The Black Sea Patrol Boat Captain

Time 2021-10-19 09:05:17

Web Name: The Black Sea Patrol Boat Captain

WebSite: http://theblackseapatrolboatcaptain.blogspot.com

ID:207286

Keywords:

Sea,Black,The,Captain,Boat,Patrol,

Description:

keywords:
description:
The Black Sea Patrol Boat Captain

The Least Thing You Want
Rosie Knight was seven years old, chasing her sister around the summer house, when she ran straight through a glass door. There was an almighty crash, a sudden shocked frozen moment, and then screams, blood. Like a bomb had gone off, her mother would say, when the story was retold at family Christmases.Nobody blamed her sister Abigail, and Rosie never mentioned it, not even when the girls were grown up and living together and there would be weeks of icy silence between them, time spent in their rooms and meals quickly heated. At thirty-three, Rosie still had the scars, and sometimes, after too many shots and at the encouragement of her friends, she might show one of the boys who were buying them drinks. Thats how she met Craig, I could have died, she said, pulling her skirt down just a little to show the faintest white line on her hip.Craig peered more closely. Ive had worse cuts shaving, he said, standing up straight and taking a swig from his beer bottle but keeping his eyes on her. Ive got more. I had lots, but you cant really see any of them now. Not unless you look hard.Id like to try, hed said, and although she thought his aftershave too strong and his voice too loud, she gave him the chance to do just that. He didnt waste any time looking that night though, and she had to remind him the next time. Then, later, with the extra weight she put on, she didnt want him spending too much time looking over her body. Not that there was ever any real danger of that.Rosie got a new job with more money and bonuses every year and she took Craig on a work conference to Bali where everyone but them got sick from a dodgy belly straightaway. They spent their time by the pool trying out different coloured cocktails, and she told herself she was falling in love. When they got back Craig found out hed been promoted at the Call Centre, looking after a team because theyre all idiots there and they need me, he said. They decided to rent a place together, choosing the townhouse that had a corner bathtub, and space in the living room for a bar where he could put up some of his footie and motor racing posters. They both worked in the city, caught the same train morning and afternoon, but soon she left him to his iPhone and concentrated on her magazines. She learned to cook recipes she saw on TV, and didnt complain when their joint account kept dipping on his Friday nights out with the boys. One day at work, while she was trying to make sense of a set of invoices, she got a call from her sister. Youre home? she asked, surprised. Last shed heard her sister was in India.Turned out Abigail had run out of money and could she stay with Rosie, for just a little bit? Abigail was in the city already, and they got the train home together. When Craig saw her he laughed and asked what had happened, had she turned lezzo overseas or what?Abigail ran a hand through her dark, short, almost shaved hair. It was to stop getting hassled by dicks like you, she laughed back. Rosie was thinking, even with the dyke haircut, her sister still looked gorgeous, with the olive skin that had passed her by, and the skinny hips. Yeah, but no tits, her sister used to say, raising her eyebrows and leering at Rosie and theyd both laugh.Abigail turned to her sister. The groping, she said, it was unbelievable. At least like this I didnt get bothered as much. But seriously Rosie, you have to go. It was mindblowing. Here, I got you a gift.Abigail dug through her backpack, past the dirty clothes, and came out holding a colourful little book. She handed it to Rosie.When Rosie read the cover, and flicked through it, she blushed. Craig looked over her shoulder.The Karma Sutra! he said, too loud. Ha, babe, you see that, its the Karma Sutra. He took it off her and started looking through it.Rosie nodded, said thanks in a small voice.Its what they do, Abigail said, give that book as a gift to newlyweds. Conjugal bliss, and all that. I know you guys arent married, but doesnt hurt to practise, eh. That night Rosie cleared all their un-ironed laundry off the spare bed and got the room ready. When she came back downstairs Craig had already hooked the Plasma TV up to her camera and Abigail was showing him photos shed taken on her travels. Some Rosie recognised from emails titled Greetings from Istanbul, Hello from Beirut, Me in Goa and the like. Abigail was skipping through some taken on a beach that looked too white to be real, with impossibly tanned people in the background. Abi in a little bikini, Abi smiling with a hot young local, Abi and her friend laughing with a postcard sunset in the background. Looks like you had fun, Rosie said. You speak to Mum and Dad yet?Abigail waved her hand, dismissing it for now. Oh, look, this is us cliff jumping in Guatemala. Rosie left them to it and started getting dinner ready.
After a couple of weeks, and with no sign of Abi moving out, Rosie convinced Craig they should go away for a weekend. Shed been dropping heavy hints about their future, showing him rings she liked, and though he mostly laughed it off she thought he might be getting the message. She convinced him they should go camping But in a cabin, with TV at a place down south her good friend Emma had raved about. Craig was reluctant to spend his time admiring the natural wonders but once there he got into the spirit and took photos and ran around laughing, scaring the wildlife and making the other tourists give them wary looks. Rosie didnt care, she was enjoying herself, the time together. Driving back through the country, they stopped at a little coffee shop serving scones and cream. Thats when he proposed, and it shocked her, the timing, the lack of fuss. He didnt even have a proper ring. That will come later, he promised. It wasnt quite as shed imagined, but then again, it was a proposal, as best he could manage, and she said yes. The old ladies running the café congratulated them and gave them a piece of sponge cake to celebrate. They got home that night, three hours later than planned. Theyd taken a wrong turn, driving in the wrong direction through closed up towns, and Craig had blamed her when she said theyd have to turn around. He carried on about what a waste of time, and why wasnt she paying more attention, and hed probably miss the kick off now. They drove in silence the rest of the way back, and he stormed inside soon as he parked the car. Abigail was in the kitchen when Rosie finally walked in, Craig already on the couch and ignoring her. How was it? Abi asked. Rosie forced a smile. Were engaged, she said. Oh Rosie, thats fantastic! she said, hugging her. But what about Just an argument. Its nothing, its silly. Abi wanted to know all about it. The sisters sat at the kitchen table, Abi eating her dinner and Rosie tried to make it sound more romantic than it was, while Craig shouted at the TV from the other room.

