Chapter 1: The Poor Englishman

 

Thirty one hours of sea salt swirls beneath the skin. The waves tumble past him and his muscles strip one another to tread the water as the waves cradle him to a nearby shore. The tears in his lips and the crust of chalky sea salt coat the cracks while his bloodshot eyes are sprinkled by colliding waves. Beneath a failing sun, the wind moves across the water like the passing seagulls above him. They wait to feast on his corpse, swooping and gliding across his body, pecking at his scorched skin. He shoos them away with hope that they deny his claim to life.

A shot sings through the air, followed by another and the birds scatter fervently searching for escape. The beat of their wings is in sync with his heart, and the dozens of starving gulls are shadowed as they travel together in no formation towards the sinking sun. He looks behind him and sees an old man sitting above the shoreline. His long gray hair sails with the breeze and his thin beard lies between his upright knees. His bare torso reveals a youthful body, but is full of scars and imperfections while his legs are covered to the shins with a pair of blue jeans faded from the tropical sun. His deep set eyes carry a heavy burden with dark rings beneath them and shadowed by a pointed nose. His lips and teeth set perfectly and the tiny hint of fish was on his breath as he spoke his words of comfort.

He thought it a mirage until the sea salt on his lips was washed away by the forever graceful element that water alone may carry. It glides across his lips and his tongue soaked like a sponge. His throat was saturated making him cough without pause for nearly a minute. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as he made out the words of his savior’s muffled voice only smothered by the waves crashing against the shore. The grains of dry sand tumble off his limbs as the old man drags him across the beach. His stride is wide and long and sand is kicked up on the salvaged man’s lap. The sand was heavy and still and the air smelled of spraying ocean water that collected beneath his feet in tiny puddles and receded until they came to the bordering seawall covered in thick weeds that hung odd items from them when the tide came in washing all the strange things to the edge of civilization.

His feet treaded soft and carefully as he climbed down the valley’s hillside with his washed up stranger. The old man felt his shaking from the passing breeze and held him closer until their feet sunk into the marshes that outlined a small cabin sitting on thick wooden stilts. It was expertly built and it carried dignity like its architect. The thin metal roof had no insulation and it tapped when the evening shower came through. A road with thin beaten tracks ran behind the cabin and a mailbox caked in dirt rested crooked. The fog from the shower was clear enough to see for miles but it was misted and silent. The outlying forest opposite of the Oceanside was brooding and a shadow of unhappiness was hinted to anyone who walked alongside it.

A tiny snake slithered across the walkway to the stair case that led to the screen door of the cabin. The fog was blanketed around the house from the black smoke that rose from his chimney with garlic and fish fuming and soaking into the wooden walls. The cabin was lit well and had a quaintness that made the stranger comfortable enough to climb into a chair that looked away from the stove. The old man came in close and said, “No, no young man. You will rest in bed. Come on, let’s hurry it up now.”

He rose reluctantly and climbed into his arms and shuffled to the bed where he sat for a moment and his eyes shut and they did not open for two days.

Fish breath was what stirred him from his sleep and the old man stood so close that he could see the black dots that ran around the pupils. He was curious and concerned of his health and the old man had changed his clothes since he had first arrived. The stove was burning and the metal pipes leading to the chimney were humming as the old man spoke up, “I see you were in the English Navy.”

His polite inquiry felt almost as a demand, and because of his hospitality the man said with a voice that he didn’t even recognize, “Yes sir, I certainly was. I’m in America sir, am I right?”

“Land of the free and home of the brave, yes young man you are in the US of A.  But I am curious as to how you showed up floating like a dead man in the water.”

Fear passed his face and he said in an unintelligible craze, “Have you found anyone else!?”

“Haven’t looked so no, what’s the matter?”

“Oh lord, we have to go back! The ship is out there and those people are dying!”

“What are you rambling about? Young man, you are sea sick and I don’t mean the upchuckin kind, I mean you seen nothin but sun and blackness for however long you were out there. Do you remember your name?

