Ever read any of those Hardy Boys or Tom Swift Books? I think I read them all as a kid. I loved them. Today I think I'm going to give writing one a go. Here it is:
The early November sky was as ugly and dull as a misshapen watermelon. There was not the slightest hint of wind, nor had there been at any time throughout the day. The ocean rippled gently in the calm night, an occasional slow ankle-biter of a wave breaking towards the dark brown beach, the lack of a moon stripping the shore of the usual reflections of slivered yellow.
The western horizon glowed faintly with the last of the setting sun's ash-ember rays. To the east the murky charcoal gray of the oncoming night muddled with the last of the days cerulean blue, while the sea itself lost it's green and blue tints and became an inky-black blanket that seemed to envelope the whole of the world.
Southwest of the island a large cutter broke the monotony of the horizon, it's single steaming mast lamp casting a streetlight-like halo onto the deck.
On a pier that jutted into the islands lone harbor, sitting astride large barrels of pickled foodstuffs, two weather beaten faces stared out at the boat as it slowly shrank from view. A couple of small boys tended fishing poles that had lines dangling over the railing of the pier, falling into the deep dark ocean below.
"Hey", spoke one of the old men, "Do either of you two know what type of craft that boat out there is?"
"Hmmm..." The youngster named Clayton murmured. "I can't tell for sure, but it looks like a cutter - it's got more than one headsail."
"Yeah", chimed in his buddy Pete, "And it's got small sails, too."
"Right you are", The old man known as Baker James said. "Can either of you tell me how she's making sail?"
"Uhm, I can't", replied Clayton. "Neither can I", said Pete.
"Well, that really isn't important", Baker James said. "What's really important is what she's doing sailing for the south at night, all stealthy like. Whattaya think Artie?"
The other wizened and weather-beaten old-timer, Artie, looked over at the two boys and spoke in a near whisper. "Smuggling, that boat is a goin' smuggling."
Pete and Clayton stared out at the shrinking silhouette of the cutter as it started to fall beyond the horizon. Both of them looked at the two old men with questions in their now wide-open eyes.
"I know it for a fact boys, 'cause I once worked on a boat very much like that one, and these were the nights we looked forward too - nights like this, a boat like that could bring back enough contraband to tide a man over for at least half a year." Baker James smiled as he related this, took a long pull on his gnarled pipe, and continued.
"It was a long time ago, when I knew no better and was willing to risk life, limb, and the wrath of the law to make my fortune. There were pirates in those days, pirates as real as Blackbeard and Captain Blood. I had chanced a meeting with an old salt who needed an able hand to help him make a run to pick up what he told me were 'needed provisions'. I didn't question him, which was all that was necessary to secure the job. We worked only on calm nights such as this, and only three or four nights a month, for more money than I had ever seen."
Artie nodded his head in agreement as Baker James told his tale, rocking slightly on his barrel in time with the gentle roll of the waves breaking against the pier.
Baker James paused for a moment to tamp his tobacco and relight his pipe. Staring off into the distance he then picked up where he left off.
"You see boys, back then, the pirates, they weren't interested in boarding vessels to pillage their holds for gold and jewels - those pirates, they sailed the high seas in search of a different kind of treasure. Those pirates were known as Cocaine Cowboys, and they were as surly a bunch of ne'er do wells as you'd ever want to meet. The old salt I had met, the one who hired me on, he was of a gentler stripe. He was known as Louie Clark, on account of his once being a lieutenant in the Navy, and his name being Clark"
Baker James and Artie exchanged knowing glances as the boys drew closer to the two men. They hung on every word Baker James uttered.
"Now, most of the Cocaine Cowboys knew Louie Clark well enough to leave him alone, jettin' their cigarette boats wide around his cutter. As I mentioned, these were hardened men, not easily spooked, but what they knew of Louie Clark was that he had survived 4 years in a Viet Cong prison, and he had no compunctions with taking a man's life who threatened him in any fashion."
That's all I have for now. This much typing takes a lot out of a guy, at least this guy. I'll have to pick up the story later.
Very Hemingwayesque especial when you describe the lack of wind and moon. I like it.
ReplyDeleteI am working on my own ode to George Castanza ,It starts like this-The sea was angry that day, my friends like an old man trying to send back soup in a deli"
That's as far as Iv'e got. I am drinking as usual and have to go refill my jack and diet . I do enjoy your blog very much.. RT
That line is hilarious! I might have to steal it from you.
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