SRθ: Grim Inquiries (2023-2024)

Sit.12: The Dead Ship

HARD WORK

Heights reached make one feel complete
by easing other tasks
strength earned honest changes us
beneath our mental masks

crying for the goals not met
and met by others fair
is nothing but a temper thrown
when work was naught but air

the carrot dangled goes to those
who are the best at catching
lament not carrots caught, instead
grow more by garden patching

For those who dare not sweat a drop,
still avenues exist,
though risk may far outweigh reward,
and thrill will dare persist

take something not belonging thus,
that does afford a trinket,
but think of who creates the things,
and how you've lost their thinking

violence used to seize the day
results in violence more
blood shed beats the sand in droplets
bodies drift on shores

Better is a scheme to thrill
those makers of your goals
to make them hand things unto you
now trusting in your souls

play the part in earnest, yet,
take only what's not missed,
if even moods do strike you,
you could yet steal hug and kiss

while produce browns and treasure rusts,
notoriety insures
reputation buys what gold cannot,
honor and love endure

Still, enemies are made quite fast
on open seas and oceans
sometimes blades must strike and clash
in forcible commotion

the plan must vary time to time,
"fire port, keelhaul, fire starboard!"
dancing crabs in sideways steps,
reflections in the harbor

survival is the paramount,
those living make art real,
while people live and love again,
so artists have something to steal.

