Rich Man's Coffin (32 page)

         
He could see the strong light of a single oil lamp through the shop door’s windows as he stepped up onto the deck.
 
A chance
, he thought.
 
Perhaps they will understand this time
.
 
He saw her through the glass working over the day’s books at the bench.
 
He tried the door, and easily slithered in.
 
She turned with a start, saw it was him, and quickly told him the shop was closed.

         
“I know ma’am, but it really is urgent.”
 
He said, as he mustered his most polite personality.
 
“You see, me and the men, we’ve been working late these days, finishing the season…”

         
“We’re closed for business.
 
Please come back tomorrow.
 
We open at seven in the morning.”

         
“Ma’am, if I could just get a tin of tobacco, I will promptly pay for it tomorrow.”
 
He said, as his voice carried up at the end of his sentence.
 
He slid closer to her. He sensed fear.

         
“My husband, Mr. Wynen, is away for the evening on business.
 
It really is not up to me to let things out of the shop.”
 
She said.
 
“Please come back tomorrow, and he will take care of you.”

         
Her voice seemed to crawl under his skin. He stepped up to her stool and said, “What is it?”

         
The Maori woman stared back at his face, now dark and twisted with anguish in the flickering light.
 
She clung to her courage without blinking. “What is what?”

         
He looked her up and down sitting in her pretty house gown. “What is it,
 
Squeaker
, that you people have against me?”
 
Tears began to well in his eyes.

         
Her heart leapt at the sound of her nickname. She knew of no whalers whom her husband had told it to. “I’m sorry, you are going to have to leave now! The children are asleep.”

         
His weepy frown puffed into a blustery, crimson grimace as he grabbed her hair.
 
“Why don’t you like me?”

         
No one heard the screams of her or the children, nor the blood splattering inside as the rain swept in from the sea and washed the outside of the wooden walls of the shop. Later, as he enjoyed a calm smoke under the emerging moon and clearing night sky, he watched the shimmering rainbow streams of whale oil slip from the sand into the soothing, dark waves of tranquil Jackie’s Bay.

Chapter 21

         
“Who goes there?”
 
Asked Cook in a sleepy voice. He rubbed his bleary eyes with sandy hands.
 
He struggled to peer up at the silhouette of the large, looming figure backlit by the blazing moon.
 
The form stood on an earthen rise, accentuated by the accompanying shadows of crooked trees sharing the rays of the celestial spotlight in which the feathered phantom stood.

         
The darkness spoke.
 
“I think I can help you.
 
Come with me.”
 
Said the figure in a low, forceful voice.

         
Cook gathered his shabby self from the sand, and staggered behind the specter.
 
He asked, “Why are you dressed like a Maori?
 
Where are we going?
 
What time is it? The man silently motioned for him to follow. He led the disoriented whaler to the shimmering shore.
 

         
The form said, “The clock in the shop just counted the Apostles.
 
It is at this moment as late and as early as the time can possibly be.”

         
Cook shook his head. Puzzled, he asked, “What are we going to do at this hour?”

         
The man stepped into his large canoe.
 
He said, “Just come with me, Dick.
 
I want to show you something that will help you out of this mess.”
 
The two lighted in the boat and shoved off.
 
There was one paddle.
 
Cook sat in the bow, back to the water.
 
The man propelled and steered the small vessel from the stern.

         
Since the death of Kueka, things had gone from bad to worse for Dick.
 
He was a prime suspect.
 
Having been the last one to see him that fateful night, Black Jack had to give account of the evening simply to clear his own name.
 
Of course, all the stories of the other sailors present that night concurred. Understandably, the authorities began to point fingers.
 
In such a small and remote community, the heat quickly piled onto Cook. His unsavory character worsened under the pressure.
 
His was a fitting response in the eyes of the villagers, they concluded, for a man who comported himself in such an irresponsible and slovenly manner.
 
His drinking increased tenfold. His fitness for work was not even worthy of consideration. His presence was tolerated only in the least desirable places in the pa.
 
He had become a pariah, stranded in a limbo between precluded guilt and his skillful self-destruction.

         
Cook said, “I’m not helping here much, Black Jack.
 
I wish that I had a paddle.”
 
The cool night air blew softly off of the smooth sea and refreshed him.

         
Black Jack said, “You are all right.
 
Just relax and enjoy the journey.
 
I will see that we get there. I know it’s been hard for you lately.
 
I thought that we could just get away for a little while and talk about it.”

         
Cook said, “A talk with the Tonguer!
 
