Rich Man's Coffin

by K Martin Gardner

  Arthur watched the carnival from the deserted, dark, deck of the ship, as a child experiencing one of his parents' parties from a distant cracked door down a dim hallway. People whooped, hollered, laughed, gibbered, drank and sang; all to a raunchy, raucous, rhythm that flowed down the street. Arthur enjoyed the unrehearsed production, yet he was unsure if he would have joined the procession even if he were freed to do so.

  Occasionally members of his crew would stumble out of the crowd, either alone or in noisy gangs, and stomp across the gangway. Depending on their level of drunkenness, the reaction to Arthur's face ranged from sympathy to outright mockery.

  One sailor said, "It's a good time, Arthur. Don't worry, though, you're not missing much. Just got to get some things from my rack. See you in the morning! Cheers!"

  The leader of another group of sailors who had stampeded all the way across the clattering gangway before recognizing the Cabin Boy, said, "Arthur! You sorry son-of-a-bitch, you're missing all the fun. By the way, you're unsatisfactory!" The revelers guffawed at the man’s formal term for Arthur’s dress, before setting out again into the throbbing mass.

  Several more came and went until Midnight, when a lone sailor came strolling up sober and straight as an arrow, and said, "I'm here to relieve you. I have word from the First Mate that you are to have breakfast ready for the crew at oh six hundred, and you need to prepare the Captain's quarters for departure. Anything I need to know?"

  Arthur had not expected a relief. He was happy that the man did not come at one of the times when Arthur had sneaked away from his post and fetched a cup of coffee from the galley. He was overjoyed to parrot the words that he had been taught for his first land watch. "No Sah, all conditions normal. Aft draft is high and dry and the tide is drawing nigh. I stand relieved."

  IV

  Warm, soft lamplight flowed over the Captain's desk and flickered across the large map in Arthur's outstretched arms. Although he could not read, Arthur had become familiar with world geography. He could readily identify all the continents and oceans on the globe. He found nautical symbols easy to learn as well, along with some of the simpler math that sailing required. Everything about seamanship came naturally to Arthur, he thought, as he sat surreptitiously in the seat of his ship's superior officer. He fantasized about one day becoming a great sea captain himself. Perhaps when he returned from whaling, he thought, he and Lalani could purchase a boat of their own.

  Arthur's musing was interrupted by the clamor of a commotion occurring on the pier. He stepped to the portside porthole above the Captain's bunk and peered out. Coming across the gangway in a hail of hysteria and flamboyance was a tall, raven-haired woman in a frilly red dress. Even though she looked like one of the carnival dancers, she was alone. Her clothes were Spanish, and along with her brown complexion, she appeared to be as well. As she stormed across the gangway to the surprise and dismay of the watch, one of her heels stuck in the boards, causing the shoe to come off. Infuriated, she wheeled around to retrieve it, but she was foiled by the fault of her own fashion: The folds of her skirt hung too far, obscuring her feet. She whipped around in frenzied circles screaming and cursing, finally abandoning her efforts and blasting past the sentry. The topside guard, recognizing her as the Captain's wife, let her pass by.

  As she crossed the deck, she disappeared from Arthur's view. He quickly resumed readying the Captain's chamber, in case the visitor was an acquaintance sent ahead to spring a surprise inspection. Arthur heard her irate, irregular clumping, as the mysterious woman lumbered unishod across the upper deck. He heard the clunking shift, as she stumbled down the mid-ship ladder. Her faltering gait sounded like a renegade with a peg leg escaping some hollow gallows stage. She burst through the Captain's cabin door and stood over Arthur at the desk, breathless. She stammered, "High yam Senora Stewhart. Who are hugh?"

  Poised in the Captain’s high, rigid chair, he said, "I am Arthur."

  "Lieutenant Arthur. I have not heard of you. But that is typical. My husband did not mention that he had a Moroccan officer under his command. Pleasure to meet you." She lurched forward and put out a dainty, quivering hand.

  Arthur stood up and shook it handily. He said, "A pleasure."

