The Crow's Nest 2-9

2-9

            The captain went to a window in the cleared area once holding the Mother’s rubbish.  He peered out that window then squinted up the river.  He turned, clomped across the attic to a far corner darkness.  He bent down, rummaged in the darkness for a few seconds then stood up and returned across the attic to the same window extending a long antique brass telescope as he traveled.  At the window he peered through the telescope up river and said “BRIGANTINE! …NO COLORS!  ENGLISH… French… PORTUGUESE!  Too far up to take anyway.  No colors… probably Portuguese.  VERY DANGEROUS the Portuguese.  HATE the Portuguese.  Margaret tells me they cut off your head and put it on a spike.  I don’t want MY head on a spike!”  The captain lowered the telescope and looked toward me.

            I walked to the  window beside him and looked where the telescope had been pointed.  Far up the river along the far shore I could see a small aluminum boat drifting down the current with a single man fishing.  He stood in the boat wearing a hat and a tackle vest.  He steadily cast from his rod inward toward the far shore.  He was not a sailor and did not sail a Brigantine but he did show… “no colors”.  I looked toward the captain.  He had resumed his telescope gaze.  “PORTUGUESE!  Very dangerous.  Margaret says they are a worthless people.  No accounts.  Might as well be cannibals she says.  Lay-abouts.  Pirates.  Feed the whole crew to the sharks.  Cut the captain’s head off and tie it to the bow.  Drunk all the time she says.  Gallons of wine all the time.  Loose all their gold when they’re drunk she says.  Put my head on a spike she says.”

            I looked back at the river.  The little boat with the fisherman had stopped along the shore and was reversing direction.  The fisherman started a small motor on the back of the boat and slowly moved back up river along the shore.  It seemed to me that he knew to not come further down the river; that the captain might actually take action or that the captain HAD taken action in the past and he …did not come near the house.  “HE’S TOO FAR AWAY TO CATCH.  NO COLORS.  Not English.  PORTUGUESE FOR SURE!” the captain finalized.

            He collapsed the telescope and cradled it in his right arm against his body.  He turned to face me.  He was quite a sight.  He stood a full six and half feet tall including the tri-corner hat, and boots.  He costume was fully that of an 18^th century sea captain.  He had an old rusty flintlock type pistol tucked in a cloth sash tied around his waist and …he lacked only a raised cutlass to assure me that MY head was going to be on a spike.  I stepped back from my window and away from the captain.

            “LET US TALK THE BUSINESS OF THE DAY.  NOW GET TO IT.  YOUR ON BOARD THIS MORNING AND I’M CALLED TO BARTER.  YOU’VE SEEN BELOW DECK SO TELL ME:  HAVE YOU SEEN ENOUGH?  IF WE SELL IT ALL WOULD WE RAISE ENOUGH GOLD TO BUY THE SHIP FROM MARGARET?”

            “Sell the antiques to buy the house?  From Margaret?”

            “EXACTLY.  THE ONLY PLAN I’VE GOT.  CAN IT BE DONE?

            I paused… then carefully stated “Depending on the cost of the house… which could not be that much… the condition you know… there should be enough money raised… I would think… but… how much land is there?”

            “A THOUSAND ACRES.” the captain said.  “MY TIMBER LANDS.  I WILL NOT SELL THOSE LANDS!”  Eventually it was public knowledge that Blood Farm rested on about one hundred acres, “plus or minus”.  At this moment a thousand acre declaration was possible trouble to a valuation except that …what ever the land was… WAS in the middle of the nowhere Maine that is filled with A LOT MORE identical “timber lands” …for sale.  “TELL ME THE TRUTH OR I’LL PUT YOU ASHORE!” bellowed the captain.

            Ashore?  Maroon me on a deserted island.  I was already on a deserted island FILLED WITH ANTIQUES.  “It would seem to me, sir, that the money could be raised sir.” I said.

            “FINE ENOUGH.  NOW GET TO IT SIR!”

            “Yes sir, but now sir?  We, sir, …need to know… first sir, from Margaret, her price sir”.  I said entering into verbiage THAT HE LIKED.

            “FIRST SIR, HER PRICE SIR!  YOU ARE RIGHT SIR.  HER PRICE SIR.  LET US GO BELOW DECK SIR AND SPEAK WITH MY SISTER. WE HAVE A BARGIN SIR.  YES SIR.  AND DAMN THAT CROW SIR.”  This last was said with the captain scanning the attic space in search of, evidently, the crow.

            The captained turned from me and clomped across the attic to the door.  I followed.  At a safe distance.

            Downstairs; “below deck”, Alice was waiting for us.  The caucus was brief.  Alice did “not want to sell anything”.  The captain bellowed his “only plan” again.  I, after two cycles of that stand-off neutralized it by saying no decision was needed about selling “ANYTHING” until “WE” “had a price from Margaret”.  I hammered that home with Alice deciding I was her savior AND the captain deciding he still had “a bargain”.  THEY would speak to Margaret.  Margaret would then contact me.  I didn’t like that.  It seemed to me I was suddenly in the middle of a bargain that included me doing a lot of work and …getting nothing.  I left and began… to wait.