Black Jack suddenly felt a strain and a stretching like never before, and the pain that it brought caused him to writhe and turn on his side toward his sleeping beauty. He realized the origin of his discomfort as a certain extension of his body, and it was now jabbing the fleshy protrusions of her motionless form.
She was startled, and she turned with her sleepy, hazel eyes meeting his. She lay still, first glancing at him, then coyly under the blanket, fluttering her eyelashes before returning her eyes to his.
Black Jack felt the heat of his unwieldy desire. Suddenly, her eyes rolled back into her head. She slowly rolled onto her back. Her arms fell to her sides and she faced away. Her legs parted gently. She let out a long, heavy sigh, flicked her tongue seductively a few times through the furrow of her moist lips, and closed her eyes.
Black Jack rose up vigorously on one elbow, his confidence bolstered by her display of subtle signs. He surveyed her landscape quickly, vaulted nimbly on top, and snugly sheathed his sword. Lalani, please forgive me, he thought, as he failed to resist the release of his long, hard months of seamanship.
Chapter 10
Black Jack watched the big, burly man walk from crew to crew along the busy beach. From his vantage on the high bluff, he could see the village, or pa as the Maori people called it, and the entire stretch of beach, along with the handful of ships moored like stray cats in the bay. He felt as though he were a sentinel, like one of the Indian scouts back home, secretly spying on the activities of an enemy tribe.
The camp seemed to be operating normally; and in fact, he thought, it seemed as though it would remain doing so regardless of his absence. Never having been sent to school, Arthur did not know the feeling of playing hooky, but in this suspended moment of observation from above, he could not help but feel a certain mischievous satisfaction in his hiding out from work. He had never missed a day of work on the plantation or the ship, save for the day of his escape, so this was a completely new experience for him.
Laying out was what his mama had called it, and regardless of the threat of being punished by the Master, she believed that a person should work every day, except Sunday of course. Not working was considered lazy and illustrated a bad character, she would state quite often; unless a man seemed genuinely sick, a fact that still, in her humble opinion, was a matter between the man supposedly afflicted and his god. The whip will soon sort out whatever the case may be, she would tell him with a smirk.
So Black Jack was laying out; and here it was an hour, maybe two, before the midday meal would be served. Maybe I’ll just stay up on this grassy perch behind this rock and breathe the ocean air all day, he told himself. Then he considered the consequences, and thought better of it. But how do I slip into the mix without suffering the full wrath of the Foreman, he wondered? He began to carefully place his feet, one over the other, facing the steep rocky bluff, as he climbed down clinging to the crags. The beauty of the rough terrain made amends for its treachery.
He recalled the dark footpath through the brush from the night before, but he was hard pressed to think of it as a true trail. Now, angled rocks protruded from the grassy hill face where normal vegetation was challenged to grow. Large, irregular hedges with small and wiry trunks grew in gnarled and twisted, dense clumps. Their random clusters tangled and intertwined in a juggernaut maze reaching head height across the plateau. It was as though Black Jack had stumbled into a rogue bonsai garden planted by some devious emperor.
Strange birds flew in all directions through the perilous canopy. Overhead were White Seagulls, while lower down were Gray Terns, Green Kakapos and Blue Kakas, with the black Takahes and their demonic red eyes running along the ground. Tramping under the high bushes, Black Jack stumbled upon what at first looked like scurrying vermin. They were little brown Kiwi birds. He stopped in sudden fascination to watch them. They had long thin beaks like quills without the feather. They had an oddly shaped body much like an oriental vase; and they had no wings.
A bird without wings! Black Jack chuckled to himself. Then he plopped down in the moss and the grass; and he began to laugh uncontrollably. He laughed until tears came to his eyes; and he began to roll around. A flightless bird! He exclaimed to himself. He burst into thunderous guffaws again, until he could not breathe. Imaginary stars began dancing around his head. He saw red. There he lay for a fair number of minutes, rolling and laughing, with runny bird dung dripping onto him from the low, tangled branches above. He had become a true motley fool.
