Into the Mist – Short Story by Joe Ducato
Two strangers share a quiet moment by the sea, as the world shifts just beyond the horizon.
In Into the Mist by Joe Ducato, a broken bench, a rising sun, and a quiet conversation become something more as two people watch the world drift forward. Read the story now on Written Tales—and if you’ve got a moment worth capturing, submissions are open.
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Anchored ships bobbed like the heads of true believers. A woman on a nearby bench watched. Another bench was tipped over, broken. The woman looked past the ships to the horizon where the morning sun looked like it was bursting through the water.
A stout man in a wool cap far too small for his large head walked up and stopped.
“Vandals?” he asked the woman, pointing to the broken bench.
“Seems so.”
“Shame,” the man sighed.
Having no choice, the man lowered himself onto the far end of the bench, as far away from the woman as he could get, then looked to the ships.
“Land of giants,” he mused.
The woman nodded.
“I tried to get here before first light but I fell back to sleep,” the man lamented, “I may have missed it.”
“Missed what?”
The stout man’s face became the face of a boy who had swallowed a secret.
“An artifact,” the man said, “…found last week in the Netherlands.”
“Artifact?”
“A sundial,” the man explained, “…maybe the oldest one found yet, possibly from the thirteen-hundreds, carved out from who knows what. They’ve sent it here for testing. I was just hoping to see the crate it had shipped in. I love that kind of thing, stuff from the world before. Silly, I know.”
“Not really,” the woman said bringing a smile to the big-headed man.
“My buddy Phil…,” he said with confidence anew, “…his kid works at the university. He gave us the heads up, but wasn’t sure what ship it would be on.”
“Big ocean,” the woman said.
“Yes,” the stout man agreed, “Are you a fan of the nautical?”
“No,” the woman replied, “My husband’s here.”
“Really?” the stout man perked up. “Does he work here? Maybe he could…”
“Oh no,” the woman laughed, “…out there.”
She pointed to the water.
“…his ashes. I come here and tell him my plans for the day. Stupid, right?”
“No. Should I leave?”
“Oh no. He’s probably not listening anyway. He never was a good listener.”
“Who is?”
“Rich was Navy,” the woman went on, “Navy all the way – a good man, even if he was a bit of a horse’s ass.”
The woman laughed and said, “big ocean” again.
The stout man thought for a second.
“Sometimes I have to think of the ocean as a trillion raindrops all with a common purpose. It seems to fit in my mind better that way.”
“Remarkable,” the woman said girlishly.
They turned as a fit young man carrying a duffle bag came walking towards them.
“Young man,” the stout man called out. The youngster stopped.
“Shipping out?”
“Yes sir.”
“Where to?”
“Don’t know sir. They never tell us. It’s protocol.”
“Sounds exciting.”
“I guess.”
The young man nodded then continued towards the ship yard.
“I have to admit,” the woman said, “Sometimes I wish I could hop on a boat and sail off.”
“Me too,” the stout man replied, “…but then I remember my condition.”
“Your condition?”
“Yes, the condition in my eyes. They’ve seen too much and the result is, I am now a careful man. My horses have all been saddled. Not so for young shipman.”
The woman thought for a second.
“Maybe you suffer from wisdom.”
“Maybe.”
The woman looked down at her shoes.
“True, the ocean, the world is a deep and dangerous place…but isn’t that what makes it so beautiful? I mean – how do they say it now? IMHO?”
They laughed.
“The mist is thick today,” the woman noted.
“I’ve never had a wife,” the man suddenly said.
“Why not?” the woman asked, unfazed.
The man sighed and focused on a piece of curled rope on one of the ship’s hulls.
“Ten thousand tons,” the stout man whispered, “…but in the arms of the ocean, a feather.”
“Amazing,” the woman said.
“God can move a mountain range with His little finger,” the stout man added, “I have an appointment downtown. I hope it clears by then. I tend to get confused.”
The woman smiled.
“You seem to be someone who might know. How deep is it at its deepest?”
The stout man thought.
“Three miles in spots I hear.”
“Not bottomless?”
“No, of course not.”
“Do you think the soul is bottomless?”
The man didn’t hesitate.
“I think so, yes.”
“And the heart?”
The stout man, again, didn’t hesitate.
“Absolutely, bottomless.”
“The universe?”
The man thought, then said:
“No, I think we just haven’t found the top or bottom yet – IMHO.”
The woman smiled.
“Maybe the things we can see and touch have beginnings and ends and those we can’t see and touch…”
“Endless?”
“Yes, endless.”
“I believe you’re right,” the stout man reflected.
The woman reached into her purse for a plastic bag filled with bread.
“Harbor’s Bakery. Day-olds.”
She removed a slice, broke it into pieces and tossed pieces onto the path.
“For the gulls. Care to throw some? They’ll love you for it.”
The man scowled.
“There’s signs up about feeding the gulls.”
“I don’t care,” the woman said defiantly, “Young turds with fancy ties and full bellies telling others they can’t feed the hungry! Pure bull! I mean - IMHO!”
“Your husband’s ashes?” the stout man asked, “Where did you put them in?”
“A little up from Castine, Highway 1 – just stopped at some old pier, just like he would have wanted.”
The man reflected. A few gulls landed and squabbled over the bread.
“Plenty to go around,” the woman told the gulls, “…not like good men.”
The stout man got up, walked to a half-wall and put his hand in the water.
“It’s warm.”
The woman smiled.
“I remember when I was a young woman, in summers I worked at a beach. Remember summers?”
The man looked up.
“I do.”
“Didn’t it feel like it would never end?”
“It did.”
“Do you suppose that sun dial might be on one of those ships?”
The man looked at his reflection in the water.
“I hope so,” he said watching a dead leaf float.
“Sorry,” the woman told the gulls, “I’ll bring more tomorrow if Harbors lets me pick their pockets. Wouldn’t it be a shame if that sun dial ended up in some stuffy museum?”
“Where should it be?” the man asked.
“In the sun, of course.”
“It would disintegrate.”
“Yeah, but that’s so much more glorious than being stuck under glass with everyone gawking at you.”
“Absolutely,” the man said, then pulled his hand from the water, got to his feet and walked back to the bench. The sun had risen above the water and now floated in the sky. The stout man turned to the woman.
“Beautiful!” was all she said as she looked off towards distant ships sailing into the mist.
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✍️ About the Authors
Joe lives in Utica, NY. Previous publishing credits include: Adelaide Literary Magazine, Santa Barbara Literary Journal, Modern Literature, Avalon Literary Review, and Bangalore Review and among others.
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No drama, just two good people.
Joe,
I loved this. Friendly, civil conversation that, on the surface, appears to be casual dialogue between two newly acquainted individuals. And it may start out that way. Ends up much more meaningful, especially for folks facing, even if bravely, their last years. The conversation that started with "how deep?" is beautifully crafted:
“Maybe the things we can see and touch have beginnings and ends and those we can’t see and touch…”
“Endless?”
“Yes, endless.”
Maybe you also suffer from wisdom.