A Journey of Words

The Whaler’s Dues-3

The two men stood in silence, the boat creaking every time it rocked back and forth over the waves. Then the night became quieter as the engine hiccupped and seized.

“What just happened?”

“Ran out of diesel.”

“You mean we’re stuck out here?” Big Riff asked frantically.

“Nothing to worry about. I’m stocked with coal. We’ll get there.”

“Coal? I don’t under—”

Biggles pulled on a trapdoor and descended to shovel heaps of coal into the deck furnace. Big Riff blinked repeatedly to ward off its rising heat.

“Now the boat runs on coal?”

“Only if I run out of diesel. Rosa Lynn is multifaceted.”

Big Riff sat on a wooden bench next to the spilt cold stew, watching Biggles work. “It’s obvious you aren’t going to tell me where we’re going.”

“Riff, I can’t. I would be in jeopardy of losing my post, and, if that happens, I’ll never see Mary again. This job is the only way I’m allowed to see her.”

“And what’s your job exactly?”

“Skippering the Rosa Lynn.”

“I had a feeling your answer would be cryptic or useless,” Big Riff said while sighing and shaking his head. “I never pinned Kelpie to be the marrying type.”

“I can’t tell if that’s a backhanded dig at me for being married to someone of her…status…or something else entirely.”

“You mean, a stripper?” Big Riff replied.

“I feel like you are purposefully taunting me, Riff. And, no. I didn’t mean a stripper. Mary is many things. Stripper is at the bottom of that list. I never thought in a million years I would ever be with her. I was madly in love with her for such a long time. Too afraid to ask her out. She was a southern girl.”

Biggles closed the hatch and took the wheel again.

“Why does being from the South have any relevance?”

“Let’s just say, Mary Bostock was a round hole, and I was a square peg, for lack of a better cliché. I found enough liquid courage one night in the late hours of a sunset rendezvous.”

“You make it sound so romantic,” Big Riff retorted.

“I know you secretly love her. That’s why I’m not going to take the bait of your sarcasm.”

“Now wait just a minute—”

“It’s no secret, Riff. I know it. Mary knows it. The universe knows it. If I were you, I’d be afraid to love her.” Realizing he was a captive for the duration of the ride, no matter where or how long it took—or how bizarre it might become—Big Riff decided not to probe any further. Each answer just created more questions.

This was a battle he couldn’t win.

“There,” Biggles said, pointing. “That’s where we’re heading.”

Big Riff squinted through the mist and saw a landmass in the distance. “Shouldn’t the sun have come up by now? We’ve been in the boat for hours.”

“The sun won’t be rising ever again,” Biggles said and jumped into the water. “Are you coming?”

Big Riff grabbed onto the railing and hesitated.

“Fine, stay on the boat. Hope you know your way back.”

“Wait! Wait!”

Big Riff jumped over the side, landing in the frigid North Atlantic water. When he reached the shore, Biggles slapped Big Riff on the back.

“This place looks different every time I visit,” Biggles commented.

“How many times have you come here?”

“Every time I have to bring you,” he answered and bounded toward the tree line just beyond the beach.

“I hate talking to you,” Big Riff mumbled and reluctantly followed.

The thicket became denser the farther they traveled, and the forest was so tall the treetops swallowed the sky completely. Then the trees thinned, and the landscape opened to another environment.

“Where are we going?”

“The canyon. Look over there.”

Big Riff could see a large canyon lined with hundreds of hanging fluorescent lights, illuminating the inside of the gully like a sports stadium at nighttime. “It’s beautiful.”

After some time of being ignored, Big Riff turned to Biggles. No one was there.

“Hey!” Big Riff yelled into the forest behind him. “Biggles! Where’d ya go?”

Silence.

All Big Riff could hear was the faint hum of the lights. Then the sound of an engine in the distance. At first he was certain Biggles had returned to the Rosa Lynn and was leaving the island, marooning Big Riff forever. But then he saw a vehicle moving at great speed toward him from the other side of the canyon.

“Biggles?” he yelled again. “Is that you?”

The vehicle approached quickly, the sound of its engine getting louder by the second. Big Riff took a step forward, the tip of his sneakers hanging over the ledge to the canyon’s gorge below. He now clearly recognized a red convertible with its top down, speeding toward him on the canyon floor.

“Biggles, this is your last chance. Quit fooling around with me.”

Silence. No answer. Then all the lights winked out inside the canyon.

With the aid of a few shining stars, he could still see the approaching car in the dark abyss, and in a panic lunged back through the forest. Small twigs whipped his bare arms and stung his face, as he barreled toward the beach. When he reached the outskirts of the woods, the only sound he heard was the water lapping at the sand. The shoreline was empty, devoid of Biggles or the Rosa Lynn.

“f**k you, asshole,” he whispered and kicked a divot of sand into the water.

The sound of the convertible was exponentially closer now. The roar of its engine seemed to be literally right behind—

Big Riff was knocked down by the car’s rear quarter panel as it drove past him. Lifting his face from the beach, he quickly wiped the sand from his eyes and lips. The tires spat a stream of sand over his body as it accelerated.

