THE MERMAID AND THE BOATMAN - Part 5

WIN a $25.00 VISA Card by guessing the name that the magician gave the mermaid.  Only people subscribing to my Newsletter or "followers" are allowed to enter.  Only one guess per person allowed.   Email your guess to dreaminsailorman@hotmail.com  Should there be more than one correct answer, the winner's names  will be put into a hat and the first name drawn is the winner.  Family members are allowed to guess a name too but they are not elegible to win the prize - sorry. 

Realizing only two more guesses were available, this could well be their last evening they would spend together,  the sailorman knew he had to be alone for at least a little while so he could get control of his emotions; he needed to have a clear head to solve the sorcerer’s spell.  He'd discovered that sometimes when he slept and his mind drifted to the world of dreams, some of the problems that bothered him or questions that needed solving were often divulged  by the time he awoke.  So far, regarding this particular peril of trying to solve the mermaid’s name, nothing notable had surfaced.  Names and more names kept revolving around inside his head; so many names to choose from but not one of them stood out.  Deciding not to think about the dilemma, attempting to wash his mind clear; the sailorman began strolling along the beach and concentrating on searching for treasures that may have washed ashore during the night.

Finding nothing of interest laying on the beach or lodged between some rocks, the sailorman picked up a small stick and threw it into the sea.  No sooner did the stick strike the surface; Misty was exuberantly swimming after it.  He watched the excited little dog as she gleefully chomped down on the stick and brought it back to the sandy shore.  Tossing the stick at the sailorman's feet, she looked up at him and commenced barking loudly, begging him to throw it back into the water so she could retrieve it once again.  Besides playing ball inside the boat, chasing pinecones the sailorman kicked along the forest trail, retrieving sticks from the sea was another of her favorite games.  As he reached for the stick, Misty tried snatching it back, but he was too fast for her.  As she leaped into the air trying to regain her prize, he threw it back into the sea.  After repeating the same routine several times, seeing the little dog was beginning to tire, he resumed their walk, much to Misty’s indignation.

The mermaid was sitting on a rock covered with seaweed, her fishtail hidden beneath the waves when the boatman and Misty returned to the dinghy.  Unable to see her tail beneath the water, he was thinking how beautiful she looked; just like a normal woman.  Crossing his fingers tightly, he prayed this evening’s name would be the correct choice.   Forcing a smile, so afraid he would lose her soon he waved.  Smiling and waving back she cheerfully said, “You were gone for a long time; don’t you know it’s bad manners to keep a lady waiting.”

Shoving off, the dinghy’s bow easily parting the waves, the sailorman watched the mermaid dive into the sea, moments later surfacing alongside.  

The mermaid was about to yell, "Race you to the sailboat!" until she noticed how despondent the sailorman looked as he rowed the dinghy.   So instead she said, “You look beat.  How about just lying back in the boat and I'll tow you home?” 

After thinking about it for a few moments the sailorman said, “Yeah.  That would be great!  I don't know why but I feel really tired.”  Tossing her the rope attached to the bow of the dinghy, he sprawled out as best as he was able, the perpetual movement of the sea soon lulling him to sleep. 

When the sailorman awoke a little while later, rubbing the deep sleep out of his eyes with his hands, he realized he was still lying in the dinghy, except now it was tied to the sailboat.  Misty was looking down at him from the deck and so was the mermaid.  She was smiling; her face radiant and glowing with love.

After a light dinner, the sailorman and the mermaid sat quietly side by side on the deck.  As they watched the sun disappear below the watery horizon, Misty slept below on the galley settee.  The mermaid's head was resting on the sailorman's shoulder, their hands entwined; enjoying the peacefulness of the lapping waves, the approaching night and their closeness.  Words were not needed; such were their feelings.  As darkness descended, the first evening star appearing, the mermaid pointed at it excitedly exclaiming, “Look!  The first star!  Now we get to make a wish!”   

The sailorman watched her close her eyes and felt her squeeze his hand tightly as she concentrated on the wish.  He was about to speak when she opened her eyes and said, “Shh!  Don’t you dare ask what I wished for!  If I tell you, it won’t come true, and this wish has to come true; it just has to.”

THE MERMAID AND THE BOATMAN - Part 4

WIN a $25.00 VISA Card by guessing the name of the mermaid.  Only people subscribing to my Newsletter or "followers" are allowed to enter.  Only one guess per person allowed.   Email your guess to dreaminsailorman@hotmail.com  Should there be more than one correct answer, the winner's names  will be put into a hat and the first name drawn is the winner.  Family members are allowed to guess a name too but they are not elegible to win the prize - sorry. 

 Feeling somewhat downcast the sailorman murmered, “I don't have any real good ideas regarding the name the magician gave you; there are too many choices."  “I have no idea how many times that devilish sorcerer's rhyme has gone through my head, thinking somewhere in his words, he's disguised a clue.  But for the life of me, I couldn't find a hint of any real meaning.  And since he turned you into a mermaid, I've been considering names pertaining to the sea. Also, since I thought mermaids were mythical sea creatures, until I met you, I've considered some of the names they were called.  I've come up with several names but I am reluctant to use any of them - none of them really stand out to me.  And if I am wrong; what then?  I really don't want to lose you.”

Observing the worried and concerned expression on the sailorman’s face, the mermaid squeezed his hand and replied confidentally, “You are my boatman; the boatman I was supposed to meet at the end of my journey.  I have faith in you and am confiident you'll come up with the correct name.  Don't worry, please tell me the name sweet boatman; what's the name you've chosen.”

