On Seas So Crimson

by James Young

  “This is some bullshit,” Eric finally snapped. “Look you big oafs, I didn’t know this Peter guy and I don’t’ really give a shit what happened to him.”

  That stopped both Sam and David in their tracks. Eric noted that Nick scurried into the street in order to avoid getting caught in what was shaping up to be the worst fratricidal violence since Genesis.

  “Peter was our friend,” Sam seethed.

  “A great man,” David added without missing a beat.

  “Okay, and he’s dead,” Eric stated defiantly. “You think you two jackasses have a monopoly on dead friends who were great people?!”

  Whatever his brothers were going to say in return was interrupted by the the crack of a bat followed by the wet sound of a baseball striking flesh.

  “Crap!” Charles exclaimed, causing all three brothers to suddenly look at the younger officer. He had dropped the flowers he’d been carrying for Patricia and Jo in order to grab his nose, and blood was running between the fingers of his hands onto his whites.

  “What in the Hell?!” Eric asked, grabbing his handkerchief out of his pocket.

  “Oh my gosh! Mom, Timmy hit a man in the face!” a little girl shouted from the picket fence behind Nick. Sam and David turned to look at the blonde haired little girl, her freckled face still looking at all four men in shock. As they met her eyes, she turned shyly away and ran back around the corner of her house.

  Patricia did say something about little kids having just moved in and raised a racket, Eric thought. A couple seconds later a little boy poked his head sheepishly around the corner of the house, obviously ‘Timmy’ from the guilty look on his face. Taking one look at Charles bleeding all over his whites, that look turned from guilt to sheer terror as he dropped the bat he was carrying.

  “Oh Lord,” came a heavily-accented woman’s voice from the front step. Standing in a dress and apron was a tall, statuesque blonde that was clearly Timmy and his sister’s mother. She muttered a phrase in Russian and began moving towards Timmy, her statement and obvious intent causing both Sam and David to start laughing.

  “Mother, he did not mean any harm,” Sam said quickly. His flawless Russian caused the woman to stop dead in shock, whipping her head around so quickly that Sam genuinely thought she was going to harm herself.

  “Our friend’s nose is quite large—the ball could not help but hit it,” David continued, also in the same language as his brother.

  The woman looked at them stunned. Timmy, realizing that he had just been granted a huge reprieve, made eye contact with Charles.

  “Sorry Mister!” he called. Then, turning to run, he stopped and remembered something. Nick was there ahead of him, walking over to hand the boy the ball.

  “I would go to the backyard if I were you,” Eric heard Nick say softly. “My brothers have your Mom distracted. Go into the house crying so your sister thinks you got tanned, then wash up for dinner. By the time those two are done talking to your Mother, you should be safe.”

  Timmy looked up at Nick in awe. Nodding twice, he took off like a bat out of hell. A few moments later they could all hear him screaming bloody murder like he had just received the beating of his life, followed by a little girl’s laughter.

  Oh sibling rivalry, Eric thought, sharing a knowing look with Nick. The commotion caused the front door to open, a man just a few years older than Sam and David stepping outside the door. Seeing his wife in animated conversation, he began walking across the yard.

  “Is there a problem, Niole?” he asked in English, looking at the four men.

  “Your son hit that poor man in the face,” Niole replied in the tone all mothers use when discussing wayward children. “It is somewhat fortunate, as I found out these two men speak Russian and, apparently, so does our neighbor!”

  “Oh,” the man said, extending his hand to Sam. “My name is Alf, Alf Olrik,” he said. Listening, Eric could detect a very faint accent, leading him to think that the man was a second-generation American.

  “Hello Mr. Olrik,” Sam said. “I am Sam, and this is my brother David.”

  “Uh, yes, I see the resemblance,” Alf said with just a trace of irony.

  “Yeah, we get that a lot,” Sam replied with a grin. “That is my youngest brother, Nick, and standing over the unfortunate Ensign Read is my other brother, Eric.”

  “Your poor mother,” Alf said, looking at all four of the Cobbs. “I know what it is to be from a house full of boys.”

