558
30 July 2012
R. Linda:
So there I was, sitting around the office, not a lick of news coming me way. I needed an interview, something to do. I got me hat and coat, okay I don't wear a hat, I got me coat and keys to me motor and off to the parking garage I went. I thought I'd run over to Dunks for a coffee and a doughnut, pick up some K-cups for the new K-cup machine I had purchased earlier, and maybe something would come to me. Well, I sat there munching, having purchased the coffee and K-cups. And nothing. So I got in me motor heading back to me work, idea-less. Once I got onto Storrow Drive, it hit me, Storrow? Sparrow? Captain Jaack! I'd interview the pirate I would. I assumed he'd be on his ship doing nothing but drinking rum and admiring the cement countertop we both struggled to put in his galley (see The Captain Gets A Shiny Cement Countertop 12/04/12).
I took meself from Boston into New Hampshire and over the Maine border. I kept driving until I saw the lighthouse on the bluffs, and yes, there it was, harboured just beyond the sharp rocks, the Chipped Pearl at anchor. See for yourself:
What a sight she was; the ocean swells, rocking her gently, the sound of the sea soothing. Hum, the ship looked precariously close to the shore and the rocks! What if the person I wanted to interview took that idyllic sight and sound and was asleep cradling his bottle of rum, utterly oblivious of how close he was to putting a hole in his hull and grounding her at the same time? Well, it would not be much of an interview, but wait! I had me brand new K-cup machine and a box of Dunken Donuts new Mocha coffee! I'd brew us both a cup and well, no problem, instant sobering of the captain.
The only drawback to this was that I had to row myself out to the ship. I tell you, I'm not in shape, but I was hell-bent on that interview, so I rowed myself to perfection in the guns department, and I was sporting two hefty ones by the time I got to the ship. HAR!
Me upper arms nearly burst the seams of me jacket. They were so toned from the rowing, and that turned out to be a good thing because then I had to climb up the rope ladder to the deck with a K-cup maker slung over me back with a carton of mocha K-cups. But I did it!
Once on deck, I looked around as the sea breeze hit me. The lull of the waves against the gently rocking ship was a scene for a lazy afternoon it was. I looked around for the captain of the ship and there he was, perched on the railing propped up on the ship's wheel, hard and fast asleep and just as I imagined, a large bottle of rum nestled in the roping below where he dropped it. Here see for yourself, the Captain at anchor.
Well, there was no need to wake him until I had the coffee brewed, so I found a handy dandy outlet, plugged that baby in and brewed two nice cups of mocha joy. Then I gently put me hand on his boot to get him to awake, as I shouted, "Wakey wakey!"
Well, I guess it wasn't a gentle awakening, because the cappy sprang off the railing, quickly picking up his rum with one hand and his cutlass drawn with the other.
"Huh, what?"
He sounded like me when I get rudely awakened.
"Hold on there, Jaack. It's me, Gabe, otherwise known as Hook," I said, holding out a cup of joe to his dazed self.
"Horatio? Is that you mate?" He said putting down the rum and sheathing the sword.
"I do wish you'd not call me that," I said handing over the coffee.
"And its Captain mate, savvy?" Then he took the coffee, "Oh, this is nice," he said, taking a sip, "but . . ." he held up a finger in the one-minute sign as he swayed, "It needs a little something," he hiccuped looking for something at his feet. Yes, he did, he picked up the rum and poured it into his cup, and he had me take off the lid of me cup and poured me some too with rum shaky hands as he swayed precariously from the drink (the rum kind he had consumed before I even set foot on the deck).
"Is this how it's going to be Captain?" I asked him. "Drink and interview don't go together, especially when both of us are drinking."
"Mate, come on. It's a wee dram, nothing to knock your socks off. You are wearing socks, ey?" he said, looking at my feet.
"Oi," I said thinking I had made a mistake, I'd do better interviewing a weasel. "I have a proposition for you," I said.
"Ah, so I am being propositioned by the man who did the waking, to the man who did the drinking."
"Uh . . ." I didn't know where to go. "Okay, my first question is, after this," I gestured to the entire ship, "What role are you taking on?"
