|
|
|
A Bedtime Story
|
Block Island Memories
I was cold, wet, and in the dark. I couldn't believe it as I treaded water, my hands gripped tightly around the deck bench. Six weeks out of Duluth and the whole damn ship was at the bottom of Block Island Sound. "That stupid Smith, held up in the Seaway, it was only seven days." I thought to myself. I guess captains have to worry about contracts, he won't anymore. Who'd figure that the cargo we took on in Toledo would burn so hot, so quick?" I'm not sure whether I shouted those words in the darkness, or just inwardly toward my anger at the situation.
"Smith never should have run the sound in such a storm, the whole damn trip was cursed. Icy winds, and that swirling snow on Superior, that strike at Soo Locks, and load problems in Toledo. Then that goddamn Canadian Navy, not like they're a real country or anything. Their damn Seaway, though. Guess they need to make open water before the season ends. It was pretty cold in Buffalo those four days." Even as I thought about the events of recent weeks I was painfully aware that I was floating in a frigid bay. I felt so cold my skin was turning gray.
I thought about my luck. Those 12 good men who went to the bottom with that blast. I don't know what happened when she scraped rocks, but that was no place for a deep water sailor. "Wonder where the hell I am," I thought. "Gotta hope the current doesn't pull me out. Too cold now, two more weeks I wouldn't have had a chance." I started trying to push the bench toward something dry.
Even with the wind, I could hear some wave action, not hard breakers, but enough to know there was a shore nearby. At the mercy of the current sweeping toward the Atlantic I hoped that I would float past a big rock before being pulled out to sea.
I floated for what seemed like hours, drifting, kicking my numbing limbs when I could. I remember catching the glimpse of a few pines, some shoreline maybe a rocky beach. No lights though and no road, but at least I was back on land. I walked south. Even a dumb old seaman like me knows that north and east was just Atlantic. Best hope of warmth and help was south. "Just November, but cold, and that wind, just cuts through this wet peacoat." I said. I had the watchcap still on my head, cold and wet pulled down around me ears. My boots sloshed as I stepped to the edge of the sand, and through patchy windbeaten seagrass.
"Goddamn, a hopeful sign, blacktop," I know I said that out loud. I didn't really hear my voice, but a man struck with a desperate situation finds imaginary comrades. The road was just two lanes wide, but I knew something better had to be somewhere along it. "Sure wish this rain would stop," I thought. "It's warmer on any deck in a winter storm than when you've spent six hours floating in a damn bay this time of year." I thought as a stumbled along.
I walked, I don't remember how far, then I saw it a sign, just a road sign, but a sign of hope. It held just two numbers that were hard to read in the darkness. I made out the figures, "27." Walking further I came to another sign of civilization. A park sign that read "Montauk Downs State Park". I though to myself, "Well thank you New York state, I don't care what you named it, just glad the current carried me here." I continued down the road, there were no lights and no traffic. I wondered about the time. I thought of the good fortune of that brief flash of moonlight that kept me from missing the place entirely.
It was cold, and I was hungry. I thought about the galley call I was about to catch when I heard that metal scraping. It was a terrible sound, I still don't know what blew the hold. I stopped staring at the sign and started walking through the wet cold darkness again.
Tired and cold, I finally saw it through the chilly haze. There was a little colonial house. No real lights on, just a glow from a second floor window. It was near some other houses, but I could see the reflection off the water close-by. I had no plans to swim a canal or walk to a bridge, I was freezing.
|
|
|
|
|
For you to enjoy
|
Warmth
I decided that whoever lived in that house was going to have to get up. I recall justifying it in my own mind. Even though I knew I must have looked like hell, I was putting my faith in the custom of helping a troubled sailor. I hoped they knew that time-honored tradition here. I walked up to the door. It was right off the road. I thought that judging by the darkness the strip of land couldn't be more than two miles wide.
I knocked, and then I heard barking, a whole lot of barking. Well, I was cold and hungry, and thought I might just have to take a bite out of that dog.
I could see a hall light come on. I heard the faint sound of footsteps. Coming down stairs, the closer sound of muffled steps, almost drowned out by the barking. My ears were cold and numb, I could feel the muck of the sea against my face. Not quite sure whether that was sand from the beach or ice in my mustache and caked to my cap. I just knew I was cold. I stood straight to bring order to my grimy appearance.
The door cracked, and standing there was a woman. Her robe was pulled tightly around her body. She held back one dog as another one bounced, alert just behind her. Through clogged ringing ears, I heard this dusky voice asked, "Yes, may I help you?" Her dark eyes and tasseled hair were outlined in the glow of a candle. I could say very little, clearing my throat, I got out two words "ship sunk"... I coughed two more, "very cold". She pulled one dog back, the other one continued bouncing maniacally at her side. The woman stepped back and aside, She said, "come in."
I entered and she took me into a room with a fireplace. The oily scent of pine entered my chilled wet nostrils, seawater was still dripping from my clothes. I headed straight to the fireplace's edge. That's when I notice that there are no lights on, just the fireplace and that candle. The woman spoke, "power's out, this storm.... phones too."