Rosie organised an engagement BBQ at their place, because it would be cheaper they had to think about buying a place now, she told him and she figured shed drink less. She was already planning to lose weight for the wedding. Craig left her too it. His only suggestion was that they get stretch Hummers, but she said a definite no to that one, and was surprised when he didnt make a fuss about it. Abigail helped Rosie on the day of the BBQ, the sisters preparing food and talking like they hadnt in years. Abigail had found a job, as an au pair for this rich couple on the north shore, and would be moving out soon. Ill miss you, you know, Rosie said. Its been fun, like old times.Yeah, but you know what they say, threes company. Besides, itll give you and Craig the chance to try out that little book I gave you. Rosie blushed, concentrating on chopping some onions. Abigail laughed and gave her a nudge. Seriously, check out page 45, its a real eye-opener. Maybe save that one for your wedding night, she said, winking.
Rosies friends started arriving and she kept busy mixing cocktails and heating up the food. The boys gathered outside and the girls mostly stayed in, talking wedding plans and dresses, and the ones with kids made jokes about what Rosie could look forward to. Rosie laughed it off she was godmother to a couple of children, and spent lots of her weekends minding them. The kids liked her, she enjoyed taking them out to things like Disney on Ice, and was looking forward to some of her own. Rosie carried a tray of samosas out to the back patio, cleared a space among the other food. She could hear Craig talking loudly to his friends.We should go to that place, he said, and get a dance, and you could flash your badge and tell the chick that if she doesnt do what we want, well close the place down. How cool would that be? He was talking to Shane, an old schoolfriend of Rosies who had recently given up a job at the bank to join the police force. She thought he would make an excellent policeman, tall and strong like they used to be, with a serious face that would light up with a smile and hed understand your troubles.Craig, dont go getting Shane in trouble, she said. The way youd carry on, hed be more likely to have to arrest you.Shane smiled at her, took the opportunity to get up and ask Craig if he wanted another, shaking his empty beer bottle. He walked inside with Rosie.Im sorry, she said. Hes looking forward to his bucks night. Sounds like it, he said. I can already see how that ones going to end. He gave Rosie a gently nudge in the ribs, and was about to say more when he saw her sister. Abigail walked over to them, moving her hips to the music. Rosie watched Shane watch her. One of those mine? she asked, taking a beer from Shanes hand. Rosie left them to talk. She took some more food around, and noticed she was getting hungry herself, and a little lightheaded from the couple of cocktails she had allowed herself. When she returned to the kitchen, Craig was in there, dancing closely with Abi. Shane came over to say goodbye. He kissed her on the cheek, congratulating her. As Shane squeezed past the dancers, Abigail smiled and gave him a helpless shrug. Then she pushed Craig off; it took a couple of goes before he left her alone. He tried his luck with some of Rosies friends milling around. They too tried to laugh him off without making a big deal of it, but with each attempt he got more pushy. Rosie took herself out the back with another platter of food.