  She broke down and slumped onto the Captain's bunk, sitting and staring at nothing with glassy eyes. With a heavy Spanish accent, she began to speak, "Well I am here because the good Captain would rather spend the evening drinking rum with his crew than be with me. His last night in port, and he is acting like a little boy! Can you believe it? You men are all the same."

  Arthur sat fiddling with stacks of maps and nautical instruments at the Captain's desk. He took advantage of her pause, and said, "Yes ma'am."

  She studied him with far away eyes. She said, "You are nice. Why are you not enjoying yourself?"

  Arthur, putting on his best airs, said, "The ship gets underway tomorrow. I am sorting the Captain's charts, Mrs. Stewart."

  Senora Stewart said, "Please, call me Monica." A curious smile floated on her face. She held out a small, delicately wrapped package, roughly the size of a pen box, and laid it on the Captain’s desk. “He was not here to receive his gift. So, you may have it instead.”

  Arthur, keeping his eye on his work, replied, "All right."

  Monica, jumping up suddenly, sprang across the cabin and began rifling through shelves. She exclaimed, "I know... let's have a brandy. You have worked enough. You stop now, all right? Let us drink and talk!"

  Arthur, not wanting to disobey the wishes of the Captain's wife, removed the decanter from its secluded spot on the top shelf. He produced two glasses; and she hastily poured ample splashes of the Captain's liqueur. She quickly drank the better portion of hers, as if very thirsty, and sat back down on the Captain's bed.

  "He treats me like chit! Just like chit. Does he treat his whole crew like that? I hope not for his sake. I don't know why I put up with it." Arthur sat across the cabin, paying attention to her. She continued, "He doesn't give a damn about me! Eight months! Eight months I wait; and does he write to me? No! Does he send me any word or gifts by way of one of his captain friends? No! Like chit, I say." She began to cry, lightly at first, and then she burst into tears. Arthur did not know how to respond, except with a kind look and open ears. She went on through her sobs, "I am sorry. Forgive me. I think it is because I am Spanish. He does not think of me as a real wife. I am just a plaything that he visits for pleasure. Besides, he makes fun of me, I know. I hear his crew mock me and the way I talk. I cannot help it!" She blubbered.

  "I think you sound jes' fine, Miss Monica. I would be proud to have you as a wife. Captain Stewart is very lucky."

  She suddenly stopped. Her head bolted upright. "Oh you kind man. You are so nice. Please, come sit here. I want to talk to you." She patted a hand beside her on the bed.

  Arthur looked at her one bare foot, her wet face, and her puffy eyes. He felt sympathy for her as he carefully sat down next to Monica.

  She stared into his eyes and asked, "Tell me. Does he treat anyone else this bad? I want to know."

  Arthur averted his eyes, shrugged his shoulders, and said, “I don’t know.”

  Monica ducked her head down to capture his stare again. "You do know. Tell me, is there anyone whom he treats like me?"

  Arthur hemmed and hawed another moment. "Yes."

  "Yes. I knew it! The bastard. Tell me what he does to other people."

  Arthur looked at her sheepishly, and like a child confessing to his mother, said, "I think he called me a nigger. I just didn't 'spect that from Mister Stewart. And now he picks on me. I can't do nothing right. I don't think he likes black folks."

  Monica regained her senses as she stared sternly at Arthur. "Are you serious? This is terrible." She spoke in a rational, concerned tone, but inside she was becoming even more enraged than before. Her mind began to clear, thwarting the effects of the evening's libations. What began as a coquettish quest for sympathy suddenly became a keen resolution to get emotional ven
geance. Deep down, she only wanted to be cherished for the person that she was; and part of her was African from her father's side. Her husband was fully aware of that; and now the thought that he would harbor any bigoted opinions only further fueled her cruel doubt about his boorishness. She defused her anger with a sudden realization: She had married the wrong man. As her newfound calm settled over her, she sauntered over to the Captain's desk and extinguished the oil lamp. Slipping back to Arthur through the dark, she came to rest in a single stark ray of light that shined through the porthole above the skipper's bunk. Her face illuminated, she placed a hand softly on Arthur's shoulder. She said, "Please, teach me how to speak better."

  Arthur said, "I don't know."

