Offshore

Avery Beetle

Alby Malachy clutched the letter in his greasy fist. A heavy blanket of fog wrapped around the oil rig. Leaning over the railing, he watched as waves licked the pylons, filling his lungs with their salty perfume. His trembling fingers unfolded the letter. I won’t wait for you, flowing across the crumpled paper in black ink. He traced a smudge with his finger and tasted it. It was bitter on his tongue. She had endured him all these years, despite his long stints on the rig. There must be another man, he thought. Just then, a hand slammed down on the railing beside him. He snapped his head to the side. Pavel Yakov’s clean-shaven face was pouting back at him.

“No chance the damn helicopter can land in this fog,” Pavel said and hacked a ball of spit over the railing. “You’re not going to jump, are you? I’d hate to have to find a new roommate.”

Alby wrung the letter between his fingers.

Pavel frowned. “Don’t tell me she’s pregnant.”

“She’s confused, is what she is. She thinks she can’t do this anymore. When I come home with my paycheck she’ll change her tune,” he said.

“She deserves better than you, anyway.” Pavel nudged Alby’s shoulder. “Not everyone is cut out for this life. Why do you think I never got married?” 

Alby barked out a laugh. “You never got married because you spend all your time with me.” 

Pavel looked at Alby with a sad smile. “Ten years I’ve known you, and you’re still as stupid as the day we met. Do you even love her? Or do you just love having someone around?”

Alby leaned in close, believing he might peer through the void of Pavel’s pupils and find a machine within. “You know too much, you ass. I don’t have to love her to be a good husband. I provide for her. We have a balance.”

Pavel flicked the letter in Alby’s hand. “She provides for you. Companionship. Love. If all you offer her is money, how can she be satisfied?”

“Because we don’t live in a fairytale. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you sound like a woman.”

Pavel swallowed. “What if she doesn’t take you back?”

“You really can’t just shut the fuck up, huh?” Alby shoved into Pavel’s side.

“I just mean, do you have a plan?” 

“Yes, Pavel, it’s just what I told you. By the time my contract is up she’ll be begging for me. What’s your plan, asshole? I saw you got a letter. Is there a secret girlfriend out there I don’t know about?”

Pavel opened his mouth as if to say something, and then snapped it shut. He gestured out to the fog. “I’m taking a vacation. Soon as the helicopter is cleared to come out here. I just got a greeting card from my great uncle, nothing important.” 

Alby, possessed by a sudden realization, seized Pavel by the arms and pulled him close. “You could trade with me, old friend. Give me your leave and I can go home and talk some sense into her before she does something silly.”

Pavel shook out of his grasp. “I can’t, Alby. I’ve got to get off this damn rig. I’ll go stir crazy if I have to wait another six months.”

Alby clenched his jaw until a click echoed in his mouth. He stared at Pavel’s sorry expression.

They were torn out of each other’s eyes by The Foreman cursing behind them. Alby felt a large hand clasp his shoulder. 

“Malachy, come with me,” The Foreman said. 

Alby turned to say goodbye, but Pavel was already gone, leaving only the scent of his aftershave. Resigned, he followed The Foreman inside, through the cramped corridor, and into the well room. Cylinders the width of three men were lined up floor to ceiling like chess pieces, protecting pipes that twisted deep under the ocean floor and sucked up whatever ancient earthly gifts they could reach. The Foreman ushered Alby towards one of the cylinders. The pressure release valve shrieked so loud the hairs in Alby’s ears withered. He could barely hear anything over the drone. Interspersed with vibrant cursing, The Foreman ranted about the well having too much pressure, but it was making the company too much money to shut off. The Foreman finished his speech with a hearty slap to the pipe in question, then leaned in close and smiled with crooked teeth. “You need to shave that damn beard, Malachy. I think barnacles are growing on it.” He clapped a hand on Alby’s shoulder. “And gargle some mouthwash while you’re at it, you reek like a tavern.”

Alby felt his cheeks heat up. He nodded and made his way to his living quarters.

The room he shared with Pavel was a glorified walk-in closet, just big enough to fit a bunk bed and a timeworn shelving unit. He froze while passing the wall-mounted mirror and caught himself staring. His beard was out of control; it was no wonder The Foreman had said something. He puffed hot breath into his cupped hand and winced. It smelled like vodka. He hoped The Foreman wouldn’t report him drinking on the job, but half the men did it. It was its own hell, working twelve hour shifts on the rig for months on end without seeing land. His eyes moved to Pavel’s packed duffle bag on the lower bunk. He decided to borrow his good straight razor and opened the bag. An ivory-white envelope sat neatly on top of folded clothes. Alby looked over his shoulder before carefully removing the letter:

Pavel Yakov,

It is with my deepest condolences that I write to inform you of the death of your grandfather’s brother Abel Yakov. I know you may not remember him, but he remembered you. I have enclosed the address of his estate, of which you are the sole beneficiary. Please meet me at your earliest convenience. 