His panic was momentarily a mere afterthought when he instinctively replied, “Hardin Wesley, but sir! I must protest! How far is the shore from the here?”

“Now look son, I don’t think you realize just how cruel the sea can be. If any ship had sunk then you are lucky the sharks didn’t get you. You were nearly dead two days ago so I can tell you now that if anyone is still out there alive, then they have disproved everything God intended the human body to endure. This ain’t no fight of yours, so sit easy and go back to sleep.”

And with a second more to fight his exhaustion, his eyelids shut and the sandman nailed them closed for the entire evening until early morning shone through the window behind him.

The stove against the wall was cold and black and the cabin window let sunlight hit the floorboards. The garlic stained the air and it lingered as he breathed deeply while he sat up and noticed the old man was nowhere to be found.

He slid from beneath the covers and rested his elbows in his knees and his face in his hands and a sharp thud began coming up the steps. They stopped and a knocking followed disturbing the silence. He limped towards the door and pulled it open and saw a mailman staring awkwardly at Hardin. The sun was shielded by the mailman’s head and then he spoke up, “Is…Mr.Winkley available?”

“Mr.Winkley? Oh! No sir, I’m afraid I haven’t seen him this morning.”

“It’s almost four; the morning has passed Mr….”

“Wesley…”

The mailman gave him a peculiar look and said, “You’re from England? How do you know Gordon?”

“Gordon? That’s a story for another time I’m afraid. I suppose you came to give him something?”

The mailman’s eyes lit up and he said with a wide grin, “Oh! Yes, I certainly do. It’s a package and if I’m not mistaken, I think it’s a knife he ordered a few months ago.”

“Well, I will be sure to hand it over the moment he gets back. Do you need a signature?”

“No, no, Mr.Wesley I’m sure I won’t hear nothin from Gordon unless he’s ready for another order.”

“Excellent, well it was a pleasure meeting you…”

“Name’s Jonas, it was nice meeting you too.”

Jonas heard the door shut behind him as he climbed down the stairs when he saw Gordon kneeling beside his mail truck inspecting the tires.

“Hello Gordon! Fine fella you got up there. How’d you come to know him?”

Gordon stood and rubbed his stubby fingers together and ran them through his thick white beard and said, “Evenin Jonas! My knife come in yet?”

“Yes sir, I handed it over to Mr.Wesley. He said he’d take care of it for you till you got back. How’d you run into him?

“Family’s polish, my aunt had a cousin that stayed over with the Brits once my mother and father got here. He’s my second cousins boy, and I’m supposed to help him get a job in the city. You know any openings right now?”

“I remember bringin you that letter! Katherine was her name. Well, I sure don’t Gordon but I’ll keep a look out for you. How’s your son doin by the way?”

“Stationed in Hungary right now. I haven’t seen a letter in a long while, but I suspect he’s alright. World’s kinda peaceful nowadays.”

Jonas smiled and said with doubt, “Shouldn’t be too much trouble comin out of Germany no more.”

“Krauts killed my brother in law outside of Austria. No Jonas, I don’t suspect they will. As long as we keep our guns loaded here, I don’t think they’d be dippin their fingers into our soil.”

Jonas nodded and passed in front of the mail truck and said, “You see somethin beneath the truck earlier? I seen you checkin her out.”

“No Jonas, it’s nothin like that. Just makin sure you’re gonna get back alright. Anything excitin in town?”

“No sir, just the usual. You know James Forman died a few months back?”

Gordon’s eyes squinted as he looked back at the cabin and saw Hardin standing at the window and he said, “Yeah, you came by and told me. His boys takin care of the land?”

“Well the older one, James Jr. got married and he’s in school to become a banker but his other boy is runnin it real nice.”

“That’s good to hear. Prices dropped lately, maybe he’ll help keep em that way. I think your truck’s a mighty fine machine Jonas. Just run it by if you need someone to check it out. I won’t charge you nothin.”

He jumped into the front seat and said through the open window, “Thank you Gordon and I’ll keep a look out for a job and let you know if anything comes up. Don’t be a stranger!”

