Cumulus clouds drift slowly across the night sky like the rolling waves of the sea, the countless stars glinting gently behind them.
The damp sea breeze has laid a heavy layer of moisture on the surfaces of the ship. Standing at the observation window, the captain's face betrays no emotion.
There is a faint, hesitant sound at her door.
Ms. Grace: ...!
Ms. Grace: Oh, Ms. Fatutu, I hadn't expected you to visit.
Grace's face lights up, every inch radiating joy.
She eagerly opens the door, affectionately pulling Fatutu into the room.
Ms. Grace: I must say it's a welcome relief from the onslaught of greedy businessmen and boorish officials.
Ms. Grace: All puff and no substanceâbloated, lifeless, they remind me of a few specimens of decay from my collection.
Fatutu: Decaying specimens? Ms. Grace, you mean bodiâ
Ms. Grace: Hush. Let's just leave things at that.
She squints as she studies the faintly protruding veins on the girl's hands, imagining the blood coursing anxiously through them.
Ms. Grace: So then, you're here to talk about something else? Go ahead.
Fatutu: Yes, Ms. Grace.
Fatutu: I just wanted some advice, if you don't mind.
Ms. Grace: Not at all, my dear. We are friends, aren't we?
Ms. Grace: We are venturing into the unknown. So, it is little surprise that you feel lost, but disorientation is a dangerous enemy. I am more than happy to help.
Fatutu: ...
Ms. Grace: Relax and keep an open mind, dear. We have a long night ahead.
A few soft, subtle noises come from outside, but they are not enough to disrupt the intimate conversation between the two.
Grace sets down her pocket watch, her gaze drifting past the slightly ajar door, a faint smile teasing her lips.
Fatutu: The thing is, I tried to ignore the outside world, just like you said, but I failed.
Fatutu instinctively lowers her head.
Fatutu: The idea of raising a spear against people I know so little about, even if it was to avenge my home.
Fatutu: I thought I had to learn more about these outsiders, to understand them. I'm sorry I went against your advice.
Fatutu: I thought that learning about them would harden my resolve.
Fatutu: I thought that I would hate them from the depths of my soul, that the hatred would be so strong that I'd feel no remorse, that I would see in them what you and Manus Vindictae do.
Fatutu: But ...
In the face of her wavering resolve, Fatutu bows her head in shame.
Fatutu: Instead, after interacting with the people here ...
The noisy music hall, the bustling tourists, the bright lights, the sea shantiesâthey all linger in her mind.
Ms. Grace: Fatutu, my dear. There's no shame in having second thoughts.
The gentleness of her response leaves Fatutu momentarily stunned.
Ms. Grace: How could you not? This was but your first glimpse of a world so much wider than you knew.
Ms. Grace: But you'll soon realize that it is nothing more than a dying corpse, its lungs still clinging on to its last breath.
Ms. Grace: The face rots first, you know? It's a nasty scene, I assure you. Those shrinking, putrefying eyeballs are always a headache for taxidermists.
Ms. Grace: Next, the chest cavity. It rots out from the inside, bloating with noxious gases produced by its decomposing flesh until it's ready to pop like a party balloon.
Ms. Grace: Even at this stage, if you were to hold your breath and look only to the limbs, you might marvel at the artisanshipâsuch a perfect creation! Yet, it dies all the same. So it goes.
Fatutu has never encountered such a warm and spirited captain before.
Ms. Grace: Do you see the world any clearer now? Take your time. Think it through.
Grace lightly taps her finger on the board beside her, as if keeping time with the faint footsteps outside.
Lost in thought, Fatutu remains oblivious to it all.
Fatutu: ...
Fatutu: The outsiders are different from what I expected. Ms. Grace, are you sure they're truly evil?
Ms. Grace: Heh heh.
Grace glances out the window.
Through the porthole, a strange vibrating sound grows louder and more distinct.
Fatutu: ...?
