Bright Side of my Condition ePub

by Randall, Charlotte

  2

  I go to sleep soon as it’s dark and don’t wake up till mid morning. Gliding like a albatross in the great blue is tiring. When I open my eyes, the flying ship’s already anchored offshore. A little rowing boat go back and forth, back and forth, first with the sailors and last with Captain Coffin, his officers and a ragged wretch that do the rowing. The captain have a very straight back, he sit very upright on his little wooden pew. Jes as well it’s summer and a nice day else the vicious heave and curl pitch them all into the briny.

  The three felons stand glum on the beach to welcome Nemesis. That were another Greek lady Fatty teached me about. Coffin don’t have no scales, bridle, sword or scourge, his little bobbing boat don’t look like no chariot, and the ragged wretch sure don’t look like no griffin. But that don’t matter, Nemesis these days come in all shapes and sizes. Course, though they done a lot of hubris, the felons aint exactly sure yet who Captain Coffin is. They mutter among themselves, aint he jes a rescuer and aint we got the skins we need to pay him? Now joy and anxiousness take equal time upon their faces, one flicker in and fade out, then the other have a turn.

  ‘Where is the fourth man?’ Captain Coffin ask soon as he’s stepped ashore and et his first greasy meal.

  ‘There weren’t no fourth man,’ Slangam declare.

  The captain stare at him. ‘Everyone knows the Captain dropped off four escapees. He wrote it in his log.’

  ‘If everyone know, why dint someone come to rescue us?’ Slangam snarl.

  Captain Coffin say he’s here now, aint he.

  ‘The fourth turn mad,’ Gargantua announce confident.

  ‘And kill himself?’

  ‘No, we throwed him off a cliff,’ Toper blurt out.

  Captain Coffin’s bushy eyebrows do a leap up his leathery forehead. ‘You murdered him?’

  ‘He were stark staring mad,’ Toper explain. ‘It were for his own good.’

  ‘He take on a fixation about killing,’ Flonker add. ‘He say the seals orta be allowed to live their own lives, same as us.’

  ‘Do he?’ the captain laugh. ‘And how do men survive if we don’t have meat and skins?’

  ‘That were my point exactly,’ Slangam say.

  Fatty start to pour out lies. ‘He say a seal et some penguins. He were mad for those penguins. Like they were his own childs. So then he join the clubbing again. He club like a fucken lunatick and smear himself with seal blood.’

  Captain Coffin don’t look so jolly now. ‘Were you afraid for your lives?’

  ‘We were,’ Gargantua avow and lay his fat hand across his skinny heart.

  They all think that done the trick, but after Captain Coffin have a think he come back at them, ‘Even though there were three of you? Why didn’t you tie him up? Why did you have to throw him?’

  No one answer.

  All day the murderers load skins with Coffin’s men. In the afternoon I tire of watching and have a nap. When I wake up it’s dinnertime. The felons sit with the captain by the fire and the sailors sit in a circle further out. Everyone munch on the roasted bones of bush chickens. Toper say sudden, like he been chewing on his thinking more’n the flesh, ‘Yer don’t have the full picture, Captain. Wearing the blood weren’t the end of it.’

  ‘It sure weren’t,’ add Flonker quick. ‘He start killing the penguins too.’

  ‘Them penguins that were like his own childs,’ Toper say.

  ‘Yes, I get that,’ Coffin say. ‘But what do it mean?’

  ‘He say Toper’s Lord say no killing. But then he look round here and cry everything’s killing everything jes to eat,’ explain Flonker.

  ‘It’s only a law for men,’ Coffin say.

  ‘That’s what we tell him. That were when his madness show through. He say the whole of existence run with blood. He say it’s the way God make the world. He make it with death in it, so who are we to object to death?’

  Coffin scratch his head and a loud whisper pass through the seated men.

  ‘He come in the hut one night …’

  ‘Didn’t he sleep there?’ Coffin interrupt.

  ‘No, he take to sleeping in the wood.’

  Now the whisper turn to a hum. The wood prove it, the man were stark staring.

  ‘Isn’t there death in the wood?’ Captain Coffin persist.

