The 57th Keeper

by R.G. Bullet

  Around midday Alturus ambled in to Doctor Baum’s office. The reception area was lit by a chandelier and frayed Persian rugs covered a dark wooden floor. A young women stood near a desk clutching a white fluffy dog under her arm.

  “Excuse me, but this is my appointment. I have been waiting all week.” Her accent carried a feint American lilt. “My director has released the crew for the day. This is an emergency too.” She huffed and tucked the dog into her shoulder bag as if it were a plush toy.

  “Ms. Laurens, as I have explained before, this is a special case...” said an elderly secretary sat the other side of the desk. “Doctor Baum is more than happy to compensate for this alteration. She has instructed me to give you double time for your next session. One moment, please,” she said peering around the starlet, her dog and, her attitude. “Mr. Burk?”

  “Yes. That is me,” said Alturus. He edged up to the desk and the starlet removed her oversized sunglasses sizing him up. Alturus recognized her face but his fuzzy mind failed to come up with a name.

  The secretary pressed an intercom on her desk. “Mr. Burk is here now,” she announced.

  “Please send him in.” Came a women’s voice.

  The secretary gestured to the door and Alturus slunk away still feeling the starlet eyes burning a hole into his back.

  A tall, elegant woman greeted Alturus. She stood up, rounded the desk, and extended her hand.  A warm smile lit up her face crinkling her eyes, and silver strands streaked her dark hair which fell to just above her shoulders.

  “I trust it wasn’t too much trouble getting here, Mr. Burk?” she said.

  “No, not really,” Alturus responded in a flat, dejected tone. “I have bigger problems.”

  “Please, come in.”

  Alturus scanned the room. The entire back wall was a vast window, providing a view to Harley Street below. It gave the office a humming silence, insulating them from the noise of the bustling masses.

  Doctor Baum picked up a file from her desk and opened it. “Now, you came from... Oh! Henchman Street. Well, that’s just a few stops away.”

  “Yes, I knowing this,” said Alturus. Feeling awkward but not enough to apologize for his late arrival nor displacing one of the doctor’s more famous clients.

  “Never mind.” She clicked the intercom. “Mrs. Godfrey please fetch a glass of water for Mr. Burk.” Doctor Baum gently guided Alturus further into her office. “Have a seat, Alturus. Do you mind if I call you, Alturus?”

  “No. That my name.”

  “Very well—yes, that’s right, have a seat there on the couch. Take off your jacket and relax.”

  Alturus did as he was told and slumped onto the couch. He sank slowly, engulfed like an insect in a Venus-fly Trap. He eyed the doctor as she adjusted the blinds so the light dimmed; not too dark, but not too bright. Like everything else he suspected she was tweaking it for perfection.

  “So you’re Turkish, Alturus. Where did you learn your English?”

  “I learn it all over. Many countries.”

  “Excellent. Now I want you to feel at ease here, Alturus. Treat this place as your own home.”

  Alturus took another sweeping gaze over the room. “I don’t think you’d want this, Doctor.” Contemporary, expensive pieces of furniture were contrasted against the heavy, wooden bookshelf that lined an entire wall. A row of books on the middle shelves screamed out against the other leather bound tomes. Alturus cocked his head to read the title: ‘How you do one thing is how you do everything’ by Doctor Miranda Baum.

  “You’re selling a few books too, Doctor?” Alturus asked.

  “Yes. Over three million now and coming up to the 30th week of the New York Times best seller list.”

  “Oh, quite good, then,” he said dully.

  Mrs. Godfrey appeared with a glass of water—a crisp, white linen napkin laid across the top and placed it on the side table.

  "Right. Now, Alturus I want you to lay back.” Doctor Baum gently touched Alturus's shoulder, pushing him until he reclined. Alturus didn’t resist but he drummed his fingers rather nervously by his side.

  Mrs. Godfrey gently closed the door and Doctor Baum continued.

  “Close your eyes and breathe in deeply.” Alturus smelt a very light indistinguishable fresh scent in the air. “I want you to imagine descending the escalator of the subway.” Doctor Baum softly enunciated her every word and continued, “now breathe out.”

  Alturus obeyed.

  “Good,” she said. “With every number I say, picture yourself going lower, and lower, deeper and deeper... all the while relaxing, letting go. One, take another deep breath in..." The doctor's voice carried just the right tones of warmth and authority and sounded like a finely tuned instrument. "Two... three...” Around the count of twenty Alturus let out a guttural sigh, his head fell to one side and his fingers stopped twitching. He’d slipped into a state of aware presence somewhere between consciousness and sleep. It felt good.

  “You are alert and energized, yet in a deep, deep calm place, Alturus. Do you understand what I’m saying?