The sailorman sighed deeply, “When we're lying on the deck like this evening, a slight breeze blowing across our bodies, I sometimes feel your long hair flowing lightly across my face.  It reminds me of a crashing wave hurled against the rocks, the fine, gentle spray feeling much like your hair.  The name I have chosen is…is…I really don't want to say it.”

Taking both the sailorman’s hands in hers, she shut her eyes and smiled, “Come on boatman; don't be afraid; tell me the name you've chosen.”

Squeezing her hands tightly he quietly replied, “Spray.” 

Nothing out of the ordinary occurred, except the two large red gems on the mermaid’s glasses appeared to glow for a moment; perhaps a trick of the eye or the play of moonlight caused by the boat’s motion upon the constantly moving undulating sea.  Looking downwards, he could still see the mermaid's iridescent scales shining in the moon glow; the fish tail, still a prominent part of her body.  A single tear trickled out of the corner of his eye and slowly flowed down his cheek.

The mermaid, noticing the silent tear, evidence of his love for her, kissed him on the forehead and then licked the tear away with the tip of her tongue.

The next morning, at the crack of dawn, the sun not yet peering over the evergrees growing on the island, the sailorman stood on the deck and looked out towards the rocks.  He couldn't see the mermaid but knew she was near; such was their special bond.  Although he already knew which name he would guess when evening arrived, he still needed to take Misty to the island and think some more about his choice because he realized, if this was not her name, only one last chance remained.  It didn’t matter that they were together for a very short time; he felt deep within his core they had been purposely drawn together, seemingly destined for each other.  He couldn’t visualize the mermaid not being an integral part of his life; she was as necessary as the air he breathed.

As the sailorman slowly rowed to the island, he kept scanning the sea’s surface searching for the beautiful mermaid’s head to appear, but all he could see was the occasional small whitecap sparkling in the morning sun.  Nosing the dinghy towards the usual spot, not waiting for it to stop, Misty easily leapt to the shore and immediately began investigating the fresh scents.  After tying the boat to the arbutus tree, he stood for a moment and took one last look out to sea before disappearing into the dense forest. 

THE MERMAID AND THE BOATMAN - Part 3

WIN a $25.00 VISA Card by guessing the name of the mermaid.  Only people subscribing to my Newsletter or "followers" are allowed to enter.  Only one guess per person allowed.   Email your guess to dreaminsailorman@hotmail.com  Should there be more than one correct answer, the winner's names  will be put into a hat and the first name drawn is the winner.  Family members are allowed to guess a name too but they are not elegible to win the prize - sorry. 

The days seemed to be fuller, now that the sailorman had a woman, at least half a woman in his life.  She even helped out during a storm when the anchor began dragging; she dove down and reset it in a more secure location.  Sometimes, when they knew no other boats were around, she would come aboard the sailboat and lay on the roof of the cabin under the main boom.  Because of her long tail and the distinct aroma of fish, it took a little time for her to gain Misty’s confidence.  She enjoyed petting the friendly little dog but she had not yet touched the man.  She wanted to and sensed that he felt the same, but held back because she was afraid their time together might not be very long.

The boatman (as she affectionately called him) and the mermaid hadn’t discussed his attempting to guess her name but with winter storms approaching before too long, it would soon be time for him to sail south.  However, that wasn’t really a problem, because as long as the boat was anchored in a secluded area, away from prying eyes, she could still be with him as much as it was possible under the circumstances. 

One afternoon, the sailorman, which was somewhat of a daily routine, dove off the sailboat into the chilly water.  The mermaid was there to greet him.  Usually they just chased and splashed one another, much to Misty’s dismay having been left out.  However, this time, instead of keeping his distance, the sailorman reached for her hands and drew her close.  She smiled as he embraced her and said, “I feel our first kiss will be more natural if we are in the water.”  The kiss was just as they both imagined, soft and loving.

That evening under the stars and full moon, the sailorman and the mermaid cuddled on the deck for the first time.  They both spoke at once and laughed.  He was about to speak again, but she pressed her finger against his lips saying, “No.  Me first.”

Brushing a lock of hair away from the sailorman’s eyes, the mermaid softly said,  “Did you know that I had my eye on you right from the first time you heaved the anchor into the bay?  I watched you walking Misty along the seaside, when you went fishing by the rocks and as you were lying on the deck.  I could tell you had a good heart; that you were the one I'd allow to guess my name.  I'd met other sailors over the years but they weren’t satisfied with me as a woman, only thought about the riches of capturing someone as unique as I; they were not my special boatman.  You're not concerned about money or the fact that I am somewhat of a freak, you only care for my well-being.  I know you have to leave here very soon and I want to go with you, not as a mermaid but as your woman.  I've been thinking, since three seems to be something of a magical number to my tragic predicament, I want you to try guessing my name over the next three days.”

The sailorman looked at her, sadness filling his eyes.  “There are millions of names, the chances of my choosing the right one would be an utter miracle.  I've been racking my brains for sometime now trying to come up with a good name.  The only oneI know it isn’t, is Priscilla.  I can't take the chance of guessing your name and losing you forever.  I'd sooner be with you as you are now, part fish, than not at all.  Please don’t ask me to guess your name.”

Bathed in moonlight, the mermaid and the boatman gently touched each other; a lingering kiss followed by another and another expressing their love.  Entwined in each other’s arms, they slept through the night.

In the morning, just before the sailorman took Misty ashore, the mermaid stressed, “Boatman, I want you to think of a name today and tell me this evening.  What will it hurt?  You have three guesses; the first two names you select, if you're wrong, will change nothing; we'll still be together.  Promise me you'll give it some thought anyway.”

Before climbing into the dinghy, the sailorman took her into his arms, kissed her cheek lightly and whispered in her ear, “I promise, I'll give it some thought.”

