[softsponge]

Damocles chapter 7


Never looking back and refusing to dwell on might have been, Chris clumsily lowered the sails and prepared to leave Providence and the rightful captain behind. The wind had picked up; and already a strong south westerly breeze was breathing life into the silken wings adorning the Damocles strong oaken masts.

Moans and wails pierced the air, suffusing it with dread and malaise, their arms raised hopelessly, dry mouths barking guttural sounds, and the survivors of pier 19 were already starting to piss Chris off. The women and children were anything but pleased.

“Why can’t we go back?”…

“There isn’t a ladies bathroom…..”

“We can’t survive on rum……..”

“Aren’t you going to leave now?.........”

“WILL YOU SHUT THE f*** UP” replied Chris with venom and grief overriding his normally checked self control,

“MY FRIEND DIED BACK THERE, AND ALL YOU GIVE A f*** ABOUT IS A LADIES PISSPOT?........f*** OFF AND SWIM FOR SHORE IF YOU DON’T LIKE IT”

.”f***en landlubbers” Chris whispered under his breath, never realising just how much he sounded like the skipper at the moment in time.

Running up and across the deck, swells no longer bothering him, Chris readied the ship for the open sea; he guessed he’d head for Block Island and drop the screamers of there. With a derision born of apathy Chris spat a large wad of phlegm onto the decking at his feet. Just then a child screamed.

Racing across to the stern of the Damocles; Chris was confronted by the hysterical blubbering of a half dozen wretched civilians. Chris followed the pointing fingers and globular eyes down to the side of the Damocles.

Then Chris laughed; the laugh of a prisoner reprieved, a loved one reunited or even that of a man, hope renewed and faith restored.

Splashing in the water, saturated and soaked swam both the skipper and Herbert, alive and well, pride bruised but their capacity for cuss words intact, in fact if anything improved…

“Get me the f*** out of this water, you Lilly livered snotrag”, sang the skipper his dulcet tones ringing threw the air, beautiful in its own unique way.

“I say old chap, would you kindly throw down a rope please, I’m somewhat wet here”, replied the educated, understated voice of Herbert…

Just minutes later, the two bedraggled old men sat, with blankets wrapped around shoulders, stained perhaps but warm definitely, the portable heater in the skipper’s cabin providing comfort and warmth. Sipping rum laced with coffee the two silently thanked God for saving them and Chris for not leaving them.

And at the wheel of the Damocles, the new captain of the ship sailed out of Providence, towards the island and safety.

THE END



All work copyright David Heeley April 20th 2004-07-12