by Bruce Manuel
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Charlie woke up mumbling and swinging at some unknown terror. Luckily he had not awakened Carter, a hard sleeper, who was still snoring in the bunk below him. He swung his feet over the side of his bunk and carefully climbed down, making sure he didn’t step on Carter. It was early, before reveille. He put on socks and his nose wrinkled at the smell of the cramped berthing compartment.
His toes curled up when his feet landed on the cold steel deck. He rubbed his face and tried to forget the disturbing dream and focus on today, which could be the most consequential day in his life. Charlie reached for the flashlight that was wedged next to the mattress of his coffin bed. His fingers slipped under the lip of the metal frame holding his mattress and lifted, then braced it open the way you would the hood of a car. It would be so nice to have a regular bed. But as a Radioman Second Class he couldn’t afford to live off the ship and none of the guys he worked with seemed like they’d be a good roommate. The shallow chest below the lid contained almost everything he owned, except his dress uniforms.
In the dim light he gathered his toiletries and went into the head. He needed to look inspection ready. In two hours, he would be at a disciplinary hearing before the Executive Officer for accidently destroying his military ID card. If given a formal punishment, like a fine, it would ruin his dream of being among the select few sailors and marines chosen every year to attend Annapolis and be commissioned as officers upon graduating.
He thought back to how his father’s face lit up when he told him about his desire to go to Annapolis. His father, who had enlisted in the Navy during Vietnam, had always urged him to be better than him. But there were obstacles.
Commander Gargoyan was about the nastiest son-of-a-bitch he had ever seen. Charlie remembered the time he was taking a stack of naval messages to the executive officer’s stateroom. He was about to knock on the door when he heard yelling coming from the room. He stopped and listened. It sounded like Gargoyan was screaming at some officer over a screwup. It got quiet suddenly and the door flew open. Ensign Davenport came out, his face flushed, eyes wide with fear. He started at the sight of Charlie standing outside the room.
“You come back and report to me when you’ve fixed this mess,” yelled the executive officer.
“Yessir,” the ensign said as he scurried off with his head low like a scalded dog.
The shower felt good, but could not sooth Charlie’s growing apprehension at facing ‘the gargoyle’ shortly. Over the 1MC loudspeaker a bos’n whistle sounded – tooeeeyoo! A voice boomed, “Reveille, Reveille! All hands heave out and trice up. The smoking lamp is lighted in all authorized spaces.”
Charlie went to the galley, wolfed down some chow, and returned to his berthing where he retrieved the manila envelope containing his academy package. It’s a long way from Operations Berthing to officers’ country so he needed to hurry. He held his churning stomach. He had eaten too fast and felt nauseous.
The first set of ladders was secured because someone was stripping the deck the next level up to put down new wax. Stripper would ruin the spit shine of his shoes. He cussed to himself and groaned, as he took a detour, hoping he wouldn’t be late.
On O-6 level the tile changed from green to blue indicating Charlie had entered officers’ country. Officers’ country on the USS Peleliu was one level below the flight deck, where stark white corridors run hundreds of feet inside the ship.
The lights went out and Charlie waited for the red emergency lights to flicker on. The passageway took a sharp left turn as he entered where the senior officers had staterooms. Another turn led past the command passageway. Across the opening hung dark blue curtains adorned with white stylized eagles like those on the captain’s collar. These ‘veils of the temple’ marked the point beyond which few sailors ever ventured.
The 1MC announcement speaker crackled above his head as the Messenger of the Watch keyed the mike on the quarterdeck announcing the time, quarter till the hour. He had to hurry for the hearing starting at 09:00.
Finally, Charlie stepped through the hatch near his destination. Outside the executive officer’s stateroom, in the dim red light, was the ship’s law enforcement officer, the Chief Master-at-Arms (CMAA), with his two jackals – Master-at-Arms petty officers. On one side of the passageway, were khaki-clad chief petty officers and ensigns. Facing them were the accused – sailors waiting to see the executive officer for various offenses. The CMAA motioned for Charlie to take a place in line then entered the stateroom.