While walking on the island, the little dog at his heels unconcerned with his predicament, the sailorman arrived at a place he particularly liked.  High on a cliff, the ocean waves crashing far below, off in the distance he could see the sailboat and the white foamy swirls around the rocks where he first met the mermaid.  He never expected to find love here, but sometimes when a person least expects it; love arrives.  And once in love, there are choices to be made, some times very tough decisions, like the one he was facing now.  Should I let her go, be with her friends the dolphins and other sea creatures, perhaps meet another boatman who would willingly guess her name or should I take the plunge, he thought?

The sailorman sat down on a mossy rock and closed his eyes. He could hear the waves below, the birds in the forest and Misty gnawing on a small stick.  Attempting to erase all emotional content, remembering what she had told him about the spell cast upon her, he was thinking any sorcerer worth his salt would give clues.  Why a mermaid; why hadn't he changed her into a rat or a toad and why the possibility of becoming a whole woman again?  There had to be clues!  Perhaps the name pertains to the sea, which seems logical he thought.  Names like Pearl and Coral came to mind but they seemed a little too obvious.

That night, under a starry sky, the sea glittering like diamonds, the mermaid and the boatman held each other.  They could feel the boat being slightly rocked by the waves heading towards the shore, each one bringing them closer to decision time.  He'd been putting off guessing her name, hoping she'd let it pass, but he knew this was just wishful thinking on his part.  Gazing into her eyes, the extraordinary oversized spectacles casting shadows on her cheeks, feeling the warmth of her body next to his, she softly said, “The time has come.  I know you've been thinking very hard about my name today.  I hope you came up with a good one.”

THE MERMAID AND THE BOATMAN - Part 2

WIN a $25.00 VISA Card by guessing the name of the mermaid.  Only people subscribing to my Newsletter or "followers" are allowed to enter.  Only one guess per person allowed.   Email your guess to dreaminsailorman@hotmail.com  Should there be more than one correct answer, the winner's names  will be put into a hat and the first name drawn is the winner.  Family members are allowed to guess a name too but they are not elegible to win the prize - sorry.  

The sailorman couldn’t believe his eyes; clinging to the side of the dinghy was the most extraordinarily beautiful woman he had ever seen.  As she smiled up at him; hazel eyes mischievously sparkling in the sunlight, her long, curly black hair cascading down across her shoulders framing her roundish face and slightly prominent chin, he couldn’t help noticing she was wearing glasses, the most outlandishly garish pair he had ever seen.   The wide turquoise frames, which extended well past the side of her head were studded with numerous precious jewels and two very large red stones.

“Hello,” he stammered.  “Where did you come from?  Are you from the sailboat over on the other side of the island?”

The woman's eyes never left his as she continued smiling, slowly shaking her head from side to side.      

The sailorman, mesmerized by the woman's beauty and for reasons beyond his realm, felt instantly drawn to her.  Somewhat confused by her silent reply, he asked, “Well if you aren't from that sailboat, are you on another boat that's anchored nearby?” 

Shaking her head again, her sultry voice sounding as smooth as velvet she said,  “I am not from any boat, this is where I live.”

“You mean on the island?  But I have walked its entirety, exploring every nook and cranny; I've never seen a dwelling of any kind.”

Still smiling, brushing aside a curl on her forehead, she teasingly replied, “No, not on the island.  Here – I live right here.”

“That’s impossible!” he quipped.

“I don’t suppose you would believe me, if I told you I was a mermaid.” 

Judging by the smirk on the sailorman’s face, she continued, “I thought not, but it is so.  I was one of many passengers on a large sailing vessel many, many years ago; we were traveling to a far off land to begin new lives.  As the voyage progressed, a young handsome man made amorous advances towards me, eventually asking me to marry him.  I told him it was not possible, that I was going to meet a mystery boatman, fall in love and live happily ever after.  I remember him laughing, an almost villainous expression on his face when he commanded, ‘You sound like some princess out of a fairytale; you will marry no one but me.’   When I refused again, he flew into a rage, spinning on his heels, the long cape he was wearing swirling around, completely engulfing his whole body.  After his tantrum subsided, he pointed his walking stick at my face and said in a very cold and eerie voice, ‘So you won’t marry me; let it be so.’  He laughed again, a most hideous laugh and seemed to go into a trance, drawing circles in the air with his walking stick.  I can still hear his words, ‘Circle once, circle twice, circle thrice and add some spice.  She desires a boatman, not me.  If that is the scenario, then let it be.’  He seemed to be talking in rhymes and at this point I found him very amusing, couldn’t stop myself from laughing at him.  He didn’t seem to care anymore as he ranted on, ‘Her name is Priscilla but never more.  That and other things, I’ve sealed the door.  She thinks she’s a beauty, a real dish.  And you still are, except now, you’re half fish.’  And when he said that, I fell to the deck because my legs were gone, in their place was a long fish tail.  I begged him to stop and make me whole once again, but he only laughed harder at my misery.  He said, ‘Don’t despair, the spell can be broken, but only by your boatman, the one and only boatman, your very special boatman.  To break the spell and turn you back into Priscilla, he will have to guess the name I give you, and he is allowed only three guesses.  And in all fairness my dear, I should mention, if you tell anyone the name I’ve given you, anyone at all or if the boatman doesn’t guess your name in three attempts, you will spend the remainder of your days as a total fish.’  And just before throwing me overboard, he stuck these ridiculously annoying, gem-studded glasses on my nose saying, ‘For your boatman, in case all he really wants is the jewels, he’ll have to take your head because they cannot be removed until the spell is broken.’   So here I am boatman, yours for the taking if you can guess my name.”