  ‘Not for him,’ interject Slangam. ‘He think he have some kind of pertection around him. It were part of his madness.’

  Yair, that were true, the night woods end up scaring me less than my own brothers, even if I do face the shining eyeballs of Asmodeus and Titanoboa. It’s only now, from so high up, I see they were looking at me under my sack. But them demons don’t have no snarls or teeth, they only got sad, crooked little smiles, smiles that say, look, here’s another one come in from the cold.

  ‘Anyway,’ Flonker continue with impatience, ‘he come in the hut one night with a club. He say if God put death in the world, we aint to be afraid of it no more. He say it’s a immorality. He look like he gonna dispatch us straightaway so we can show our courage.’

  The hum become a hiss. The hiss go round and round while Captain Coffin scratch his head. He say, ‘And who do he advance upon first?’

  ‘Well, he don’t advance upon no one,’ Fatty reply. ‘But how we get another wink of sleep with such a lunatick running round? Who want to wake up dead with his head stoved in?’

  But where do Captain Coffin come from, what family of careful thinkers, that he find a hole even here? ‘He don’t advance on anyone? But still you find the need to fling him?’

  No one answer.

  ‘He don’t raise his club against you? Why then do you raise against him?’

  ‘No, we never raise a club …’ Toper begin but Flonker hard elbow him. Toper frown but he do fall quiet, which is only what anyone want.

  ‘You throw him off the cliff full alive?’ Captain Coffin say in astonishment. ‘You didn’t even have the mercy to stun him?’

  Well, I don’t know if it wud of been a mercy, Captain Sir. How wud I know I died a murderee? How wud I of met the already dead and had such a fine conversation? Sir, it behove yer not to talk of what yer know not. It aint a mercy to me to of been stunned, it aint a mercy to have yer death stole.

  Another night’s come on full and everyone go to their places of sleep. The felons go to the hut, the sailors find a bush or tree, the officers and captain is rowed back to the ship. All this coming and going in that little boat meet a bad end if a Incognita storm break, they orta not tempt them Fates.

  Wide awake in the thick dark, I recall when we have a big argument about them crones. All of us were sitting by the fire toasting gobs of seal fat on wooden skewers and Flonker say sudden, ‘The ancient Greeks believed the gods dint care about mankind at all, jes had a hilarious time indulging their own vices.’

  Toper reply sour, ‘Greek gods can do whatever they want, they jes myths anyway.’

  ‘How can a myth do whatever it want?’

  ‘What?’ Toper blink.

  Flonker’s a man that can smell a argument that aint arrived yet. He press on, ‘What about them Fates? The ones that have us in their grip. Are they jes a invention?’

  ‘I heared of Fate,’ Toper reply slow.

  ‘I already told yer, it aint one, it’s three. Three old Greek crones.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Yair, one spin the thread of yer life, one knot it up and one chop it off.’

  ‘The one that make the knots do a fucken good job,’ snarl Slangam.

  Toper pull his piece of fat away from the fire and dunk it in a thick sweet syrup he concoct from strained flowers and berries that he boiled for a long time. He come up with this delicacy when we crave something sweet, when our tongues hang out for sweetness amidst all that salt. He inspect his fat and say, ‘How do them Fates work?’

  ‘How do yer God work?’ taunt Flonker.

  ‘Neither of them do any fucken work,’ snarl Slangam. ‘Only man do all the work.’


  ‘Well, I don’t believe in them old crones,’ say I, and every man swivel to look at me. ‘But jes for the minute, say I do believe. If one of them spin out my life on her spindle, it seem there’s things I’m suppose to do. If I’m suppose to do things, it wud seem I have a purpose. But as I live my life day to day, now this, now that, no purpose come to me. How do I know what I’m suppose to be doing?’

  ‘Forget them Fates,’ Toper say helpful. ‘God make yer a certain way.’

  ‘But you always say a man orta not act the way he were made.’

  Toper don’t know what to say. Neither do anyone else. Who dare to argue man orta act how he were made?

  ‘Maybe I were born lazy and proud so I can bring about the purpose of my life. Maybe the purpose of my life don’t happen if I make myself hard-working and humble.’

  This cause a long silence.

