The Prodigy of the Seas

The World has its protectors. There is the Prodigy of the Seas; he is a great protector of the World, and looks after the well-being of the Oceans and the lives therein, and the atmosphere, too. You may imagine him as a spirit of great majesty, drawn from the dominion of the kingly pinakothek of our imaginations, but such is not the case.

He is the drunk down at the far end of Mickey Muldoon's. He sits in the shadows, waiting for the Genius of the Cold to walk in, but she never does anymore.

So one day I talked to him. He smelled vaguely of ammonia or piperidine; I tried not to focus on the smells. It was just after the earthquake in Haiti. I asked him if he could protect the world against quakes. He laughed.

"You guys, " he said.
"What guys?" I asked.
"You guys" he said, with an uncertain expansive wave of a floppy arm, meaning to take in all mankind perhaps, but restricted to Mickey Muldoon's. "You think everything'sh..." He was beginning to slur his speech.
"...everything'sh a movie! Like...a movie. Ya know the Job story?"
I nodded that I did.
"You guys 'spect the story like Job's a good guy, Job's smart, family, kids, good job, and Job should be cool with everythin', right?"
Again, I nodded.
"Nah. The big guy..."
"God?" I asked.
"Yesh, God, the big guy, he ignores what you guys write. He's the director, and He does his own re-write."
I said, yeah, so what? Job comes out on top in the end, so it's all a moral tale, good triumphs, and so what?
"No." he said, shaking his head. "Job is just a detail that you fell in love with...just a detail...devil's in the details!" He laughed, and looked quizically at his incredibly empty glass.
I bought him another. He would not be driving tonight.