The sailorman chuckled, “I love stories and it’s a great story you told me, but you don’t really expect me to believe it do you.  If you're a mermaid, then I’m King Neptune.”

The beautiful woman raised one eyebrow and smiled an impish smile before slipping beneath the sea.  The sailorman waited for her to surface and after some minutes went by, he began to worry.  It wasn’t possible for someone to hold their breath for that long, she must be hiding on the other side of the rocks laughing at me, he thought.  Just then, the reel began to sing, a fish had taken the bait.  Grabbing the rod, he began reeling it in.  Judging by the strength it took to slowly wind up the line, he figured a huge fish; perhaps a halibut had taken the lure.  As his muscles strained on the reel, sweat trickling down his forehead, collecting in his mustache and beard; he could see what looked like a large fish slowly emerging from the murky depths of the sea.  However, he could scarce believe his eyes when the woman’s face suddenly appeared, her hands holding onto the line. 

“You still don’t believe I’m a mermaid, do you?”  And on saying that, disappeared once again beneath the waves.  However, instead of remaining under the water for a long period of time, she exploded from the depths of the sea, instantaneously soaring through the air!   

It’s not possible he thought, but there she was, her beautiful smile, long curly hair covering much of her breasts and voluptuous body – unbelievably converging into a long, flowing fish tail, as much out of place as her outrageous spectacles!  

After swimming around the dinghy, playfully splashing the sailorman for a short while, she returned and looked up at him, her smile melting his unbelief, his utter astonishment. 

“I don’t know what to say.  You…you…you’re actually a mermaid – a real live, living mermaid!  It’s not possible!  But here you are, part human and part fish.” 

She nodded her head.  “Yes.  Afraid so.  I’m a real live mermaid.”

“And I can see by your eyes, that you weren’t kidding; the tale you told me about being turned into a fish, well at least half a fish, was actually the truth.” 

“Yes, I always tell the truth.”

THE MERMAID AND THE BOATMAN

WIN a $25.00 VISA Card by guessing the name of the mermaid.  Only people subscribing to my Newsletter or "followers" are allowed to enter.  Only one guess per person allowed.   Email your guess to dreaminsailorman@hotmail.com  Should there be more than one correct answer, the winner's names  will be put into a hat and the first name drawn is the winner.  Family members are allowed to guess a name too but they are not elegible to win the prize - sorry. 

Near a misty isle in a quiet bay a sailboat slowly swung at anchor, light zephyrs playfully puffing through the stays and shrouds.  Sitting in the cockpit catching the last rays of the setting summer sun was a sailorman and his little dog.  As much as he enjoyed this solitude, the serenity and peacefulness, an almost idyllic setting away from the busy antics of civilization, he missed having a special woman in his life.  Times like this, a loneliness pervaded his being to the very core, making him wonder if he shouldn’t perhaps change his ways somewhat, as he didn’t think his lifestyle was too conducive for most women’s needs.

As he pondered the joys only a woman can give a man, the wind tousling his curly blonde hair clustered about his swarthy countenance, he and the slumbering dog curled alongside him were suddenly startled by a loud splash and a shower of splattering seawater.  The dog, its nape bristling defiantly, leaped to the deck’s edge growling and barking while the sailor quickly turned his head to see what had disturbed the evening’s tranquility.  Judging by the size of the ripples, he knew that whatever had made the splash had to be quite large.  Standing up, shading his dark brown eyes from the setting sun, he scanned the water’s surface surrounding the boat hoping to catch a glimpse of the mystery sea denizen and perhaps identifying it.  Suddenly, another loud splash sounded directly behind them, spraying them once again with seawater!  However, this time, when he quickly turned to investigate the splash, within the bubbly wake, he caught sight of a very large fish tail disappearing into the sea’s shadowy depths.

After a short period of time searching the sea’s calm surface, satisfied with at least the knowledge the fish wasn’t large enough to cause any damage to the boat, the sailor once again sat down.  The little dog, its dark brown eyes shining, tail wagging furiously despite its white hair streaked with seawater, continued circling the deck.  Occasionally stopping to sniff the air, it was still unconvinced that whatever caused the disturbance, remained nearby ready to splash them again should they let their guard down.  However, sensing the returned calmness of his friend, the dog strutted back to the boat’s cockpit and lay down on a cushion, resting its head between its paws.

Watching the blood red sun disappearing below the horizon, as if the sea was slowly swallowing it, his thoughts returned to the memory, the joys and benefits of having a woman in his life.  Although several women had lived onboard his boat over the years, they soon grew dissatisfied with the romantic illusion, going back to their more normal existence, having the comforts of a house, a job’s steady security.  Where are all the adventurous women he wondered, the basic ones without a need for so much, somewhat like himself, society’s self proclaimed outcast.

The brilliant red evening sky faded to golden pinks and lavenders, slowly mingling with night’s approaching indigo speckled with sparkling stars, each wink a joy to behold.  Nature’s beauty never ceased to amaze the silent sailorman as he watched the universe unfurl above him, a masterful creation.  Running his slender fingers through his thick curly hair, he yawned deeply, stood up and stretched.  Taking one last look around, as if expecting another loud splash, he pushed the hatch cover forward and descended down the stairs to the cozy cabin below, the little dog following at his heels.