She was lovely, I was cold, but not blind. She was wearing lace, a champagne colored robe topping a gown, with more lace framing her breasts. I thought to myself, at this time of year, flannel and a wool robe might have been warmer. I wondered why she came down, and when her husband would join her.
"My name is Barbara.... Barbara Roberts," she said. "I heard on the radio about efforts to locate a ship going down in the sound. They said somehow it exploded, Coast Guard's been out looking for hours."
Warming up, I began to notice things, the cut of her thigh as the gown hung softly down her legs. She stared at me. "Oh I'm sorry," that deep, not quite New Yorker accent, not the same as the city or Jersey, almost a New England twang to it. "Let me get you something warm to drink, maybe some food too," as she walked off to the kitchen.
I watched her, but stayed by the fire, the heat of the blaze slowly breaking the chill. The bouncing dog was still by her side, the one she held at the door now sat watching me. I thought, "Different personalities." From the kitchen I could hear her say, "my husband's away. He's a scientist, there was some concern about contamination of the bay from your ship." She continued, "With this storm and the chop on the sound, they won't even be able to really check until sometime late tomorrow."
I heard the clanging of pots, the shuffling of tableware in a drawer. She returned to the den, "I know you must be cold," she said. "Would you like to clean up? Let me take you upstairs! Maybe I can find something dry for you to wear."
She returned with towels, then led me upstairs. The sitting dog growled. I noticed the house, a mixture of nautical, and some wicker. It was not the kind you'd find in the Caribbean, more like the East Indian style the Brits like. I followed her up the center stairwell. She'd been so nice, I felt badly about watching her ass move as she drifted up the stairs.
|
|
|
|
|
when you relax
|
As Barbara bent over to turn the spigot, her silken robe fell loosely forward. "By the time you finish, I'll be back with some clothes for you, they may not fit but they will be dry." She turned on the hot water, and headed out the door. Glancing in the mirror I got the first glimpse of what I 'd become. My hair was matted, my shirt blackened with fuel oil. That dripping wool coat was still buckled around me, but opened at midchest. I chuckled as the reflection peering back from the mirror resembled a common bum. I wondered why she didn't put the dogs on me and call the police, "oh yeah, the phone's out," I thought. Taking off my clothes I stepped into the steaming hot water. The tub was large, and I felt the sudden change from numb, clammy wet flesh to the soothing warmth of the bath. The steam rose, and in the candle's glow I noticed frothy bubbles parting over the surface as I settled slowly in. I eased my naked body down, finally relaxing with a deep and long sigh, as I smiled for the first time that day. As I sprawled in the bottom of the tub, the hot water lapped at my chest hairs. The coldness of the bay slowly became a drifting memory, the fragrance of the steam, wafted toward my nose. I inhaled deeply trying to recognize the sweet scent. I reached down to cup some water in my large hands. Drawing it up close to my chin I knew the odor of roses. I wondered how in the candle light I never noticed her put anything in the tub. Perhaps I was too busy watching her ass. I heard a faint knock at the door, the woman was back. "Stranger, are you all right?" she asked, peering through a crack in the door. "Cover yourself with the bubbles, and I'll bring you some tea." I arranged the bubbles so they covered my body from just above my knees to my chest. The water sloshed and rippled as I move to concealed as much of me as I could. The woman walked in holding a small silver tray. It held a white Victorian server, and a china cup. She glanced away as she placed the tray atop the tub's flat wide edge. "This will start to warm you inside," she said. "You do have a name?" I noticed it phrased like a question. Her tone seemed to express concern about this naked stranger in her tub. I hadn't really talked for hours, my throat burned from the blend of cold, seawater, and fuel oil that coated me when I arrived. Clearing my throat, the raspy sound of my words even startled me, "Mar...... uhhhgh! Martin Thomas." Now looking me in the eyes for the first time, the corners of her mouth turned upward in a friendly smile. Kneeling beside the tub, her hand was on it's flat hard surface. I noticed her skin in the soft glow of the candlelit room. I tried to keep my focus on her face, but my eyes roamed to the cleavage peaking above that wide band of lace. She said, "drink this, Martin Thomas," as she raised the tiny teacup to my lips. The wetness of the tub, stained her gown. making the sheer material cling to her skin. I shifted uncomfortably, trying to reposition the settling bubbles over my body. " Oh' I'm sorry Martin," she said. "Am I making you uncomfortable?" She balanced herself still kneeling against the side of the tub, and helped me rake bubbles back toward my center. her hand brushed my inner thigh, I sighed deeply as her fingernail scratched my leg. "All that time in the water, you must be sore, and sensitive." That's when she reached for a basin that was by the sink. Her ample breasts, tilted forward against the wet material. The champagne color now flecked with darker shades of taupe from the wetness. Dipping the basin into the still hot water, she said, "Here lean forward." "Do you remember, my name is Barbara," she asked, as she poured warm water over my head and back. With a sponge wet and soft with soap, she washed my back, rubbing the back of my neck. Her delicate hand rubbed well below the water's edge, I though about how good it felt. I heard the sound "puu-lahk" as water splashed slightly on my back.
|
|
|
|
| Favourite Links
|
|
|
|
|
|
Back
This will take you back
|
|
Home
This Will Take You Home
|
|
|
|
[View My Guestbook][Sign My Guestbook]
|