Rich Man's Coffin (31 page)

         
However, Cook asserted, that with the increasing frequency and seriousness of charges against him (he did not eat the Captain’s chicken!) the understanding nature of the First Mate had started to fade; and even
he
began to treat Dick Cook with the same impersonal disdain with which the rest of the crew had long since perfected.

         
It had become his professional duty, the First Mate informed him one day, to report him to the Captain as a serious threat to the operation of the ship.
 
This had surprised Cook, he said, that his trusted friend had turned on him so swiftly and coldly; and that standing before the Captain, he had found not even a trace of sympathy or warmth that had once been exhibited to him by the First Mate, and even the rest of the crew at one time, as he recalled.

         
The Captain had quickly dismissed him, as he would a parcel being delivered to shore; and the First Mate had explained matter-of-factly once outside the Captain’s cabin that Cook was to be reassigned to a sister ship in the company’s fleet that was short-staffed.
 
The Mate had said further that the ‘offer’ only came with a disciplinary mark in his service record:
 
Or else he would be dismissed from service altogether; and he would have to find and finance his own passage to wherever.
 
Without much of a life to return to in the States, Cook said, he had quickly taken the former; although he had misgivings about starting out on a new ship with a black mark against him.

         
Things had actually gone well on the next ship, he was surprised to say; even getting camaraderie and support upon freely admitting that “no one liked him” on his previous ship.
 
"We like you just fine!" always came the chorus in the ship’s galley; as he became a hail-fellow-well-met, and a bit of a celebrity as well, being the only Yank on an Australian ship.
 
He had even discovered that he was quite a skilled seaman, rather than the incompetent buffoon that the others had made him believe; and he had excelled on this Aussie ship, even advancing a rank with the increased pay and rations to boot.

         
But then had come the night that he fell asleep on watch, and had been reprimanded by his superior; and it seemed that within a few weeks the entire cycle was repeating itself.
 
That happened on three more ships, until he could be transferred no more; and he was relegated to the permanent status of shore-whaler.

         
“See, it’s all you.” the old man said after a pause.

         
Cook sank from his oratorical posture into despair.
 
“You don’t understand.” he said, having expected at least a modicum of empathy from his audience.

         
“I understand you’re a self-pitying lag, Cook!” the old whaler exclaimed; and the men erupted into satisfied laughter once again, relieved after their long, dutiful silence.

         
“Hear, hear!” they all shouted in unison.
 
“Now go to bed, Cook.
 
You’ve got first watch tomorrow; and no excuses this time.”

         
Dick puckered in confused, pent anger.
 
As he continued to stir the hot, slimy scrag in the pot, he thought,
what did they mean by that, no excuses?
 
“You know what I’m all about, right Jack?”
 
He spoke to one dark figure who had been sitting among the now disbanding mob, not laughing, not speaking.
 
He had remained seated, staring at the coals under the cool indigo sky.

         
“No, mate, I’m afraid I don’t.”
 
Said the black man with a low, husky voice.

         
“C’mon, you’ve had your share of hard times.
 
Everyone knows your story:
 
How you were mistreated by your kind and all.
 
You did what you had to do and now you’re all right.
 
So you know what I’m talking about when I say I’ve been tread on, right?”

         
“Ain’t no one treading on you, Dick.
 
You’s mucked up inside:
 
You need to sort that out.”
 
Black Jack said.

         
Cook perked up. “No, really Jack, look at us!
 
Hell, you were a slave; and now look at us!
 
I’m sitting here doing the same thing, over and over, day in and day out.
 
Look!”
 
He exaggerated the motions of stirring the hot pot.
 
“Boil double, toil and trouble! This is slavery, Jack: The same thing over and over!
 
We should be free! See what I mean?”

         
“No. Mate, I’ve got
my
freedom.
 
Not bragging on myself, but I’ve paid my dues and now I am what I consider to be a reasonably successful free man.
 
My freedom came the minute I was thrown off my first whale and swam to shore long ago.
 
I was a success the second I walked up out of the waves at that little bay down the way here. Even though it didn’t seem all that great then, it sure does now.
 
I’m gonna be famous for that bay one day, you watch and see! Now, if it’s work you’re afraid of, mate, then
that
might be your problem.
 
Of course, shore whaling ain’t glamorous. You won’t hear the other men go out of their way to say that.
 
But it’s what you get out of it in the end that’s important.
 
No one really
likes
to work, mate.
 
Is that what you wanted to hear?”

         
“No, no, you’re getting me all wrong.”
 
Cook said.
 
“I’m not afraid of work, but look!” He pointed around in all directions.