Early next morning, just as the sun topped the trees, the sailorman gently lowered the dog into the dinghy that was tied alongside the sailboat and then carefully stepped down, untying the simple knots securing it.  The dog sat at the stern as he slipped the oars into the oarlocks and pushed away, rowing towards a nearby island to begin their usual walk along the beach and deer trail winding through the forest.  A slight breeze blew out of the northwest and the sun shone warmly on his back as the oars dipped into the sea, stroke after stroke, drawing them constantly nearer to the shore.  When the boat was about to run aground, the little dog jumped down from its seat at the back of the boat, ducked under his arm and positioned herself at the bow, its tail furiously wagging in anticipation.  When the boat touched the sandy shore, the dog leaped off the dinghy and began inquisitively sniffing the soggy terrain and tall grasses growing on the beach.

After lashing the dinghy to the smooth red trunk of an arbutus tree angling out just above the sea’s surface, the sailorman pushed through the undergrowth and climbed a short distance to a trail that skirted the sandy beach.  Noticing the dog was no where to be seen, he called her name, “Misty.”  Beneath the green, leafy salal shrubs he could see a white streak rushing towards him.  As he waited for her, he looked out at his boat gently rocking with the tide.  He felt good to be alive, enjoying the pungent damp odor of the rainforest, the rustling sounds of leaves and the music of tiny songsters flitting through the trees.  Early morning was the best time of day to him, the awakening of life, like being born again. 

As they meandered through the forest, the sailorman kicked at some of the pinecones strewn along the path, Misty happily retrieving them.  The feisty little dog would occasionally chase a deer if they suddenly came across one, but even a small red-breasted robin, should the bird stand its ground, was safe from harm, such was her gentle nature.  Upon reaching a meadow covered with an abundance of colourful wildflowers and tall slender grasses swaying in the breeze overlooking the sea, he noticed a sailboat anchored in the cove that hadn’t been there the previous day.  Several people could be seen relaxing on deck, most likely enjoying their morning coffee.  He casually waved to them as he passed by, before vanishing once again into the verdant forest. 

About an hour into the walk, they reached the other side of the island, the sandy beach still wet and glistening in the morning sunshine.  The sailorman leisurely combed the shoreline searching for small treasures that may have floated in with the tide and became trapped between the many rocks and tangled driftwood littering the beach.  Not finding anything of interest, he and the little dog headed back into the forest and cut across the centre of the island, soon returning where they began, the dinghy, now high and dry because of the falling tide.  After dragging and pushing the boat a short distance to the sea’s edge, Misty leapt into the bow, quickly followed by the sailor.  While rowing back to the sailboat, he decided to get his fishing gear and jig for cod off a group of rocky islets situated a little further out to sea.

Since it was going to be a hot day, the sailorman left Misty behind to escape the heat.  He watched her running back and forth along the deck wanting to join him as he rowed towards the tiny islands.  As much as he didn’t like to leave her behind, he knew she would soon settle down, curl up in the shade and snooze until his return.  He enjoyed the roll of the undulating sea as he rowed, seagulls soaring and dipping overhead, not a cloud in the sky.  Before long, the sound of breaking waves told him the rocky obstacles were very near.  Looking over his shoulder, he maneuvered the dinghy to the lea side of the largest islet jutting out of the blue-green sea.  The only notable sign of life on its rocky brow was a small bent and twisted tree which had been formed by the unrelenting wind.  

Upon reaching the desired location, the sailorman deftly attached a lure, shaped somewhat like a tiny fish, to the fishing line.  Carefully tossing the hook over the side, listening to the whir of the reel, he watched it quickly vanish until it hit bottom.  While adjusting the line to the desired depth, the boat suddenly dipped down on an erratic angle almost upsetting him.  “What the…!” he exclaimed.

To be continued...

POSSIBLE NEW CONTEST - Anyone interested?

I'm considering having another contest with a $25.00 Visa Card Prize.  Instead of guessing who the murderer was like the last contest, you have to guess the Mermaid's name in The Mermaid and the Boatman, a short story I wrote some time ago.  The same rules will apply as the first contest - only one guess per person and only the people who join my Newsletter are eligible; except for family members - I don't think anyone would figure the contest was very honest if my wife or kids won - so they aren't eligible.  Let me know via Blog, email or Face Book if you would like to read the story and participate in the contest.  Cheers - eh!

WILL SHE OR WON'T SHE

Will She or Won't She

           A mermaid is a supernatural, legendary vixen of the sea.  The upper portion of the body consists of a beautiful woman and the lower portion is that of a fish.  Traditionally, mermaids, besides being very beautiful, also had melodious voices, which was a definite turn on to a bunch of scruffy sailors jammed together for long periods of time at sea without any female companions; it's no wonder they ran their ships into the rocks trying to reach one of those gorgeous sirens.  No one seems to know how they came into existence; sort of like the chicken and the egg; which came first, the woman or the fish?  And, what if the top portion had been a fish rather than a woman - I wonder how many sailors would have been interested in listening to a fish croon, "I'm forever blowing bubbles."

          Undoubtedly mesmerized by the mermaid's long brilliant red hair, rosy red cheeks and ruby lips, not to mention her voluptuous, enormous breasts, the captain of the Macho has unwittingly allowed the mermaid to tie a line to his ship.  Because of his suave good looks, he imagines himselft to be irrisistable, a real lady killer - if he only knew!  Instead of holding a bottle of wine and posies in his hand to woo the mermaid, he should be clasping a sword so he can sever the line because Will She or Won't She destroy his ship by whipping it into the ominous moon?

          The clown fish isn't concerned about the captain's fate; just figures he's another clown that's been captivated and must have forgotten or perhaps been overly smitten, beguiled and enamored by the sensual womanly attributes displayed before him that he's failed to realize women have most men wrapped around their little fingers. 

          The mermaid depicted in Will She or Won't She is a characterization of my wife Sarah.  And like the captain; on our first date, I showed up with a huge bottle of red wine (skipped the flowers) and boy, did we have fun!

