A Picnic with Darwin.
I tried to make myself scarce, scurrying across the deck to make for the kitchens. There would be work there for sure and the cook would not allow anyone to prevent his galley from perfection. It was too late that it occurred to me I was heading in the most convenient direction possible to be chosen. It was the first mate spied me. He had been gunning for me since before we docked at Montevideo and I had walked in on him drunk with quartermaster. They were singing and in a state of undress, now his only wish was for me to disappear and be away from speaking his name to the crew. The truth be that I had never said to another soul what I had seen. I had heard stories before of men taking to one another in strange ways on voyages and it had kept me laying awake at night. Now I saw him smile at placing me in a position of dissatisfaction.
“Mister Isaacs! We have a task for you. Hold boy!”
After receiving specific instructions on Darwin’s preferred meal, (and spending a few moments below cursing the day I had ever walked in on that infernal officer,) I made my way to cook. In the middle of preparing the evening meal for the officers, he was angry enough to start throwing insults my way. I took stock of them, if only to learn new ways in which I would be able to insult those I had power over one day and smiled as best I could at the colourful torrent. Cook was not a bad man, just a fat man with little energy for anything beyond his duties. Fitzroy liked him and his imaginative talents at the table, but his opinions had sometimes cost him dearly. Only two weeks ago his comments in front of an officer had him reprimanded severely and deprived of his drinking rations. This added to the venom that he poured my way.
The food was packed a little too quickly. The meat I saw did not look in its prime and in the afternoon heat, I knew it would not stay good for long. I would have to run as if the devil were at my heels to feed Darwin without poisoning him. Cooks wry smile said it all as he slammed the food into the wicker basket for me to carry. I took it without a word back. Turning away before my face could betray the sneer of resentment I held. I was up on the deck and into the boat before I could properly take size of the challenge I had been set. Feed Darwin before the meat went bad, travel slow enough not to anger Martens, bring them back in time for the evening meal with the captain, not so soon as to be seen as a challenge to the officers and midshipmen, not so late as to be seen as dereliction of duty by Fitzroy and to give ammunition to my nemesis. Today was a challenge. As I sat in the boat watching the men row, I closed my eyes and dreamed of Rio. Girls on the harbour wall. Music in the streets. Fresh sweet fruits I never knew the names of.
The sand in the bay looked soft and white like sugar but it burned my feet through the flimsy sandals as I ran to the rocks. The basket was heavier than I had expected and I was also carrying a satchel of brushes and inks. Martens struggled to carry the easel, the sand making every step an exaggeration. By the time we reached to ragged basalt rocks that marked the end of the beach, I was breathing heavy and sweating like a heathen. Luck was on my side. Martens was not too far behind me and from here I could make out the path DeLanda had taken. Sea birds called to us as we rounded the rocky headland to see footprints in the mud. It was deep and sticky and we edged around it following the path marked out. No wonder DeLanda was exhausted. Even in the sea wind, the heat was unbearable. Flies darted around our heads, harrying Martens in his white trousers and thick shirt. I paid them no attention but they slowed him to a stop at one point. I spent precious minutes shading the basket from the sun and the flies while he dabbed at his neck with a handkerchief. His eyes were beginning to reveal that my pace was too much, so I feigned fatigue and waited until he was ready. I hoped heavily that the meat would be fine.
By the time Martens was ready to move on it was rapidly approaching half past one. Darwin could have stopped anywhere on this coastline, he could still be moving. Why they couldn’t have taken a boat to meet him he couldn’t understand? Perhaps it was Fitzroy’s way of discouraging too many of these forays into the islands. As we moved tentatively across the flats, I noticed that there were cliffs ahead. Boobies swooped and circled the topmost parts of the cliffs, which meant more discomfort. They hated intruders and would dive at us as we approached. By the look on Martens face, I could see he was thinking the same thing. We both started to look for a way inland to get over or around the back of the cliffs and avoid them.
Martens had spotted what looked like a small cave entrance on the down slope of the cliffs. We headed inland towards it and luck brought us to an archway which led through and behind the cliff tops. As we emerged there was a calmness about the valley and more luck again, perched on a large boulder was Darwin. Martens said it first, the thanks offered to the lord, so I smiled and nodded. He now took back his position of authority which he had seemingly deferred to me during our romp across the flats. We walked slowly now. Here in the shade, the air was cooler. There were no birds, only Lizards, insects and flowers. Still the air was thick with moisture making our clothes sticky and uncomfortable. This seemed not to affect our host. He sat unaffected by our arrival watching something in the pools at his feet.
Martens spoke woodenly and without conviction, “Master Fitzroy sends his compliments and something for your sustenance Master Darwin. He invites you again to join him at the captain’s table tonight. Will I send a reply?” I tried to mask the hopelessness of the situation as best I could. I was no diplomat, no negotiator. I was 18 years and no more. How would I know how to stir a man from his work whose only interest was the bugs that skated on the surface of a pool? I looked down at them while Darwin struggled with the words, forming his own response and trying not to take his mind from the sketch he was drawing. “Martens, do you notice anything about the flies in this pond? Come closer man and have a look. Do you notice how their wings are shorter than the ones we found in the southern valley?”