Outside in the passageway no one spoke. A moment later the CMAA stepped out of the stateroom and looked around. “Petty Officer Perkins, you’re next.”
“Yes, chief.”
The guys who had come early and waited the longest gave Charlie a dirty look. His chief and division officer entered first, then he followed. Charlie took a step into the room, but stayed close to the door, as far away from the executive officer as possible. Commander Gargoyan stared at Charlie without expression. He scratched his large head, which was covered in thick black buzz cut hair that grew down the back of his neck into his collar. He crossed his hands in front of his belly. His heavy mass seemed to fill the room and vibrated with a dangerous esurience.
Perhaps Gargoyan was giving off some strange pheromones that Charlie’s olfactory could detect, but his mind could not name. Or maybe the commander was channeling something inherited from his ancestors, a people who had survived being captured, tortured, and left to die in the Syrian desert by the Turkish army. He removed his thick navy glasses, wiped his forehand with a handkerchief, and massaged his temples.
“Attention,” barked the Chief Master-at-Arms. Charlie came to attention. “Uncover.” He placed his hand on his white sailor hat.
“Two.” Charlie removed it and brought it by his side in one crisp motion.
The commander already had his file open. “I’m surprised to see you here Perkins. I’ve always heard good things about you. “Lost your ID?”
“Actually sir, I accidentally put it in the wash.”
The officer smirked. “Same difference. How’d that happen?”
“I don’t know, sir.”
The executive officer sat back in his chair. “You’re supposed to be setting the example for the junior sailors.” His gaze was fixed on Charlie who shifted his weight trying to remain composed.
“I know, sir. I guess I had a lot on my mind.”
“Having a lot on your mind goes with the job, boy. When I was in Vietnam my river boat came under enemy fire. I lost everything, but my ID card. We had to swim and crawl through muck, probably two miles to get to friendly forces, but I didn’t lose that ID, because I knew it was important. Do you understand?”
“Yes sir.”
How absurd. If an ID turned to mush in the wash, what would swimming in a river through enemy territory do to it? That’s why everyone deployed to Vietnam was issued dog tags.
Commander Gargoyan stared at the envelope in Charlie’s hand. “What’s that in your hand?”
“It’s an admissions package, sir. I am applying for an appointment to the Naval Academy.”
“That’s a big step to take in your career. Is that what has got you distracted?” the executive officer said. “If you become an officer you have to be able to handle a great deal of stress and still perform your job.”
Charlie listened considering his words carefully.
“You think you’ve got what it takes to make it at the Naval Academy?”
“Yessir, I believe I do if given the chance.”
“What do you want from me?”
“I know that you typically levy a fine on sailors for losing their ID’s, sir, but it would disqualify me. If I could speak plainly, I was hoping you might take into consideration my overall performance and consider doing something that wouldn’t stay on my record.”
His division officer and chief looked at each other confused. Charlie had not told them he would bring this up.
“I appreciate your honesty, but you know the policy around losing or destroying an ID card. It’s government property. I don’t like to give the impression of playing favorites,” the executive officer said.
“I understand, sir.”
“Let me think about it. I will suspend my judgement. Come back after lunch and see me.”
“Yessir.” That was not what Charlie wanted to hear. It was Tuesday and he had lost an entire three-day weekend after putting his ID through the wash the Friday before. He really needed to get away from all this but would have to wait to learn his fate.
***
At lunch he ran into his friend Jesse from Atlanta. “Why do you want to go to the boat school and be an officer anyway? You don’t want to be enlisted no more?” Jesse said.
“No, that ain’t it. Nothing wrong with being enlisted. It’s just what I have wanted to do ever since I was a kid. My dad always said naval officers were the best in the service. He also said that I would have a better life in the Navy as an officer than an enlisted man.”
Jesse rubbed his chin. “Hmm, check this out. Maybe you left your ID in your pocket the other day on purpose,” he said. “Maybe deep down you’re having some doubt.”
“Thanks for the analysis, Shithead Freud,” Charlie said. “Why you hatin’ on me just cause I want to do better in my career?”