After her friends had left, Rosie went to bed. Craig was still out the back with some of his mates, the music too loud, their voices harsh and swallowing up the night. The cops had come round once, for a friendly word, but Rosie wouldnt be surprised if they returned. Eventually she fell asleep. She didnt notice when the music stopped, but she woke when Craig stumbled into their room and fell into bed. He was quickly snoring, a leaden lump beside her. It took her a while before she drifted off again.With first light she was up. She went downstairs to a house full of bottles and half-eaten food. She didnt spend any time thinking about it; she started cleaning. Half an hour later Abi came down in her pyjamas, stood there a moment watching, then started helping. They didnt say anything.Rosie went outside to clear the patio. There were beer bottles and paper plates all around, even in the little garden shed started. She stood there, looking up as the sky turned a lighter shade of grey.She heard the screen door slide open and shut as Abi came out. So. Where do you think youll go for your honeymoon?We havent decided yet, Rosie said. Know anywhere good?Ive heard Fijis nice, she said. But honestly? You might be better going there by yourself.Rosie looked closely at her, trying to work out how she meant it. Abi gave her a wink. Rosie smiled, and the sisters watched the sky grow lighter, and lighter still.

And They All Went To Heaven In A Little Row BoatWe watched them gather off the coast, a flotilla of junks, coracles, canoes and rafts made from condensed milk packing crates. They sat there off shore, bobbing patiently on the slate-grey sea, and every day more appeared until they covered the horizon like a creeping mass of wood and rusted metal and dark skin. They didnt draw near though. They waited.

- Why do they wait so, said Marie.

I removed my head from between her legs, turned to look at the news on TV. Their ways are strange and alien, I said. Now, when I do this, how would you rate it, on a scale of one to ten, one being worse, ten being best.

They started calling it an Armada. Surfers flexed their bronzed muscles and rode their dagger-shaped boards out to them. Skinny old women pushed them away with long poles. The men on the boats laughed and made obscene gestures involving much grabbing of the crotch. Headlines grew more declarative.

STOP THEM

WE ARE US

THEY ARE NOT US

- Marie, I said, the penis is not just an over-large clitoris. You can be more forthright with it.

She stopped. She wanted to know about their spirituality. Did they have codes, restrictions, rules handed down from time immemorial? Were they circumcised? I admitted I did not know, but it was a good question.

I beckoned Cherie over. Kiss her, I said. Kiss her like Aphrodite kissed Europa. No, Do Not Bury Your Head In The SandWalter was explaining to Akesh about progress. - Technological advancements typically preceded and gave rise to advances in scientific understanding, he said, and vice versa. Take this train were on, Water said.

- I dont normally catch the train, Akesh said.

- Now, Walter continued, The steam engine is a good example. It was developed by mechanics who observed the relations between volume, pressure, and temperature. This was at a time when theoretical scientists were tied to the caloric theory of heat, which later turned out to be a conceptual dead end.

Akesh was watching the woman with dreads and an angry blank look in her eyes return to her seat.

- The success of the steam engine, Walter said, contributed to the development of what you and I would call classical thermodynamics.

- Shut up you sluts. Sluts. Why dont you go suck some cock.