I sighed. I knew this was the way. Martens would not broach the question again. I would be expected to wait patiently until they were both finished talking. I took to unwrapping the food I had brought. It only then occurred that I had eaten nothing since before the sun had risen. I had been hungry before and unless offered I could not take anything. Still judging from the silver tinge of the salted beef packed by cook, I was really not that interested. Perhaps there would be a slice of cornbread left over. Laying it out on the rocks, I stood back and waited for the two men to return to the world. They were craning over the pool from the rock, neither aware of the food I had left.
After a quarter-hour, they finally stepped down from the rocks and began to share the food. As I suspected, they passed on the meat, instead taking all the cheese and bread. At finish Martens tossed me an apple and thanked me for the service although I had heard Darwin grumble about the meat. Martens bid me clear away the things now and be quiet as they talked. They walked leisurely back to the pool where Martens began to set up his easel. Darwin was an intense man, always gesticulating his arms and pulling excited expressions. Martens would listen with his hands behind his back, nodding at times and then return to his work. I finished my apple and threw the remains of the meal back into the basket, leaving the beef among the grasses for some creature to find later. As there was no need for me at present, I took a stroll around the small valley, deciding to explore the other pools.
There were over twenty different pools in the valley, all caused, (I suspected,) by some kind of melting of the land at some point. Each one carried a slightly different hint of green and blue, but none of them gave any indication of depth. I noticed a large pool at the end of the valley, on the far side were strange lizards bathing in the rays of sunlight that crept over the jagged walls of the valley. Soon the sun would drop and the air would start to cool. On the boat I knew a man could catch a chill in the sea air, but I had never spent an evening here on land. Lizards swam in the waters of the pool and dried themselves on the rocks at the far side valley wall. I could not walk or climb to them. It was my idea to distract the men with a specimen perhaps unseen and insist that they return it to the boat. I could stress that Darwin was not the designated Naturalist on this voyage forcing his hand but making life difficult in the future. Be damned with these infernal ships politics, all I wanted was to return to the boat and work until the next port.
I removed my sandals and rolled up my trousers. I could see that there was a lip of rock just beneath the water and holding to the rocks on the side, I might make my way across. The pool was greener than the others I had seen and yet it seemed more inviting in this heat. I stepped out and found the water immediately cool and soothing. My feet were refreshed and my troubles relaxed. Carefully, in no panic, I made my way to the far side of the rocks. The lizards were not bothered by my approach. They lay still in the sun, still as stone, grinning in their lizard way. Nearly upon them, I took care to move slowly. There were a choice of three that I could reach and one in particular had caught my eye. It was the spitting image of cook. What a laugh I could cause at his expense and sweet revenge for speaking to me that way. The ugly brute would make a fine skin to trade elsewhere if it were of no interest to the men of science.
It eyed me lazily as I approached it. I had caught pigeons on the streets of Plymouth when I was younger in exactly the same way. Leave them enough doubt and they will watch you to see if you are a threat. Move too quick and they run. Move too slow and they lose interest and fly away. Move just right and they cannot decide, so they just sit and watch until it is too late. Now I was that ten-year old again. Clinging to the rocks with one hand and leaning out across the pool, I raised my left arm slowly out of its line of sight. Still raising my arm, I looked into the Lizards eyes, it turned its head slowly to meet my gaze. It was incredible the likeness to cook. The same squint on one side. The grin that never left even when he was bellowing at you. I was encapsulated in its glare as I slowly placed my hand upon its back.
“Isaaaaacs!”
The name had not been shouted from the men at the far side of the valley but the creature in front of me. It called my name into my face. It glared at me as cook would glare at me and barked my name so sharply that my whole body flinched in panic. Letting go of the rocks, I felt my whole body fall backwards into the air behind me, knowing there was nothing to catch my fall except the water of the pool. I crashed into the water, my call for help stifled by the liquid that filled my mouth. Under the surface, I watched as the bodies of the Lizards swam above me idly making their way down to me. There were tiny hands around me, I could feel them on my clothing pulling gently at me, pulling me down. Exploding through the surface above me came the Lizard, cooks double, still grinning and looking down at me. It dived at me and watched as I sank down. As much as I could struggle, the hands pulled me down, held me tight.
The water was so cooling, so soothing in the heat. I did not seem to mind the tiny teeth that sank into my arms, numbing my body of its desperate pleading for air. Tiny hands wrapped around me, holding me and brushing through my hair. I remembered the girls in Rio. The rum houses by the docks where the women danced, the rooms where I had become a man. I heard the music as I sank and watched the green light from the surface move away from me and looked into the eyes of cook. Now everything was fading away. Everything was becoming darkness. The green light shrank above me and the tiny hands held me tight, refusing to let me go and the girls in Rio were singing songs about boys in the night…
Fitzroy’s Journal 3rd October 1835.
After several days of searching it is my solemn duty to record deck hand Isaacs has been declared missing presumed dead. We have scoured the islands for evidence of his body and can find nothing. On discussion with the ship’s Geologist and Draughtsman who were the last to see the man we can only assume that, having left his duties to the men, he climbed the cliff faces in search of eggs and fell to his death in the waves. The expedition will continue and Isaacs’ wages and belongings have been stowed to be returned to England on completion of the voyage. My condolences will be sent to his Mother and Father in Plymouth on our next port of call.
Additional: Cook Clovis has taken with gout and has been confined to quarters. He will be laid off at next port and new appointment will be made. The men will no longer have the free reign of the rum. Too much has come from easy access and I want no more of it.