He looked at me confused, then a thought struck him, and he smiled, "Why the lead roll in CATS."
"Cats?"
"Ay, CATS." He took a sip of his rummed-up coffee and started walking in a swaying and swishy manner away from me.
"I see . . . but I don't." I had to think about that because I didn't really see. It took a bit. I felt like I was on an acid trip so I tried again shouting after him, "I meant what job be next for you as Captain Jaack?"
He turned around and thought for a moment. "OH that, well I don't know, it's the rum mate, it does things to my brain. Next question!"
I strode over to him, and as the ship rocked with the water, it seemed the Captain did, too. I was getting dizzy just looking at him. I sighed and tried one last time.
"But that be a question," I said. "Like uh . . ." I took the rum from him and poured meself half a cup with the coffee since this was not going as I had hoped, trying all the while to keep a steady hand as the boat shifted. I held the bottle up, and he handed over his cup. I poured him the same. We sat down slugging and pouring for about fifteen minutes when it dawned on me I wasn't there to be his drinking companion; he was my interview. And, there was something terribly important I wanted to tell him, but I couldn't think what that was. That phenomenon seems to happen to me in his presence.
"SO . . . how did you enjoy the role of Edward Scissorhands?" I said forgetting he wasn't Johnny Depp.
"Who? Edward . . . cutter fingers?" He made a cutting motion with his fingers. "Mate? Oh yeah, okay, got it," and he winked at me, "blah, blah, blah, yeah, yeah, yeah, and the horse was the star."
"Just like that?"
"Just like that, ey." He drained the cup and poured both of us more.
"What I'd like to know . . . " I sat there momentarily, wondering what I would like to know. Nothing was forthcoming in me rum-soaked brain.
"What would you like to know Cappy?" He smothered a hiccup. "Here, let me help you when all is said and done," his gesture of sweeping arm encompassed the entire ship, "and me captain days are over. If you can provide a few ships, I'd be jolly happy to wreck em' ey?" He leaned toward me on the last word almost losing his balance though he was sitting, "OR," he held up a finger, "if you want I'd be more than happy to be the tour guide CAPTAIN of any tour of the Caribbean that is, if we have at least one ship not wrecked, ey?"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," I put a hand up to stop him.
"Wot? You think I am non compose mentis?" He was looking at me like I was the nutter.
"No, no." I tried desperately to get back into journalist mode. "Okay, I am sitting on this ship, the Cracked Pearl and I would like to know who's ship it is."
"Chipped Pearl." He corrected. "I pinched it okay? Changed the name and did it up roight. Where's the rum?"
"You have it," I said looking around.
"No, you did cappy." He looked around too, or more like lurched around.
I can prove who had the rum last, see below:
"You had it last," I said, still looking for it. It was a huge bottle, so how either of us could mislay it . . . well, never mind, we were in our cups by that time. We both gave up and sat there for a bit. However, I caught a glimpse of it as it rolled past our feet and around like a stray cannonball on deck, but me brain was too slogged to understand it WAS the rum we were looking for.
"So then, who's going to captain this pinched ship?" he asked, and then the thought struck him: " Oh, me! I will do it!"
"I could do it," I said, watching the rum roll behind a pile of coiled rope. I leaned over and retrieved it absent-mindedly and poured us a refill.
"No, you can't because I'm the REAL Captain."
"I be a captain too."
"Ah, mate! YOU may THINK you're a captain right now, but everyone knows I'M the captain."
"No, you're not," I said with a hiccup. I took out me video recorder.
"Am too, and you know it." He sneered, then noticed the camcorder. "May I ask, is this interview going to be approved for Pirate audiences?"
"What? OH . . . for sure," I said, "What do you want to say?" I held it up and aimed it at him.
"Uh . . . hello, boys and girls." And he wiggled his fingers at the camera with a demented gold smile. "Let's all talk like pirates for no particular reason whatsoever, shall we, ey? But listen kiddies, not all pirate talk is fit for kids. Let me suggest pirate pickup lines for you, savvy? Like, have ya ever met a man with a real yardarm, ey? And how'd you like to scrape the barnacles off me rudder? As for the word booty and treasure chest . . . well, keep those double meanings to yourself, you swarthy knaves."
