learn wisdom and, in a future time, in a place far and far from here, we two will again meet, meet both in the true flesh. Then you will be told it all and, grown as you then will be in age and in wisdom, you will understand and accept your punishment and your destiny.'
"Mr. Hara says that then, of an eyeblink, the boat again rocked upon the sea, empty save for him. And, Pedro, he firmly believes this all, believes that it really happened, that he truly saw and heard all of it. Can you believe it, any of it?"
His answer was, "Do you, Danna? Do you believe him, his tale?"
She nodded firmly. "Yes, yes, I do. But don't try to probe into exactly why I do, just accept that I have my reasons for believing that old man, unequivocally."
He shrugged. "Then what can I do save believe him too? For, as I earlier said, I've never known him to lie to me about any single thing. Was that all of it? How the hell did he get out of the middle of the North Pacific Ocean? Did the merchant ship steam back in search of him, then?" I
"If it did, it never found him," replied the woman. "No, he continued to drift, helplessly, stretching out his food and fresh water as far as he could. Twice, at the cost of a very thorough drenching, he was able to collect enough rainwater in the rubberized raingear to refill both of his water containers, but he was almost out of food when, of a day, a flying fish—one of a school fleeing predators—plopped into his boat. He said that, although there was not much edible meat on the foot-long creature, he as able to use its guts for bait and thereby catch a sizable tomcod which fed him well for a couple of days, its body-fluids also reducing his need for water from his dwindling supply.
"Mr. Hara says that he can never be certain just how far he drifted in that uncontrollable boat but, as he never saw another ship at any distance, not even a smudge of smoke on the horizon, he knows that he was out of the shipping lanes. Then, of a night, he awakened from fitful sleep to see what looked to be a masthead light bobbing near the limits of his vision, to the southwards.
"Making great efforts to move slowly and carefully, he moved up to the bow-locker, retrieved the flaregun, loaded it and fired a signal high into the starry sky, then another and, finally, a third.
"The crew of the fisher that had found him were a mixture of Polynesians, ethnic Chinese and two third-generation Japanese, all out of Hawaii. They had had the misfortune, in a sudden squall, to lose their half-breed skipper and their rudder. Their mainmast also had been sprung at the same time and they were rather a dispirited lot, more than happy to allow Mr. Hara—who seemed to know what he was about—to take command.
"When he brought the battered vessel back to its home port, the owners decided he was a man worth keeping around, for all that he then spoke not a word of English. And so our Mr. Hara, scion of an ancient and noble Japanese clan, one-time noble officer of the Imperial Japanese Navy and captain of a large .warship, became the hired skipper of small fishing boats in a backwater of civilization. He continued this work for more than five years."
Fitz had just finished eating his spit-broiled pheasant and was carefully sipping at his canteen-cup of steaming, fragrant tea when, with the now familiar faint tickling of the mind that bespoke telepathy, a
♦ "voice" declared, "I smell fresh meat and like, man,
m I'm hungry as a lion."
; With that, a full-size blue lion strode from among
' the brush and bushes and rocks of the hillside into the tiny clearing before the rock shelter, facing Fitz across the firepit. His normal, baby-blue hue was closer to a royal blue, which fact told Fitz that he was or had recently been upset about something. The blue lion flopped down on the rocky ground,
pointedly eying the pint-size antelope hung in the tree. "Hunting like sucked today, man," he declared dolefully, "Old Saint Germain must of like let
"Mr. Hara says that then, of an eyeblink, the boat again rocked upon the sea, empty save for him. And, Pedro, he firmly believes this all, believes that it really happened, that he truly saw and heard all of it. Can you believe it, any of it?"
His answer was, "Do you, Danna? Do you believe him, his tale?"
She nodded firmly. "Yes, yes, I do. But don't try to probe into exactly why I do, just accept that I have my reasons for believing that old man, unequivocally."
He shrugged. "Then what can I do save believe him too? For, as I earlier said, I've never known him to lie to me about any single thing. Was that all of it? How the hell did he get out of the middle of the North Pacific Ocean? Did the merchant ship steam back in search of him, then?" I
"If it did, it never found him," replied the woman. "No, he continued to drift, helplessly, stretching out his food and fresh water as far as he could. Twice, at the cost of a very thorough drenching, he was able to collect enough rainwater in the rubberized raingear to refill both of his water containers, but he was almost out of food when, of a day, a flying fish—one of a school fleeing predators—plopped into his boat. He said that, although there was not much edible meat on the foot-long creature, he as able to use its guts for bait and thereby catch a sizable tomcod which fed him well for a couple of days, its body-fluids also reducing his need for water from his dwindling supply.
"Mr. Hara says that he can never be certain just how far he drifted in that uncontrollable boat but, as he never saw another ship at any distance, not even a smudge of smoke on the horizon, he knows that he was out of the shipping lanes. Then, of a night, he awakened from fitful sleep to see what looked to be a masthead light bobbing near the limits of his vision, to the southwards.
"Making great efforts to move slowly and carefully, he moved up to the bow-locker, retrieved the flaregun, loaded it and fired a signal high into the starry sky, then another and, finally, a third.
"The crew of the fisher that had found him were a mixture of Polynesians, ethnic Chinese and two third-generation Japanese, all out of Hawaii. They had had the misfortune, in a sudden squall, to lose their half-breed skipper and their rudder. Their mainmast also had been sprung at the same time and they were rather a dispirited lot, more than happy to allow Mr. Hara—who seemed to know what he was about—to take command.
"When he brought the battered vessel back to its home port, the owners decided he was a man worth keeping around, for all that he then spoke not a word of English. And so our Mr. Hara, scion of an ancient and noble Japanese clan, one-time noble officer of the Imperial Japanese Navy and captain of a large .warship, became the hired skipper of small fishing boats in a backwater of civilization. He continued this work for more than five years."
Fitz had just finished eating his spit-broiled pheasant and was carefully sipping at his canteen-cup of steaming, fragrant tea when, with the now familiar faint tickling of the mind that bespoke telepathy, a
♦ "voice" declared, "I smell fresh meat and like, man,
m I'm hungry as a lion."
; With that, a full-size blue lion strode from among
' the brush and bushes and rocks of the hillside into the tiny clearing before the rock shelter, facing Fitz across the firepit. His normal, baby-blue hue was closer to a royal blue, which fact told Fitz that he was or had recently been upset about something. The blue lion flopped down on the rocky ground,
pointedly eying the pint-size antelope hung in the tree. "Hunting like sucked today, man," he declared dolefully, "Old Saint Germain must of like let
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