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11/06/2013 | Categories: Animals, Contemplation, History, Journeys, Science, Shorts | Tags: Animals, History, Journeys, Science, Short Stories | Leave a comment
The Beach
30/03/2013 | Categories: Animals, Contemplation, Life, love, Nature, Poetry, Sea | Tags: Animals, impermanence, indie writing, Nature, Poems, poetry, Sea, writers, writing | Leave a comment
First published in 2011, tonight’s reblogged story is a chilling tale of dreamscape detective work.
This incident in itself would seem curious enough to most if it wasn’t for the fact that exactly seven minutes after the beasts had filled the ground floor spaces of the hotel causing countless damages, they had disappeared without any trace of exit or…
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27/03/2013 | Categories: Animals, Detective, Dreams, Reality, Shorts | Tags: Animals, Detective, Dreams, indie writing, reality, Science, Short Stories, writers, writing | Leave a comment
I’ll stay with you until I am dead.
26/03/2013 | Categories: Animals, Death, Journeys, Moon, Nature, Poetry, quotes, Sea, Space, Uncategorized | Tags: Animals, Death, entropy, indie writing, Nature, quote, Sea, writers, writing | Leave a comment
The Wise Mouse and the Sad King.
This malady went on for many months. The word spread around the kingdom that the King was sad. People were disheartened and uncertainty of the future grew. The Royal grain stores were infested with beetles causing a bigger blow. Rumours of enemies gathering on the border spread and people became wary of strangers. All was not well in the kingdom and it fell to the Grand Vizier to resolve the issue. He sent for Doctors and Alchemists, Philosophers and Oracles, Priests and Magicians from the far corners of the world. None of them could improve the mood of the King who had taken to sitting in his room by the fire, complaining of his aging joints. All he could think of was how he had failed his people.
The grand Vizier met with the King’s staff, his footmen, his waiter, his servants, his cooks and even the stable boy. The footmen told of how the King had loved to hear the singing of the men in the fields during harvest. The waiter named the king’s favourite book, the servants spoke of the flowers by the side of his bed and the cooks told of his favourite meal. All were tried and none of them helped with anything but to remind the King of how far he had fallen. He sank deeper into his lament. The stable boy not having much contact with the King had no ideas about what would improve his mood. He did however know of someone who might.
“In the village where I was born is a path that leads up the side of the mountain. At the top of the path is a cave where it is rumoured lives the wisest mouse in the world. For a small token he will answer even the most difficult of questions. My Grandmother told me how one winter when the crops had failed and the village was starving, the mouse showed us where we could find food that saved us.” The stable boy looked down at his feet as the servants whispered to each other and some giggled quietly. The Grand Vizier however banged his staff of duty against the tiles of the palace floor sending everyone to attention.
“Young man, Do you know how to find this mouse?”
“I could be there and return within the day my Lord.”
“Then take your token and entreat this mouse to tell us how the King can be happy again.”
The stable boy bowed. He prepared a horse and, stopping by the Royal kitchens, he set off to find the cave of the wise mouse. Riding as fast as he could, he arrived in the early afternoon and made his way into the cave. It was dark in the cave and the boy lit a torch to see the way. Cobwebs hung from the cave roof and here and there he heard to timeless dripping of water. After a while, he reached the back of the cave many small holes ran in and out of the back wall. In the centre of the dusty floor was a small flat rock where the Stable boy bent and placed his offering, a small piece of strong cheese. Backing away, he sat down to wait.
After half an hour, the strong smell of the cheese finally reached the nose of one of the many mice that lived in the caves. It made its way out into the cave from its tiny hole in the wall. Wary of the torch the stable boy held, it edged towards the rock where the cheese sat. The boy gave a start. The mouse backed up a little; aware that it was not alone. The boy sat perfectly still and watched the mouse as it explored this new object with its nose. The boy leaned in and whispered, “Wise mouse of the cave, many years ago you saved my village from famine. I have come to ask your advice again. Our King is taken by a sadness and we cannot make him happy again. How can the King be happy again? Please help us wise mouse.”
The mouse looked at the boy for a second. It sat motionless looking into his eyes. Then as quick as it could, it grabbed the cheese in its teeth and ran back across the cave to find its hole. As it climbed to enter the hole, it dislodged a small rock which fell down the wall of the cave and rolled to land at the boy’s feet. He picked it up and examined it, confused by what had just happened. There was nothing remarkable about the rock. It was smooth and hard like all of the other rocks in the cave. The stable boy thought that perhaps there was some message the mouse was trying to tell him but, as he was only a stable boy, it did not reveal itself to him. He decided to ask the elders of the village if they could explain the meaning of the rock.
None in the village had ever known that beyond the back of the caves were the cellars of the monastery in the valley beyond. Mice had lived inside the cellar for many years and over time extended their territory into the caves. When the first villagers had visited the caves many years ago, they had marvelled at what could sustain a mouse in such a damp and dark cave. The tradition of providing food for it started soon after. Stories started about the wisdom of the mouse, how its solitary life had been filled with contemplation and meditation. The elders would disappear into the caves and emerge with advice to help the village in times of hardship. The truth was that there were many mice in the caves quite happily feeding off the food cellars of the monks in the valley beyond and most of the time, the elders already knew what would help the village.