"That's bloody terrible you can't say that!" I said, squinting through the viewfinder, but then I realised me video camera wasn't working proper-like. It seemed the batteries were dead and that was probably a good thing considering. "This be embarrassing, I had it working before I left, must have left it on and . . ." I said, "I'd hate for anyone back at the office to find out about this."
"Mate, what happens in Tortuga stays in Tortuga."
"That's fine and good, but we aren't in Tortuga," I pointed out, putting the camera away.
"We aren't?" he said, looking around excitedly. I could have sworn . . ."
We sat there staring at each other like we had just met, yet I could see it in his eyes. He was lamenting silently he wasn't in Tortuga! I don't know what that was about, but then he took a swig of the rum.
"Are we both on cocaine?" I said to no one in particular this was all very bizarre.
"Terribly good party you're giving," he said.
"Oh, is it? That's good," I answered, not sure where we were going with this. "SO?"
"I meant to tell ya, mate, that I met Missus Zooget, and she told me she lives in Portsmouth. I said, Portsmouth? It is so small a world. My Annie lives in Portsmouth.
"Listen up here and put the rum aside. Tell me, how much do you make doing this . . . this Captain Jaack stuff?" I asked.
"Not as much as you make as Captain Hook, I'm sure." He yawned. "Cappy, I have a joke for you, you know, lighten this up a bit."
"Okay, go ahead," I rolled my eyes and reluctantly waited.
"Here it is. Why don't cannibals eat clowns?"
"I dunno, why?"
"Because they taste funny," and he laughed at his joke.
"Since we're on the subject, let me give you this," I said. "I ask all me interviews this question. You are caught out at sea, there's no place to go and you are in a boat with Gordon Ramsey, Simon Cowell and Piers Morgan. Who ya gonna eat first?"
"Easy, Gordon Ramsey."
"So you're going to kill Gordon Ramsey and eat him raw?" I have to wonder why Gordo be always the answer.
"Ay ay, Captain, so I'm dining off Gordon Ramsey. Now what?"
"What part first?"
"His nose, it's fleshy lots of meat on it, mate."
"Yup, and he'll last you for what? About a week?"
"Uh . . . he will. Though . . . his nose alone might be a week in itself. He's well-marinated from all the cooking he did. Piers Morgan must be related to Cappy Henry Morgan so no cutting him up unless I get thirsty and want rum-flavoured meat. As to Simon Cowell . . . "
"Stop. That's enough." I sighed. Most people would have questioned the question, but not Jaack, so I changed gears, thinking LSD must have been in that rum and affecting my poor brain. "So the question on everyone's lips be, is there going to be another Harry Potter flick?"
Jaack squinted at me for a moment. "Who?"
"Uh . . . " I glanced at me notes, feeling suddenly in an altered state thanks to the rum. "Are you still carrying a torch for Hermione Granger?"
"Who? Who? Ohhh, is she . . ."
"Oi, that was the wrong interview." I cut him off. "Okay, then. You've made a good few bobs over the years, you know, plundering and pirating and wrecking. Do you have enough to retire?"
He looked at me like I was a nutter. "Well . . . I find as soon as I pinch it, I need to spend it . . . as fast as possible, ey."
"Right." I understood perfectly what that was about. And in so realising that I knew I was in rummy land, but always the professional, I plunged ever onward. "You do know they are looking for a man wanted for piracy and crimes against the crown. How does that sound? Oh, and the reward is one thousand and one guineas."
He shrugged and took a swig of rum from that gigantic bottle. I was getting nowhere.
"Why the one? Why not round it off?" he mumbled, taking a healthy slug of rum. I realised then that it wasn't the same bottle. Three empties came rolling by, and I noticed six full ones safely tucked in the coiled roping. I shook me head to sober meself and you'd think I'd have learned by now not to do that. I got a clanging headache from that action, so to keep from yelping, I tried another question.
"Okay, what do you fear the most?"
