending the technical complexity of progressive rock with influences from metal, jazz, and math rock. Their intricate guitar work and energetic compositions earned them a devoted following among fans of modern instrumental music.
Excluindo as imagens criadas pelo autor deste blog, as imagens utilizadas neste post têm as seguintes lincenças:
Imagem do post: by darksouls1 https://pixabay.com/photos/horror-macabre-fantasy-dark-gothic-4021740/
Hitchcock on the set of Psycho with Janet Leigh: Universal/BFI National Archive https://www.theguardian.com/film/gallery/2019/may/28/psycho-to-the-39-steps-on-set-with-alfred-hitchcock-in-pictures
Faial: by it_was_a_pleasure https://pixabay.com/pt/photos/pico-montanha-azores-ilha-cimeira-5198477/
Chon – Suda: by BieberMcNasty https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Chon23.jpg
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