To Reach, to Arrive
The men were curious, but the commander wasn't. A Scotsman, he had orders for Burma, and so that would be their destination.
Burma. It came many months later. Months after, they set sail from Britain, now somewhere that the navy-men can't comprehend. India was a delight, albeit a short one. The men were curious, but the commander wasn't. A Scotsman, he had orders for Burma, and so that would be their destination. Jacques had encountered him on occasion, intriguing the commander, who pulled him aside. His face looked like a highlander, ready to rebel. He invited him to his cabin, designed to impress the guest, but the Scottish commander's words rang in Jacques's mind, for they came from history, a historical relationship between Scotland and France. Words of soft sorrow.
Aye. Scotland and France. We should've married. But those English got to us first. Call it an unhappy marriage.
It turned out the commander spoke French, knew of French philosophers, and had an attraction to French culture.
It began at a port city in Brittany. Oh, I can't recall the name. But I saw her. A girl. Who made my heart dance.
The Scottish commander had a few glasses of whisky, sitting there with Jacques, moved to the verge of tears.
I asked her favor. Aye. I did. I never knew if I'd get the chance again. To be in love with a French woman. No…
Jacques looked around, particularly the maps, so much colored in red, the imperial colors of England. The country, both Scotland and France, must obey, begrudgingly, to prevent further bloodshed, war, and devastation. But Jacques knows both Scotland and France have been better off because of it for development and trade.
But you know, Jacques, after this navy business, this work of ours. I hope to dance with a Frenchwoman sometime.
Jacques saw the tears streaming down the commander's face, not wanting to console him, but merely see him. The commander cried so raw and openly, Jacques would describe it as surreal. Both of them came from places wishing one day to be free of subjugation to England. Perhaps that. Yes. Jacques dug into his pocket and pulled out the one item that supersedes language barriers. Emotional barriers.
The cross of Christ. He gave it to the saddened commander, who saw Jacques's gift and smiled, laughing with a sigh.
Oh, I don't know if the Lord Almighty will find me a wife. Not at least a French one. I've given my life to the seas.
Jacques heard a knock at the commander's door. The captain was permitted to enter. He noticed Jacques, who excused himself with the Scottish commander's permission. He rose to greet the Welsh captain, studying Jacques. But the commander kept the cross, something the Welsh captain noticed, unsure of why it was offered at all.
Jacques returned to his duties, not explaining what he heard or why he gave something meaningful. Light for the commander. For men.