"After undead monkeys? Big rats."
"Big rats?"
"Undead monkeys and big rats. I had a pet mouse once, but the goldfish ate it."
I sat there, actually thinking about that fool that I am.
"Let me ask YOU something, Cappy Gabe. Have you ever kissed the Blarney stone?"
"Kissing the Blarney stone is a huge joke perpetrated on the public by us crafty Irish. Whoops, I don't think I was supposed to tell you that." I hiccuped. "But the real thing of it . . . " I leaned closer to him to tell him this secret, "If you take a piece of Blarney Castle stone, you'll be cursed forever. So if you get there, don't do it, mate. An Irish curse is to be taken seriously, like a sacrament!"
"Just like I wouldn't take any lava rocks from Hawaii for fear of Pele coming after me." He nodded. "It's only fair you tell me wot YOU fear, Cappy, beside the Blarney stone." He said between swigs and hiccups.
I didn't have to think about that, I said, "Weasels. One in particular . . . have nightmares." I shivered at the thought.
"I like weasels. They are slippery characters; okay, next querie," he said, handing me the bottle.
"Uh . . . after rum drinking and other pirate things, what do you like to do, Jaack?"
"Technically, there should be a captain in there somewhere," Jaack said.
"Rats! I dropped me pen," I said, looking for it.
"RATS? WHERE?" Jaack jumped up in horror, and then he realized what had happened: "Do not do that, mate!"
He settled down as I held up me pen.
"Okay. Uh, did you and Angelica . . . uh have a romantic . . . uh past?"
"Who? OHHH! I don't remember . . . " But he did. He just wasn't saying so. "The rum, you know it does that, ey?" He said, taking the bottle back. "But I was in a room full of women in Tobago, and I fancied them all, mate."
"You fancied every woman in the room?"
"No, that came out wrong." He said, counting on his fingers.
"All right, have you seen Wil Turner lately?" I tried again.
"Weasil ya mean?"
"Well, I hadn't thought of it that way, but yeah, I guess. OH! Hold on! I need to tell you this before I forget." I finally remembered what was so fired important: "Jaack, your ship be almost on top of the rocks and it has drifted quite a ways in towards shore!"
"Captain, there's a captain in there, mate, " he said, pointing a be-ringed finger at my chest.
"But . . . but . . . CAPTAIN OK? But look!" And I pointed at the shore.
Captain Jaack lurched to the rail, looked over both ways and said, "So she is!" And then he lurched back like he wasn't going to do a thing about it.
"It's going to be the cracked pearl if you don't move her," I said, wondering how deep the water was. If she started breaking apart, could I swim to shore or walk? Hum.
"Well, she's chipped already . . . " he muttered, pouring more rum into his cup.
"Really?"
"Sure, I wouldn't fool a kind old gentleman like yourself, Cappy. Well, I can see I have to get her to sea mate. You'll leave the way you came? How did you get here anyway?" he asked, looking befuddled.
"I rowed." And I flexed me bulging at the seams muscles and smiled big.
"Hum, you better do something about that, " he said, pointing at my upper arms with the rum bottle.
"What do you mean?" I was sure this boded no good.
"With those split seams, you look like Captain Ragamuffin." And he laughed as he went to pull up the anchor. I heard him say to himself, "Captain Hook, my ass."
"I beg your pardon," I went to protest, a finger in the air, but then I realised he was setting sail with me on board. I rushed to get me coffee maker and K-cups together. Then I had a thought: Why not go to sea? I had nothing, no actual interview. I'd be fired anyway. So I said, "I'll hoist the sails!"
"Ahhh, no, mate, you have to go. I hate to say it, Captain, but you would drink my supply of rum dry and well . . . this ship is only big enough for one captain, and what kind of captain of this magnificent ship would I be? I allow THAT to happen?"
"Aw, can I stay on board?" I whined.
"Go away. I'm going to sail her out now." And he turned and walked in his strange lurching way towards the ship's wheel.