When the stable boy presented the rock to the them, they looked at the rock, they rolled the rock across the ground, they shook the rock, they smelled it and tasted it. Eventually after looking at each other and nodding, the Eldest of the elders rose and approached him. “We all agree that the wise mouse of the cave is sending a message to your King. It is saying that the rock is like the Kingdom strong and hard, solid and firm. Like this rock the King is strong and can carry this kingdom easily in his pocket.” The Elder placed the rock in the stable boy’s hand and sat down again. The stable boy thought about this. He wondered at the wisdom of the mouse to say so much with such a simple gesture. He vowed that he would return to the cave one more time to ask for more of the wisdom before returning to consult with the Grand Vizier. That way he would be sure that he could help to save his King from sadness.
He climbed the path to the cave, entered again, lighting his torch and proceeded to find the wall of holes. Again he left his offering of cheese on the rock and moved back to wait for his wisdom. Another mouse soon caught the smell of the cheese. It had been gnawing its way through a sack of rice when it caught a hint of something delicious. Having tired of eating the monks’ rice, it attempted to remove itself from the sack, but became ensnared in a section of hessian. Frantically it squeaked and pulled, trying to remove its hind leg from the small square of sack cloth it had acquired. The cloth came free of the sack but stayed with the mouse as it made its way through the honey comb of holes towards the smell of the strong cheese.
This time the Stable boy did not jump when the mouse appeared. He sat quietly and waited for the mouse to move towards him. As it approached, He whispered, “Great and wise mouse. Thank you for your wisdom, it will help greatly to improve my master’s health and bring him out of his malaise. I ask one more time, in the hope of serving my King to the best of my abilities, how else can I help to make my King happy.”
The mouse stopped at the sound of the boy’s voice. It turned to gnaw at the sack cloth caught on its hind leg and managed to remove it. Quickly, it leaped at the cheese, grabbed it and scampered back to the holes in the wall. The boy reached down and gathered the sack cloth. It was rough and uneven, frayed at the edges and had a smell of dampness. Again he took it to the elders of the village who once more examined it in great detail. Finally, the second eldest of the Elders stood up and approached him. “We all agree that the wise mouse of the cave is sending a second message to your King. It is showing him how his Kingdom is woven together as strongly as this piece of sack cloth. Each strand of the Kingdom is woven with the others. Even the King is woven into his Kingdom and as he unravels, so does everything else. The King must see that when he is happy, his people are happy.”
He thanked the Elders for their translation. He wrapped the sack cloth around the rock and placed it into his pocket. Again the wisdom of the mouse astounded him. It was so profound and succinct, beyond the likes of which he the simple stable boy could reach. Glancing at the low sun dipping between the mountains at the entrance to the valley he now stood in, he resolved one last time to visit the mouse and ask for its final wisdom before setting off on the long journey back to the palace. Quickly he climbed the path to the cave and lighting the torch, he went inside. Again he offered more of the strong smelling cheese upon the small rock and waited for the mouse to appear.
While he waited, he did not notice that the cave had been visited since he had left by other mice. Here and there were tiny paw prints in the dust of the cave floor. Several other mice had also been attracted to the smell of the cheese he had brought before and realising they were too late had returned, all except one who sat in the corner of the cave now gnawing on a piece of string it had brought from the cellars of the monks. It was very excited when it saw the boy return and place more of the incredibly good smelling cheese on the rock where it had smelt the other food. Forgetting the piece of string in its teeth, it ran forwards towards the cheese. Suddenly aware of the boy sitting quite close still, it squeaked, dropped the string, grabbed the cheese and ran away.
The boy was astounded. He took this as a sign that the patience of the wise mouse had reached its limits and he vowed that, as he took the last message of string, he would not return again to speak with it. He bowed and shouted his thanks into the darkness of the cave before leaving to consult the elders. On the other side of the walls, a lone monk, inspecting the wine barrels in the cellar, could have sworn he heard a ghostly voice thanking him for his wisdom. He returned to his chores that day loading the barrels to go to the palace and feeling a sense of accomplishment and happiness. It spread throughout the monastery that day.
Meanwhile the boy, taking the string to the elders, waited for their interpretation. They examined the string; it wasn’t very long and was chewed at one end. Finally, after much discussion, the third eldest of the elders stood and approached the stable boy as the sun began to set. “This string represents the time we have. It doesn’t matter how long it is, just that we have it. We should not look to measure our lives but to accept that they have a length and enjoy them for being there. Our lives are as long as a piece of string.” The boy thanked the elders again for their translation, expressing what a service they had done for the kingdom. Tying the string around the sack cloth which held the rock, he placed it in his pocket, climbed onto his horse and rode back towards the Palace of the King.
He rode through the evening and arrived back at the palace late after darkness had fallen. The Grand Vizier greeted him and gave him food as the boy related to him everything he had experienced that day. When he was rested he was ushered quickly to the Kings chambers. He was very tired and a little nervous but he knew that he had to present his findings for the good of the Kingdom. The King was in his great chair by the fire when the Vizier announced the arrival of the boy. He was drinking a wine that had arrived from a monastery at the edge of the kingdom that morning. It had a wonderful taste and went particularly well with the strong cheese from the Royal kitchens. It had made the King sleepy in the evening. Now he dozed by the fireside and was amused when the Vizier explained what the boy had done.
