So the cod really start disappearing, just as my owner said they would, one of the boys inshore, and he spends more time playing me than he does out on the water, and then he goes quarters with three other fellows and gets a bigger boat, and they go out where the big bastards are, and the fish are there for another year or two, and then nothing, and then finally the DFO and uncle John Crosbie and all say, Jeez there ain't any fish out there, and there ain't any jobs, and you are going to have to play guitar for the rest of your damn life, and what does Tommie know but salt water, I ask you?
So Tommie has to decide if he is going to Toronto or not to join his brother who pissed off there some while back. He asks the others, and they say, go for it Tommie. So he goes down to the dock. He figures this is going to be his last trip out, and so he stocks up, and throttles her up, and just heads out. The weather is good, and he says, well, maybe I'll just go on till I die, what the hell is the point?
I am rattling around in the cabin by the entangled paraphernalia, and he pulls me out, and starts drinking and playing me and bawling and heading out to see the sea.
"I tell you what, I tell you, I think we are going down all the way to the international line, and then we are going to sink a Japanese or Portuguese dragger, and then ---" and he played a shanty. "Sorry to drown you guitar, old friend, but that's what comes from making friends with bad company."
Night comes , and the cold comes, and the fog comes. And in the morning he looks at his instruments, and he howls -- "43/50 or fight!!! And he looks out at the fog, and he keeps going. He strums me, and looks out at the nothingness, now palpable before him.
And then, out of the fog, suddenly bobbing towards us, there comes this white boat, like it is formed out of fog. It is a lifeboat.
Tommie stands up. "Holy Christ!! It's a lifeboat." And it slides by back into the fog.
He trips over everything, rushes back, guns the motor, and turns the boat. In a few moments, he catches up to the apparition. He grapples it, and as he grapples, he shrieks to no one in particular, "Christ, there's someone in it!", and there in the bottom of the boat, alone, crumpled like some kind of Edwardian rose, lies a dead young woman.
He flings himself into the lifeboat, and clambers over to her, and he sees that, Christ, she isn't dead, she is breathing, and he picks her up in one move, and clambers back again; and in his hurry he kicks the lifeboat, and it bobs away into the fog again. He puts her down on the deck, and picks up the Scotch bottle and puts it to her lips. He rubs her hands, her face, and she comes to slowly like someone rising up from the bottom of the sea, her rich brown hair cascading over her face.
Panic rushes over her -- "Where am I? What? Where are we?" and she jerks her head around. "The ship!!!" She tries to rise, but cannot.
"Jesus, ma'am. Lie quiet. You're O.K. You're saved! "
She buries her face into his chest and starts crying, unconsoleably. "They're all dead!! They died all night, all day, all night, all day!! It was so cold. " She looks up, and tries to get up again. "You have to help them!!! We saw the fireworks, but no one came. Why did no one come? Why did no one come???" And she becomes hysterical for a few seconds.
Then she goes quiet, and a look of horror washes over her. "They're all dead. They all died. I am sure he is dead too. That is what he would do."
"Who, ma'am?"
"My brother." And she wipes her hand across her face.
"Look, ma'am, what is name of your ship? I'll get on the radio, and we'll see what happened. Get them out here if they ain't here now."
"They did that. And no one came."
"Well, there aren't as many rescuers as there were, but I'll bet there's bells going off somewhere."
"Bells. There were bells, too. Did I say there were fireworks?" She begins to fade.
"If you can lean on me, you need to get out of that -- costume -- and into a warm bed, and get some food --. " And somewhere between the beginning of the sentence and the end of it, his whole body freezes. He looks down at her, in her strange antiquated evening gown, and her bedraggled wrap, and he knows. He knows it before he asks, and he is frightened. He had risen slightly, and now he sits back down. In his disbelief he grabs her, and, almost roughly, shakes her.
"The ship!!! What was the ship!!" And she looks at him, the light fading in her eyes, and says, as he knew she would, "The Titanic, of course." And she is gone into the depths of sleep.

She sleeps for many hours. He sits by the bed, and he gets up and walks around, and then he sits down again and then he gets up and walks around again, hitting things just to hit things. He curses himself for losing the lifeboat -- an officer would have left notes in it, if there had been one. But maybe not, maybe it was too panicky, even for that.
He looks at the corset, and at the sleeping young woman, and goes out and gets me, and sits down, and starts to play anything, to keep going. Time passes, the boat heads for land.
"What is that?" she says sleepily.
"Just a shanty," Tommie replies.
"It is fine." she says.
"Do you have a name?" Tommie says.
"Margaret," she says. "Is this your boat?"
"Me and some friends. I was coming out here to sink it. Ironic, eh?"
She shudders. She turns in the bed, realizes that she is wearing some of his rough clothes, and blushes deeply. He looks at her and shrugs. She takes it in good part.
"Well," he says, playing me slowly, "I am not sure how to bring this up, but --"
"What is cooking?" she says, "I am starving from being in that perishing boat all those days."
"Christ, I have no manners," he says, and gets up. "Soup, back in a flash".
He puts me down, and goes out. After a few seconds, she reaches out, and with a practiced hand, proceeds to retune me. She then begins to play an exotic little tune, simple, but evocative. As she plays, the tears come into her eyes.
He comes back, with a bowl in his hand, and stands in the doorway. "You play that well."
"We are all musical in my family," she smiles. "My brother" -- and she halts her playing briefly -- and then plunges on -- "was a member of the ship's orchestra. He plays the violin, and --" and she keeps playing -- "and this is a favourite of his, 'Spanish Fandango'. He always loved hearing it."
He sits down, and listens. After a few moments, he puts his hand on her shoulder. "I have some bad news for you. He is dead. They are all dead."
She looks up at him, and says -- "I knew that, I knew he was, they stayed behind, and the music swept by us over the waters, until it all went out. " And tears come into her eyes again. "But all dead? No one survived? None of all those boats?"
He looks at her, and a funny look comes over his face.
"Here, eat this. We'll talk about it after you've eaten."
She puts me down, and takes the bowl. And they talk about it after she eats.

It is some time later, a year or more, and once again she plays the "Spanish Fandango". We are in a cemetery in Halifax, beside a grave. Tommie sits there, his arm around her, and a different look in his face. It is a hot day, they have a picnic lunch, and she is dressed in a T-shirt and jeans. Her Edwardian hair still cascades around her face. She plays "Spanish Fandango" for a few moments, and then she leans against him and kisses him. And then, after awhile, she plays me some more.