Feeling defeated, I got myself down the rope ladder to my dingy and pushed off toward shore. As I neared the beach, I looked one last time at the Pearl as she caught the wind in her sails and was making her way to God knows where—maybe Tortuga, for all I knew. I still hear Captain Jaack singing as the ship pulled away, "Rum, rum, rum and drink! Gently on the sea, merrily, merrily, merrily, the pirate life for me!"
Oi!
Gabe
Copyright © 2012 All rights reserved
30 July 2012
R. Linda:
So there I was, sitting around the office, not a lick of news coming me way. I needed an interview, something to do. I got me hat and coat, okay I don't wear a hat, I got me coat and keys to me motor and off to the parking garage I went. I thought I'd run over to Dunks for a coffee and a doughnut, pick up some K-cups for the new K-cup machine I had purchased earlier, and maybe something would come to me. Well, I sat there munching, having purchased the coffee and K-cups. And nothing. So I got in me motor heading back to me work, idea-less. Once I got onto Storrow Drive, it hit me, Storrow? Sparrow? Captain Jaack! I'd interview the pirate I would. I assumed he'd be on his ship doing nothing but drinking rum and admiring the cement countertop we both struggled to put in his galley (see The Captain Gets A Shiny Cement Countertop 12/04/12).
I took meself from Boston into New Hampshire and over the Maine border. I kept driving until I saw the lighthouse on the bluffs, and yes, there it was, harboured just beyond the sharp rocks, the Chipped Pearl at anchor. See for yourself:
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| The Chipped Pearl at anchor |
The only drawback to this was that I had to row myself out to the ship. I tell you, I'm not in shape, but I was hell-bent on that interview, so I rowed myself to perfection in the guns department, and I was sporting two hefty ones by the time I got to the ship. HAR!
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| Captain Gabe rowing his dinghy |
Once on deck, I looked around as the sea breeze hit me. The lull of the waves against the gently rocking ship was a scene for a lazy afternoon it was. I looked around for the captain of the ship and there he was, perched on the railing propped up on the ship's wheel, hard and fast asleep and just as I imagined, a large bottle of rum nestled in the roping below where he dropped it. Here see for yourself, the Captain at anchor.
 |
| Yup |
Well, I guess it wasn't a gentle awakening, because the cappy sprang off the railing, quickly picking up his rum with one hand and his cutlass drawn with the other.
"Huh, what?"
He sounded like me when I get rudely awakened.
"Hold on there, Jaack. It's me, Gabe, otherwise known as Hook," I said, holding out a cup of joe to his dazed self.
"Horatio? Is that you mate?" He said putting down the rum and sheathing the sword.
"I do wish you'd not call me that," I said handing over the coffee.
"And its Captain mate, savvy?" Then he took the coffee, "Oh, this is nice," he said, taking a sip, "but . . ." he held up a finger in the one-minute sign as he swayed, "It needs a little something," he hiccuped looking for something at his feet. Yes, he did, he picked up the rum and poured it into his cup, and he had me take off the lid of me cup and poured me some too with rum shaky hands as he swayed precariously from the drink (the rum kind he had consumed before I even set foot on the deck).
"Is this how it's going to be Captain?" I asked him. "Drink and interview don't go together, especially when both of us are drinking."
"Mate, come on. It's a wee dram, nothing to knock your socks off. You are wearing socks, ey?" he said, looking at my feet.
"Oi," I said thinking I had made a mistake, I'd do better interviewing a weasel. "I have a proposition for you," I said.
"Ah, so I am being propositioned by the man who did the waking, to the man who did the drinking."
"Uh . . ." I didn't know where to go. "Okay, my first question is, after this," I gestured to the entire ship, "What role are you taking on?"
He looked at me confused, then a thought struck him, and he smiled, "Why the lead roll in CATS."
"Cats?"
"Ay, CATS." He took a sip of his rummed-up coffee and started walking in a swaying and swishy manner away from me.
"I see . . . but I don't." I had to think about that because I didn't really see. It took a bit. I felt like I was on an acid trip so I tried again shouting after him, "I meant what job be next for you as Captain Jaack?"
He turned around and thought for a moment. "OH that, well I don't know, it's the rum mate, it does things to my brain. Next question!"