Following Grace's gaze, Fatutu notices an enormous "shadow" on the other side of the porthole.
Can parasols and railings really create such an enormous silhouette?
Ms. Grace: They're cunning, menacing, and at times, have even been known to engage in eavesdropping.
The "shadow" creeps closer toward them, stealthy and deliberate.
Fatutu: M-Ms. Grace, watch out! It's ... it's some kind of monster!
There is no doubt. This cutting description has angered the shadowy intruder.
???: Huh?
Fatutu: I-It's here!
Scrambling, Fatutu grabs whatever is nearbyâsignal lights, brooms, and heaving linesâand flings them out the door.
Fatutu: I'll protect you, Ms. Grace!
COMBAT
The commotion seems to have come to an end.
Fatutu: Is it dead?
Panting heavily, Fatutu musters the courage to rush out of the cabin.
The figure on the deck is far removed from the terrifying enemy she envisioned.
Fatutu: Oh! It's you, Barcarola.
Barcarola: sob
A familiar tear-streaked face emerges from the aftermath of the chaos.
The captain, however, seems unfazed by the disheveled state of her cruise staff.
Ms. Grace: Ms. Barcarola, what a pleasure to see you.
Barcarola: Have you lost your mind, Fatutu?!
Barcarola: I've been looking all over the ship for you to thank you for the lamps you made!
Barcarola: This is a funny way of saying "you're welcome."
Barcarola: Not even the rudest stunad in Cremona would attack someone for saying thanks!
An unfamiliar term springs from her lips, sparking Fatutu's curiosity.
Fatutu: Cremona? Where's that?
Barcarola: That's really not what matters here!
Ms. Grace: Settle down please, ladies. This was only a small misunderstanding, wasn't it?
Ms. Grace: As both your captain and your friend, I hope that you might be able to resolve this. I do believe I could see you two becoming fast friends.
The captain's overtures are anything but subtle.
Ms. Grace: Fatutu here is eager to learn about the outside world. And I'm sure you must have many stories to share, don't you?
Ms. Grace: Consider it a favor in exchange for those Sea Mother's Eyes.
Fatutu & Barcarola: ...
It simply wouldn't do for a captain to leave these two in such a state.
Ms. Grace: Why don't you take a seat, Ms. Barcarola?
She moves aside, extending two delicate hands to them.
The girls take her hands, allowing themselves to be drawn close. Then, they lean together on the railing.
The sea breeze sweeps across the deck, dispersing whatever awkwardness there was between them.
Ms. Grace: You were quick to gloss over your hometown. Cremona, wasn't it?
Grace's voice is gentle and soft. Barcarola finally loosens the tension in her strings, speaking as she looks out over the moonlit water.
Barcarola: Cremona, the "City of Violins," as they say. SĂŹ, I was born in that awful, dreary old place. But I don't like to talk about it, Ms. Grace.
Fatutu examines Barcarola's expression.
Fatutu: Hmm. But it sounds like you still miss your home, so why speak of it that way? Is there something wrong with it?
Fatutu: In Nukutaeao, when we find something rotted in our village, we wrap it up in stinky grass and throw it in the ocean.
Fatutu: Do you outsiders not do this as well?
Barcarola: W-Well, it's not completely rotted exactly. It's just ...
She furrows her brow, seemingly searching for the right words.
Barcarola: In Cremona, everything is bound up with the violin. How it's made, how it's played, even the science of it. It fills the air, and every conversation. You can't walk to the restaurant without tripping over a virtuoso!
Barcarola: They come from Rome, Berlin, London, New York, Nairobi, Tokyo, Uppsala, people from far and wide, all crammed into one town. Not a day goes by without a concert, a symphony, or a festival musicale.
Fatutu: Am I misunderstanding you? Because to the Nukutai, the idea of a place with music and festivals every day sounds very fun.
Barcarola: That's where you're wrong, Miss. It's no fun at all.