Now there’s a fitting therapy.”
 

         
“You know, your getting off free from your trial has made it hard for all of us, especially after that last fella got convicted at trial up the coast.”
    

“I know! Everyone thinks I’m guilty, Black Jack.
 
It’s driving me crazy.
 
They got that Maori fellow, though, didn’t they!”

         
“Yes, they did.
 
It’s a shame they haven’t found who killed Kueka. It didn’t help none that you called her
Squeaker
during the trial. No respect for no one, Dick, not even the dead.
 
That’s just like you.”

         
Cook said, “Yes, it is.
 
The trial was hell, but they couldn’t prove a thing!
 
Yes, they got the wrong man. I hope they find that son-of-a-bitch!”
 
A silence fell between them in the darkness.
 
Black Jack continued to row slowly and rhythmically.
 
Cook asked, “Where are we going?
 
And why are you dressed like that?”

         
Black Jack replied, “I know some people who can help ease your pain.
 
They are some Maori friends of mine. It will make it easier if I appear like this.”

         
“Maori friends?
 
Why do we need to see them?
 
What makes you think that they can do anything for me? You’re not taking me to see that Robulla fellow are you? I don’t want to get eaten!”

         
“Believe it or not, I used to live as a Maori, right down the coast here in Te Pukatea.
 
I know that getting away from the white man for awhile can simplify your life. Maybe it will clear your head up a little.
 
I’m gonna take you to the tribe I lived with and they will take care of you.
 
You’ll get better, you’ll see. Hell, you can’t work none anyway, right?”

         
“Get better?
 
Black Jack, what are you talking about?
 
I don’t need to get better.
 
I just need to make some money and get out of this place.”
 
He looked around and padded his pockets.
 
He said, “Ah, damn.
 
I left my tobacco back on the beach.
 
You didn’t bring any, did you?”

         
“I don’t smoke.”

         
“Damn, then I reckon you didn’t bring anything to drink then, either?”

         
“No.”

         
“I knew you wasn’t good for nothin’, man!”

         
Another minute of silence passed between them.
 
Black Jack said, “They will feed you well.
 
You won’t have to work, so you can catch up on your rest.
 
There may be smoke, but probably no drink.
 
You will quickly find that you do not need it.
 
You’ll soon find yourself feeling happier, I promise.”

         
“Geez, Black Jack, you’ve got this all planned out.
 
I wish you had told me.
 
I don’t know about living with the Maori.
 
It may have been all right for a fella like you, but I’m white!
 
How do you think they’re gonna take to me?”

         
“How they would take to anyone, I suppose.
 
Why should you be any different?”

         
“Well, I don’t know.
 
You know how I am with people, right?”

         
“Well, yes, sort of.
 
What do you think your problem is, Dick?”

         
Cook perked up, delighted at the prospect of discussing his problems.
 
The cool air, the isolation, and the sole company had suddenly become good things to him.
Almost as good as a drink and a smoke
, he thought.
 
He started, “I don’t know.
 
Well, look at me:
 
I don’t have a woman for starters.
 
Everyone else does, but I don’t.”

         
Black Jack interrupted, “We’ve talked about this.
 
I told you that everyone at the station has a fair shot at a wife.”

         
Cook said, “Yes, but that’s a Maori wife.
 
You know how I feel about that.”

         
Black Jack said, “No, I did not.
 
How do you feel?
 
Do you have something against the Maori?”

         
“Hell, Black Jack, I’ve got something against everyone!”

         
“What do you mean?”

         
“I hate people.”

         
“You what?”

         
“I hate people, every goddamn one of them.
 
I mean, everyone acts like a goddamn saint.
 
But they’re not.
 
Everyone’s got the same problems as me, but they all act so
holier than thou
.
 
Everyone’s always saying, ‘We’re just trying to help you’, but no one gives a damn about me.
 
I’m all alone in this world.
 
And with women:
 
Hell, try to find a woman who’s a soul mate, Jack.
 
I never have!
 
They’re all so demanding.
 
I don’t trust them as far as I can throw them, either!”

         
“So you don’t form bonds with people, is that what you are saying?”

         
“Hell, I don’t know.
 
I guess so.
 
Yeah, that’s part of it.
 
I try to be friends with everyone, but they all shit on me.
 
I never try to take advantage of anyone, but look at them have a go at me!
 
It’s not fair.
 
Everyone has always treated me like a child.
 
I have never been respected by anyone.
 
No one has ever told me that they liked me.
 
You know that, Black Jack?”