I strode over to him, and as the ship rocked with the water, it seemed the Captain did, too. I was getting dizzy just looking at him. I sighed and tried one last time.
"But that be a question," I said. "Like uh . . ." I took the rum from him and poured meself half a cup with the coffee since this was not going as I had hoped, trying all the while to keep a steady hand as the boat shifted. I held the bottle up, and he handed over his cup. I poured him the same. We sat down slugging and pouring for about fifteen minutes when it dawned on me I wasn't there to be his drinking companion; he was my interview. And, there was something terribly important I wanted to tell him, but I couldn't think what that was. That phenomenon seems to happen to me in his presence.
"SO . . . how did you enjoy the role of Edward Scissorhands?" I said forgetting he wasn't Johnny Depp.
"Who? Edward . . . cutter fingers?" He made a cutting motion with his fingers. "Mate? Oh yeah, okay, got it," and he winked at me, "blah, blah, blah, yeah, yeah, yeah, and the horse was the star."
"Just like that?"
"Just like that, ey." He drained the cup and poured both of us more.
"What I'd like to know . . . " I sat there momentarily, wondering what I would like to know. Nothing was forthcoming in me rum-soaked brain.
"What would you like to know Cappy?" He smothered a hiccup. "Here, let me help you when all is said and done," his gesture of sweeping arm encompassed the entire ship, "and me captain days are over. If you can provide a few ships, I'd be jolly happy to wreck em' ey?" He leaned toward me on the last word almost losing his balance though he was sitting, "OR," he held up a finger, "if you want I'd be more than happy to be the tour guide CAPTAIN of any tour of the Caribbean that is, if we have at least one ship not wrecked, ey?"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," I put a hand up to stop him.
"Wot? You think I am non compose mentis?" He was looking at me like I was the nutter.
"No, no." I tried desperately to get back into journalist mode. "Okay, I am sitting on this ship, the Cracked Pearl and I would like to know who's ship it is."
"Chipped Pearl." He corrected. "I pinched it okay? Changed the name and did it up roight. Where's the rum?"
"You have it," I said looking around.
"No, you did cappy." He looked around too, or more like lurched around.
I can prove who had the rum last, see below:
 |
| GLUG. GLUG GLUG GLUG |
"So then, who's going to captain this pinched ship?" he asked, and then the thought struck him: " Oh, me! I will do it!"
"I could do it," I said, watching the rum roll behind a pile of coiled rope. I leaned over and retrieved it absent-mindedly and poured us a refill.
"No, you can't because I'm the REAL Captain."
"I be a captain too."
"Ah, mate! YOU may THINK you're a captain right now, but everyone knows I'M the captain."
"No, you're not," I said with a hiccup. I took out me video recorder.
"Am too, and you know it." He sneered, then noticed the camcorder. "May I ask, is this interview going to be approved for Pirate audiences?"
"What? OH . . . for sure," I said, "What do you want to say?" I held it up and aimed it at him.
"Uh . . . hello, boys and girls." And he wiggled his fingers at the camera with a demented gold smile. "Let's all talk like pirates for no particular reason whatsoever, shall we, ey? But listen kiddies, not all pirate talk is fit for kids. Let me suggest pirate pickup lines for you, savvy? Like, have ya ever met a man with a real yardarm, ey? And how'd you like to scrape the barnacles off me rudder? As for the word booty and treasure chest . . . well, keep those double meanings to yourself, you swarthy knaves."
"That's bloody terrible you can't say that!" I said, squinting through the viewfinder, but then I realised me video camera wasn't working proper-like. It seemed the batteries were dead and that was probably a good thing considering. "This be embarrassing, I had it working before I left, must have left it on and . . ." I said, "I'd hate for anyone back at the office to find out about this."
"Mate, what happens in Tortuga stays in Tortuga."
"That's fine and good, but we aren't in Tortuga," I pointed out, putting the camera away.
"We aren't?" he said, looking around excitedly. I could have sworn . . ."
We sat there staring at each other like we had just met, yet I could see it in his eyes. He was lamenting silently he wasn't in Tortuga! I don't know what that was about, but then he took a swig of the rum.