C&A Attorneys at Law

“Nothing important, my ass,” Alby said and threw the letter onto the bed. He pinched the bridge of his nose to quell the pain blooming behind his eyes, then rummaged further until he found Pavel’s straight razor. He reached up to the top bunk and pulled a bottle of vodka from under his pillow and carried both to the other side of the room. The bottle cap flew off and he poured it directly down his throat. “No, Alby, nothing important at all. It’s just when you received the worst news of your life, I’ve inherited an entire estate and I didn’t think to share that information. I’m just going to fuck off to claim my inheritance and leave you here, divorced and alone,” he muttered to himself. Kneeling before the mirror, he carved a stripe into his beard like mowing an overgrown lawn. This will win her back, he thought, tilting his face this way and that. She’ll love the clean shaven look. It certainly suited Pavel. He shaved the rest haphazardly and downed half the bottle, the burn dulling as his senses muddled together. He stumbled to the bed, giving up on the ladder and collapsing onto Pavel’s bunk. 

He dreamt of his wife kissing his stubbled cheek. She wrapped her arms around his chest and squeezed. Then she pressed harder and harder, crushing his chest with her large arms. He looked up in terror and it was Pavel’s lips whispering against his skin, wrapped around him like a boa constrictor until his lungs couldn’t take in any air. He woke up, gasping and clawing at his chest with shaking hands. 

Suddenly the door creaked open. Pavel was looming over him, brows pinched together. 

“Couldn’t make it to your own bed?” Pavel asked.

Alby propped himself onto his elbows. “So you weren’t going to tell me?” 

Pavel’s face contorted in disbelief, looking at his things discarded on the sheets. “Did you read my letter?”

“Some friend you are, Pavel, letting me wallow in despair so you can run off and collect your riches.” 

“I didn’t think it was the right time.”

“You think so little of me that I wouldn’t be happy for you?”

“I wanted to get settled first, then I was going to tell you.”

“You know what I think? I think you’re glad my wife left me! Why?”

“Please, don’t. Don’t make me answer that.”

“What do you want from me?”

“You’re drunk, Alby. I don’t want to talk about this right now. The fog lifted, I came in here to say goodbye.”

“Goodbye.”

Pavel laughed a sad, humorless laugh and went outside, letting the door slam shut behind him. Alby pushed himself off the bed with great effort and walked outside on unsteady feet. The sky was clear, and it was the first time in days he could see past the structure of the rig. A small dot on the horizon was getting closer, Pavel’s means of escape. His attention turned to a commotion on the other side of the rig. He could see The Foreman waving his hands in the air. A squeal rang out and a yellow-black geyser baptized Alby in warm crude oil. He felt as though he had returned to the womb, cocooned in darkness. His head was submerged, just like when his father held his head under the pool water when he got piss drunk after school. He dragged his tongue over his teeth and tasted the thick, earthy oil. When he finally peeled his eyes open, Pavel was kneeling before him, not a drop of oil on the bastard. Alby coughed up a mouthful of oil and spit it out. Pavel helped him stand and guided him back to their room, leaving the others to deal with the burst pipe. Pavel offered Alby his own coveralls and left him alone. 

Alby dressed himself in a daze and attempted to wipe the oil from his face. He pulled the towel away and saw a smudged layer obscuring his features. For a moment he thought it was Pavel looking back at him, the name badge on his chest completing the costume. His wife stood beside him in the mirror. She wrapped her arms around his chest and planted a soft kiss on his cheek. “Don’t make me wait any longer,” she whispered. Just then, the walls began to shake. The helicopter was touching down on the landing pad above him. He turned to face her, but she vanished as quickly as she had appeared. He pulled at the neckline of the coveralls with shaking hands. Hot panic flooded his body. If only he was Pavel, he could get on that helicopter. He would meet with the attorney, collect his inheritance, and win his wife back. It was all so simple. He adjusted his collar and stepped outside.

Pavel was leaning against the railing, waiting. Alby stepped forward and grabbed a handful of Pavel’s shirt, pulling him into a hug. They clutched onto each other like they would drift out to sea if they let go. Alby cupped Pavel’s cheek in his hand. Pavel looked back and forth between his eyes, searching for answers. Without warning, Alby kissed Pavel on his chapped lips. He gasped and Alby sucked the air in, stole his breath, stole his entire being. He stared into Pavel’s closed eyelids, gripped his midsection with all his strength, and heaved him over the railing. The helicopter’s whirring drowned out Pavel’s scream as he plunged into the unforgiving waves. 

Alby did not look over the edge. Instead, he glanced around to make sure everyone was too preoccupied to notice and ducked back into his room. On the bottom bunk sat the rifled-through duffel bag. He shoved the letter inside, slung it over his shoulder, and made his way to the landing pad.

He stepped into the helicopter, and the pilot wrinkled his nose at Alby’s filthy face. 

“It’s Pavel, right?” the Pilot asked.

Alby smiled with his chin tucked to his chest. He shoved his hands in borrowed pockets and felt a crumpled note. He opened it in his lap and read Pavel’s chicken scratch handwriting.

Dear Alby,

I do not expect you to return my feelings, but I find I must be honest with you. I have loved you for years, and your wife leaving gives me some cruel hope. I inherited an estate. If there is a chance between us, come visit me. You do not need to settle for balance. You could have love. I would take care of you.

Yours,

Pavel Yakov

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Avery Beetle is a writer, artist, and student pursuing a BA in Creative Writing. She escaped the unforgiving cold of northern Illinois and currently lives in Phoenix with her wife and their ever growing family of adopted animals. Her art is inspired by experiences with psychosis, queerness, and cults.