He waved to him as he gripped the stick and put the truck in gear. It pitted and popped until the engine clicked down the road bouncing with the uneven terrain and the anthills that were as big as a freshly dug grave.

Hardin grunted and hissed as his muscles strained to move back towards the bed. When his hands gripped the soft sheets he fell into them and breathed deep in exhaustion. He didn’t hear the footsteps coming up the staircase and when the door opened he saw Gordon with his front shadowed by the sun sinking behind the brooding forest. It almost looked nice with the light hitting the tops of the branches and the birds basking and chirping atop of them in the blanket of heat.

Gordon said, “Evening Hardin, it’s good to see you up. I saw you standin at the window. Not sure you should properly be doin that about now but in a few days we’ll see what we can do about getting you out of bed and rebuildin those muscles.”

Hardin didn’t look at him when he said, “I left your knife on the chair next to the stove, and Jonas seems like a fine man.”

“He’s a lively fellow, takes after this mother. That family’s been around longer than most of these westerner’s have.”

Hardin sat up again and said, “I’ve got a terrible headache and it’s getting hard to focus.”

“You ain’t drinkin enough water! Here, drink this up real quick and we’ll fill it again.”

Hardin took the glass and emptied it and handed it back to Gordon who refilled it and sat it on the blue painted nightstand.

“There’s a nice break between the seasons here, and when fall is comin on to winter it can get cold out so make sure you stayed bundled up. I’d hate to have you catch a cold too.”

Hardin nodded and watched him grab a thick black coat and a weathered hat off the rack. He turned back towards the stove and opened the shutter. He found a match box beside the chair and lit one against the wall and tossed it onto the pile of dry pine wood. A few minutes passed as he pulled the new knife from the wrapping and sharpened it. They sat in silence until he sheathed the knife and opened the front door and said, “I’ll be back with dinner in awhile.”

Hardin lied beneath the shadow of the sky and felt the chill of the wind combing into the heat from the stove. He shuddered with a strong eastern breeze and listened to the crackling flames. They danced along the walls and the windows showed the sky was clear and there was no hint of rain. He fell asleep to the rhythm of his own strong heart and dreamt of the homeland he abandoned.

Slick cobblestone streets crowded and muddy and the alleyways were just as filled with homeless families sitting beside a small fire. He saw his family was not far from this fate and when he passed them, he could see his face in the broken man that rested beside his sons and his wife. The public sneered at beggars and most were even arrested, but with no family he decided to join the English Navy.

He was a surgeon’s hand, and he helped many men squealing in pain as he dragged them from battle with bullets whizzing by and crashing into the dirt beside him. They bounced off the hedgehogs and the ringing that came from a nearby mortar was almost deafening. The men in his unit commended his bravery but with infection, he didn’t see most of them after they had been wounded. He learned that it’s hardly the bullet that kills anyone. He watched men choke to death on mustard gas and felt them burning as they cried for fresh air. He felt the paranoia when a new fragrance licked his nostrils even now and his breathing would immediately cease until he passed a hundred yards from it. He left England unfinished within the portrait of his life, but he knew he couldn’t return.

The faces faded, and the streets turned back to dusty farm roads and the fires were smothered as he came out of his dream. The smell of garlic invaded him again and he almost ran from the cabin until it dispersed but he forced himself to remember that he was safe. As his thoughts were racing, the steps shook and the door flung open and Gordon had two rabbits, one in each hand. They were good size and blood had soaked into their thick furs. They hung from their feet with a tight thin rope wrapped around them. He flung them atop the table and started dissecting them as Hardin watched the barbaric man tear them apart with grace and efficiency. After a few moments Gordon said, “I’ve got some potatoes and chicken broth too. I’ll cut up some carrots and get this fire goin.”

He turned around and smiled at Hardin and said, “Should be a real nice meal.”

Reviews

[Camille Corbett]

Your language hurts, it lacks a certain comfort. But overall very good.