of nurture’s wildness: a novella (book 5, ch. 3)
by Tom Stuckey
III
Ted woke up giddy. Most mornings the mood was already delivered by the time his eyes opened and focused and realised where he was. This morning everything went quickly and life pulsed through everything. Ted could not hide the way he felt about Neno, and there was some shame in that that panged at him; his admiration for a big, strong, seafaring man, so much so that he felt like a child, at least on the inside when Neno was around. Ted looked in the mirror, which was cracked, his face split in a diagonal line, not fully symmetrical; he made note that he too was a man now, with a long beard and strong neck and shoulders from all the work that had to be carried out daily around the lighthouse. After washing and dressing—something that was only now ever done for himself—but today he made an extra effort not to offend the nostrils of another when in their company. After making coffee, Ted took the pot out onto the catwalk and drank and smoked and looked at the Ophelia through the binoculars; he liked to see the little figures go about their duties. They would walk up and down the levels of the decks cleaning the floors and securing the containers, or they just stood and smoked, looking out to sea, just like Ted was.
The coffee was cold, and so was Ted, but with one last look he saw Neno descending into a tender carrying a big sack that probably had all of the supplies that he needed. He continued to watch as the little boat skipped across the water like a bird attempting to land but also trying to take off again, until Neno was too big in the binoculars to carry on looking. To get down to the pier Ted had to go down through each section, which was all one spiral staircase; he flew down through each one until finally he was at the bottom and opened the door to the great the sea and Neno, who was already securing his tender. Ted resisted the urge to hug him and opted, instead, for a handshake and an in-close pat on his back, a half hug.
“Good to see you, my friend!” Neno said.
“Good to see you too Neno. Let me take that from you.” The bag was heavy and awkward to carry as they slowly climbed the stairs until they reached the living quarters.
“I brought you some real nice stuff, everything you asked for and more. We have the coffee, cigarettes, food, and a little something for the long nights if you get my drift.” (The item referred to being an old porn mag.)
“And I brought this…” Neno pulled out a small, black, steel box. “I wanted to know if you would keep it for me. I only ask you, my friend, not to look inside it. Would you do this for me?” He asked softly.
“Yes. No problem, Neno. I’ll keep it in the safe for you and you can collect it whenever you want; it makes no difference to me.”
“Good. Thank you, my friend.”
“I also have the diesel for you on the boat, and we can off load it later, but first a drink?” He pulled out a vodka that Ted did not know, but knew it was Russian by the styling of the red letters on the bottle.
“Indeed.” Ted responded as he walked inside to get some glasses.
“You have a lot of books here, some of them I know: Dostoevsky, Chekov. This one I don’t…Houellebecq.” His pronunciation was spot on, and Ted remarked that the Russian accent leant itself well to French.
“He is French, as you probably guessed, and writes about being alone a lot, or at least how he can’t seem to fit in.
“Ah ok, and talking of fitting in, do you want news of the mainland? Fucking crazy man.”
“No, thank you I prefer not to know.”
“As you wish, probably better off, can I borrow this?”
“Sure. Just remember it’s not real life.” Ted let out a nervous laugh as he knew all too well that he knew Micheal was pretty fucking spot on.
The rest of the morning and afternoon was spent in good celebration but, like all good celebrating, it came to an end as reality and mounting tasks began to demand attention.
“Shall we go and get the diesel from the boat?”
“Yes.”
They travelled back down the stairs, slowly, and began to unload the diesel; both were back in work mode and preparing for the sea; one as the watcher, and the other as the traveller—both wishing, maybe, that they could swop, if only for a short while.
“Goodbye, my friend. Until I see you next time.”
“Safe travels, Neno.”
Once Ted was back in his living quarters, feeling heavy as lead, he made the extra effort to stow away the black box in the safe and then went to watch Neno again from the catwalk, his shrinking figure just arriving at his ship. There would be just enough light, with these short winter days, for him to climb the ship’s side and see back to the lighthouse before the light went on.
*Read Tom Stuckey’s next installment of Of Nurture’s Wildness (Book V) on December 18, 2025, at 6PM CST.
Photo of Tom Stuckey
BIO: Tom is a writer from Devon in England. His work can be found at A Thin Slice of Anxiety, Bristol Noir, Nut House Press, and Pulp Magazine. He is the author of The Canary in the Dream is Dead and The Sun Marches upon Us All. Learn more about Tom Stuckey at www.tomstuckey.com.