Big Riff stood, and the car came to a skidding halt. He saw the backside of two heads; one driving and one in the passenger seat. The convertible idled loudly, neither occupant turned around to look at him.

“You almost killed me,” he growled.

No movement.

“Hey. Did you even see me?” Big Riff walked toward the red car. “Say something or I’m gonna kick your—”

Big Riff immediately stilled every muscle in his body. He had reached a distance where their reflections appeared in the side-view mirrors.

Big Riff backpedaled so quickly he accidentally tripped himself and hit the sand hard. Using both hands to frantically crawl backward away from the vehicle, he managed to eventually break into a full sprint, putting as much distance between himself and…the two people…in the car as possible.

He rounded the natural curvature of the shoreline—his sneakers kicking sand behind him with every step—and there she was, bobbing up and down with the current. The Rosa Lynn had been moved farther down the beach, but she was still here. Big Riff could leave this godforsaken island.

“Biggles, we gotta go,” he yelled toward the boat as he approached. “Fire the engines. We gotta leave now!”

Still no response or any signs of life. He reached her starboard side, flung himself over the railing, and lifted the hatch to the steam engine. As soon as the trapdoor opened, the Rosa Lynn sparked to life.

“Biggles?”

The whaleboat launched into the dark ocean with breakneck speed, and Big Riff was thrown to the deck. He steadied his legs and stood upright. The red convertible remained on the beach, and the two…passengers…hadn’t moved.

Still no sign of Biggles. The Rosa Lynn seemed to be operating completely of her own free will.

Big Riff stood next to the helm for quite a bit of time without once steering the boat himself. Biggles was definitely not anywhere onboard, and the Rosa Lynn seemed to know exactly where she was headed.

As he traveled farther from the island, the mist had dissipated, but now it became dense again. He walked to the bow and strained to focus through the blurry atmosphere suspended over the water. Just as he suspected, another island loomed ahead.

The Rosa Lynn steamed straight for the shore and stopped abruptly when her rudders bore into the sand.

“Now what?” Big Riff asked aloud.

No sooner were the words out of his mouth when he spotted a red balloon dancing with the breeze along the shoreline. He glanced up and down the beach, but it was empty. He strained his ears. The sound of a child’s laughter rose above the wind.

The red balloon hopped once more and came to rest in front of the waterline. Big Riff heard rustling in the trees. A young girl, no more than six years old, came bounding from the forest. She skipped toward the balloon, humming a nursery rhyme, the ruffles of her red dress flapping in the breeze.

Without hesitation Big Riff jumped off the Rosa Lynn into the frigid water.

“Little girl,” he yelled, as he muscled through the tide.

The girl didn’t acknowledge him, her skipping remained unfaltering as she headed straight for the red balloon.

Big Riff quickened his pace against the crawl of the waves. Maybe she held the answers he sought? Then it became incredibly difficult for him to walk; every step felt like his thigh muscles were failing.

The girl closed the distance between herself and the red balloon at a much faster pace. At this rate she would scoop her balloon and be gone before he even exited the water.

Now he could hardly stand. His knees buckled, and his ankles wouldn’t support the weight of his body anymore. The last thing he saw before he crumpled into the water was the little girl retrieving her runaway balloon.

Big Riff felt the ocean consume him, blanketing every inch of his body. He tried to sit up, but the effort was useless; the water was too strong. Just when he was positive he couldn’t hold his breath any longer, the tide receded like a shot. The ocean was stripped from above his body so rapidly he choked on the water torpedoing into his nostrils and splashing the back of his throat.

After coughing up the water in his airways, Big Riff heaved in a deep breath of clean air. He quickly looked behind him. The Rosa Lynn sat crooked on the sand, abandoned by the water that had kept her afloat. The tide now rested just behind the whaleboat.

He hastily turned his attention to the beach. The red balloon and the little girl were gone. Standing in their place was a young teenager, staring at the grounded boat. She gripped her elbows with both hands, and her body shook violently.

Big Riff got to his feet, sand falling from the creases of his wet clothes.

“Hey, are you okay?”

He took a few cautious and nonthreatening steps toward her. She didn’t reply or break her stare. Big Riff continued to approach her, his right hand extended, as if he were calming an aggressive animal.

“Miss, I won’t hurt you. Can you tell me what’s going on?”

She remained motionless until Big Riff stood directly in front of her. She slowly turned and faced the tree line, her back to Big Riff and the ocean.

That’s when he saw the evidence of a fight. “Oh, my God, are you okay?” he repeated.

He reached to touch the red dress hanging loosely on her body. He ran his fingers along the rips and tears of the fabric. The lacerations on the dress were random, and the threads appeared to have been violently frayed.

“Are you bleeding? Did this just happen? Jesus, this looks like a tiger attacked you.”

The teenage girl remained mute. Her trembling didn’t subside either. The bottom of her tattered red dress flapped like a flag in the wind. Big Riff removed his hand from the torn garment.