“All right, GI Joe. Don’t get all righteous on a brother,” Jesse said. “It’s yo life. You gotta do yo thang.”
“Then what’s the deal?”
Jesse shrugged. “Look, as a brotha, numba one you are always being watched. Numba two, any mistake you make is gonna be noted and not forgotten. I’ve seen a lot of young black officers go overboard trying to look like a company man by shittin’ on black and brown squids. That never gets questioned.”
“Yeah, I have noticed that” Charlie said, nodding.
“Then on the flip side, a black officer comes down on one of these white sailors for doing something wrong and somehow they manage to go around him and complain to the higher ups. Next thing you know the black officer’s judgement is questioned and the white boy gets off easy.”
Charlie pushed his tray away. “C’mon man, I haven’t even got the appointment yet and you already being negative. I thought you were my friend.”
Jesse leaned closer. “I tellin’ you this cause I am your friend. I just don’t want you to forget who you are.”
“Do you remember that black helicopter pilot that used to be on the ship? They called him Patch, Patch Bentley?”
“Yeah, he was cool,” Jesse said.
“Right. He had his shit together. All the men respected him and I never saw him lose his temper, ever.”
Jesse nodded. “Even the ‘gargoyle’ left him alone.”
“Yep, that’s the kind of officer I want to be. I definitely don’t want to be like Gargoyan,” Charlie said.
Jesse saluted him. “Good luck, baby. You’re gonna need it.”
***
After lunch, Charlie found his way back to the executive officer’s cabin. Commander Gargoyan was waiting for him. His visage seemed to have softened a bit from the morning.
“Come in, Perkins,” he said.
Charlie came in and sat down in a chair opposite the desk. He held his breath.
“I do understand what’s at stake for you. You seem genuinely sincere about doing this. So, I might grant your request under one condition,” Gargoyan said.
Charlie exhaled, relaxed, then cocked his head. “What’s that?” he asked.
Gargoyan leaned back into his chair. “You see this pile of paper on my desk?”
“Yes, sir.”
“It’s the same old things, sailors doing stupid shit. It gets old. I already know what practically everyone is gonna say before they say it.”
Charlie nodded, furrowing his brow wondering where this was going.
“Your case is unique. So, I’m gonna give you a chance for a better deal…that is… if you can make me laugh.”
“What? Excuse me, sir, did you say make you laugh?”
“That’s the deal and I don’t have all day. Make up your mind. Times a’ wasting.” Gargoyan folded his arms across his chest and leaned back in his chair. The room felt hot. Charlie’s eyes darted about the room as he tried to collect his thoughts. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead. He wiped them away and on his pants.
Gargoyan leaned forward. “Well?”
Charlie cleared his throat and decided, fuck it what do I have to lose. “Did you know guys on the ship call you The Gargoyle?” he said.
“That’s old news.” The executive officer looked at Charlie for a long moment then gave him a ‘you little shit’ look. He leaned forward and in a low voice asked, “Do you think I look like a gargoyle?”
Suddenly Charlie blurted out, “Actually, if you were in a gargoyle ugly contest, you would probably win.”
He didn’t know why he said it. He was trying to be funny, not sound like a smartass. He was never very good at snappy comebacks on the fly. Everything he hoped for was about to be pissed away. He just felt stupid. Maybe this was all a bad idea. He felt like he was suffocating; his chest hurt; and sweat began to soak his back. He was shaking and wanted to run, but could not move, like a captured animal.
Gargoyan let out a deep guffaw that was drowned out by the roaring in Charlie’s ears and brain. The dim red emergency lighting was still on and seemed to accentuate just how ugly Commander Gargoyan was. Even in mirth, this man was truly a scary beast.
Then Gargoyan’s eyes began to stretch beyond their orbits, like a frog. Dry psoriatic hands grew long claws. His mouth opened revealing rows of sharp pointed teeth; his laugh had a deep reptilian rasp and his breath smelled acrid. He rose from his chair, revealing enormous leathery black wings behind him and grabbed Charlie’s arm, the claws digging into his skin.