He said out loud after a mild recovery, “A bird that cannot fly. How odd! Even a chicken can fly the coop. Even if it don’t get that far!” He thought to himself that this bird and he might have something in common.
Slowly Black Jack made his way down the rocky cliffs away from the patchy green piles. He was close to the sand by now, where the stony faces stood only a few yards high. They were like oriental curtains on the sides of a large stage, only suggesting the structures of walls while they served to frame the space between bays with their broad, folded surfaces. The bluff walls were mottled with hand-sized holes, jagged yet weathered, which provided perches and nesting ledges for many different sea birds. They took flight in turns as Black Jack slowly scaled down the cliff. Placing his feet into the egg-shaped holes, he had a hard time seeing any nests from above; and so regrettably, he smashed several eggs on his way down. Other than that, he found the rock edifice rather easy to descend. He soon reached the point where the sand cleanly met the cliff. On his last step, he swung out, turned, jumped, and casually strode toward the shore-whaling station. He had entered a remote corner of the bay undetected. Casually rounding a large rock, he tried to slip quietly into a group of men flensing the side of a gigantic whale.
“G’day, Black Jack!” hailed a man in an Australian accent. Arthur was surprised to hear his name from a complete stranger. “Glad you could make it.” the man added. He did not stop slicing the whale’s thick, shiny skin.
“How, how...”
“How did I know? Mate, you’ve been the talk of the town since you missed the morning muster.”
Black Jack was embarrassed. The putrid fumes of last night’s grog welled up in his throat. He thought of retching; but his gut held, and he retained his composure in spite of losing his cover so quickly. “So everyone knows?” He asked.
“Sure, mate, you’ve been missing all the fun.” Said the Aussie. “Don’t sweat it, mate. Jackie expects all the new guys to have a slip up or two. Just keep your head down for the rest of the day, and don’t let it happen again. She’ll be right!”
Just then, the big burly man came around where the head of the whale used to be. He yelled out, “Oy! Black Jack. There you are!”
The Australian spoke up, “It’s all right, Jackie, we’ve got him now. I’ll make a flash flenser of him for sure.”
“Right!” said Jackie. “Anyway, word has it that a group of whales is coming down the coast. Should broach sometime today if they wander into the channel. Go over the basics with him, will you Sam? Cheers.” He walked behind them, scanning the deep slits Sam had made in the side of the whale. He folded his hands behind his back. “Beautiful, just beautiful.” He said. Just for good measure, he shouted back over his shoulder, “Longer cuts, Sam. It’s not a shark. We’re not making gills! Drag that blade from back to belly, Sam, back to belly!” Moments later, he disappeared from view as he rounded the fluke of the tail.
Sam handed Black Jack a flensing pole with a freshly sharpened blade, and said, “Just watch the bones mate. Don’t get stuck in. The rest is common sense. When she’s ready to drop, just step aside and let that massive strip of meat hit the sand. Don’t let a falling stack of blubber be the last thing you see!”
“Right.” said Black Jack, as he made his first incision with the giant scalpel.
“So, your first whale hunt, eh?” Asked Sam.
“Yes.”
“You ready?”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t chase any out at sea?”<
br />
“No.”
“So, you stayed on the ship and cleaned them.”
“No.”
“Oh, that’s right, only the Yanks have the whole outfit packed up onboard with ‘em. Well, that’s all right.” Sam said. “The only good ocean whaler is a dead ocean whaler. Bah! Bugger that, being on one of those floating rubbish heaps! All that rot and stench packed onto one deck, it’s ungodly!”
“Yeah, really.”
“Going after the Right Whale: Where to start?” Sam asked himself out loud, pausing to hold his pole thoughtfully. He began to move again as he spoke. “Well, do you know why they call it the Right Whale?”
“No.”
“Because, unlike the Sperm Whale, after the Right Whale dies, it turns over in the water, nice and easy; and it floats there, waiting to be towed in. Therefore, it’s the right whale to hunt!”
“Oh.”
“Also, the thing is huge. It’s close to two ships in length, maybe more. It’s also got two spouts. That’s how you can tell you got a Right Whale when she broaches. Not like this little shrimp. The Sperm Whale only blows once.