The stable boy entered the Kings chambers, he was tired and afraid. How could he a stable boy possibly help a King? He dropped to his knees in front of the King and, looking nervously at the Grand Vizier, announced, “Your Majesty, I have consulted with the great wise mouse that lives in the caves by my Village to find a solution to your malady. It has given me three things to pass to you each with a wisdom for you to hear.” The boy presented the parcel containing the rock to the King and explained the meaning of each object. The King listened carefully to his words; indeed this was a truly wise mouse to understand the thoughts of a King. If it was the wine or the words, no one ever knew to be sure but all will agree that the thing that changed the mood of the King that day was the arrival in the room of a small visitor.
As the Vizier, the stable boy and the King discussed the parcel and the wisdom of mice, a mouse which had stowed away in a crate of wine on a cart from a monastery had found its way up to the Kings quarters. It was warm in the room and the mouse was happy. It could smell a very strong cheese, something it had smelled earlier that day. Climbing up the leg of a table it could not believe its luck when it came across a huge plate full of the delicious smelling cheese. While the men talked, the mouse ate the cheese until the King happened to reach across to take another piece from the plate. The mouse saw the king’s hand and panicked; it squeaked a shrill warning to itself and jumped off the table. As it hurried away it sent a small piece of cheese flying through the air to land in the Kings shocked and open mouth.
The Vizier and the stable boy jumped up immediately and tried to find the mouse while the King now chewing on a piece of unexpected cheese sat in his chair with a curious expression on his face. In the moments before the mouse had left, he had seen it eating the cheese. He thought about the mouse in the cave, content to live only on what others brought for it to eat. And yet this mouse had travelled many miles to see the King himself and offer him a taste of its own happiness. The King could only smile at this. How could a mouse be happy and a King be sad. He thought about its other gifts; the strength of his Kingdom, the connection with his people, the importance of today and all the other days together. He saw the foolishness of his ways. He began to chuckle. The Vizier and the stable boy both stopped what they were doing.
“The King is laughing!” went the cry in the palace. The King feeling very relaxed and ready for bed went to sleep that night with a smile on his face. The stable boy was given a guest chamber in the palace and he too slept with a smile on his face. The Vizier carried himself as a only a Vizier does, but on occasion was noticed to close his eyes and smile before he too retired to sleep. The news filled the Kingdom. It spread around like fire in a dry gale until, by morning, every household in the Kingdom knew that the King was laughing. And when the King awoke that morning; when he flung back the curtains to greet the day with a smile in his heart, he found his whole Kingdom standing and smiling back at him.
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25/03/2013 | Categories: Animals, Children's, Contemplation, Fantasy, Journeys, Magical, Nature, Political, Shorts, Uncategorized | Tags: Animals, Children's, indie writing, Magical, Nature, old age, Political, Short Stories, writers, writing | Leave a comment
A Picnic with Darwin.
DeLanda, the runner he had sent back had carried many samples across the peninsula. His back was unfit for a return and we all knew this. It was a certainty that there would be more samples before the day was done. The forward hold had been transformed into a zoo the last few days. Fitzroy would be looking for a volunteer to carry food and return with Darwin later. He would be looking for a persuasive volunteer, a charming volunteer, a diplomat to put to him the feelings of his employer. Martens was ready for a stroll but would not concede to carrying anything more than his easel and supplies and certainly would not agree to badgering the man. He admired Darwin for all his social inequalities and ability to quicken the anger in his peers. Yes he admired him and would happily sit and watch him once more drive Fitzroy to distraction.
I tried to make myself scarce, scurrying across the deck to make for the kitchens. There would be work there for sure and the cook would not allow anyone to prevent his galley from perfection. It was too late that it occurred to me I was heading in the most convenient direction possible to be chosen. It was the first mate spied me. He had been gunning for me since before we docked at Montevideo and I had walked in on him drunk with quartermaster. They were singing and in a state of undress, now his only wish was for me to disappear and be away from speaking his name to the crew. The truth be that I had never said to another soul what I had seen. I had heard stories before of men taking to one another in strange ways on voyages and it had kept me laying awake at night. Now I saw him smile at placing me in a position of dissatisfaction.
“Mister Isaacs! We have a task for you. Hold boy!”
After receiving specific instructions on Darwin’s preferred meal, (and spending a few moments below cursing the day I had ever walked in on that infernal officer,) I made my way to cook. In the middle of preparing the evening meal for the officers, he was angry enough to start throwing insults my way. I took stock of them, if only to learn new ways in which I would be able to insult those I had power over one day and smiled as best I could at the colourful torrent. Cook was not a bad man, just a fat man with little energy for anything beyond his duties. Fitzroy liked him and his imaginative talents at the table, but his opinions had sometimes cost him dearly. Only two weeks ago his comments in front of an officer had him reprimanded severely and deprived of his drinking rations. This added to the venom that he poured my way.
