A Fiction: Part VII

III

Having retrieved my bag from the shit-hole room in which I will never sleep, I make my way back towards the Angel’s Head. I wonder to myself why I was so eager to join this crew. My outburst of having no ties to the land surprised even me when the words left my mouth. But ultimately they were true. I have no love for the land or those who live on it. I’m certainly more fond of this quaint seaside town than the city where I spent my youth. But nothing keeps me here.

I walk over to a small sandwich stand and purchase a hearty lunch. I carry it over to a patch of grass next to the fence beyond which is the pier where the Angel’s Head is tied. I sit and face the sea and breathe deep its air. As I eat, bicycles pass in slow procession. This small town hardly embraced motor vehicles before they were banned this close to open water. I look down and spot the rectangular cellophane from a pack of smokes. A rarity these days to be sure, smoking is a luxury only embraced by the working class, a group to which seamen belong. I pick up the cellophane, hold it open with the thumb and forefinger of my left hand, and fill it with a handful of loose earth with my right. I fold the little package and slip it into my shirt pocket. I finish my lunch, stand, close my eyes and meditate on the ground beneath me. I open my eyes to find another pair looking straight into mine.

“What the fuck?” I say, startled.

“Easy there, Mr. Cole. It’s just me.” With a brown handled paper bag hanging from his left hand, Nelson stands before me with his wide-toothed grin blazing in the sun. “I saw you on my way back home, thought I’d bring you back with me if you’re ready.”

“Nelson… Yes, I’m ready.”

I pick up the remains of my lunch and drop them in a trash can near the pier entrance and we walk. “How long have you been on Angel’s Head, Nelson?” I ask as we slowly make our way towards the pier entrance.

“I’ve been on least forty charters… last one was much like this one. I’d say all told, nearly twenty years. Better part anyway.” His eyes gloss as he peers off into the sun. A look of near sadness crosses his face.

“What do you know of this trip?” I ask.

“Oh, not too much. A young man by name of Hargrove chartered the ship for an extended voyage. Rumor has it, for a few months. He has a group of fellas with him – five or six I guess – who have set up all kinds of crazy contraptions on the Angel. Supposed to be some kind of scientists or something. With that dive cage and sub, I’d guess they were going to deep water looking for something. Ne’er know what till they find it I suppose. Real secretive about it. Even the skipper says he don’t know.

”As for you, son, I wouldn’t worry too much. You’re young and look strong. I ‘spect you’ll learn the ropes pretty quick. Once you’ve settled in, you’ll find the Angel’s as fine a place to hang your hat as any other. A real thing of beauty she is.” Nelson trails off and gets that glazed look again.

“Tell me about the captain. What’s his story?” Nelson stops and puts his hand on the fence rail, his head down as though he is overcome. He stoops and sets his bag on the ground.

“Are you OK?” I ask.

With one hand raised to his forehead, Nelson says, “Gimme a minute, boy. Just a minute. I got a chill that swept straight through me.” Then quietly to where I can barely hear, he says, “like death.”

After a few moments, Nelson is looking better and says so. I try to help him along but he shakes me off saying, “Get the fuck off me, boy! I ain’t one of your lady friends back on shore!!” Nelson smiles and we keep walking. I don’t bother correcting him that we ARE on shore. Before long we are through the pier entrance, down the pier and face-to-face with the Angel’s Head. I block the sun with my hand and marvel at her.

“Well, let’s go see your room, son,” Nelson says as we make our way up the ramp.