“All right.”
“The mouth, mate! You never want to see that coming back at you; but if you do, you’ll see the gates of Hell, for sure!”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve seen it once, mate, and once was enough. A big wrinkled head, and she looks like she’s smiling. She’s not smiling, mate! She’s got what looks like a big black iron curtain hanging all the way down where the teeth should be; and they’re as sharp as razors! I’ve heard tell of the Headsman going right through them on a charging whale. They found nothing but shreds and blood, mate, shreds and blood.” Sam seemed to drift off on the last words.
“Really.”
“So, you want to be a Headsman? That’s where they put the new men, you know.”
“Sure.” Black Jack said. I will call your bluff, he thought.
“No, Black Jack, I’m only joking with you. They’ll probably put you on after-oarsman. You’ll be good ballast back there!” Sam said.
“That’ll be fine as well.”
“Right, so here’s how it goes.” Sam began. “My crew is first on the roster, so we’ll be going out first when they call the broach. I happen to be the Headsman, so you’ll see me drop my flense where I stand and start running for that skiff you see down there on the beach.” Sam pointed to a boat sitting upside-down in the sand near the tail of a nearby whale. He continued, “You’ll see about eight other men scrambling from all over and helping me to right the boat and throw the gear in: That’ll be our water jug, our biscuit tin, and our line. But we’re not going out there for a picnic mate. Oh, no, it’ll probably be the rest of the day, if we stick the fish or not. When we do shove off from the beach, try not to be the first or the last one in. You’ve got to clear the waves, and once you do, you’re gonna see eight men row a boat faster than you’ve ever seen your own ship sail, no lie. That fish will be one, maybe two miles out there, and they don’t wait around. I’m gonna be standing on the bow, though, with an oar longer than this pole, steering us right up to the whale. I’ll be saying silly things like, send us alongside, laddies, now give way, and hurrah, my bonnies, hearty and strong! Sounds stupid, I know; but believe me, it really gets my boys going. Especially since they know how many whales they’ve landed with me as their Headsman!”
Sam carried on, “Now, when the boat touches the back of that whale, I’ve got to be quicker than the ferryman in Hades. I’ll notch that oar, so hopefully it will still be there when the fun is all over; ‘cause this is where it gets good. You payin’ attention there, Black Jack?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Good.” said Sam. “So I pick up the harpoon, which is heavier than a Mahogany log; but it’s got balance, see: If you lift it just right, it swings itself out over the target like a boom and waits for you, nice as a feather. Then I’ve got one hand rear of its middle for leverage, and one all the way back to drive it home. Then I scream at the top of my livin’, lovin’ lungs -- I scream Jack, like my Celtic forefathers back on the highland battlegrounds -- All clear! Give it to her good! For that timeless second, the salt air and the vile in my bile make for a wicked cocktail of vicious gall; and my body becomes God’s cannon. The harpoon comes out of me like Thor’s hammer and parts the black mass that is the almighty whale. And if ever a man could dread more the coming together, back to back, of any two events in time, it is when he must stand witness to the release of the harpoon and the subsequent reaction of the whale. Whether he has fallen from a great height and lived to tell about it; or he can show the scar from a shot fired from close range during a duel; or even brag of being treed by a tiger: No man can honestly claim that he has suffered all of the effects and feelings that come just before death, save for the actual departing of the last breath from his body; as those which beset the whaler when his skiff is thrust into flight by the angry leviathan. You catch my drift, Black Jack?”
“Yes!”
“Then the beast dives for Hell,” Sam raged on, “trying to quench the fire in her back, but it is futile. She begins to drown in her own blood, suddenly cursed to be born with lungs in what will now become her watery grave. Can you believe that, Jack? A fish with lungs! What was God thinking on that day of Creation, Jack?”
“I dunno. The Bible says Jonah was swallowed by a whale; so maybe God needed a way for Jonah to get air so he wouldn’t drown down there.”