         
“Yes?”

         
“Look at what this guy has!”
 
Cook exclaimed.

         
“You mean Jackie, or Wynen?”

         
“Both!
 
Either!
 
Jackie’s got his little whaling station here with all the modern comforts, all set up for him and his family.
 
And Mr. Wynen, the shopkeeper:
 
He’s got us all by the purse strings.
 
Opening the first and only store on the South Island, how difficult is that?”

         
“Well, what’s wrong with that?
 
They’re both trying to make an honest living, just like the rest of us.”

         
“On our backs, Jack, on our backs! And honest? Huh!”

         
“What are you implying, Dick?
 
You don’t think they charge a fair price?”
 

         
“How would we know, eh Jack?
 
Think about it.
 
How would we know?”

         
“Well.” Black Jack replied, “Why would they cheat us?”

         
“Wake up, Jack!
 
Do you think they really give a damn about us?”

         
“Meaning?”

         
“Meaning, just look!
 
Do they have any women around here for us?”
 
Cook asked.

         
“Oh, so
that
is what this is about!”

         
“No, no, don’t steer the subject, mate. Look at Jackie!
 
He’s got his little wife from way back.
 
You think he cares about us?”

         
“It’s not his job to provide us with women folk, Dick.
 
Besides, I did my best to set us all up when I first got here.
 
And you ruined that chance!”

         
“I know, I know. But she’s still around here somewhere, saying she’s my wife. Besides, how many of these blokes are still truly hitched to the horse they rode in on?
 
Look at the other one up the hill!”

         
“Mr. Wynen?”

         
“Exactly!”
 
Dick exclaimed.
 
“Look at what he calls his wife.”

         
“Darling, I suppose.”

         
“No, Jack,
his little Maori princess
.
 
The one up on the hill running the store.”

         
“So.”

         
“So!
 
So he’s got another missus up in town, with other children running around by her.
 
This one here is just his little holiday mistress.”

         
“Really?” Well, what business is that of yours?”

         
“What business?
 
It’s everyone’s business mate!
 
It’s not fair, him holding himself up as a pillar of the community and all, expecting us to pay top dollar for everything and then expecting us to show respect and gratitude on top.”
 
Cook ranted.
 
“And what about you?
 
Wouldn’t you appreciate a little female company now and then?”

         
Black Jack bristled. “Now don’t you worry about me, mate. I’ve had my share of white ladies and Maori princesses alike. I don’t have a problem in that department, like some people.”

         
“Well you can avoid the issue all you want Jack. I’ve seen how it works around here, and I don’t like it.”
 
He said, cocking his chin.

         
“Well, why don’t you just leave then, if it’s all that bad.”

         
“I might just, Jack, I might just!
 
Anyplace is better than here!”

                                                         
II

         
After Black Jack stormed away, Cook stewed awhile longer. He continued stirring his steaming cauldron of blubber.
 
No one understands me
, he thought.
 
They all close their eyes
.
 
He knew, though.
 
He knew exactly what was wrong. He searched his empty pockets with his free hand. He came up empty. He began to get quite angry about all that had transgressed during the evening.

         
Blast!
 
Not even a shilling for a tin of tobacco
. He thought. His anger joined his frustration.
 
Why am I always out of tobacco, and money for that matter?
 
He asked himself.
 
And the store!
 
What absurd hours for the only damned store for miles around.
 
Here, of all places, where the sun does not set until nine, the shop closes its doors promptly at six!
 
It always infuriated him when, after a long day of stirring or flensing without so much as an offer of a relief from one of his mates, he would run bounding up the hill to the shop; only to see the doors being closed and the
open
sign turned away.
 
It was a constant hassle.
 
There he would go, humble as a Booby bird, dipping and bowing, begging his pardon;
can I please purchase a tin, it has been a long day
; and always the same reply
:
 
Sorry, mate, we really can’t, why didn’t you get some earlier today?
Free to him, though, came all the patronizing stock anecdotes reserved for the smallest of children.

         
Now, his blood began to boil as he took large, cumbersome steps up the steep, grassy slope toward the shop.
 
He noticed as he walked that the grass was becoming increasingly slippery.
 
Is that dew at this hour?
 
He wondered.
 
The sun didn’t set but an hour ago!
 
As he looked around, he noticed his path becoming darker. A glance upward revealed that clouds were swiftly sliding in to obscure the silver moon.
 
Rain
, he thought.
 
Wonderful, just what I need!
 
A soggy smoke before a restless, wet night under a skiff.
 
That is, if I even get my tobacco.