          Not sure how many people are interested in mermaids but if you've already read this far, you might be interested in reading a poem I wrote, which was based on a true story that I'd heard about while living on my sailboat.  And then again, perhaps like fishermen; sailors have long tales to tell as well.  However, as the story goes, the owner of a small sailboat was in need of a person to help sail his boat to Hawaii and he put the word out.  A seasoned sailor agreed to go with him most of the way, which seemed unusual, since there are no islands between Vancouver Island and Hawaii.  As their voyage progressed the sailor told the captain that they were nearing his destination and he would have to leave soon - he was going to marry a dolphin.  The captain thought he was of course joking.  However, after waking up after taking a nap one afternoon, when he came up on deck, the sailor had vanished.  Since there was barely any wind, the sailboat was just poking along, if the sailor had fallen overboard, he could easily have climbed back on.  Either he drowned in the middle of the Pacific Ocean searching for his beloved dolphin or he married one - perhaps that's how mermaids are created.

The Siren and the Sailor

Har!  C'me 'ere and set a spell,
'Cause this old salty dog o' the sea
Has a yarn to spin, a tale to tell
That'll keep yuh in awe and ecstasy.

'Twas a clear night such as this,
A sliver of a moon in the sky,
The sea as flat as a plate of piss;
That I heard a maiden's melancholy cry.

At first I thought it a trick,
A light breeze through the riggin' and sails;
So I gives meself a good hard kick,
But I 'ears it again, 'er mournful wails.

It sounds as if she's cryin'
Alone, adrift on the endless sea;
A castaway on a raft dyin'
'Til I hears 'er voice call clear to me.

I squinted through the darkness
Across the star reflected sea;
I'll be blow'd!  For off in the blarkness
Stood an isle and its maid o' mystery!

Voice as soft as an angel's,
She hallooed out to me by name.
Agin me logic, agin me will,
I steered the boat closer to test 'er game.

I could scarce believe me e'e!
She sat stark naked on a rock;
Smilin', 'er long arms outstretched to me
Beckonin', "come ashore an' 'ave a wee talk."

Tell me.  Do I look like a fool?
On second thought, don't answer that;
Not 'til on the tale I've thrown more fuel,
Don't make y'ur final rule on this chat.

I ached for those slender arms,
Her coquettish smile of desire;
To be enveloped within her charms;
Set my body, my very soul afire!

She promised love ever more;
Days of laughter, nights of pleasure;
Even marriage by the seashore,
One I could trust an' forever more treasure.

As the vessel neared the shore
Close to imminent disaster,
A silent voice deep within my core
Said, "Wait!  What's the rush?  Y'ur still the master!"

Turnin' 'er hard back on course
I yelled, "One day, I will return!"
Instantly overcome with remorse,
I never chanced a look back o'er the stern.

In the darkness of the night
I heered 'er melancholy plea.
"Oh sailor, sailor, why take flight?
I'll always love you.  Please come back to me."

Those words, "I'll always love you."
Have haunted me o'er the years;
"Please come back to me."  Tis sad but true,
I gave up love in search of other spheres.

The captain looked mad to me,
Quite completely out of his realm;
As he stood starin' 'cross the sea,
One hand o'er his eyes, t' other at the helm.

He was dressed in tux an' tails,
A silken scarf about his throat,
His starched shirt gleamin' white as the sails
Flapped loosely in the breeze below his coat.

For awhile he was silent,
And then, almost in a whisper,
"Mate!  Do you hear that soulful lament?
There!  There!  Now it sounds a little crisper.

Listen!  She's callin' me name.
Step lively mate!  Take holt this spoke!"
No sooner did I grab hold the same,
He was over the side doin' the stroke.

As he swam away he said,
"If yuh want the longytude,
It's under the pillow on me bed
Written side b' side with the lattytude."

"Hah!  As if I'd come back here.
This place is a source of madness.
But wait!  What's that sound, that lilt I hear?
Can it be my name, sung with such sadness?"

TOASTING KING NEPTUNE

              My mother, bless her soul, introduced me to beer, one fine, hot summer day on the banks of the Fraser River, near a place called Woodpecker, BC.  We were visiting my grandfolks who had traveled, via foot and stagecoach, from North Carolina and had carved out a homestead in the wildnerness of north central BC.  When I was a boy and a teenager, I often stayed there during my summer holidays - oh how I loved their place - it's quite similar to where I live now - moose, deer and black bear often seen crossing the meadow in front of our house.  Another homestead adjacent to my grandfolk's farm was owned by a man by the name of Len Lutz, a recluse, a returning soldier from the horrors of WWII and that's where my mother took me on that fine, hot summer day.  

             When we arrived at Len Lutz's place, he was down at the edge of the Fraser River about to climb into a small aluminum skiff.  He asked my mom if we would like to accompany him across the river just for something to do.  The Fraser is a powerful river; not a slow meandering river by any means and as soon as we left the bank, the little gas outboard motor really had to work hard to keep the boat from being swept away by the current.  As we were crossing the river, Len Lutz, perhaps to keep our minds off the danger surrounding us, told us about a game warden who caught him poaching salmon.  It seems that while he was pulling his fish net in, a ranger arrived from upstream in a boat and was talking about having him arrested for poaching.  I can still see Len Lutz's twinkly eyes and big grin when he told us, (apparently he had a rifle during this encounter) "You should have seen that game warden hightail it out of here when I said there aint nobody here but you and me and if I fill your boat full of holes, then there will only be me." 