“All right, fair enough. But lungs, Jack. It just seems like a cruel trick for God to play on his largest creation in the world: Here’s the biggest creature in my kingdom. Now I’m going to set him in water and watch him try not to drown for the rest of eternity. That’s a bad joke, don’t you think, Jack?”
“Maybe. But it all depends on how you look at it, I reckon.” Mama always told me, God makes examples that are plain to see, so all his children can learn from them, if they open their eyes. If it's the biggest living thing in the world, then I suppose God is sayin’, Look here, fool, and witness this soul’s trials in getting his daily breath of life. Or a bird without wings: that would surely cause a thoughtless man to stop and think about that poor soul’s plight. I think God shows us things, so we will come to know him better if we make up our minds to.”
Sam stood there staring at Black Jack for a moment. “Well, what about the deaf and blind beggar, Jack. Will he come to know God? Will he come to know God if he chooses to open his eyes? Tell me, Jack.”
“Every man has a mind; and every mind has an eye with which to see what it chooses. That’s what Mama always told me.”
“Right! Well, then, the whale is pretty much done at that point; if I’ve done my job correctly. If not, look out!”
“How so?”
“Well, I’ve never had it happen to me, but I’ve seen it happen to less experienced crews. If the harpoon does not find its mark, then you get a flying fish! The giant turns, and gives chase to its hunters. It bears down like a train on the water, staring straight at the skiff; and just short of the sloop, shoots into the air leaving its prey to pray to that monumental black monolith for a momentous moment. Following this second of silence, the whale falls to the water, like a slick, wet Redwood being felled; and the explosion of wind and sound blasts far harder than any cannon a man could fire. It is then that the men must prove that their intent was to bring the fight to the fish; and not the other way around, as the dying black island furiously flaps her tail and fins, as if unfurling a flag to claim her cemetery plot. Selfish even in death, she fittingly wants to claim the very spot directly beneath the boat that is now painted with her own blood.”
“That is fantastic. And you are quite the poet. Did you know that?”
“I get on a roll, now and then. The chaps all like it. They set the words to song sometimes. Keeps ‘em happy when we’re towing that bloody bitch back in from five miles out! You know, they also call the Right Whale a Black Whale.”
“Well, may
be that is the reason why it is the right whale to hunt!”
Sam laughed hard, and said, “Sharp, Jack, very sharp.”
II
The beach was remarkably quiet for a place so full of people. The bright sun shone down out of a clear sky. Warm breeze blew dry air over the bay and onto the sand littered with marooned kelp. A gull screeched overhead occasionally, accentuating the infrequent clang of men’s tools, and the complete lack of any talking. The whalers had struck a happy, hypnotic medium following the excitement of welcoming the new arrivals and having gotten to know them. Everyone moved about as spirits in their own world, working efficiently and interacting silently with all whom surrounded them. There was no longer any need to speak, so Nature had improvised by playing her beautiful song in the background.
The ships moored in the bay bobbed in order along their row as waves cut across the channel and sprawled out on the shore. The salty, meaty smell of seaweed mingled with the greasy stench of simmering whale oil; and both fragrances sparred in turn with the aroma of the strewn, rotting, rancid flesh which held rank above all others smells on the beach.
“Are you scared?” Sam asked Black Jack out of the blue.
“I don’t know what to be scared of.”
“You’ve never killed a whale, then.”
“I’ve never hunted an animal that large, no.”
“Well, mate, if you’re scared, say you’re scared. There’s no shame in it. That’s part of the game.”
“Like I say, I won’t know if I’m frightened of the whale or killing the whale, until the time comes.”
“Well mate, how about this: When the time comes, go out with me and my crew, and see how it’s done properly. One of my blokes will be happy to trade places with you.”
“I don’t know if that is right. What will my crew think of me then?”
“Jack, it’s like this: Right now, your men are all nubs. They don’t know what they’re doing; and chances are they won’t come anywhere near getting a whale their first time out. Now along comes you after being out with me, with some experience under your belt, and they won’t think twice about it. They’ll make you Headsman, and you’ll be king of your boat!”
Rich Man's Coffin Page 7
