of nurture’s wildness: a novella (book 6, ch. 2)
by Tom Stuckey
2
Back on his little piece of solid ground, Ted felt his feet. The smell of the sea and the unheated walls was new again for a few moments until its familiarity returned. Ted made his way to the kitchen and put the kettle on and then began to make a cup of tea whilst he stared out of the window at the sea, which churned with the winds. It was going to be a stormy night, Ted thought, and he was glad to be on steady ground. With a steaming cup of tea in hand, straight from the fire, he felt the need to reacquaint himself with the lighthouse. An urge to journal in his log overcame him and a knowing he should take care with what he recorded.
It feels new again, a bit like it was the first time I entered the lighthouse, except this time there are more friends to call upon but also some bad news that I can’t stop thinking about. It is difficult also not to think about happier times but remembering them also is a bit uncomfortable. Like the time I went to Paris with Claire, and we drank and made love and visited galleries and went up the Eifel tower, and I looked for the famous, little bookshop, I forget its name, where Hemingway borrowed all those books from and where he was like a Knight or a Husband to us all. In that hotel room, I am sorry to say that I threw away love and could not hold onto it, and it didn’t make sense at the top of the Eifel Tower, and I never found the bookstore. But other people seemed to fit into Paris like little pieces of a jigsaw. The waiters looked like the ones that Ernest wrote about, honest, like monks who had seen so many people in one setting that they just knew it all or had long ago moved past it and into the thick, ancient stone walls. I remember sitting in those cafes not knowing enough about the world to hate anything. The newspapers were all in a different language, and I admired the beauty of the Parisian women, who were individually beautiful and the French men who all looked like they could be recalled to their squadrons at a moment’s notice. Were we always just waiting around for the next war? It seems some accelerants made it quicker than anyone thought was going to be possible after WW2. Anyway, I’m trying not to think about that now, not knowing feeds the imagination more, I hope James and Lisa are OK….I wish there was a guide for the pain that life brings, and not the bible or church people, which to me seem to plunge you deeper into pain, which you can only pay your way out of with good deeds. Jesus seemed like a cool guy, just those who came after got a bit carried away. Why is it that I feel like someone is always watching me? SOMEONE IS ALWAYS WATCHING YOU SILLY. No! YOU DIDN’T MISS ME, WITH YOUR NEW FRIENDS? I can’t right now. I KNOW YOU MISSED MY PUSSY, I KNOW YOU THINK ABOUT IT, I KNOW YOU THINK ABOUT PUTTING YOUR COCK INSIDE ME. Later, Helena, I have things to do. PROMISE? Yes.
It seems like there were never any options and that it would go the way it was going to go, except that I wanted it to go a certain way, and it never did. Maybe I should’ve joined the church, or at least prayed. The buses used to make me laugh with their adverts that said, ‘Try Praying’ , and why not, what was it that everyone, including me, was afraid of? That it wouldn’t work, I suppose, and then realising the one thing that everyone was scared of. You either shunned God or handed over everything, either way you believed. Well, I’m going to start praying, just like the buses said. I wonder if Putin prays. Maybe, it’s not a physical world thing. That is the only answer I can come up with, and it is also not real.
Ted felt better for writing in the big ledger, sending the words of into the unknown, and sometimes it was enough for little things to appear in the known. Looking into the fire also made him feel better; it was constantly trying to expand, but it could not, and could only be as great as Ted allowed, but it was great just the way it was. Ted was in a trance-like state when the call came in over the radio from Neno. “Ted, do you read? Over.” Ted jumped up and caught Neno before he could repeat the call. “I read you, Neno. Over.” “Looks like you beat the weather, Ted! HAHA. We are going on a run, but we will be over to see you in a couple of days. I put something in your bag so be sure to take a look. Bye for now, Ted, my friend. Over and out.” “Thanks, Neno, safe journey. Over and out.” Ted quickly went over to his bag and began to search it; he felt like a child on Christmas morning, and on finding a black envelope he tore into it but made sure not to rip what was inside; it was a letter that read:
Ted, this should be burnt as soon as it can be memorised. If we feel it is compromised, we will simply change it, but for now we will assume all is well. Here are the codes for our operations, and you will also find a satellite phone in your bag. Best if we call on there from now on. The codes are:
FISH - GUNS
COFFEE - EXPLOSIVES
VODKA - AMMO
CLOTHES - ARMOUR
FUEL - SOLDIERS
DERV - 00 8816 356797256
NENO - 00 8816 268901567
Ted took the piece of paper back over to his seat in front of the fire and began to memorise it, which was more difficult than expected. The words were ok, but the numbers were more difficult, but after reciting them a few times without help he took one last look at the piece of paper and threw it into the fire. For a brief moment, it’s power grew and seemed to drown out the storm’s noises outside, before dying back down again, waiting like a hungry wolf that would eat everything if it could.
Ted closed his eyes and saw the bus with the 'try praying' slogan, so that’s what he did.
*Read Tom Stuckey’s next installment of Of Nurture’s Wildness (Book VI) on January 13, 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.