  “Yeah, never a dull moment in the Cobb household,” Nick observed, walking up.

  The front door to Patricia’s house opened, revealing the youngest Cobb.

  “Sam, I thought I heard your…Oh my God!” she shrieked, looking at Charles. Turning and looking at her four brothers, her face transformed from curious to rage as if a switch had been thrown.

  Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, Eric thought.

  “Sam, David, Eric, Nick!” she snapped, her Southern drawl suddenly so thick it threatened to coat the yard with honey. Jo, coming up behind her, stepped back in shock. “Someone want to explain to me why my guest is sitting on the ground with his nose bleeding?!”

  As Eric and his brothers fought the urge to lean backwards, he could see the same thought going through all their minds.

  My God, she looks just like Mom! Minus the thunderclouds and lightning, of course.

  There was a stunned silence as all four brothers looked at each other, causing Niole to start tittering.

  “You are all dead,” she said in Russian, holding her hand up to her mouth and moving away quickly.

  “Only if they don’t answer me,” Patricia snapped in the same language.

  Not sure I’ve ever heard Russian done with a drawl that thick before, Eric thought. The Duchess would be proud. Who knew having a White Russian “aunt” would bring Toots closer to her neighbors?

  “Well, is someone going to tell me what happened?” Patricia continued. “My God, I thought you four were supposed to be my older brothers, not children I’ve got to keep from fighting!”

  “Wait a second Toots…” Nick started.

  “Don’t you start, Nick Elrod Cobb,” Patricia snapped. “Eric, the least you could do is bring the man inside rather than have him standing out here bleeding all over himself!”

  “I didn’t…” Eric started in turn, cut off by his sister pushing past him to take Charles’ arm.

  “No, of course you didn’t think, you guys never do. Just like you haven’t thought that maybe the blood is not going to come out of that uniform now that you’ve let it set,” Patricia snapped, tugging the younger officer towards the door. “I thought you guys grew out of bullying people when you went to the Naval Academy, but apparently your bad names have followed you.”

  “Patricia, we didn’t do anything!” David exclaimed plaintively.

  “Right, I suppose the skies opened and dropped something on his nose?” Patricia said, looking at her brother. Standing just behind her, Charles looked back at the four Cobb brothers, a speculative look on his face.

  “Why you little,” Sam muttered. Patricia whipped around quicker than a striking water moccasin.

  “You know what, Sam? I think David and you can find dinner somewhere else tonight,” Patricia said finally. “I know Sadie isn’t feeling well, but maybe Nick’s new lady friend would like to have you over.”

  “Wait, what?!” Nick asked.

  “Patricia, they didn’t…” Eric started.

  “Hush Eric, the only reason you’re not going with them is because I know you couldn’t throw a punch right now if your life depended on it,” Patricia said flatly.

  “Aw Patricia, that’s not fair!” Nick said, looking at his sister.

  “The fair comes once a year, Nick, and I don’t see any ponies,” Patricia snapped. She smiled in a manner that was in no way friendly. “However, what I do have cooling in the kitchen is Mom’s pecan pie, so I guess I can see why you were confused.”

  There was dead silence,
the three banished brothers looking at Patricia like she had just told them their parents had died and left her the entire family estate. Alma Cobb’s pecan pie was famous throughout Alabama, having won 1st Place at the 1938 Mobile Fair. The recipe was such a closely guarded secret that only Alma, their Aunt Margaret, and now apparently Patricia knew how to make it.

  “I cannot believe you just did said that,” Sam said solemnly.

  “Well, I did,” Patricia returned firmly. “Now, if you excuse me, I have dinner guests to entertain.”

  With that last comment she went into the house, leading Charles by the arm towards the kitchen. Eric took one last look back at his brothers.

  “Sorry fellas,” he said, shrugging. “I don’t think she wants to listen to reason.”

  “I heard that Eric! It’s not too late for you to go home!” Patricia’s voice came from the kitchen. Looking at Sam and David’s forlorn faces, Eric shut the door.

  It was very, very quiet as the three Cobbs and Alf stood looking at Patricia’s front door.