- What I want to know is, said Akesh, is what does this mean for democracy?

- Do you see a bad moon rising over the democratic world? Walter asked.

- In this age of communicative abundance, Akesh said, watching two South Korean schoolgirls film the woman on their glittering iPhones, who will protect the public interest against the abuse of corporate and private power?

- It's a networked world my friend. And when communication is no longer housed within a territorial state, its hard to humble the arrogant.

- Thats right, scratch your head, Scratch those nits. Nithead!

Akesh looked at his reflection in the night-darkened window, spots of light bleeding past outside. - I cant fight the bullshit, he said.

The schoolgirls got off at the next stop, one of them shouting in polished English that she hoped the woman fell under a train. The people applauded. Groove Is In The HeartTheyd turned the lights on and stopped the music and were waiting for his answer.

- You were touching her thighs on the dancefloor, said the big lady from downstairs who had slimmed down but was still quite big. She handled customer complaints.

- How do you plead?

- Not guilty, he said

- Are you sure? We have several witnesses. Some not drunk. One girl has only had one Pepsi all night.

It was true. Hed tried to get her a glass of wine, but shed declined. He dragged her onto the dancefloor instead, convincing her she could not not dance to Groove Is In The Heart. Sadly, she found it very easy to not dance, and returned swiftly to her soft drink. Thats when he bumped into the girl in the red dress, the graphic designer from upstairs. It was just a gentle, inadvertent bump, part of his shimmy, but it almost made her boobs fall out of her dress.

- Im sorry, he said, trying to look like all hed done was tread on her toe. Which, come to think of it, he had also done.

She pulled her dress back up, in time to the beat. - No problem. I wont hold it against you.

- Thats funny, he said, because I was just about to say

He never did finish the line because Love Shack came on and it was her favourite song ever, and even though he had never thought of it as a song one could grind to she showed it was very possible. In The Heat Of The NightLate one Friday night, fifteen minutes till the last train left, he got a text saying come over. Just two words and a kind of shiver went through him, a nervous excitement, as when your name is called to accept an award.

He re-read the message, watched the clock. Sweat-slicked guys spilled mouthfuls of Hungry Jacks, followed by sleepy-eyed girls wobbling in highheels. His blood was beating harder when he stood up, walked out of the station and spotted a cab.

Coogee, he said.

He couldnt remember the address, not exactly. The city was filled with laughing people. He wondered if he was tired. The air changed, grew cooler, and he peered at street names, buildings.

Here, he said, hopeful.

The ocean was near, he could feel it off in the dark. He walked down a street, backed up, took another turn. Few lights were on, and none he could see in the house he chose. No answer to his knock. He looked around, up at the stars, silent and faint behind the yellow streetlights. He could have been half way home by now.

You came.

She was standing in the doorway, a candle flickering somewhere in the house. She wore a tight white singlet and little knickers that made a sharp V between her legs.

Of course, he said, smiling. Only onedollar onedollar onedollar!- How much are these books, the lady asks, holding up a battered Penguin Classic copy of Frankenstein.

- If theyre not marked, theyre $3.

- And the ones that are marked? Shes looking directly at me, her eyes lifeless, waiting for an answer.

- Then, I say, theyre the price thats marked.

- Oh, she says. She looks at the book in her hand, as if wondering how it got there. She drops it back in the box, casts a critical yet somehow still dead-eyed look over the rest of the goods on display, then turns and shambles off.

Id be more indignant, but Im wearing an ill-fitting sombrero to protect my head from the malevolent sun. Bad enough. But it is blue, and painted as an Australian flag. It was $5. Only because I will never, ever see any of these people ever again am I wearing it. And even then I feel as if a little bit of my spirit has been crushed.

At the end of the day, I make back the money I spent on the hat. The lady with butterflies tattooed round her wrist wanted to know if I had any real-life books. She was holding Frankenstein. I told her it was based on a true story. Her husband, drinking a can of Passiona, looked over and said yeah, thats right, he thought hed heard that.

- How much? she asks.