The food was packed a little too quickly. The meat I saw did not look in its prime and in the afternoon heat, I knew it would not stay good for long. I would have to run as if the devil were at my heels to feed Darwin without poisoning him. Cooks wry smile said it all as he slammed the food into the wicker basket for me to carry. I took it without a word back. Turning away before my face could betray the sneer of resentment I held. I was up on the deck and into the boat before I could properly take size of the challenge I had been set. Feed Darwin before the meat went bad, travel slow enough not to anger Martens, bring them back in time for the evening meal with the captain, not so soon as to be seen as a challenge to the officers and midshipmen, not so late as to be seen as dereliction of duty by Fitzroy and to give ammunition to my nemesis. Today was a challenge. As I sat in the boat watching the men row, I closed my eyes and dreamed of Rio. Girls on the harbour wall. Music in the streets. Fresh sweet fruits I never knew the names of.
The sand in the bay looked soft and white like sugar but it burned my feet through the flimsy sandals as I ran to the rocks. The basket was heavier than I had expected and I was also carrying a satchel of brushes and inks. Martens struggled to carry the easel, the sand making every step an exaggeration. By the time we reached to ragged basalt rocks that marked the end of the beach, I was breathing heavy and sweating like a heathen. Luck was on my side. Martens was not too far behind me and from here I could make out the path DeLanda had taken. Sea birds called to us as we rounded the rocky headland to see footprints in the mud. It was deep and sticky and we edged around it following the path marked out. No wonder DeLanda was exhausted. Even in the sea wind, the heat was unbearable. Flies darted around our heads, harrying Martens in his white trousers and thick shirt. I paid them no attention but they slowed him to a stop at one point. I spent precious minutes shading the basket from the sun and the flies while he dabbed at his neck with a handkerchief. His eyes were beginning to reveal that my pace was too much, so I feigned fatigue and waited until he was ready. I hoped heavily that the meat would be fine.
By the time Martens was ready to move on it was rapidly approaching half past one. Darwin could have stopped anywhere on this coastline, he could still be moving. Why they couldn’t have taken a boat to meet him he couldn’t understand? Perhaps it was Fitzroy’s way of discouraging too many of these forays into the islands. As we moved tentatively across the flats, I noticed that there were cliffs ahead. Boobies swooped and circled the topmost parts of the cliffs, which meant more discomfort. They hated intruders and would dive at us as we approached. By the look on Martens face, I could see he was thinking the same thing. We both started to look for a way inland to get over or around the back of the cliffs and avoid them.
Martens had spotted what looked like a small cave entrance on the down slope of the cliffs. We headed inland towards it and luck brought us to an archway which led through and behind the cliff tops. As we emerged there was a calmness about the valley and more luck again, perched on a large boulder was Darwin. Martens said it first, the thanks offered to the lord, so I smiled and nodded. He now took back his position of authority which he had seemingly deferred to me during our romp across the flats. We walked slowly now. Here in the shade, the air was cooler. There were no birds, only Lizards, insects and flowers. Still the air was thick with moisture making our clothes sticky and uncomfortable. This seemed not to affect our host. He sat unaffected by our arrival watching something in the pools at his feet.
Martens spoke woodenly and without conviction, “Master Fitzroy sends his compliments and something for your sustenance Master Darwin. He invites you again to join him at the captain’s table tonight. Will I send a reply?” I tried to mask the hopelessness of the situation as best I could. I was no diplomat, no negotiator. I was 18 years and no more. How would I know how to stir a man from his work whose only interest was the bugs that skated on the surface of a pool? I looked down at them while Darwin struggled with the words, forming his own response and trying not to take his mind from the sketch he was drawing. “Martens, do you notice anything about the flies in this pond? Come closer man and have a look. Do you notice how their wings are shorter than the ones we found in the southern valley?”
I sighed. I knew this was the way. Martens would not broach the question again. I would be expected to wait patiently until they were both finished talking. I took to unwrapping the food I had brought. It only then occurred that I had eaten nothing since before the sun had risen. I had been hungry before and unless offered I could not take anything. Still judging from the silver tinge of the salted beef packed by cook, I was really not that interested. Perhaps there would be a slice of cornbread left over. Laying it out on the rocks, I stood back and waited for the two men to return to the world. They were craning over the pool from the rock, neither aware of the food I had left.
After a quarter-hour, they finally stepped down from the rocks and began to share the food. As I suspected, they passed on the meat, instead taking all the cheese and bread. At finish Martens tossed me an apple and thanked me for the service although I had heard Darwin grumble about the meat. Martens bid me clear away the things now and be quiet as they talked. They walked leisurely back to the pool where Martens began to set up his easel. Darwin was an intense man, always gesticulating his arms and pulling excited expressions. Martens would listen with his hands behind his back, nodding at times and then return to his work. I finished my apple and threw the remains of the meal back into the basket, leaving the beef among the grasses for some creature to find later. As there was no need for me at present, I took a stroll around the small valley, deciding to explore the other pools.
There were over twenty different pools in the valley, all caused, (I suspected,) by some kind of melting of the land at some point. Each one carried a slightly different hint of green and blue, but none of them gave any indication of depth. I noticed a large pool at the end of the valley, on the far side were strange lizards bathing in the rays of sunlight that crept over the jagged walls of the valley. Soon the sun would drop and the air would start to cool. On the boat I knew a man could catch a chill in the sea air, but I had never spent an evening here on land. Lizards swam in the waters of the pool and dried themselves on the rocks at the far side valley wall. I could not walk or climb to them. It was my idea to distract the men with a specimen perhaps unseen and insist that they return it to the boat. I could stress that Darwin was not the designated Naturalist on this voyage forcing his hand but making life difficult in the future. Be damned with these infernal ships politics, all I wanted was to return to the boat and work until the next port.