            After nudging the skiff ashore and tying it securely to a large tree that was lodged high and dry on a sandy beach after it had drifted down the river with the melting snow and ice, Len Lutz, carrying a six pack of cold bears, led us to a shady spot, where we stretched out on the cool sand.  After he offered my mom a beer, he asked, since I was underage, if it was alright for me to have one.  If I shut my eyes, I can almost see my mother, lying on the sand with her back propped up against a log, hear the cap being popped off and feel the cold bottle of beer in my hand - it was a joyous occasion.  Almost every time since then, when I pop the cap, tilt the bottle back and feel the beer bite into my throat and taste its wonderful flavor, it take me back to that sandy beach where I first shared a bottle of beer with my mom and Len Lutz.

            Now I'm thinking, since I never saw Len Lutz pour a little beer into the river and toast Neptune for safe passage that he must have done so because three people sitting in that tiny skiff, the Fraser River, almost to the top of the gunnels, roaring by, we made it across the river and back without so much as a drop of water dribbling over the sides.  And that's what Toasting King Neptune is all about - safe passage.

  TOASTING KING NEPTUNE

Toasting King Neptune, is based on a sailing tradition more than actual fact.  One would think that a killer whale, a hammerhead shark or some other powerful sea denizen like a giant squid would have been more appropriate for the prow of the ship instead of a horse; a purple horse to boot; who's ever heard of or seen a purple horse?   However, as Roman mythology decrees, Neptune (god of the sea) and brother of Jupiter (originally god of springs and streams) became identified with the Greek god of the sea, Poseidon, another name which he goes by, probably an a.k.a. so his creditors have a hard time finding him.  He diligently squabbled and fought Thor for control of the Earth.  And, as it turned out, they both won, which is very unusual, since one side or the other usually wins a war.  However, in this case, since neither lost, they decided to split the Earth into two categories; Poseidon became the ruler of the water and Thor, the ruler of the land. 

  However, unbeknownst to Thor, Neptune camouflaged himself with mud and often snuck ashore at night and it was during one of those times, he created the horse – now a sea horse is somewhat believable - but a horse!  Legend doesn't state how he created the horse and it might be better if we never know; sometimes too much information isn't good; especially with the visions I have running rampant through my mind.  So, instead of a sea creature gracing the front of his ship, one of his horses volunteered.   

And who’s the happy guy guzzling bottles of grog in the dinghy, which is attached to King Neptune’s ship Poseidon?  What can I say?  Ships need crew and he volunteered.  As it so happens, there’s a ritual that sailors enjoy, really enjoy; toasting King Neptune to keep the seas from raging!  Whenever a ship crosses the equator or other latitudes of note, such as the Tropic of Cancer, Tropic of Capricorn, Arctic Circle and Antarctic Circle, sailors not only knock back a dram of grog themselves, but also pour one into the sea to ask King Neptune for safe passage.  So, as you can imagine, the little fellow in the dinghy is delightfully smashed since King Neptune is continually circling the Earth, crossing all the necessary latitudes.

Besides the empty bottles of booze drifting behind the dinghy, a clown fish can be seen.  Not sure if it's sipping the last dregs remaining in the bottles of grog or if like us; just another clown, wondering what the hell is going on. 

            I've personally, having been a sailor for part of my life, toasted King Neptune on several occasions for safe passage across his domain.  I'm not superstitious by any means but thanking God or other gods can't hurt - why take the chance on pissing something off that's greater than myself.  When I felt the oceans breathing under me and the movement they create - what's one less dram of rum?  Here's to King Neptune!  

THE RACE IS ON

Spring is almost here!  However, snow is still somewhat abundant around our home at the base of Green Mountain, its depth only halfway up my shins rather than almost to my armpits.  Hmm, perhaps I shouldn't be too optimistic about spring arriving just yet, especially since the weatherman just declared, "more snow".  And then again, while out walking with a couple of friends on Saturday morning, not only did I see a flock of red-winged blackbirds - but the true harbingers of spring - a host of red-breasted robbins bobbing about a field, which only had patches of white snow clinging tenaciously to the flattened yellow grass.  I'm not sure if the crocuses are brave enough to poke their heads up yet or the black bears are rubbing the sleep from their eyes with their big paws but I feel a cheerfulness in the air, another yearly renaissance about to occur.

If only we could start the year over brand new; have a whole new beginning; correct any wrongs of the previous year or better yet, many, many previous years beforehand, to be able to make this world as beautiful and pristine as it once existed.  

The people in my painting, The Race is On had such a chance; a chance to create a whole new world; well perhaps the word "create" is not the correct word, since North America was already in existence.  However, if the so called founders had been intelligent enough and not so greedy, they had a chance to right so many wrongs that were occuring from whence they came.  Imagine just for a moment, discovering a whole new planet similar to the Earth - no, forget about it - the caregivers of the planet would be far outnumberd by the arrival of the bankers, the merchants, the lawyers, the royalty, the dictators, the military and every other blessed entrepreneur who could carve a buck out of it until the planet was just another disgraceful dying cesspool - thank the good Lord, we really can't get too far off this planet or the whole freakin' universe would be in dire jeopardy.

The Race is On          

At first glance, The Race is On appears to be just that – three jolly fellows racing about the universe in their very unusual space craft.  However, if one looks a little closer and places the numbers located on the wings in the correct sequence, they become the year 1492, the time when Christopher Columbus discovered the new world, which of course was much to the surprise of the people who had already been living there thousands of years beforehand.   