- You can have it, I say, for $5. And The Horse You Rode In OnHis Direct Involvement Companion went tsk as Steven finished the email and hit send. That was the third time this morning. Steven was already sick of it.

As part of a new global initiative, the company had assigned all staff a DIC. Stevens, a dumpy little fellow named Bob, had arrived at his home last night. Bob slept on the floor. When Steven woke the next morning. Bob was dressed in an unflattering purple jumpsuit emblazoned with the motto Be Yourself: Theres Nobody Better Qualified. He was doing callisthenics.

Bob made a disappointed sound when Steven didnt grab a seat on the train. Bob repeated the sound when Steven accepted his coffee in a cup that was too hot to hold. And now Bob appeared to disapprove of the conciliatory tone he had struck in emails. That was a personal email, Steven said. Is there a problem?

Personal life is work And work life is personal, said Bob. Were here to help you in all aspects of your Assertive Happiness Screening.

AHS was also one of the new CEOs latest brainwaves. In a web address that played every time a browser was opened, the CEO stated he was worried staff werent grabbing happiness with both hands. He wanted to fix that. Our DICs, who had already achieved a 34% rise in satisfaction and contentment amongst the Latin American affiliates, would be our third hand, so to speak.

Steven gave Bob a long look, Bob, said Steven. How about you fuck off.

A hush fell over the floor. All the DICs were shocked. Like the Buddha achieving nirvana in an instant, Steven had just ascended to the seventh and final stage of Assertive Happiness. The Angel and the Thunderstorm of GodIve been with our Lord Jesus Christ for seven years, and Ive never had a dull moment

This made me look up. The grey-haired lady at the other end of the carriage had been droning for the last twenty minutes that God is love and we should all reapply ourselves to the Ten Commandments if we wanted to save our souls. Her robotic monotone never faltered; not when she introduced herself as an angel, not when she described heavy metal music and astrology as false idols, not even when the elderly couple snapped at her to shut up. That personal note stood out, precisely because it was delivered in the same washed-out tone.

She said it as she shuffled along the aisle, then disappeared down the stairs. We smiled at each other, acknowledging that she might have been crazy, but at least she was harmless. Wed got off lightly. Thats when her God squad partner appeared to take over the show.

He strode up like a showman and talked to us directly in a boisterous voice. He wanted to know if we were happy because we had jobs and shiny cars. Did we think spending time on the internet would lead us to heaven? He laughed that he could get tatttoos and piercings and become a hippy, but where would that get him?

Sir, why dont you be quiet, said a blue-haired goth girl. Each to their own, isnt that how it should be?

"No! he said. Would you tell a thunderstorm to be quiet? No! I am the thunderstorm of God! He was no longer friendly with us. He shook his bible, flung a few more warnings at us, then joined his companion in another carriage.

All this, for $2.50, said the elderly man to his wife, and we laughed. Life In A Toilet Police State

In case any of you are wondering, we most certainly do not employ toilet police. She told us this with a smile that was also a challenge. Anything you may have heard was simply a few overeager supervisors taking the law into their own hands. I can assure you it is not company policy. Okay then. Any other questions?

Everyone remained silent. Our induction as call centre employees of Waggle!, supplier of ergonomically designed pet toys, was almost over. Why did they even need a call centre, I wanted to ask, but didnt.

Finally, I raised my hand. Um, what about the news that a 25^th Waggle! employee has just committed suicide?

She honed in on me with a look as cold a monitor lizards. Where did you get those figures? she asked. It doesnt matter. Its not true.

We all stood watching her.

Three of them survived, she said. And their stay in hospital is being subsidised by Waggle! Which is very generous, I think, and shows generosity by our new owner, Randall X. DeLeon, to our staff. Especially since no proof has ever been established in a court of law that we were in any way responsible. Some of them had family problems. Two were clinically insane. And one man, I believe liked to dress as a panda bear. Wearing a nappy. With that, she wrote something in her folder, and strode off.

Do Not Mistake The Dream For RealityI tapped the lady on the shoulder. Excuse me, is this the line for the ticket machine?