  I go on, ‘And if that aint true, how’s it right to create a man’s character one way and make his purpose at odds? How is that right?’

  Silence.

  ‘Seem yer ordinary man is borned with all sorts of abilities and qualities for life, yet all have to go on bended knee and bow and scrape and thwart their selfs as if all men have but a single purpose. Can it be true? Can any God make a man’s purpose so at odds with his character and still call himself good? Can it be right to set at odds a man’s qualities and his purpose?’

  All my fellow felons stare at me.

  ‘Go and fetch some wood,’ say Toper in a strangle tone. It aint him that give orders in the usual run of things, so I must of turned him into a desperate man. Slangam and Flonker get up and walk away, jes walk off, one humming, one clicking his tongue, it don’t even matter which one do what, they both jes separating their selfs from what I said.

  But still the question nag me. Here in the dark – where’s a full moon when yer need one? – the same question jes nag and nag. Were I made special for this exact life, or do I jes stumble upon it? If everything’s jes a dumb stumble, stumble here, stumble there, how’s it fair if I stumble away from the life I orta to of had? Do it wait empty somewhere, pining for the man it need to fill it, and when Judgement come crashing down upon me, which life do it fixate upon, the stumble or the unlived?

  Morning come. This morning my fall aint slow, it’s jes about stopped. It take me a while to notice. When all yer have is yer tiny black self falling against a blue backdrop, and that backdrop is immense as the sky, the speed of yer passage aint exactly easy to measure. If yer go quick enough, a wind fan up at yer, but as yer slow down the wind stop, then the breeze, then the cool puff, then all air moving across yer skin jus die clean off. Yer start to feel like yer suspended by a string like a circus acrobat.

  I look down at the camp. Captain Coffin sit with Toper at the breakfast fire. Look like the food’s already been et and all them others have went to load up the last skins. Coffin try to bring Toper out about my murder.

  ‘His madness turn evil,’ Toper confide.

  Captain Coffin lean in so the sailors don’t hear.

  ‘It weren’t jes a matter of madness. We cud of tied him up. We cud of took him when he done his Japonese sitting …’

  ‘Japonese sitting?’

  ‘Yair, he do it to quiet his self. He do it on the cliffs above the penguins. But then the blood come.’

  ‘Blood?’ Captain Coffin’s eyes shine. What man don’t love a blood story?

  ‘Many a sailor get taken by the bleeding,’ Toper say in a loud whisper. ‘But this weren’t the same. Weren’t he on land now and living good? And eating tolerably well? Seal meat and blubber and fried fish and potatas, I cook it all myself …’

  ‘Yes, yes, get to the point, if you please.’

  Toper aint ever had a audience such as Coffin, a man in charge who listen hard. He puff up and turn lengthy. The captain show a lot of patience while Toper ramble on about my pale skin and red eyes, how I turn cold all the time even in the summer, about all the members of my family that die young.

  ‘When he cough, the blood start coming out,’ Toper conclude.

  ‘Out of his mouth? And it weren’t his gums? It weren’t the scurvy?’

  Toper shake his head.

  ‘Did you inspect him?’

  Toper take on a look of horror. ‘No, I dint. What if he bite me?’

  ‘You throw a man who hasn’t even been checked?’ Coffin cry very loud.

  Toper look startled. He had his man eating out of his palms, now Coffin turn against him. Slangam, who were directing the loading of the sealskins, hasten to the commotion. Toper explain how he mix the captain up and beg Slangam to unmix him. Slangam scratch his head. It take a while for him to understand the problem. When he do he say lurid, ‘No, for certain Bloodworth don’t have the scurvy. I seen it many a time and know it well. Bloodworth lie on the ground with wracking coughs and the blood come up from his scrawny belly.’ Slangam crumple on the ground to give a show. He roll and cough and spit up yellow flem. The captain look aghast and Toper nod hard like he lost the screws on his neck.

  Slangam stand up and dust himself off. ‘So that were when we know he soon be needing much more blood. He were coughing it all out.’

  ‘More blood?’ echo Captain Coffin.

  ‘Yer know what that mean,’ Toper say like he announce the falling of the sky.

  ‘What do it mean?’ Captain Coffin don’t seem to be follering the story.