"Are we both on cocaine?" I said to no one in particular this was all very bizarre.
"Terribly good party you're giving," he said.
"Oh, is it? That's good," I answered, not sure where we were going with this. "SO?"
"I meant to tell ya, mate, that I met Missus Zooget, and she told me she lives in Portsmouth. I said, Portsmouth? It is so small a world. My Annie lives in Portsmouth.
"Who . . . who is Annie?" I said looking around as I also tried to remember a Mrs. Zooget.
"Ohhh, my first girlfriend, well, my only girlfriend. She ran off with my uncle Corny."
"Who?"
"Cornelius."
"Who?"
"Cornelius."
"Oh . . . I see." But I didn't.
"Yes, she left me for there. Now she's a lesbian, savvy?" He hiccoughed.
"No, no, she's not," I said in disbelief.
"Yes, yes, she is. She wears suits and ties all the time, so yes, she is. Men's shoes, too, her feet were very BIG."
"Not as much as you make as Captain Hook, I'm sure." He yawned. "Cappy, I have a joke for you, you know, lighten this up a bit."
"Okay, go ahead," I rolled my eyes and reluctantly waited.
"Here it is. Why don't cannibals eat clowns?"
"I dunno, why?"
"Because they taste funny," and he laughed at his joke.
"Since we're on the subject, let me give you this," I said. "I ask all me interviews this question. You are caught out at sea, there's no place to go and you are in a boat with Gordon Ramsey, Simon Cowell and Piers Morgan. Who ya gonna eat first?"
"Easy, Gordon Ramsey."
"So you're going to kill Gordon Ramsey and eat him raw?" I have to wonder why Gordo be always the answer.
"Ay ay, Captain, so I'm dining off Gordon Ramsey. Now what?"
"What part first?"
"His nose, it's fleshy lots of meat on it, mate."
"Yup, and he'll last you for what? About a week?"
"Uh . . . he will. Though . . . his nose alone might be a week in itself. He's well-marinated from all the cooking he did. Piers Morgan must be related to Cappy Henry Morgan so no cutting him up unless I get thirsty and want rum-flavoured meat. As to Simon Cowell . . . "
"Stop. That's enough." I sighed. Most people would have questioned the question, but not Jaack, so I changed gears, thinking LSD must have been in that rum and affecting my poor brain. "So the question on everyone's lips be, is there going to be another Harry Potter flick?"
Jaack squinted at me for a moment. "Who?"
"Uh . . . " I glanced at me notes, feeling suddenly in an altered state thanks to the rum. "Are you still carrying a torch for Hermione Granger?"
"Who? Who? Ohhh, is she . . ."
"Oi, that was the wrong interview." I cut him off. "Okay, then. You've made a good few bobs over the years, you know, plundering and pirating and wrecking. Do you have enough to retire?"
He looked at me like I was a nutter. "Well . . . I find as soon as I pinch it, I need to spend it . . . as fast as possible, ey."
"Right." I understood perfectly what that was about. And in so realising that I knew I was in rummy land, but always the professional, I plunged ever onward. "You do know they are looking for a man wanted for piracy and crimes against the crown. How does that sound? Oh, and the reward is one thousand and one guineas."
He shrugged and took a swig of rum from that gigantic bottle. I was getting nowhere.
"Why the one? Why not round it off?" he mumbled, taking a healthy slug of rum. I realised then that it wasn't the same bottle. Three empties came rolling by, and I noticed six full ones safely tucked in the coiled roping. I shook me head to sober meself and you'd think I'd have learned by now not to do that. I got a clanging headache from that action, so to keep from yelping, I tried another question.
"Okay, what do you fear the most?"
"After undead monkeys? Big rats."
"Big rats?"
"Undead monkeys and big rats. I had a pet mouse once, but the goldfish ate it."
I sat there, actually thinking about that fool that I am.
"Let me ask YOU something, Cappy Gabe. Have you ever kissed the Blarney stone?"