  “Yes,” Alturus responded dreamily.

  “Good. Now I want to you to take me back. Not to last week or even last month and not even the last days but back to a time before you were a Keeper. Do you remember that, Alturus?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell me the details. How did it all begin?”

  Alturus’s closed eyes flickered from side to side as his mind cleared a way back to a time years before. “I was born in Istanbul.” His voice barely a whisper. “My father is a groundskeeper and weekend guide at the Blue Mosque. My mother died when I was born.  Everyone said she die because of me. I am the youngest—two sister and two brother.”

  “Take me to a significant day in your childhood.”

  “I wake very early. I’m hungry. Everyone is always hungry. The room is dark and I have to crawl over my two brother to get out of bed. I pull on a jumper and shoes and leave. The streets are quiet and I walk maybe half an hour to get to bakery. The smell of fresh bread finds me even before I arrive. When I get there Altan, the baker, claps his fat hands for me to move quickly.”

  “Are you going to buy bread, Alturus?”

  “No. I work. I put gloves on and take bread off the trays to place into baskets. I do this all day.”

  “Why is this an important day for you, Alturus?

  “Because at end of that day I pushed bread and donuts under my shirt and took home to my family. Alturus made family happy. Apart from my father. He’s never happy. Father is a serious man. I lied to my father. I told him the baker gave me the old bread.”

  “Were you ever caught?”

  “No. Alturus knew when the owner was watching and when he wasn’t. That day changed my life—I know now that I was a clever monkey.”

  “I see. I understand now. What about your schooldays?”

  “Alturus don’t like school—learn more away from school. Tourist are where money is... more than any job. I always made tourists laugh. I can do this easily,” Alturus continued. “The more jokes the bigger the tips. Around my twelfth birthday the authorities came to my house asking for me because of stolen scooter. I brought shame to my father and family. It was better to leave. And so the streets of Istanbul became my home.”

  “What was the next big event in your life, Alturus?” said Doctor Baum, pushing the time span forward. “Take me there.”

  Alturus’s head turned as he felt for the next pivotal moment in his life.

  “I’m twenty-two. I leave Istanbul.”

  “Where did you go to, Alturus?”

  “Ibiza—rich, rich people there.” Alturus’s pulled a half smile. “And I see her for first time. She’s beautiful, so lovely and moves so well.”

  “Ah! I was waiting for this Alturus. Tell me about her.”

  “She is big, very big. And needs a lot of work.”

  “Intriguing,” said Doctor Baum, leaning forward. “How did you come to meet h
er?”

  “I heard about her from many other men. She has a reputation.”

  Doctor Baum cleared her throat. “Oh. Well that’s... err... does she live there in Ibiza?”

  “No. She moves from harbor to harbor. She’s very expensive.”

  “Well, I’m sure she’s very nice deep down—what’s her name?”

  “Commodore 2,” said Alturus proudly. “Commodore 2.”

  “Ah... she’s a boat!”

  “No, no... she’s not a boat, she’s a ship. I see her, but I am not on her yet. I’m now just a deck hand and galley slave on the Sarafina.”

  Alturus explained how the larger boats had a hierarchy all of their own. How he started with the smaller ones first and moved up; climbing the ladder seasonally, always advancing. Yachts, between 70 and 100 feet, usually meant that the owners were well off. CEO’s were abundant here. They needn’t worry about life’s bills. Or, conversely, Alturus would find out, that the owners had struck gold once but stumbled into serious debt (usually due to the yacht itself) and bordered on broke. In which case, this type of vessel was usually chartered regularly or was constantly being shown off by reps for possible sale.

  The next category 100 and 120 feet. Occasional charters. The crew worked hard to spoil owners and their guests. Better money than other boats but still rationed enough so they wouldn’t, couldn’t dare quit. The owners had a great lifestyle on board where vintage champagne flowed like water. They seemed to shop endlessly. Alturus recounted how he lost his footing coming off the tender one day dropping thousands of dollars of shoes over board.

  “What did the lady do, Alturus did she make you go in after them?” The doctor inquired.

  “Nooo. No good... they are all wet. She made me turn the boat back and she went off to buy them all again. Some fish got very nice shoes!” Alturus chuckled lightly.

  Then, in league of their own, came the super yachts.  Boats such The Commodore 2 launched and at 190 ft—everything Alturus desired.

  “Sometimes too big for marina,” Alturus added proudly.

  He first saw the Commodore 2 moored offshore from Ibiza’s main marina. It was a private vessel, never chartered. And although the yacht was registered in Grand Cayman, its owner was listed as an obscure Lichtenstein-based company called: Huter AG. Alturus ran a check but came up short. The information was sparse, but intriguing nevertheless. The Commodore 2 was in his sights.