  “You know, they say that a woman starts to turn into her mother at about age twenty-one,” David observed drily.

  As if we’re not in enough trouble, David, Sam thought.

  “Was your mother like that when you were growing up?” Alf asked. All three boys looked at him deadpan.

  “Mom was worse, actually,” Sam observed. Both Nick and David looked at him, causing him to throw up his arms.

  “Someone had to say it,” he said resignedly.

  “Your father has my utmost respect,” Alf said. “If you gentlemen would like, you may join my wife and I for dinner. It is the least I can do after my son has gotten you in so much trouble.”

  “That’s all right, Alf,” David said. “We wouldn’t want to impose and put you in the doghouse also.”

  Alf smiled appreciatively.

  “There is that, although I am certain that she has cooked enough for twenty extra guests,” the man replied. “But I suspect, from your dialect and fluency that you know how Russians cook.”

  “We have a guess, yes,” Sam replied. He proceeded to quickly explain how they knew Russian.

  “My Niole’s parents are also White Russians,” Alf stated. “They emigrated to California back in 1928.”

  “Thank you,” he said, then looked at his watch. “Well, I had better hurry up and get inside so that I may eat before I go on shift.”

  “If you don’t mind our asking, Alf, what do you do?” Sam queried. “It is a little surprising to find someone from Scandinavia in Hawai

  The man smiled.

  “I was born in Minnesota,” Alf said with a smile. “But yes, my parents are from Scandinavia. You have a good ear.”

  No, just lots of interesting classmates, Sam thought.

  “I work for the Pacific Bridge Company,” Alf continued. “Which is a running joke, as there are clearly no bridges that need building here on Oahu.”

  “It was a might bit curious,” Nick observed.

  “There are many other things we do,” Alf stated.

  “Well, we don’t want to keep you,” Sam said.

  “No worries,” Alf said. “You have a good evening.” The three brothers watched as the man moved back into his house, then stepped through the door with a wave.

  “Isn’t Alf sort of a weird name?” Nick asked once the front door had closed.

  “It’s Nordic,” David replied. “He’s probably from Finland, which would explain how he ended up with a Russian wife.”

  “Well, I don’t care of the man’s a space alien, I’m hungry,” Sam stated forcefully. “It looks like we better head back to your place and get some sandwiches, David.”

  “My place?!” David asked. “Why are you eating all my groceries?”

  There was a whistle from the side of Patricia’s house. All three men turned to look, seeing Jo standing just outside the kitchen door holding a box. Sam moved quickly, walking over to his friend.

  “Your brother told me what happened,” Jo whispered. “I didn’t think you were stupid enough to punch a man your sister’s sweet on right in our front yard. Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t put it past you to rough him up, just means I think you have enough brains not to do it in public.”

  Taking a whiff, Sam realized immediately what was in the box.

  “You know, if you weren’t my sister’s housemate and a woman I respect and admire, I’d lay a big one right on you this instant,” he whispered fiercely.

  “Even though that’s really sweet and the feeling’s mutual, you kiss me right now in front of your brothers and you’ll need more ice than Ensign Read,” Jo replied, a sweet smile on her face. “You sort of let that ship sail.”

  “You know, your father should have named you Katherine,” Sam observed, his tone droll.

  “Why is that?” Jo queried, her eyes narrowing. “That seems familiar.”

  “Someone needs to brush up on her Shakespeare,” Sam gloated.

  “Yeah, yeah, get out of here before your sister comes out here and goes all berserk again,” Jo replied with a grin. “Come on by in a couple of days, we’ll do lunch.”

  “Will do. Take care of Eric, make sure Patricia doesn’t poison him with her cooking,” Sam said.

  Jo raised an eyebrow.

  “I cooked dinner tonight,” she said quietly. Sam jerked back in surprise and was about to retort when he saw Eric’s anguished face passing by the window.

  That’s his ‘Mom’s right behind me, flee you fools!’ look, Sam thought. Giving Jo a quick hug, Sam darted around the corner of the house while signaling for his brothers to scram.

