Chapter II

Dinner that evening was a gala occasion aboard the ship. The steward ordered the holiday feast prepared in celebration of Nestir’s announcement. And, for the officers, he broke out of the special cellar the last case allotment for Crew One of the delicate Colta Barauche (‘94). He ordered the messman to put a bottle of it to the right of each plate.

The captain came down from his stateroom after the meal had begun. He nodded curtly to the officers when he entered the mess hall, walked directly to his place at the head of the table, sat down and morosely began to work the cork out of his wine bottle with his teeth.

“You’ll spoil the flavor, shaking it that way,” the third mate cautioned. He was particularly fond of that year.

The captain twisted the bottle savagely, and the cork came free with a little pop. He removed the cork from between his teeth, placed it very carefully beside his fork, and poured himself a full glass of the wine.

“Very probably,” he said sadly.

“I don’t think hit’ll do hit,” the first mate said. “He hain’t shook hard enough to matter.”

The captain picked up the glass, brought it toward his lips--then, suddenly having thought of something, he put it back down and turned to Nestir.

“I say. Have you decided on this Carstar thing yet, Father?”

The little priest looked up. He laid his knife across the rim of his plate. “It has ramifications,” he said.

When the third mate saw that his opinion on the wine was not immediately to be justified, he settled back in his chair with a little sigh of disapproval.

“Well, what do you think your decision will be, Father?” the steward asked.

Nestir picked up his knife and fork and cut off a piece of meat. “Hummmm,” he said. “It’s hard to say. The whole issue involves, as a core point, the principle of casta cum mae stotiti.”

The first mate nodded sagely.

“The intent, of course, could actually be--ah--sub mailloux; and in that event, naturally, the decision would be even more difficult. I wish I could talk to higher authority about it; but of course I haven’t the time. I’ll have to decide something.”

“He had a very pretty wife,” the third mate said.

“Yes, very.” Nestir agreed. “But as I was saying, if it could be proven that the culstem fell due to no negligence on his part, either consciously or subconsciously, then the obvious conclusion would be that no stigma would be attached.” He speared his meat and chewed it thoughtfully.

“But it wasn’t at all bloody,” the wife of the second mate said. “I scarcely think he felt it at all. It happened too fast.”

Nestir swallowed the mouthful of food and washed it down with a gulp of wine.

“The problem, my dear Helen,” he said, “is one of intent. To raise the issue of concomitant agonies is to confuse the whole matter. For instance. Take Wilson, in my home state of Koltah. Certainly he died as miserable a death as anyone could desire.”

“Yes,” said the second mate’s wife. “I remember that. I read about it in the newspapers.”

“But it was a case of obvious intent,” continued Nestir, “and therefore constituted a clear out attempt to avoid his duty by hastening to his Reward.”

Upon hearing the word duty, the captain brightened.

“That,” he said to Nestir, “my dear Father, is the cardinal point of the whole game, y’know.” He scratched the back of his left hand. “Duty. And I must say, I think you’re being quite short-sighted about the Casting Off date. After all, it’s not only a question of how we go, but also a question of leaving only after having done our duty. And that’s equally important.”

“The Synod of Cathau--” Nestir began.

“Plague take it, Father! Really, now, I must say. The Synod of Cathau! Certainly you’ve misinterpreted that. Anticipation can be a joy, y’know: almost equal to the very Reward. Anticipation should spur man in duty. It’s all noble and self sacrificing.” He scratched the back of his right hand.

The second mate had been trying to get a word in edgewise for several minutes; he finally succeeded by utilizing the temporary silence following the captain’s outburst.

“You don’t need to worry about your Casting Off, Captain. You can leave that to me. I assure you, I have in mind a most ingenious method.”

The captain was not visibly cheered; he was still brooding about the sad absence of a sense of duty on the part of Nestir. “I will welcome it,” he said, “at the proper time, sir. And I certainly hope--” His eyes swept the table. “I certainly hope to be Cast Off by an officer. It would be very humiliating, y’know, to have a crew member do it.”