  “Did you reach your goal and get on the Commodore 2, Alturus?”

  “Yes,” Alturus responded. “Took me three years.”

  By no means illegal but certainly crafty, Alturus admitted lurking at the usual bars with crews from other ships and waiting for an opportunity. One evening, after he’d spotted the Commodore’s tender quietly dock at the end of the pier, he got his payoff.

  “Two girls and a boy are coming. They are crew, not owners.”

  “How do you know they are not the owners?” asked Doctor Baum.

  “They have on uniforms—they wear white, clean shorts and blue polo shirt. The Commodore sign is on their shirt pocket. Shhh... they are coming.”

  Alturus shadowed them from a distance while the crew window shopped the marina. At around 7:30, sure enough the Commodore crew slipped in to Bar Resole and took seats near the window. They were animated but orderly. They still represented a massive estate and would probably limit their drinking.

  Alturus took his place on a bar stool and chatted with the barmen, making sure to not look over too often. After a while one of the girls approached with their order. When she finished Alturus smiled and thrust out his hand. Finally this was his chance.

  “You’re here, finally? Hello! How are you doing?”

  The smallest of frowns flashed across the girl’s face. “Have we met before?”

  “I am not sure,” said Alturus. “Perhaps... Oh, you are with your boyfriend. Please excuse me.”

  “No! No! He’s not my boyfriend. We’re ship-mates—crew.” She pushed back her blond hair to reveal a logo on her shirt and said, “The Commodore 2.”

  “Ah... I didn’t see. I am crew too,” said Alturus. “I am sat here telling my jokes to Paco but he knows them all and isn’t laughing tonight.”

  “I never did laugh, Alturus,” said the barmen, setting the drinks onto a tray.

  Amanda smiled. It was important to Alturus that he didn’t come across as a stranger or as a drunkard. So he watched and waited giving her a chance to assess him. His shoes. His clothes. The fact the barmen knew him. Wait for it, he thought.

   “I’m Amanda. Why don’t you come over and say hello to Vicki and Gordon,” she said finally.

  Alturus's first impressions were accurate. Although friendly they were guarded offering little information about the Commodore 2. In fact, they didn’t even reveal their positions on board either. It was immediately obvious to Alturus that they must have come with the highest personal recommendations and Alturus wondered how he’d get a foot in. They must have had their background checked by two or three different agencies. It made sense, he thought, after all, who’d want someone with a criminal record when you’re miles from shore?

  Alturus limited his attempts to get information and sometime later they were all laughing at his jokes. Which were well timed, funny, and not too dirty.

  After more light banter Vicki finally created the opening he was hoping for: “What vessel are you on, Alturus?”

  “You know the Sarafina? 110 ft. Gran Cayman?”

  “Yes!” she squeaked with excitement her green eyes twinkling. “I worked on Sarafina three summers ago. We did Anitbes, Palma, Porto Cervo and Greek isles. It’s a good vessel. Is Kimberley still on board? Did they fix the stern thruster? That was always a problem.”

  “Kimberly or the stern thruster?” Alturus winked making them all laugh. “Kimberly, yes! She’s still crazy. And there’s still trouble with the Stern thruster. Thrust sterner! Always a problem on Sarafina.” Alturus continued, “I like Sarafina, but I’m looking to get more experience. I want to move up one day.” He laughed lightly and then flashed a practiced forlorn look.

  “We are looking for a steward,” Vicki blurted.

  But Gordon, the reserved lad with the nobly knees, jumped in. “No, I think we found someone, Vicki. I think the position’s filled.”

  The guards were back up and Alturus felt shut out until Vicki continued. “No it hasn’t,” she shoved Gordon gently on the shoulder. “Trust me, I know there’s a position. Pullman told me to keep my eyes open. Well Alturus would be perfect—if he checks out, of course.”

  “I don’t know...” said Gordon, but Vicki cut him short once more.

  “Alturus I’ll set you up with the Captain tomorrow, is around four good for you? We have to get to the market early to stock up but we’ll be free by then—or the Captain will be. We’ll pick you up in the tender. OK?”

  Doctor Baum’s voice interrupted Alturus. “I must say you did that well. A little bit sneaky, but no harm done. You’re being very clear and up front, Alturus. Carry on, what happens next?”

  Alturus let out a light laugh. “After they check me out, I become junior steward on Commodore 2. They’re good people. I like them all. They don’t complain like crew on the other yachts.  The captain is a Dutchman, Hermanus Pullman. He is very young but experienced, and dines with us every night.”

  “You achieved your goal, Alturus. How did it feel?”

  “I felt good. The moment I stepped onto the Commodore 2, my life would never be the same.”