* * *

There were fookin' potatoes, far as any eye could see. The dark storage room was lit by sun from above the ship, peering in through the hatch above us. Crates of potates lined the entire room, back to front and side to side, red and spotted and lumpy all over.
"What the hell are all these for?" I asked.
The Pirate shrugged. "Eating, selling. Pirates can't just get by on raiding and pillaging, especially not when there's coast guards and barricades. We'd starve behind enemy lines, in hiding, or get blasted to smithereens!" She waved with her hands to make one big explosion. "Or worse, we take the nation's bait so they can lock us up in chains and make us pick stone. A life of crime doesn't really pay, that's all legends. In truth, the whole scheme runs uphill for as far as you go. The best way to thrive is to blend in, become part of the system, so to speak."
"So you sell potatoes," I posed.
"So we sell potatoes," she nodded. "And drugs! Treasure, firearms. Never people though, that's my rule. The crew doesn't like it, but I won this ship in a game of strip poker, sooo..." She twirled the red curls from her bangs around her finger.
I was nonplussed by her flirtation. "So why'd a pirate captain honor his bet? Wouldn't he just welch?"
The Pirate laughed. "Yeah, he did. But I skewered 'im. Cut 'is nose off in front of everyone, too. It was fun!" She grinned, and shook her fists in front of her heart. When she wasn't pretending to be regal, she was actually very excitable and child-like. I still frowned to hear about the mutilation, though. "Anyway," she went on, "piracy is all about bein' in disguise as regular merchants. We steal deals and agreements, and people just give us things! So maybe not all of it gets across, so what?" She threw flattened palms up to her ears with a mischievous grin. "Dull-brained bandits and raiders, sure they make a flash and bang wherever they go, but half of 'em are slain by angry husbands for violated wives, many trip and get pitched by villagers, more are cut down by their own cap'ns for bigger take... it goes on," she sighed, flopping over with her arms hanging down to her knees. "All gangs run the same color," she moaned. Then, she stood straight up again, like a rag-doll coming back to life. "This way, our only threat is other pirates. Survival isn't about pitting yourself and a band of angry brothers against the world, as some brave wave of indignation alive and bringing justice to the scorched earth! It's about running the right flag at the right time, letting good martyrs and dumb bastards pike themselves on evil, so you can climb their bodies over barbed fences. Our only true allegiance is to the smooth-running balance of all things. That, and to be quite honest, commerce paves roads, y'know?"
I squinted. 'Forgetting the towns those roads lead to, aren't we?' I thought. While I was grateful she'd picked me up from Portugal (after I used The Doc's seal and address book to send her a letter), I was exhausted by her cavalier politics. It was like she lived for conflict at all times, yet condemned it simultaneously.
The Strongman grunted upstairs, on deck. He was annoyed with us being in private, in the dark. She smiled, lips still ruby-red, hair in rubber-band ponytail under what I assumed was the old pirate captain's hat. Over her body was a long, brown leather coat, with orange fringe and thread, and several pockets. Concealed barely behind it, a cutlass in belt-loop. Her white shirt was split at the collar, to perform her cleavage for any and all observers – including me. I blushed, and remembered again that this woman was my own flesh and blood. Between the looks and swagger she gave me, I felt she didn't believe that one bit – or care. Another warm look shot my way, as she thumb-pointed up the stairs. She climbed them first, seeming to enjoy my following her and bearing witness to her rear end in tight cotton pants, hips swaying under constrained waist; she was wearing the same bodace as back in the forts. I felt my throat tighten and face flush, my hips tickling; but reasoned she was barely more woman than I, and that helped me to see through her.
Up on deck, nothin' but sea and sky on the horizon, the crew was busy at work. Boxes were bein' moved, chains pulled, fish gutted. The air was chilly enough, but the sun beat down on us anyway, reddening in silent the scalps of men without caps, as well as their shoulders and cheeks. Like the sailor's I'd met before, many were ugly, scarred, and missin' teeth. I may have actually met one of these guys before, with stitches like a snake, but I wasn't sure. What intrigued me was the tattoos on their arms, legs, backs, faces, and chests; all different symbols, animals, and objects. An anchor here, dolphin there. Most in good fun, some very serious, some down-right majestic. The Pirate herself had on her neck some sort of raccoon, or possibly a dog, it was hard to tell. On her back, just under her bodace, a butterfly which drew the eye to the exact place I was tryin' not to look. Funny, the angle I was at just now, I missed it. The Strongman, balder and more rugged than I'd seen him last, sported a big, white-headed eagle across his torso, wings spread from back to front along his left side so its head was on his breast just over his heart.
"Good guess, by the way!" The Pirate cheered. "When you called me a pirate."
I shrugged. "You had that air, as you do now."
She laughed. "And of course you know my First Mate, who you shall henceforth call The Plunderer for what he's done to my boo-"
"Stop," The Strongman insisted. Neither cold nor angry, he was simply stern, as if he'd already spent months to years batting away her risqué jokes.
The Pirate only laughed again, kinda low and dumb-sounding, and lit up a cannabis joint to cough on. I didn't even see her take it out of her pocket – fast hands.
"So," The Strongman asked, "I hear you and my captain are blood. I trust you'll be keeping your hands to yourself?"
I blushed. "Hey, now, I don't have to listen one bit to my demons. They can yell, for all I care." It was true, my demon was practically shrieking my inner ear off. It had snuck its way back somehow, maybe from a drink I had in mourning for O Rosto. But I knew now the habits that made it die from me again.
The Strongman puffed out through his nostrils, unsatisfied with my answer. "A better man would vanquish his demons, not skirt around to ignore them." He sighed. "But, it's better than the airy promises I get from crew-mates, along with their toothless smirks. No back unturned, I tell you. Not one, not for a second." He shook his head, and glared at leering men.
"Am I SUCH a problem?!" she argued, flicking her spent roach over the railing. "There were THREE other men, and you've already thrown them all overboard, haven't you?! Every other night, it's you!"