I removed my sandals and rolled up my trousers. I could see that there was a lip of rock just beneath the water and holding to the rocks on the side, I might make my way across. The pool was greener than the others I had seen and yet it seemed more inviting in this heat. I stepped out and found the water immediately cool and soothing. My feet were refreshed and my troubles relaxed. Carefully, in no panic, I made my way to the far side of the rocks. The lizards were not bothered by my approach. They lay still in the sun, still as stone, grinning in their lizard way. Nearly upon them, I took care to move slowly. There were a choice of three that I could reach and one in particular had caught my eye. It was the spitting image of cook. What a laugh I could cause at his expense and sweet revenge for speaking to me that way. The ugly brute would make a fine skin to trade elsewhere if it were of no interest to the men of science.
It eyed me lazily as I approached it. I had caught pigeons on the streets of Plymouth when I was younger in exactly the same way. Leave them enough doubt and they will watch you to see if you are a threat. Move too quick and they run. Move too slow and they lose interest and fly away. Move just right and they cannot decide, so they just sit and watch until it is too late. Now I was that ten-year old again. Clinging to the rocks with one hand and leaning out across the pool, I raised my left arm slowly out of its line of sight. Still raising my arm, I looked into the Lizards eyes, it turned its head slowly to meet my gaze. It was incredible the likeness to cook. The same squint on one side. The grin that never left even when he was bellowing at you. I was encapsulated in its glare as I slowly placed my hand upon its back.
“Isaaaaacs!”
The name had not been shouted from the men at the far side of the valley but the creature in front of me. It called my name into my face. It glared at me as cook would glare at me and barked my name so sharply that my whole body flinched in panic. Letting go of the rocks, I felt my whole body fall backwards into the air behind me, knowing there was nothing to catch my fall except the water of the pool. I crashed into the water, my call for help stifled by the liquid that filled my mouth. Under the surface, I watched as the bodies of the Lizards swam above me idly making their way down to me. There were tiny hands around me, I could feel them on my clothing pulling gently at me, pulling me down. Exploding through the surface above me came the Lizard, cooks double, still grinning and looking down at me. It dived at me and watched as I sank down. As much as I could struggle, the hands pulled me down, held me tight.
The water was so cooling, so soothing in the heat. I did not seem to mind the tiny teeth that sank into my arms, numbing my body of its desperate pleading for air. Tiny hands wrapped around me, holding me and brushing through my hair. I remembered the girls in Rio. The rum houses by the docks where the women danced, the rooms where I had become a man. I heard the music as I sank and watched the green light from the surface move away from me and looked into the eyes of cook. Now everything was fading away. Everything was becoming darkness. The green light shrank above me and the tiny hands held me tight, refusing to let me go and the girls in Rio were singing songs about boys in the night…
Fitzroy’s Journal 3rd October 1835.
After several days of searching it is my solemn duty to record deck hand Isaacs has been declared missing presumed dead. We have scoured the islands for evidence of his body and can find nothing. On discussion with the ship’s Geologist and Draughtsman who were the last to see the man we can only assume that, having left his duties to the men, he climbed the cliff faces in search of eggs and fell to his death in the waves. The expedition will continue and Isaacs’ wages and belongings have been stowed to be returned to England on completion of the voyage. My condolences will be sent to his Mother and Father in Plymouth on our next port of call.
Additional: Cook Clovis has taken with gout and has been confined to quarters. He will be laid off at next port and new appointment will be made. The men will no longer have the free reign of the rum. Too much has come from easy access and I want no more of it.
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18/02/2013 | Categories: Animals, Contemplation, History, Journeys, Science, Shorts | Tags: Animals, History, Journeys, Science, Short Stories | Leave a comment
The Bat Diaries.
Photo credit: southernfried from morguefile.com
New Entries from the Bat Diaries now accessible. Click below to read individual entries. Leave a comment if you wish.
Lee.
Distant Thunder in the Twilight
Full Moon and Venus over Mackrell Sky
Strange Sunset followed by Waning Moon
Bats in the Headlights and Shooting Star
After the Passing of the North East Wind
Fiery Trails in the West and Close Bat Encounters
04/03/2011 | Categories: Animals, Contemplation, Nature | Tags: Animals, Diary, Magical, Nature | Leave a comment
The Rhino House
This incident in itself would seem curious enough to most if it wasn’t for the fact that exactly seven minutes after the beasts had filled the ground floor spaces of the hotel causing countless damages, they had disappeared without any trace of exit or sound of retreat. Local inspectors were at a loss to find an answer to this strange outlandish problem and, hearing I had some expertise in the field, had sent a car immediately.
The large Edwardian building stood on the headland looking out over the sea and the beginnings of the estuary that ran inland to the south. It was a curiously shaped building. A courtyard greeted new arrivals but then led them around the building to a balcony overlooking the main patios and gardens where a huge set of glazed ironwork doors opened outwards. From the balcony, the walkway could be followed around the entire building still rising until level with the first floor. On the inland side of the hotel the walkway continued, running along the top of a wall which joined what seemed to be a working farm and windmill to the hotel. The wall, unbroken and towering nearly twelve feet high and at least six feet thick gave the whole arrangement a linear and military ambiance.
