jumpingfish

3.

The old man spoke on.

It was a weary time when our throats were parched and we watched with glazed eyes at the silent sea about us. 

Then, in the west I saw a shape: a speck, a distant ship that tacked and veered. Standing there on the sun-baked deck, I watched. I stared. And at last cried, “A sail! A sail!”

My crewmates raised a cry of joy. But as we watched, the ship stopped tacking. And though no tide was turning, the distant ship kept approaching. How could this be so?

And now that ship stood between us and the setting sun. Silhouetted against the blazing light, it was a ghost of a ship: masts and mizzens, spars and booms, sails lying limp. And yet it drew closer.

Was that a woman on the deck? Or no, now were they two — a woman and an other? And now, they drew beside us.

There stood the woman, but what was that other? Oh, it was Death itself! It was Death that walked beside her.

The woman with bright red lips and lifeless skin cast dice on the deck of that ship and then stood. “I’ve won!” she cried. 

And in that instant, the sun was gone without so much as a fading of the day. In that instant, we were cast in the darkest night. And then, that ship was gone.

We sailed until the moon came up, under the stars on a silent sea.

And in the dim light, one by one I now watched my crewmates drop. One by one, with a thump they fell lifeless to the deck. And now with the Albatross hanging around my neck, I was the only one standing.

1.

There are three young men walking quickly along a road. They’re in a hurry. They’re going to a wedding. The music has already started.

They pass an old man who reaches and out touches one of them on the shoulder. The young man stops but his friends don’t notice and continue on.

“We are late, old man,” the young man says. “I have to go.”

The old man gazes at him with glittering eyes.

“There was a ship…” he says, at which the young man steps back with a startled look on his face and pushes away the man’s boney hand.

“Leave me alone, you loon!”

But the look in the old man’s eyes disorients the young man, and as he steps back, he trips, slumping backward onto a bench. 

“We sailed into the ocean,” the old man continues. “Southward, with the sun coming up to our left in the morning and setting to our right at the end of day. We sailed, and we sailed until the midday sun was high above us.”

The wedding music drifts on the air. The young man looks up the hill and can see a light in a door and can see the guests at the wedding. He shifts nervously and tries to get up to leave. But he can not.

“And now a great storm came upon us. Black teeth of cloud dipped from of the sky. The tempest whipped the sea and tore at our sails. Crashing swells battered us. The prow bit into towering waves. And the wind sped us far, far to the south, where the air was cold and snow fell from the sky.”

“Ice mists bit at our skin. Mast-high icebergs, emerald green, towered beside us and over us, before us and behind us. The ice creaked and groaned and froze our ship for many days. We were doomed.”

“But then…,” the old man says.

“And then?” the young man asked.

“…then out of the bitter winter of that place, an Albatross came flying. And as it circled our ship, the ice around us split. And a wind came up, and the helmsman steered us thru that ice and out into clearer seas.”

“For days we sailed, leaving the ice behind. And as we went, the Albatross would circle our ship and sometimes land on the deck and eat from our hands.”

And now, the old man’s gaze leaves that of the young man. He looks down at his feet. He brings his hands to his face.

“But I did a terrible thing,” he said. “Oh, what was I thinking? I did a terrible thing.”

“What?” says the young man. “What did you do, old man?”

“There on the deck of our ship, saved from the storm and ice, I took out my crossbow, and I… I shot the Albatross!”

1.

I told you, didn’t I, about reading to the kids in the library? 

It was RIF day. The kids were all excited about getting to choose a book that they could keep. And since it was just before Halloween, the theme was monsters.

I know I told you about that.

But I didn’t tell you about the boy who got scared.

The way it worked, the librarian had me walk among the kids and tap them with a monster hand when it was their turn to go get a book. This monster hand was a good gimmick. It allowed us to control the flow of kids to the book table, and it was in keeping with the monster theme.

The hand was a picture of a skeleton hand on a black background attached to a stick. And one by one I tapped the girls and boys with it when it was their turn.

2.

…until I got to the last boy left sitting on the carpet.

With a smile on my face, I walked up to him and began to tap him on the head with the monster hand.

In an instant, he stood up screaming and ran into a corner of the library. 

“I don’t like that monster. I don’t like that monster!” he shouted. And he began to cry.

“Oh that’s ok,” I said. “We don’t have to do the hand. You can go get a book.” I was holding the monster hand behind my back.

It didn’t work. The poor boy ran to another corner where the librarian went to talk to him.

3.

There were lots of kids in that class. And in the end, each of them got a book.

And so there we sat on the carpet reading their books and looking at the pictures until it was time for them to leave. I stood by the door as they lined up, and as they left, I said goodbye.

And the boy at the end of the line…

It was the same boy who had been so scared. There he was at the end of the line, standing tall with a book in his arms and a beaming smile on his face. As he walked by, he gave me a wink and then a big thumbs up.

Sent from my iPhone.

As he does so often, my brother had sent me a picture he’d snapped. Were they still in California? Did they go to Houston to the Rothko chapel? Who knows. The note said nothing. It just included the picture.

I love Rothko. I’d hang one in the living room if I could and would be happy for the rest of my days.

I know not everyone feels that way. I suspect they think, somewhere in the back of their heads, “Heck, I could do that,” which of course they couldn’t.

I grabbed my pen and took to my tablet. “Heck, I will do that,” I said to myself in the back of my head, knowing that I wouldn’t come close but curious to see what doggerel I’d produce.

I scribbled. I scrabbled. And in five minutes, I sent my brother a one-picture response.

“That’s how he did it!” he replied.

I never did find out where they were.

“200 meters hard then 200 meters at a medium pace,” our coach said. 

We had little paper maps in our hands and were studying the route. It wound around thru the shady neighborhood for 600 meters. She had already set out traffic cones beside the curb to mark the 200 meter intervals.

“You’ll run 200 hard then 200 medium out 600 meters and then back for a total of 1200 meters. Rest a bit. And do it again.”

She looked around to see if there were any questions.

“How fast should I run?” 

“Oh, a hard pace and then medium.”

“But how fast?”

“Hard, say 80% effort. And then medium, say 60% effort.”

“Ok…” drawn out followed by a long silence. “…I’m not good with percentages. How fast should we run?”

Now I confess, then when running, my math abilities evaporate to nothing. I never do math while running, even simple addition and subtraction, because I always get it wrong. So I need to be careful about this high horse. And I also need to point out that this was one of the fastest in our group, a genuine bad-ass compared to my slow, cushy. But still… 

“How fast? I need a time. I can’t do percentages.”

I went to get a drink.