"Kissing the Blarney stone is a huge joke perpetrated on the public by us crafty Irish. Whoops, I don't think I was supposed to tell you that." I hiccuped. "But the real thing of it . . . " I leaned closer to him to tell him this secret, "If you take a piece of Blarney Castle stone, you'll be cursed forever. So if you get there, don't do it, mate. An Irish curse is to be taken seriously, like a sacrament!"
"Just like I wouldn't take any lava rocks from Hawaii for fear of Pele coming after me." He nodded. "It's only fair you tell me wot YOU fear, Cappy, beside the Blarney stone." He said between swigs and hiccups.
I didn't have to think about that, I said, "Weasels. One in particular . . . have nightmares." I shivered at the thought.
"I like weasels. They are slippery characters; okay, next querie," he said, handing me the bottle.
"Uh . . . after rum drinking and other pirate things, what do you like to do, Jaack?"
"Technically, there should be a captain in there somewhere," Jaack said.
"Rats! I dropped me pen," I said, looking for it.
"RATS? WHERE?" Jaack jumped up in horror, and then he realized what had happened: "Do not do that, mate!"
He settled down as I held up me pen.
"Okay. Uh, did you and Angelica . . . uh have a romantic . . . uh past?"
"Who? OHHH! I don't remember . . . " But he did. He just wasn't saying so. "The rum, you know it does that, ey?" He said, taking the bottle back. "But I was in a room full of women in Tobago, and I fancied them all, mate."
"You fancied every woman in the room?"
"No, that came out wrong." He said, counting on his fingers.
"All right, have you seen Wil Turner lately?" I tried again.
"Weasil ya mean?"
"Well, I hadn't thought of it that way, but yeah, I guess. OH! Hold on! I need to tell you this before I forget." I finally remembered what was so fired important: "Jaack, your ship be almost on top of the rocks and it has drifted quite a ways in towards shore!"
"Captain, there's a captain in there, mate, " he said, pointing a be-ringed finger at my chest.
"But . . . but . . . CAPTAIN OK? But look!" And I pointed at the shore.
Captain Jaack lurched to the rail, looked over both ways and said, "So she is!" And then he lurched back like he wasn't going to do a thing about it.
"It's going to be the cracked pearl if you don't move her," I said, wondering how deep the water was. If she started breaking apart, could I swim to shore or walk? Hum.
"Well, she's chipped already . . . " he muttered, pouring more rum into his cup.
"Really?"
"Sure, I wouldn't fool a kind old gentleman like yourself, Cappy. Well, I can see I have to get her to sea mate. You'll leave the way you came? How did you get here anyway?" he asked, looking befuddled.
"I rowed." And I flexed me bulging at the seams muscles and smiled big.
"Hum, you better do something about that, " he said, pointing at my upper arms with the rum bottle.
"What do you mean?" I was sure this boded no good.
"With those split seams, you look like Captain Ragamuffin." And he laughed as he went to pull up the anchor. I heard him say to himself, "Captain Hook, my ass."
"I beg your pardon," I went to protest, a finger in the air, but then I realised he was setting sail with me on board. I rushed to get me coffee maker and K-cups together. Then I had a thought: Why not go to sea? I had nothing, no actual interview. I'd be fired anyway. So I said, "I'll hoist the sails!"
"Ahhh, no, mate, you have to go. I hate to say it, Captain, but you would drink my supply of rum dry and well . . . this ship is only big enough for one captain, and what kind of captain of this magnificent ship would I be? I allow THAT to happen?"
"Aw, can I stay on board?" I whined.
"Go away. I'm going to sail her out now." And he turned and walked in his strange lurching way towards the ship's wheel.
Feeling defeated, I got myself down the rope ladder to my dingy and pushed off toward shore. As I neared the beach, I looked one last time at the Pearl as she caught the wind in her sails and was making her way to God knows where—maybe Tortuga, for all I knew. I still hear Captain Jaack singing as the ship pulled away, "Rum, rum, rum and drink! Gently on the sea, merrily, merrily, merrily, the pirate life for me!"
Oi!
| Yeah, blurred disguise to protect the not so innocent. That would be me |
Gabe
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