The hotel, dwarfing all of it’s companion buildings stood four floors high. Wooden shutters painted blue opened out to welcome the warm afternoon summer sun and keep out the winter evenings. A central staircase with an enormous skylight gave a wonderful light to the building and inside the decoration was somewhat colonial and dated. Palms and ferns grew from tall containers that hinted at the far east. Guests came here for the peace and quiet and the wonderful views and walks that the hotel made available. I arrived on site in the late afternoon as some of the braver, long standing guests were having tea in the conservatory. All credit to the establishments amazing staff who, with the aid of drapes and table cloths, had brought some semblance of normality. Two uniformed policemen were on hand to give assurance to the guests and await the possible return of the owner.
The guests, a retired Army Officer, a widowed Baroness and a School Mistress were playing bridge with one of the sergeants. A large bottle of brandy stood on a serving trolley to one side, half emptied for medicinal purposes. They all stood when I entered, expecting news that would make sense of the night time surrealism. After introducing myself, I spoke to one side with the card playing sergeant first.
“It’s not good sir. The way they describe it makes it sound like the end of the world. They all woke up around ten to five to hear thunder, but it just got louder until they heard the scream of the night porter. By that time the ground floor was full of Rhino’s. The Major over there reckons on counting at least twenty five head sir. ‘Says he wishes he had his old rifle, ‘would have taken a couple of ’em out…”
I listened to the briefing from the young sergeant extracting the relevant and guessing the parts he forgot. Whilst I listened to the guests who added very little to the evidence, I kept thinking about the wall. I could not find any reason for it. Talking with Hotel staff did not help. I searched for clues that the farm and mill were part of an older sea fort but none of them had worked for longer than two seasons and had never heard any history.
As the late afternoon drew towards the evening, I decided it was time to investigate the farm and mill closer. I walked past the farm gates and spied an old woman sitting in a barn with no teeth. She beckoned to me to come forward and speak with her. Thinking I might find out a little more about the strange wall, I stepped forward as a number of geese emerged and surprised both of us. I smiled and the old lady showed me both of her remaining teeth, yellowed and soon to join their companions. Through lisps and mispronounced words, the woman quizzed me.
“Is he back yet?”
I assumed she meant the owner and shook my head.
“You’ll be speaking to my husband then, he’s up in the mill.”
I was confused. I had no idea who this woman was and had not intended to speak with her husband. Perhaps she was being old fashioned. I gave her a puzzled look and enquired who her husband might be.
“He’s the miller of course. Have you not wondered yet how we get those big sails to keep turning?”
She gestured vaguely towards a small door near the point where the mill and the wall joined. I hesitated and then, seeing sincerity in her eyes, walked towards it and entered. The door opened onto a small and confined spiral staircase which rose beyond the level of the wall and brought me out onto the flat roof of the mill. leaning against the rail, looking out towards the sea stood an old man in a slightly dishevelled tweed suit.
Standing next to him I looked out across the sea and forgetting my manners. Embarrassed, I asked if he was the miller and introduced myself. He smiled a completely toothless smile and gestured to the view.
“It’s a grand one that view. Better than any you’ll get from that monstrosity over there. I suppose you’re here about last night. I wondered when one of you police folk were gonna get round to talking to me.” He pulled out a pipe and began to stoke it with tobacco.
I suddenly became aware of how remarkably far from the ground I was and that I was standing on the top of a windmill and the circular roof was made of stone. The words of the old woman came back to me about the sails. They were turning very quickly and yet there was practically no wind.
Lighting his pipe he continued, “These Rhinos. I’ve never seen ’em myself, but the master of all this. He’s been doing some strange things in the quiet seasons. Lots of digging and building when there’s no one around. Last night I happen I saw him coming up this way. I stayed up some time but I never saw him come down again.”
The sun was low in the afternoon sky and the Hotel would be serving an evening meal soon. I glanced at my pocket watch to see that it was only ten minutes from five. Then I felt it.
We both grabbed the rail as the whole of the circular roof began to turn. Somewhere a bell was ringing. Mechanisms were moving wildly and loudly beneath our feet. The Miller seemed shocked and afraid, his eyes searching wildly for an explanation, but we held on as we were turning from the east to the south. I didn’t doubt that he also thought of the fate of the owner. Something beneath our feet came together with a loud crack and the roof came to a sudden halt. A rumbling started from the base of the windmill. It travelled invisibly along the length of the wall towards the Hotel.
As the motion of the roof stopped, the horror of what was happening hit me. Paralysed, I listened to the sound of smashing crockery and high pitched screams, men shouting and the angry snorting of huge beasts. My mind reeled to make sense of things as I noticed the young sergeant escaping through the main entrance, an enormous wound in his side, pain written clearly across his face. I could only imagine the scenes of carnage inside the building as we, the Miller and I, stood fixed to the spot watching. We were powerless to help.
I felt myself sobbing, my lungs dragging at the air trying desperately to breath. The ground below the rail, far away swam in my vision. Still I had no answers to this mystery beyond the mechanics of tragedy. Where was the owner? Why were Rhinos somehow powering a windmill?
Such are my memories of the Rhino House and the long walks along the shores It took to finally heal me of it’s horrors.
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04/02/2011 | Categories: Animals, Detective, Dreams, Science, Shorts | Tags: Animals, Detective, Dreams, Short Stories | 1 Comment