Barcarola: At least, for me. To be Cremonese is to take pride in its music, its history, and above all, its violins.
Barcarola: And you must learn to love the violin, the viola, the violoncello, and the bass! Because there is nothing else! Every quartet is a string quartet. Every concerto is Vivaldi! Strings, strings, strings! The monotony is unbearable!
Barcarola: The world has so very many instruments as diverse and as varied as the people that fill it! Even the shell around your neck could sing if you knew just where to tap it!
Barcarola: But not in Cremona. That's why I speak of it that way, Fatutu. Because, if I had stayed there, I would never have seen the music of the world and its instruments, and my Crackling Box would never have been able to know their sounds.
Fatutu: The Nukutai don't have many instrumentsânot so many as you anywayâbut we were never bored with what we had.
Fatutu: I'm certain that your island holds great beauty beyond its music. If ever we grow tired of singing and dancing, we'd go searching for shells or swimming in the reefs.
Barcarola: sigh You still have much to learn about the world beyond your islands.
Ms. Grace: Then you have no intention of ever returning home, Ms. Barcarola?
A seemingly most ordinary question.
Barcarola: Return? No, never!
Barcarola: They're too set in their ways, like old fossils. My vision of music grew beyond them, and I did too.
Barcarola cups her hands around her mouth and hollers out into the fog-covered horizon.
Barcarola: I won't force myself back into their little world!
Ms. Grace: Your determination is admirable indeed.
Barcarola: Glad to hear it. Then my position is safe for another day.
Ms. Grace: How could it not be? You are the very star of the "Free Breeze."
Barcarola: Uh-huh!
Barcarola's face lights up with renewed pride.
Fatutu: What about you, Ms. Grace?
Fatutu: You've never told us about your home.
Ms. Grace: It's a place of little interest to anyone, not even worthy of naming.
Her demeanor is far more composed than the rambling chatter of Barcarola.
Barcarola: They say a musician must be free of attachments to be truly creative. Perhaps this is true of captains as well.
Fatutu: No. That can't be right!
Fatutu: The Nukutai believe that to stray from our home is the death of the spirit. If we travel too far and too long, our Spirit Shells develop cracks that no amount of Nukuglue can mend.
Fatutu: And from these cracks come an intense sadness, the elders call it ...
Fatutu: Home sick.
Barcarola: HomesicknessâsĂŹ, we have this word as well. The sailors aboard often ask me to play the songs of their youth when they are missing their homes. So many different melodies. Thankfully, my Crackling Box has all kinds of instruments to suit their needs.
Barcarola: I imagine it must be difficult for your people now.
Barcarola: If you'd like, I could learn to play some of your songs and perform them. I'd be more than happy to help, after all you've done.
Fatutu: That's kind of you.
Fatutu: I'm sure it will be of great help to us.
Barcarola: I'm more than happy to help, Fatutu! It is my job, after all!
The girls' conversation seems to stretch on forever, but the increasing frequency with which they rub their eyes clearly marks the passage of time.
Eventually, the sun climbs above the sea, painting its surface a satin blue, and, as the ship's horn sounds, gentle ripples spread across its surface.
Ms. Grace: It appears the sun has caught up with us, ladies.
Barcarola: ...!
Barcarola: Mamma mia! The concert!
As she rubs her eyes, Barcarola catches a glimpse of the captain lightly shaking her pocket watch and remembers something equally important.
Barcarola: I promised Ms. Regulus a rock-and-roll concert. But I haven't even asked her what instruments she needs!
Barcarola: Bye, girls!
With hurried footsteps clattering down the stairs, Barcarola quickly vanishes.
Fatutu: Thank you for talking with us, Ms. Grace.
She has waited for Barcarola to be clearly out of sight before speaking.
Ms. Grace: Don't mention it. I only hope that it was helpful for you.
Fatutu: I-I have one last question.
Fatutu: I was wondering how do you stay so determined?
Ms. Grace: ...