  ‘It mean he’s gonna have to drink it,’ Toper say solemn.

  The snorty noise the captain make cause the sailors to drop their skins and inch in close. A sailor always know when there’s a blood story being told. He keep his ears open for it like a bat. Yair, some of them is plain bloodthirsty jes like a lot of criminals, but most jes want to stay alive. The life of a sailor’s hard enough with them roiling waves and splintering masts, he don’t want a blood sickness stalking him unawares.

  The captain clap his hands together and scatter the sailors like birds. Then he draw Slangam and Toper into the shadders. He say he seen the coughing sickness aboard his ships, the afflicted sailor cough up all his blood and die in his hammock, he don’t need no throwing out.

  ‘Yair,’ Slangam agree with a edge of scorn. ‘And what happen then? Don’t the others sicken?’

  ‘Sometimes,’ admit the captain.

  ‘Yer see our position then. Aint no leech men around here, we have to do our own tending.’

  Captain Coffin look like he start to see the story in the right light. His face show some easing in its worry. But then he seem to remember something and it tight up again.

  ‘Jes one thing,’ say he. ‘Why do you say he was going to start drinking blood?’

  Toper and Slangam look at each other. I know everything that look say. It say the captain aint one of us, he come from fancy salons where they got a new theory for every bulge and blister, where they got a new notion of right and wrong that squat like a gargoyle upon every new belief.

  ‘Well now,’ Slangam say careful, ‘I been out in the southern ocean a long time, many years before I were sent to Norfolk. So I aint appraised of the new thinkings of them frockcoats. Out here we done our own thinking. And what we come up with is that if yer blood is coughed out, certain yer must get more. We grow very afraid he come to drink our own.’

  Now a long silence come. Coffin chew the inside of his cheeks. He rub his palms together in a fret. Most likely it exercise him whether a man that act on such an absurd belief cud be called a murderer.

  ‘Yair, and we aint even safe when he hit the ground,’ Toper continue a bit hysterical. ‘They always come back for more blood. That’s how it spread. Then the next man grow weak and pale and start to cough …’

  The captain look confused. ‘They?’

  ‘Them vampires,’ Toper whisper in horror.

  Well, this give me the biggest laugh I get since they throw me. I heared it said many a time that the coughing and bleeding sickness is a vampirism, but I dint know them two fools believed it.
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  The captain flash a anxious look. He know if it aint hushed up quick this talk of vampires soon start a mutiny. No sailor want to get supped at by vampires in his sleep. Before yer know it, one cud start saying he aint letting them three felons aboard the ship, he aint having his blood drunk. And if Captain Coffin insist, if he say these fellows have to go back to face the Law, his crew cud refuse to board the ship their selves.

  ‘Utter nonsense,’ Coffin declare and his back get very straight.

  A couple of ragged wretches that started to edge towards the talking look relieved and march off to the next batch of skins. They dint actually hear nothing about vampires, they only hear a nonsense has jes been declared, and aint that a big comfort when the man that make the declaration hold their lives in his hands?

  What happen now? If the captain don’t believe the bleeding sickness is a vampirism, how kindly do he look upon my throw? He stand up and go off by himself. He put his right index finger to his cheek and sink into deep thinking. Flonker come over to his felon friends and hear what jes occur. He get in a fury. He storm, why yer start on that fucken stupid story, weren’t madness enough?

  The day wear on, it aint so warm now, and them skins has all been loaded. The little boat shuttle back and forth, back and forth, jes about every sailor take a turn at the oars, and each time my heart’s in my mouth in case a gale blow up from Incognita. Soon even the sailors has went back to the ship and the three felons stand on the beach with Coffin.

  ‘Well now, who’s going to row the four of us back to civilisation?’ the captain ask jocular.

  Toper and Flonker don’t need no answer. When they climb in the rowboat it’s Slangam that take up the oars. He put his muscly back and all his years of hard labour into those little spoons, in a trice he get the boat skipping straight across the crests of the waves.

  Now our speck of a island is empty. It look sad and beautiful. Beautiful with wild scenery and creatures, and sad without men. Only man can see beauty, only man can love it.