Im not sure, she said. I only just joined it a minute ago.

I looked at my watch; there was time to wait. I stayed in line.
What was I going to have for breakfast? Id already lied three times this week that I wasnt relying on coffee and a muffin to give me the right start to the day. I should have stayed home longer, eating toasted muesli with sliced banana and perhaps some bio-active yoghurt. And green tea. Now I was hungry. I feared I would not have the correct level of glucoses and carbohydrates to get through the morning. Was the line even moving?

There was a young guy in front of me now, his short, already thinning hair sculpted into a glistening mountain range down the middle of his skull. This is the ticket machine line, right? I asked.

He jerked out his iPod earphones and ripped off his sunglasses. Whats your problem mate? Cant you see were standing in line?

I took that as a yes and went back to waiting. If we didnt get a move on though, that pile of work would have grown by the time I got in. I should have stayed back last night and not left in time to watch that TV show everyone is talking about. I cant think of the name of it just now. Why didnt I pack an apple, at least.

People were crossing through the line on their way somewhere else. The largest number of them always seemed to pass directly in front of me. When I stepped up to close the gap, a woman with dark roots and pyjama-clad children holding each hand was in front of me.

Can you see how far we are from the ticket machine?

Does it look like Ive got time to be doing that? she said. Ive got my hands full right here. With that she raised her hands, which left her two small children on tippy-toes as they tried to regain their balance.

Does anyone know if there is a ticket machine anywhere in the vicinity? I shouted. Im hungry and I need to get to work!

Honey, honey, came the reply. Youre dreaming again. Go back to sleep, its 1am

But I knew I wasnt dreaming. They teach you that as early as primary school, that you dont end a story with it was all a dream. Of course I knew that. Like The Deposed Russian Autocrat?

They gave me a clipboard and said Congratulations, youre the new transport czar. I said Why me? They informed me that the minister formerly in charge had abrogated his responsibility by running off with the skirt from a variety show. I meant, I wasnt qualified. Have you ever ridden a train? Every day for 20 years, there and back. Son, youve got the job! If I wanted a whiteboard too, it would have to get signed off by Accounts. Knock yourself out.

I told my wife about my promotion. She said the problems facing our citys transport system included ageing infrastructure, poor patronage and random threats from over-individualised youth with contempt for authority. Did I think I could solve all that, and still maintain the lawns? Would a whiteboard help? I asked.

My first press conference went well, I thought. More trains, and more people riding them was my theme. I could only take half an hour off work, so I had to skip questions, but I laid out a vision of the future consisting of a dozen bullet-points and two artists-impressions designed by my daughter, the trainee hairdresser. Later, Accounts told me any cost overruns would be garnished from my wages.

I got my brother Craig, a part-time desktop publisher, to pencil in a couple of new lines. We photocopied the plans on stationery I snuck out of work and distributed them at the stations, asking people to add their comments and mail them back to me. The newspapers started describing my efforts as amateurish. I called a press conference to ask their specific complaints. They said an unnamed source had accused me of taking bribes, and held up one of my bank statements. I said that was the fortnightly payment from my job. I blamed Craig. He was pissed because hed wanted to laminate the plans but I said it would cost too much.

Darling, have you made the trains run to schedule yet? asked my wife one night.

57% of the time I have, I said, Its a losing cause. No-one wants to be where theyre going, but they hate being late getting there. I looked in the mirror. My hair had gone grey and my skin sallow. My boss said I was wasting valuable man-hours.

Sometimes I think I should just make the trains run backwards. Then people can think more about where theyve come from, and less on where theyre going. And arriving would be a pleasant surprise.

My wife finished brushing her hair. Darling, she said, you work too hard. Come to bed.

The Revolution Will Be Printed In Four Colour Process

It was time. My cadre came out onto the streets carrying A1 duo-tone signs printed in Helvetica Bold.

LEFT ALIGNED, NOT JUSTIFIED

PANTONE IS POLITICS

KERNING FOR THE QUALIFIED

Allex Tonkin had returned from exile. Tonkin, the genius behind the minty-fresh mouthwash viral advertising campaign featuring mincing albinos in blackface. Tonkin the pariah, described by the Prime Minister as a far, far greater threat to the nation than midget submarines.