  Monica said, "Yes, I want you to teach me, sometime. But for now, I want you to do something for me. Let me unwrap your package."

  Arthur rose obediently and did as she wished. He grabbed the present and handed it to her. He stood rigidly as she slowly grappled with the intricate lacing of ribbons around the box. She fumbled with the lid and tossed it aside. Finally, she reached her goal and put her wet, willing mouth on his organ. In her drunkenness, she blew a few sour notes on the shiny, brass harmonica before handing it to Arthur.

  “Play with it.” She said.

  Looking back fondly many years later, Arthur would recall that it was not the kind of schooling he had in mind at the time. But as the music lesson came to a climax, the unthinkable happened.

  Returning to the ship, the Captain could be heard rambling loudly down the passageway. As he burst through the door of his dark cabin, he paid no mind to his wife seated primly on his bed. Nor did he notice the haunting figure hovering behind his open wardrobe door. No, the Captain did not see much of anything as he continued to sing a slurred sailor song at the top of his lungs. Rambling on and ringing the rafters, he lifted something to his face and squinted at the stiff, black form of the object he had picked up coming in. A flash of recognition filled his foggy eyes, and then the Captain passed out drunk. He landed squarely on his face with a sickening thud, the high-heeled shoe rolling from his hand to rest at Mrs. Stewart’s bare foot.

  V

  Heading for Cape Horn could be the best or worst part of the voyage. At best, it was the halfway point of the trip. Rounding it meant beginning the downhill leg of the long journey. Sadly, it also meant the last sight of land for another two months. So, even in the best of conditions, it received only a reserved amount of adulation from sailors. At its worst, it could sink a ship within minutes. Set deceptively off the mainland of the tip of South America, The Horn as it was known, was actually an orphan island rising from the end of a sunken spit. Similar to the Florida Keys, the area consisted of shallow reefs and narrow straits, which when combined with the awesome storms that arose from the waters meeting between two major oceans and a polar ice cap, could create a calamitous climatic cauldron that was capable of stirring and cold boiling a ship to pulp. Circumnavigating the tip of the horn was an artistic symbol in itself. Sailing between land and the horn would split a ship in two. Dropping in too far below the horn would miss the turn north, sending the ship too far south into the icy waters of the Antarctic to be crushed. Cruelest of all was marking the turn spot-on only to slam straight into a lurking squall. The actual rounding of the horn was the literal challenge. Getting around the horn was the word used. Ironically, that Horn was not so round.

  The Captain was confident in his preparation for the long arc. A fortnight out from Rio, and he still hadn't given the order for battening down the newly loaded supplies. He seemed unconcerned, and moreover, unusually happy following his brief carousing in port. As the ship began to turn into the setting sun, he flitted about the deck cheerfully, even stopping to make idle conversation with random members of the working crew.

  Arthur arrived topside fresh from supper in the galley where he had first met the Mate, ready to assume his evening watch. The Captain approached him in the twilight, and smiled. He said, "My good man Arthur, I have a new friend whom I would like you to meet."

  Arthur was curious. He asked, "And whom is that Captain?"

  The Captain said, "You'll see. Now, if you would kindly go to my cabin and open my wardrobe cabinet, you will see the newest addition to our crew. Bring her to me, please."

  Arthur obediently walked away quickly, and disappeared down a ladder hatch. He searched his mind as he climbed down, trying to figure out whom the Captain could be referring to. Arthur had been on the ship the whole time in port, so there was only one person he could imagine. He began to cringe. He reached the Captain's dressing closet. He took a deep breath and hesitated.

  It can’t be her, he thought. He put aside his dread and flung open the doors. There, hanging from the crossbar, was a large brass cage. Inside, calm and regal, perched a large, green bird. Arthur scratched his head. Was I so busy during stores loading that I missed the bird? He wondered.

  Arthur lugged the heavy cage back to the Captain. The Captain thanked him handsomely, and asked, "Have you ever seen a parrot before, Arthur?"

  "No, Sah."

  "I didn't think so. It is a beautiful creature, don't you agree?"

  “Yes, Sah,” he said, breathless partly from exertion, but more so from relief that he did not find the Captain’s wife.

