cook.
Well, son
, said John.
I think you have two choices. I think you can either cook or you can swim
. When John said that, I turned and looked for what was left of the bright pinpointed skyline, but it had dulled and disappeared. There was nothing to swim to, nowhere to swim for, nothing out beyond our ship but the stars and the white wake hissing behind us.
So I nodded okay and Lonny said
And some biscuits, make me a whole basket of biscuits. I’m real hungry. And gravy. Biscuits and gravy. And fried steak with a chicken crust, maybe some mashed potatoes. Stew up some collard greens and tomatoes with brown sugar, I could go for that
.
I drug myself along to the aft cabin door that led to the galley.
Hey
, Lonny said,
also don’t forget my eggs. I
always like to have a side of eggs, and don’t make them greasy, I can’t abide greasy eggs, you hear me?
I heard him as I drug myself along, hearing everything he asked for taking piece after piece of hope from me of ever getting through my life not split in two with an ax.
I
n the galley was a pot big enough for me to swim in. I put it on the stove and filled it bucket by bucket from the spittoon sink. I put the flame to it. I guess the men in prison blues had ransacked the big blade board, it was full of empty outlines where knives and cleavers should have gone, and when I took a pan out on the deck to gather some fish and tuber fruit for finish fish stew, the prison men fairly clanked with cutlery when they moved. John had come in to rest on his carpet of hides so the men in prison blues had begun to amuse themselves by knocking off the Idiot’s cap and then kicking him in the seat of his pants when he bent over to pick it up. Shackled as they were, it took certain steps to do this, and they managed it as if they were dancing a reel.
All the nets lay over the litter of our departure and John had been right, I was not strong enough to movethem around, so I picked at the edges. The fish were mixed up in the stuff the crew had stolen, there were tacks everywhere and shards from the wooden box of light bulbs that tinkled into glass against themselves as the ship pitched and rolled. Vegetables and gourds from my garden were on the verge of garbage, starting to smell along with the oysters and shellcut that all needed to be iced down in the hold, perishables starting to perish because the person whose job it was to tend them had recently been split in two with an ax.
I tried to get at the ice in the hold by prying up the deckplate with a shovel but I broke the handle and when no one was looking I threw it overboard.
I stood on the stove and stirred the finish fish stew with a spoon the size of a boat paddle. The stew had several good-sized whole fish in it, more parts left on them than I ever got at the fishhouse, and short of a knife to slice the gourds and tuber fruit, I stomped on them to make them tender if I couldn’t make them sweet. Standing there stirring the stew and waiting for mealtime I felt some hope return even if there weren’t any biscuits.
I had opened the dry goods locker to fetch some biscuit mix and had found a large rat guarding the flour.
Fuck off
, said the rat, the rat picking spittle dough from his teeth with the tip of his tail.
Fuck off, go away
, he said, and I did.
T his stew puts an edge on my ax!
said Lonny, spitting out a mouthful across the galley table.
Now I remember where I saw you first
, said John, spitting his spoonful out too.
It’s not so bad if you just stick to the big chunks
, said Ira Dench.
The men in prison blues, trying to work out eating shackled at the wrists, had not sampled theirs yet. It was clear the Idiot would eat anything put in a bowl before him. I figured only the man who wept and said
Fuck
would not eat at all, him being in a state of pain and shock, dripping sweat from just losing a toe.
Just before mealtime the Idiot had spotted that damn sparrow again and set off after the thing. I had
Well, son
, said John.
I think you have two choices. I think you can either cook or you can swim
. When John said that, I turned and looked for what was left of the bright pinpointed skyline, but it had dulled and disappeared. There was nothing to swim to, nowhere to swim for, nothing out beyond our ship but the stars and the white wake hissing behind us.
So I nodded okay and Lonny said
And some biscuits, make me a whole basket of biscuits. I’m real hungry. And gravy. Biscuits and gravy. And fried steak with a chicken crust, maybe some mashed potatoes. Stew up some collard greens and tomatoes with brown sugar, I could go for that
.
I drug myself along to the aft cabin door that led to the galley.
Hey
, Lonny said,
also don’t forget my eggs. I
always like to have a side of eggs, and don’t make them greasy, I can’t abide greasy eggs, you hear me?
I heard him as I drug myself along, hearing everything he asked for taking piece after piece of hope from me of ever getting through my life not split in two with an ax.
I
n the galley was a pot big enough for me to swim in. I put it on the stove and filled it bucket by bucket from the spittoon sink. I put the flame to it. I guess the men in prison blues had ransacked the big blade board, it was full of empty outlines where knives and cleavers should have gone, and when I took a pan out on the deck to gather some fish and tuber fruit for finish fish stew, the prison men fairly clanked with cutlery when they moved. John had come in to rest on his carpet of hides so the men in prison blues had begun to amuse themselves by knocking off the Idiot’s cap and then kicking him in the seat of his pants when he bent over to pick it up. Shackled as they were, it took certain steps to do this, and they managed it as if they were dancing a reel.
All the nets lay over the litter of our departure and John had been right, I was not strong enough to movethem around, so I picked at the edges. The fish were mixed up in the stuff the crew had stolen, there were tacks everywhere and shards from the wooden box of light bulbs that tinkled into glass against themselves as the ship pitched and rolled. Vegetables and gourds from my garden were on the verge of garbage, starting to smell along with the oysters and shellcut that all needed to be iced down in the hold, perishables starting to perish because the person whose job it was to tend them had recently been split in two with an ax.
I tried to get at the ice in the hold by prying up the deckplate with a shovel but I broke the handle and when no one was looking I threw it overboard.
I stood on the stove and stirred the finish fish stew with a spoon the size of a boat paddle. The stew had several good-sized whole fish in it, more parts left on them than I ever got at the fishhouse, and short of a knife to slice the gourds and tuber fruit, I stomped on them to make them tender if I couldn’t make them sweet. Standing there stirring the stew and waiting for mealtime I felt some hope return even if there weren’t any biscuits.
I had opened the dry goods locker to fetch some biscuit mix and had found a large rat guarding the flour.
Fuck off
, said the rat, the rat picking spittle dough from his teeth with the tip of his tail.
Fuck off, go away
, he said, and I did.
T his stew puts an edge on my ax!
said Lonny, spitting out a mouthful across the galley table.
Now I remember where I saw you first
, said John, spitting his spoonful out too.
It’s not so bad if you just stick to the big chunks
, said Ira Dench.
The men in prison blues, trying to work out eating shackled at the wrists, had not sampled theirs yet. It was clear the Idiot would eat anything put in a bowl before him. I figured only the man who wept and said
Fuck
would not eat at all, him being in a state of pain and shock, dripping sweat from just losing a toe.
Just before mealtime the Idiot had spotted that damn sparrow again and set off after the thing. I had
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