Three long years working as a signwriter in Dunedin had not broken his spirit. Apprentices had smuggled his lino-cut manifestos (screen-printed on hand-pressed paper) into the country. Now, the man himself in all his be-satcheled glory was here to lead us.

The graphic designers were on the march.

The advertising agencies were the first to cross over, then the TV studios. The newspaper editors held out for three days, but fell when their online staff viciously turned on them. The Prime Minister was flown out of the country under the skirts of a touring popstar. One week, and the halls of power echoed with the Converse-clad sound of illustrators, artists and typesetters.

And then we started The Brainstorming.

Some Of You Here Today Will Not Be With Us Next Financial YearI pointed out the Armani and Hugo Boss among us, but it was Dan who saw the bespoke houndstooth arrive and quietly join our group. Remember, if it takes two men at every limb, do it, said Richard, who had once been retained to offer arcane advice to four out of the top five financial institutions.
Exiting the concourse we split into three columns. Dan looked nervous in the grey morning light. It wouldnt end like that team building exercise in Bundeena, Id reassured him, and gave him two thumbs up as we quickened our pace. By the time we hit the zebra crossing, halting a taxi and a Star Casino courtesy van, there were hoots and cries from the lead suits.
We fell upon the homeless with the wrath of vengeful forefathers. Richards plan, transmitted to our Blackberrys the night before, was a work of genius. One old Creole woman raised a garbled warning in French, but she was cut down by two former derivatives traders before the vague huddled shapes could stir.
I looked for Dan. He was wrestling a white-haired old man who had his teeth clamped on Dans left ankle. The sock was too silky to offer any protection. Five six seven times Dan hit the old man on the head with a collection box, but it was no good, the cardboard was rain-softened and the coins were flying loose.
Thats when Richard lifted up the last of the milk crates and threw it into the road and all the fight went out of them.
The park was ours. Doldrums

Im standing in the doorway telling Lauren about the eviscerated chicken in the front yard but shes not listening. She wants to talk about her dad. Laurens old man won a 16-footer off a property developer/commission witness, and has a notion to sail solo around the world.

I'm worried, she says. How is he meant to survive all those nights on the wine dark sea?

I admitted I didnt know. Teenagers have been known to do it, I say. As young as 14. But she was Dutch.

This only made Lauren angry. She didnt like teenagers; she found their haircuts strange and their hugging inscrutable. What do they know! Besides, he invited me to travel with him. Have you ever been to Patagonia? Its beautiful this time of year, apparently.

I said I had not had the pleasure. How will that affect his plans to sail solo?

It wont, she says. Theres plenty of room to hide, and I can come out at night. I agree it sounds like he's thought of everything.

Chicken wire. Thats what you need, Maurice says. Its not Stalag 17, but it will do the job.

Id mentioned Laurenss chicken-killing dog, a blue heeler/border collie cross. Maurice was writing a book about half-track vehicles of the German Army, circa 1939-1945, and spent most of his time in the print room collecting manuscript drafts. The Wehrmacht was the finest fighting force ever assembled. They werent all Nazis, you know.

Maurice elaborated on how it wasnt the fence so much as the example you made of the first guy tried to escape that counted. I collect my spreadsheet and thank Maurice for the advice. He was going through a messy divorce, and I didnt want to bother him too much with my troubles.

Can you catch tetanus from anodized steel? Im showing my sticking-plastered hands to Lauren. Puncture wounds from poorly cut chicken wire bleed profusely, but the holes themselves are so miniscule they evoke no sympathy.

Lauren is looking at the new fence doubtfully. I feel she is being too judgmental. Isnt that on the neighbours property? she says, finally.

I look at the fence. The dog is marking each post. Some of it is, I admit. But I cant move it now. It would confuse the dog.

Keeping a drunk middle-aged man upright is no joke. Not when hes had six seven eight longnecks, youre casting serious looks at the dog and twitching your head at the door, while his drunk lady partners got the other arm saying sokay, hes just epileptic.