  "The parrot is traditionally a sailor's best friend. Unlike the seagull which can be seen at sea sometimes far from land, the parrot will appear only when land is nearby. Furthermore, once a parrot is onboard and out of sight of land, it will remain around the ship, come hellfire or hurricane. Also, the parrot is quite affectionate, and it can be taught to speak. Did you know that, Arthur?"

  "No Sah."

  "Well then, let this be a pleasant lesson for you. This parrot is going to be my companion for the second leg of the trip. The man I bought it from said that she is already domesticated, but she doesn't know any words yet. I want you to help me take good care of our friend here, Arthur; but remember, I want to be the only one who teaches her to speak. Is that clear?"

  "Yes Sah."

  The Captain said, "Very well, then." He proceeded to open the cage. He carefully placed a finger up to the bird's perch. It cautiously clasped onto his cuff. He brought the bird out slowly, murmuring and cooing softly, and coaxed it onto his left shoulder. He craned his neck, looking at the bird for a time. Confident that it would remain there, he turned to Arthur with a beaming smile. The Captain said, "You see, Arthur, a soul mate in the making."

  Arthur said, "Yes, Sah."

  The Captain said, "That is all. Carry on. I will give you feeding instructions in the morning after we have cleared the Horn."

  Arthur said, "Yes, Sir." He turned to walk away.

  As he was approaching his post, he heard a strange, high voice from behind. “Please Mister Arthur!” He turned on his heels in time to see the Captain, parrot on his shoulder, frozen in mid step down the ladder.

  Arthur said, "I beg your pardon, Sir?"

  The Captain said, "I did not say a word."

  The parrot squawked, "Please Mister Arthur!”

  The Captain hesitated. Suddenly, he flew into a rage, wildly waving his arms and circling the deck. The parrot began imitating his agitation, launching into a volley of loud, vulgar phrases, one right after the other, while clinging to the Captain’s shoulder. The pair created a comical spectacle that sent the topside crew into hysteria. The Captain, seeing his command deteriorating, lashed out with a final act of anger and flung the poor bird from his shoulder. Dazed and confused, the parrot took flight into the early darkness of the approaching evening.

  VI

  Countless threats of flogging Arthur were thwarted by returned promises of mutiny; and the Captain and crew settled into an uneasy standoff in preparation for the coming test. The Captain knew he needed full cooperation from his crew at this crucial part of the journey, so he backed down, still knowing that Arthur was behind his new pet’s precociousness somehow.

  The ship's entire operating sy
stem was overhauled: Sails and masts were inspected; rigging was secured; hatches were battened; and portholes were bolted. Heavy-weather clothing was issued and lashed to the deck at each watch station. Stores and hardware were tied down. Dishes were racked and strapped. Leash lines were placed at the helm and bow. Netting was fitted on the crow's nest. Flags and pennants were hauled in. Loose gear was stowed. Hull fittings were sealed. The bilge was pumped. The deck was tarred. The Captain's small windows were stopped with soft gum and boarded. The rum and java were passed out among the crew just as the sun gave its final flash; and the Captain, putting on his lucky red hat, pointed out many playful penguins flanking the stripped and streamlined ship.

  "We are close to making the turn." Broadcast the Captain, as he browsed and chatted with several of the men who stood ready on the lines. The Captain then gave the order that the nets be run along the sides of the ship. These formed a web, which being tightly integrated with the periphery of the ship, served as a platform of stop gates to save any person who did not succeed in competing with the stifling ocean and its crashing waves.

  Arthur was sent up to the crow's nest to monitor the horizon. He bolted himself within the cage securely. Then came the task of counting down to the turn. In the twilight, he was provided with the visual clues of both day and night. In the darkening sky, he could see a bright, familiar northern star; and low where the rim of the setting sun glowed golden, he was able to make out a speck of land.

  "Bearing ought-three-ought." Arthur bellowed down to the Helmsman.

  The Captain, standing next to the man at the wheel, gave him instructions to continue, “Steady as she goes.” The evening was peaceful; and as the crystal clear sky turned indigo, Arthur mentally marked where the island had last appeared directly beneath the bright star.