New Homeport Island (47 page)

Hudlow looked over and replied, “Well, ya…sure. She’s a girl!”
And Artimus speechless and feeling dizzy nodded his
 understanding. Hudlow smiled at Artimus’s discomfort and said,
“I am the king here, and I promise you, I am going to help you
 make this right. No matter how tired you get. No matter how
 sick. No matter how wet or cold or deep or blue. I will make
 you, make this right.” And with a smile and a nod he walked to
 his short hut to yell at the top of his voice before sending out
 everyone to fish. And as he entered his short hut he yelled,
“Washam put him to work!”
As Artimus followed Washam down to the beach, he
 noticed everyone was stripping off clothing. Dave asked,
“What’s going on?” Washam replied, “It’s almost fishing time.”
Dave asked, “just you and me!?” Washam smirked and said,
“Everyone…even the king.”
As they swam with nets and spears with the boat watching
 for anyone drowning or sharks, Dave swimming next to Hudlow
 asked, “If you’re the king then why do you work?” Hudlow
 responded with a laugh, “This is how we do everything.
Together.” Dave Artimus was taken aback by the celebration of
 victory at every fish caught. He looked as though he finally
 found his place.
Dave swam down deep and dragged a net over some fish
 then swam below them as it floated down, once they swam into
 the net he swam away as fast as he could with the cinching line
 tied to his waist. Just as they had he swam to the surface and
 went into a back stroke as he hauled in that line and called out,
“I got some!” The boat moved to him and hauled it in they held
 up his net and everyone cheered then returned to their fishing.
He was asked by Branson in the boat, “You need another net?
Or are you good?” Dave asked, “What am I supposed to do

now?” Branson responded, “Help them if you can. You caught
 some so if you’re too tired you can resign to the beach.” Dave
 replied, “I’ll just help.” and Branson handed him a spear.
The cleaning of the Woodenpeg was going well and new
 sails were being woven. When first built we knew who our
 sailors were to be, they were the best with the fishing boat now
 we were all proficient at sea. Our navigational circle was more
 complete than it had been the first time we tried to launch. The
 weather patterns would be worked out from the weather tower.
While the weather tower was being rebuilt and the supplies
 for the trip were being amassed there was anxiousness about all
 the island inhabitants. I went to my work shop to review my
 private plans.
An emergency hot air balloon would not be necessary so I
 set those plans aside. The lenses I was refining for a telescope
 would sit be needed so I left those where they lay. The star and
 moon movement clock I had to wind every day and the refined
 charts I had made with it were ready.
I stepped back and looked out at the sea; we had been here
 so long. Artimus and the thieves had returned and considered
 our behavior strange, at least something they didn’t recognize. It
 seemed to me they hadn’t changed.  
We all wondered why they had found us, or if they had
 even looked. Artimus had a tendency of pissing off his superiors
 before and immediately after pissing off his subordinates; I
 figured, ‘No way in hell did that help’
 
Chapter sixteen
Reflections
We performed the circles around the island we had
 intended before the boat was stolen. Day and night the ship

sailed circles around the island. We took our time working
 things out, performing training missions. We sent our crews out
 to the borders of our horizon for an overnight anchorage only to
 sail back in the morning. This time we would succeed.  
In a senate meeting the competition between Athena and
Michelle struck again, and it was decided we would use our
 balloon crane to build a stone pier primarily from rocks under
 the water pinned with wooden poles, which was then argued to
 an entire harbor wall made from blocks with mortar on land then
 lowered into place by the balloon crane. We lacked any volcanic
 ash for setting cement underwater so the harbor wall was
 actually more stable.
I don’t think I was the only one hesitant about return to
 society in America; no one seemed to be in a rush. Or at least
 that’s how I remember it now.
Last night Athena and I walked along that harbor wall, built
 fifteen years ago. We still fly small balloons and paper lanterns
 our just a part of our culture. Dave Artimus was there watching
 the paper lanterns rise up from the harbor. Once our ship had
 reached America we had been rescued by a merchant marine
 ship. Upon returning to our nation we discovered we no longer
 fit in. We sought each other out and fled back to the island. Now
 we reside here, Dave found everything he had had been washed
 away by the belief he was dead and only complicated by the
 realization some of what he had was only an illusion to begin
 with. Dave stood there in a navy pea coat and turned to us and
 asked, “Was it all worth it?” that was the question he had asked
 himself for years and could never fix on one answer that felt
 accurate. We just smiled at him as he looked away nodding,
 over the years that had become a philosophical question that had
 no true answer, it only provoked introspective.

Tomorrow was harvest day and in memory of the reign of
King Hudlow who now lives back in America we all harvest our
 new crops of wheat, and tomato, grapes, and oranges as well as
 the sorghum and leeches. The fishing extravaganza follows and
 just before night we watch people swing on high from a hot air
 balloon, followed by more paper lanterns at night.
The former master chief had left the island for a few more
 years than the rest of us for a lecture circuit. But the questions he
 was asked showed the current generations would never
 understand. It seemed so simple to them as though everyone and
 everything is only a phone call away. But the sea remains
 hungry and after a couple more years on the island he passed
 away here with his wife Charlie in attendance.
Right now she sits in a decorative garden we call ‘The weeping
 garden’ The stone walls bear spirals, lines, and other designs, to
 remind us, when the Woodenpeg left for rescue hope had once
 again left us, we couldn’t eat or sleep. We lived in stone homes
 with bare walls and we starred at those walls, deep in hunger
 and sleep deprived, it was like being swallowed by the earth.  
During the day our children play in the fields and learn from
 us…an entire island being ‘home schooled’ we joked. Box kites
 are of particular fancy to them, especially making the paper thin
 enough but also strong enough; it’s like a competition to them.
They have little interest in domino games but the Chinese
 checkers are fun. I tell them, ‘Of all the stories untold, you are
 the result. Thus, the answer is you.’ which is taken for deep and
 prophetic until they are old enough to realize I’m probably just
 talking about sex and then I laugh.  
The Woodenpeg sits ‘reefed’ on an artificial reef off the north
 coast, so that we never lose hope again. Our weather tower

stands strong and proud with a sister tower it is bridged to for
 structural stability.
Michelle handles island commerce and we exist as a U.S.
 territory with our own system of government we tailored for
 ourselves. We refer to it as ‘Monarchy Absentia’ the king is
 away and the senate maintains governance over the lower island
 with the help of the whole damned world. I like to think of us of
 the republic as the Olympians back on Olympus, the island upon
 an island atop a mountain. So I put a stone pedestal in the cistern
 on the mountain so I could be there if I needed escape. I
 explained it was just to check the water level and everyone
 allowed me my eccentricity.
Watching the kids run down our cobblestone roads is my
 favorite part of life now, and that sight gives us all pause. I
 struggle with my mechanical computer as a mockery of all
 technology we lived without for so long. I wear a funny stocking
 cap and pass out flowers to young women that have to remind
 me we may be related since the island is so small.
I suppose that’s just the fate of a sailor.    
Copyright 2015 All Rights reserved  
By Robert Lyon
Any similarity to persons alive or dead is entirely
 coincidental or proof of criminal misconduct of said individuals;
 if you served on the Paul F Foster DD-964, which falls under
 fair use, especially during my service there then please drink
 three classes of sangria wine while listening to Willie Nelsons
“To all the girls I’ve loved before.” and wait for the screen to
 fade to black. May your PTSD die before you do.

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