Hes already fallen face first on the floorboards, thrown off balance by his grand gesture at Laurens dog sprawled on their couch, saying she was welcome there anytime. Luckily, his face looks well-used to breaking falls.

Now my back is twingeing from hoisting him to his feet. The dog lays there watching us. On TV theyre talking about a tea that makes you lose weight, which may or may not be related to the tea-drinkers also eating less at the time. I make a choice. I let him go, lunge at the dog, and shout thanks as I chase her out the door. Theres another thud. I forgot to ask if they keep chickens.

Maurice wants to help. Improvise. Adapt. Adjust to the changing situation. He rips the heads off half a dozen Equal packets and dumps them in his coffee. And reinforce that fence with anything you can find.

I have a new respect for Maurice. He does not let circumstances get the better of him. For instance, Tony, our boss, often asks Maurice (Maurice sits across from me, behind a purple partition) if he has signed those compliance forms yet. Maurice usually ignores him. I pretend I cant see Tony standing there, because its awkward. But lately Maurice has replied that the forms are an infringement of his rights and an insult to his 20 years of service. Its just a form that HR need, says Tony. Maurice goes back to ignoring him. Eventually Tony shrugs and leaves.

That takes courage, in my mind. Although I fear he is not endearing himself to HR. He says he doesnt care. Next round of redundancies and its auf wiedersehn.

The fence has turned into a mini Berlin Wall. I spent the whole weekend blocking up the holes with unused household items and unwanted birthday gifts. From where I stand I can see a waffle maker, a pizza stone, a foot spa and some slippers that are too small. Next came the books The Fountainhead, Laurens mothers forgotten copy of Gone With The Wind, three editions of Jane Eyre - slipped into the gaps to create a barrier with no weak points. Im fairly sure this now represents a suitable deterrent to the dog.

Im cleaning up inside when I ask Lauren where her dog is. She has been studying up on sailing. I think you left the front door open, she says. Did you know the doldrums is a nautical term for the low-pressure area around the equator where the air goes dead calm and you cant sail. At all?

I cant believe I left the front door open. I start to walk out, then stop and turn. But what about the boats with engines?

Laurenisnt sure, but thinks they dont travel there.

Maurice is on the phone to his ex-wife. They are having a dispute about their 13 year old son. The son, apparently, wants to change his name. Not the first one, just the last two. Maurice gives in on the surname, but draws the line at the middle name. His sons middle name is Maurice. And what does he want to change it to? Peter? Who the hell is Peter?

Im waiting to hear who Peter is when Tony appears at Maurices desk. Maurice holds up a hand. Everyone is waiting. Oh. Okay then, says Maurice, and puts the phone down.

Tony asks about that form. Maurice says of course, hell bring it to him in a minute. Tony goes back to his office, confident all those hours of management training are finally paying off.

Maurice gets up and heads towards the office. The screams start a couple of minutes later. By the time I get there, Tony is cringing under his desk, bleeding from a serious head wound. Maurice stands with a green recycle bag hanging limply from his hands. Its almost empty now, but I can see the contents sprayed around the room from his vicious beating of Tony: a tin of coffee, three bottles of milk (two skim, one full fat), a couple of frozen meals, cereal boxes and a handful of plates and cutlery.

Maurice doesnt resist when he is restrained by the IT guys. An ambulance is called for Tony. The police for Maurice. I hear later that Peter is the name of his exs new partner.

Its no use. The neighbours, who are only ever a blur behind their windows, must be coming out at night to steal my stuff. Holes keep reappearing in the fence. The dog roams free. I do not collect her from the drunkards house.

Lauren says I have not been making an effort. I hope this time apart makes you realise some things, she says.

What things? I say.

She says its sad that I even have to ask,

She leaves, carrying a duffel bag, which was all her father would allow onboard.

HomeSubscribe to:Posts (Atom)About MeThe Black Sea Patrol Boat CaptainView my complete profile

TAGS:Sea Black The Captain Boat Patrol 

<<< Thank you for your visit >>>

Hot Websites