“Come with me,” hissed the creature.
The creature pulled him through a door that led to the back part of the stateroom. the room was empty except for something covered by a drape in the shadows.
“There,” the gargoyle said, pointing at the draped object.
Charlie, hands trembling, removed the drape. It was a cage, with a creature squatting inside with the same scaly skin as Gargoyan, though smaller. A sign on the cage read ‘Amor Fati.’ As the creature inside the cage turned its head, Charlie saw his own face, and gasped.
“You see the words on the sign ‘Amor Fati’? Do you know its meaning?”
“No sir. It looks Latin.”
“Yes. It means ‘love you fate’. If you follow this path you must have your whole heart in it.”
“I do.”
“Very well.”
The gargoyle came towards Charlie, whose body was frozen. It extended its finger towards Charlie’s face. A sharp nail seared the skin of Charlie’s forehead and sank deep into his skull. He screamed in pain but was paralyzed.
“Now you have my mark, and you are bound to me forever. You can never turn back, and your life will not be the same,” the creature said.
Tears were running down Charlie’s face and after a few moments he was able to move and wipe them away.
“Return to your post.”
Every muscle in Charlie’s body ached as he stepped out of the room. As he came around the front of the executive officer’s deck the lights switched from red to the regular florescent white. Gargoyan was sitting at his desk in his human form. Charlie touched his forehead but felt no blood or any mark.
Gargoyan was laughing. “Didn’t expect that one, but you got me Perkins,” he said, then stopped laughing and lifted a bushy eyebrow. “Are you alright?”
“Uh, I don’t know, sir… I think so.”
“Don’t forget what I put on your mind,” Gargoyan said, with a wink. “Now get back to work.”
“I don’t think I ever will forget this.”
“It’s a gift, something that many people never obtain. Put in your application and I will give my endorsement.”
Charlie nodded as he stepped out of the stateroom with a feeling of doom in his gut, yet relieved that his Naval Academy dream was still alive.
***
After his meeting with the executive officer, Charlie was down in his berthing and went into the bathroom to examine his forehead. Had he imagined the whole incident? Suddenly it made sense why Gargoyan made Charlie come back to talk to him. He did not want anyone else to witness his transformation.
Charlie remembered his friend Giles, a Quartermaster who had worked in the Navigation Division. He was kind of short, chubby, and good-natured, but got picked on a lot by other sailors. He had a unique talent as a caricature artist and kept a sketch book with him in the charthouse behind the ship’s bridge when they were underway.
Giles would show Charlie caricatures he had drawn of all the notorious officers and chief petty officers aboard the ship. In one drawing, Giles seemed to capture Commander Gargoyan’s essence. The scene depicted the captain sitting in his chair on the bridge, looking stately, ruling by presence alone. In the middle of the bridge, next to the gyrocompass stood the Officer-of-the-Deck, small and obsequious, with binoculars to his face trying to look in charge.
On the left side of the bridge, wearing a ball cap with the letters XO, sat a gargoyle perched atop the back of his bridge chair, his claws digging into the backrest, glowering at everyone. He looked ready to pounce on any sailor foolish enough to catch his gaze. It was funny and a little frightening. One day Giles was suddenly transferred off the ship and sent back to the states.
Had Giles discovered Commander Gargoyan’s secret or seen his true form? Up until now, his departure didn’t make much sense. Charlie clutched his belly, went to his bed, and laid down to calm his nerves. Since Gargoyan had cut him a break, he couldn’t back out of it now. He wished he could talk to Giles, helping him make sense of what he’d seen. But he knew that only time would tell if he had made a grave mistake.
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Bruce Manuel graduated from the University of the South with a degree in English Literature in 1980. Afterwards he joined the United States Navy and served for twenty years, retiring in 2002. Bruce served during Operation Desert Storm and Operation Iraqi Freedom, as well as numerous deployments all over the globe. He recently graduated from the University of the South, School of Letters MFA for Creative Writing program and is currently working on a series of short stories. He is also a certified Pilates teacher. Bruce teaches private and group lessons in Sewanee, TN where he resides.
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