Sailors on the Inward Sea by Lawrence Thornton

asserted.
    â€œSometimes. And when we do there’s a cost.”
    â€œIn what respect?”
    â€œSelf-knowledge. Things you’d rather not know that come as a consequence of probing the hearts of others. Ford knew that better than any of my friends.”

O N THE MORNING train to Lowestoft and the hearing, Conrad felt as if he were on his way to witness an execution. The same orderly met him at the station. This time the young man was sober and uncommunicative, the only words they exchanged on the drive about the weather. As they passed the sentry at the entrance, Conrad could see the whole installation, the grass plots between buildings a deep lush green, the Union Jack flying from the flagpole crisp and brilliant under a cloudless sky, though neither the light nor the intense colors could dispel the grimness that touched every corner of the base, as if it were covered with a film of fine soot. Even his room, in the same building where he had been put up a week earlier, looked dour.
    The hearing was scheduled for one o’clock. Jessie had packed a lunch of bread and mild cheese and he ate standing at the window, glad he could avoid the heavy food in the mess. He had finished the tea in the thermos when there was a knock at the door, a lieutenant who said he would escort him to the hearing room. Neither Conrad nor the officer spoke on the way, walking side by side on the gravel paths, going down a line of barracks and across a parade field to another set of buildings where the lieutenant held out his hand, guiding Conrad into a door and down a long corridor where their footsteps echoed and on through a second door into an airy, well-lighted room that resembled the parlor of a fine country house. There were leather sofas, wing chairs, photographs of ships on the walls, one taken on the deck of a three-master whose bow was submergedin swirling white water, men in storm gear working a winch, a fine heroic scene. At the far end a large fireplace whose mantel was stained by smoke stood invitingly. Having expected something more like a bare courtroom, Conrad’s tension eased. He regarded the arrangements for the hearing, two trestle tables pushed together end to end and half a dozen chairs facing another table with three chairs, larger and more ornate. Behind the table where the board would sit, three large windows framed the dock.
    He could see five or six ships at the docks through those windows. At first he did not recognize the Brigadier because the scaffold that rose from the dock all the way to the rail at the top of her bow blurred her distinct outline. A brazier attended by several men smoked on the dock, cooking rivets that a man grasped with tongs, tossing them up to another on the scaffold who caught them in a pail, each rivet glowing on its journey through the air. A crane lifted a large steel plate from its bed of wooden pallets, the replacement for the section stove in by the Valkerie turning slowly on the end of the cable and catching the sun like a jewel. At the base of the scaffold, deep within the mass of crosshatched timbers, burned the sharp blue light of a welder’s torch.
    The point of blue light stayed in his vision as he turned away, his attention drawn to footsteps in the corridor, a staccato rhythm that peaked just before the Brigadier ’s officers entered the room and then went silent on the thick blue carpet. Wearing a dress uniform with decorations, his hat pinioned between his left arm and his side, blond hair combed back, Fox-Bourne came in first, a privilege accorded by his rank but also indicating, Conrad thought, his intention to confront the proceedings head-on. He walked straight to the tables, acknowledging Conrad with a nod and glance that revealed neither anxiety nor regret nor remorse, a look blank as a statue’s that told Conrad he had judged himself and found no fault greater thanthe harshness that goes hand in hand with revenge. Conrad saw no trace of