  “You okay?” Jo asked, looking at Eric’s pale face and sweating brow as she came back into the kitchen. The man didn’t get a chance to answer, Patricia coming into the room behind him.

  “I can’t believe those three,” she said, clucking her tongue. “I mean, I know they didn’t actually hit Charles, but I’m sure that they had something to do with it.” She rinsed out the washrag she was holding, looking pointedly at Eric.

  “Did you see what happened?” she asked archly.

  “Actually, it was an accident,” he said, to which he received a look of disbelief.

  “Fine Eric, if you don’t want to tell me the truth, this is the last time I will ask,” Patricia said, her voice clearly indicating that it wouldn’t be the last time she thought of it. Charles chose that moment to come into the kitchen wearing just his t-shirt. Eric’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head, causing Jo to start giggling. Patricia turned to look at her, raising an eyebrow.

  “You’ve got blood on your shirt, Patricia,” Jo said, pointing.

  She looked down at her cream colored blouse in horror.

  “Oh no,” she said. “We’ve got to get that before it sets.” She started to dab at the spot, but was stopped by Jo grabbing her.

  “If you do that, you’re going to ruin that shirt,” Jo said. “And I know exactly how much it cost because I was about to buy one just like it.”

  The two women left, leaving Eric and Charles alone. Waiting until the door to his sister’s room closed, Eric turned and gave Charles a hard look.

  “And just how did my sister get blood on her shirt?” Eric asked quietly. Charles gave an exasperated sigh, throwing his hands in the air.

  “You know, sir, I really don’t know how,” he said. “It might have been when she was putting the ice on my nose, it might’ve been when she was scrubbing the blood off my face, who knows? More importantly, who cares?”

  With that last Charles drew himself up to his full height, looking Eric levelly in the eye as if expecting an argument.

  It’s about damn time you passed the test, Eric thought.

  “Finally,” he sighed aloud, causing Charles to be utterly bewildered.

  “What are you talking about?” the younger officer asked, not understanding.

  “Finally you display some damn backbone,” Eric retorted, walking over and clapping his wingman on the back. “I wa
s starting to wonder if my sister was going to be courted by a sissy.”

  “What?” Charles asked.

  “Look, between you, me, and this kitchen, even if you have no intention of courting my sister, she’s taken a shine to you,” Eric replied. “I wasn’t just arguing with my brothers for my health.”

  “So you mean to tell me your brothers were actually trying to talk me out of seeing your sister?” Charles asked, incredulous.

  “Oh yeah,” Eric said, smiling. “I mean, she was rather upset about their friend going missing, and we all take protecting her rather seriously.”

  “How did your sister ever manage to get a date in high school?” Charles asked.

  “It’s not coincidence she ended up with my best friend,” Eric said simply.

  The sound of Patricia’s door loudly squeaking open made Charles stop his reply.

  “You know, one of these days we’ll have to get that fixed,” Jo said, her voice just a little louder than necessary. “Or maybe some nice gentlemen who nearly ruined a nice shirt could do it for us while I warm dinner back up.”

  Eric and Charles shared a look.

  “That gentleman should probably put his arm back in its sling before he goes to doing any housework,” Eric observed, gesturing at Charles’ current state. “I think I can bend down to oil some hinges.”

  “Well he can use the oil can before he puts the sling back on,” Jo said forcefully, fixing Eric with a level stare.

  Apparently this is going to be a clash of wills day, Eric thought.

  “Apparently you’re being requested by description rather than name,” Eric observed drily.

  “Guess so,” Charles replied, standing up. He looked around really quickly, then spotted what he was looking for. Grabbing the kitchen lard, he headed back into the house.

  Jo gave Charles a rather obvious wink as she passed him coming into the kitchen.

  Well I guess we know that Jo likes him, Eric thought with a smile.

  “So, Patricia told me earlier you’re the sanest of the Cobb clan,” Jo stated without preamble.

  “Knowing my sister and brothers, you realize that’s like saying I’ve got the slickest shell in a snail race, right?” Eric said with a slight smile. Jo laughed, her mind playing the mental image of the Cobbs as a bunch of snails.