"And every first night, I worry." He rolled his eyes. "Rather than just let the men bugger each other, you beg me to let five in, barter me for three, and cry for two. You care nothing for the blades in their shoes, all eyeing your hat and coat, nor do you concern yourself with the children you could bear. You're insatiable, and I'm your sentinel forever."
I grinned. "Now who's usin' fancy words?"
The Strongman cracked a smile at me. "Alright, I got spirited. You look stronger, Reaper. Like a true man! I'm glad to see my words helped forge you."
I nodded. "They did, alright. But a man, not exactly."
"Same as me," The Pirate stuck out her tongue. "But no motherhood, that's a shame. Hell with bein' your aunt, I could make you call me dad-"
"STOP," The Strongman commanded. He was exhausted already.
I was actually disheartened to hear him call me a man, and with her to call me less than her as a woman. After the rush of being seen female in O Rosto, a longing long invisible even to myself, it made me feel noticed time again. But, I'd let my beard grow, so that was my fault, I figured.
The Strongman recovered. "Regardless-"
CRACK! A sound from far off, in the distance.
"What was that-" I tried to ask, but The Strongman took me under his wing and brought me an' his lady to the floor in an instant.
SPLASH! By the sound, it was a cannon that'd been fired in our direction. The Strongman and Pirate stood up, and I cautiously followed. On the far side was a ship without sail, paddling our way by inparallel oars from holes in its hull. An oar fell out on the left, and another on the right – something was deeply amiss with them, but the current was taking them straight toward us. I watched as the crew pulled ropes and let sails out in different directions, while The Pirate (or should I say The Captain) steered the ship. We turned to our port side to dodge their ramming, and they narrowly missed us before stopping. We were side to side now, and any cannons fired meant cannons returned. Men stood at arms on both sides, ready for the word.
The other captain spoke, "We beg parlez avec toi." and waved a white flag. "Our ship is out of provisions, and we're soon to die without assistance."
The Captain marched to the port edge, hand on her sword as her hips clocked back and forth. "Right, we'll spare ye some potates n' ye can be on your merry way!"
The other captain looked strained. "Nay, er... we'd like to come aboard n' help carry rations," he said uneasily.
"Nonsense," said The Strongman, "I'll do that myself. Line up your men to take boxes, I'll be only a minute."
The other captain stammered, "U-uh, y-yeah, well I'd like them at arms, y'see, just in case."
I could see sweat forming on his brow, and I was paralyzed at once to see a yellow stream of pus erupted and dripped down his face - he was hiding boils under his eye-patch and bandana. I looked at The Captain and tried to speak, but she shut me up with her hand clasped on my mouth, and held it there for a moment only to rub it sensually. I pried it away, offended, and took a step back to shake my head.
The Captain reacted none. "Aye, s'fair. Strongman, grab three boxes, bring 'em to deck, then we'll let 'em on for a BRIEF moment, so they can collect."
"Th-thank you..." the other captain graced, "thanks ever so much."
The Strongman walked over to the stairs, but after walking down them, he grabbed the hatch door and slammed it down o'r his head. SLAM. Nobody said a word. Then, The Strongman slammed it again. SLAM. The other captain was confused, as were his pale, sickly men. Then, the third shutting, and though the other captain's eyes widened, he figured it out too late, and could scarcely yell in time. SLAM. KRA-KOOOW! CRACK, CRACK, CRACK, KRA-KOOOOW!! Our ship's cannons fired a full volley into their ship's hull, bursting open their side n' letting all boards, splinters, and hell fly loose. The men scrambled to try and board us, but the sails of ours up top were loosed at once, and we slipped right past them on their side, swingin' round only to gloat as the rushing salt n' sea claimed their once-mighty vessel. All they could do was scream as the water maimed them, and those left swimming were left behind just as quick by our Captain, no doubt relieved to be rid of such a nuisance.
"You saw it too," I sighed, letting my tension go.
"Saw what?" she cocked her head.
"The sickness," I told her, not sure if she was joking with me again.
"Of course I saw it," she bragged. "Well, actually, no. Truth is, I'm rather near-sighted!" She laughed, but not in any way that put me at ease.
"Are you saying-" I clenched my gut.
"Well, that's why I have my First Mate, y'see. He's got eagle eyes. That's what the tattoo's for, actually." She explained this casually while steering the ship, like nothin' had even passed. Not a care in the world for how close we were to a Death other than myself.
"Thank God for The Eagle," I laughed, my stomach so tight my breath was in reverse.
She grinned, and said, "I like that for him. Now, you: how's about you help me with something?"
"With what?" I asked.
"Danger's a mighty thrill," she posed, "An' I could use some relief. My cabin, how's about?"
I panicked. "We almost died, and you want to-"
"Carpe diem!" she sung.
My heart was already skipping beats from before, now it was pounding. After what I'd just been through, with that plague ship, I was lucky to be alive. Maybe fate was affording me some leniency on sin? She wasn't exactly family, not full blood...
"Not again," The Strongman whined. "My love, neither of you can contain yourselves. This can only end badly!"
"Ahhh," she growled. "That's what makes it so much fun."
"You're bunking with me, Reaper," he instructed. "And if I hear your hammock so much as creak, you're going into the sea."

I spent the next two weeks of sail sharing a cabin with The Eagle. When The Captain snuck in on the second night, The Eagle caught us nearly undressed and decided I was to share his bed so he'd wake up if anyone intruded. He was somehow more scared to leave me alone than her in her own cabin, perhaps knowing her preferences already. During the day, he watched over her and kept her 'busy', and I was made to stay in the kitchen and help prep some unburnt soup. It was something the chef struggled with, apparently. When it got dark, I was once again confined to The Eagle's room. Some nights, I'd wake up in darkness to find his tight, massive arms and chest around me, snoring as it rose and fell. And while that was exciting to my feminine side, I also realized that he was much more like a father in nature, and that mine had never shared common space or touch with me, reserving both for my mother... and The Realtor. Here was a person with such steely self-control as to use his own body to shield two degenerates from embrace, without giving one bit of reward to 'imself as penance. I hugged him back, and felt soft, platonic kindness like I'd never known from any man. It was the most familial I'd ever felt in my life.