On board
Georgios Karamanis
He stares out from the ship with a practiced apathy, neither tolerant nor impatient, perhaps a little sad. He stares out from the ship as if into eternity. His attire could place him at any time in the last hundred years, the enduring style of a simple white shirt worn under a dark jacket; likewise the simple haircut draws no attention to him. He is absolutely unremarkable. But when I look away from his pale profile, nestled against the dark ship, I find that it is stamped in my memory. He is the Ancient Mariner looking to unburden his woes on the wedding guest, he is the Captain of The Flying Dutchman doomed to stay at sea, he is Father Neptune without a trident.
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