Now Chrissy boy was either very foolish or very brave to set sail in search of new lands, especially since many people of that era believed the world was as flat as a pancake and they would plunge off the edge, never to be seen again.  I don't believe Columbus sailed for glory or fame; it was more for money and position he was after.  However, upon returning; he received nothing – no real accolades of any kind.  A person would think that Queen Isabella, as she sat on her Spanish throne having her nails manicured, her hair coifed and being fed sweet chocolates while Chrissy boy struggled to keep his three leaky ships, the Santa Maria, the Pinta and the Nina afloat and the crews from mutinying, he would have at least received a big thank you for his efforts – but no - he received diddly-zilch!  Sort of typical, when you think about it,  Even today,  many of the rich still send the poorer folk out with very little in the way of resources in hopes that they will make them even richer.  Ah, the world and how it turns; or is it the stomach?

Take notice of the gold key, the fishhook and the anchor that are attached to the ships; a touch of symbolic reasoning for many explorers.  The gold key represents the treasures they hoped to discover; the fishhook for catching food during their voyage and the anchor – one may ask what’s so unusual about a ship having an anchor?  The anchor represents the fact, that even though Chrissy boy actually discovered a whole brand new land far, far away from home on the other side of the world; he was still sadly anchored to the same beliefs he had left behind in his wake.  Perhaps, upon his arrival in the new world, if he had been smarter, he would have tried to fit into another way of life instead of sailing back to good old Queen Issy.  And then again, queens are queens, politicians are politicians and bosses are still bosses, so even if he had remained in the new land, conditions would most likely have been very similar in that respect; after all, the new land was full of chiefs and more chiefs.   

Incidentally, we always hear about Chrissy boy, but has anyone ever wondered who the other two captains were on the other ships that accompanied him and how about the names of the crew?  After all, good old Christopher Columbus would never have reached the shores of the new world without them unless he had one hell of a back stroke and the sharks didn't find him very appetizing.

Besides the different coloured horses, which have absolutely no meaning at all, except other than we all on one occasion or another ride on someone's back, there's a little clown fish swimming gleefully behind.  And no, he is not Nemo and neither is he in search of Nemo - he's just a clown fish - like us, just another clown trying to get through life with as little misery as possible.

Just in case anyone is crazy about the painting or is perhaps just crazy and has loads of money - The Race is On is for sale - cheers - eh!

JAPAN

As I sit here warm and comfy in my studio at the computer, sunlight streaming through the windows and glinting off the melting snow; I'm somewhat shaken by what I've just seen in regards to the earthquake and tsunami, which struck Japan with more force than the atom bomb that exploded on Hiroshima during WWII.  And, depending on whether or not the Japanese can get a handle on their damaged nuclear facilities; the leaking radiation may take even more of a toll.  I know I shouldn't be laughing; it's hardly humorous; but when I think about the scientists and engineers that erect these deadly edifices and consider the possibility of a natural disaster such as an earthquake or a tsunami, they really don't have any idea about the amount of power, which can be generated and unleashed at any moment by our planet Earth.

Mankind is so fickle to believe that we can control or withstand the fury that Nature can unleash; I swear our ego must be inflated from methane that escapes our anal cavity via invisible tubes, which are attached from our asses to our brains.  I have sailed across the vast North Pacific Ocean aboard a tiny sailboat, which in comparison to a flea on a dog's back would not even be as large in size.  We sailed among rolling 30' waves and when the boat was down amidst the troughs; moving walls of water, higher than the top of the mast, surrounding us, the power and strength of the sea could not be ignored; I was humbled.  The Titanic is a good example of our stupidity when they said it was "unsinkable".  Imagine that; unsinkable; the sheer stupidity of such a statement is astounding.  Our planet, and there are obvious clues strewn about the Earth to remind us just how fragile our existence is; dinosaurs, larger than any species of animals that now roam in their footsteps, which were once prolific; no longer exist.  Something more dangerous and powerful than what hit the coast of Japan once enveloped our world and destroyed most everything.  And what worries me, is whatever catastrophe occurred then, will most likely happen again.

As my eyes took in the completely devastated Japanese villages and towns; people poking through the rubble in search of loved ones; not even being able to recognize the streets they once lived on, let alone their dwellings; I closed my eyes for a few moments and realized that even though I'm safe and sound; in a moment, a blink of the eye; everything that is important to me: family, home and environment could suddenly disappear.  I'm not sure that I would want to be a survivor if that were to happen - just moving across Canada at the age of soon to be 70, realizing that the likelihood of never seeing good friends and loved ones again on the other side, was traumatic enough.  The adjustment from living on Vancouver Island to now living at the base of Green Mountain in New Brunswick has been relatively easy but the adjustments of the Japanese survivors, who escaped with only the clothes they were wearing; I can't even imagine how difficult it would be.

I tried imagining myself in such a tragic position; my clothes soaking wet, scrabbling through the muck and busted building that was once my home, trying to dig my wife and kids out if they hadn't been washed away by the tsunami; and not finding them.  Sitting on my haunches, swaying back and forth, teary eyes looking up at the heavens, wondering why I was spared and where to go from there must be truly bewildering.  No longer any shelter, nothing to drink or eat; no smiles nor even a family argument to make you feel as if you were still in the land of the living.  Despair after such an enormous catastrophe must weigh like the weight of the world on one's shoulders - thankful to be still alive - yet wondering if life would soon end and would it be worthwhile if one did manage to survive.  Imagine, standing alone in the dripping wet ruins; no other survivors nearby; no communication whatsoever - one might well imagine that what happened to them, happened the world over.  What would you do?  What would I do under those circumstances?  Let us hope and pray that never occurs.  And yet, as I learn on a daily basis about the ice melting, oceans rising, crops failing, rivers and lakes being polluted, forests disappearing, unable to breathe the air and the extinction of yet another species of life; the earthquake and tsunami that destroyed a fair amount of Japan seems like a mere drop of rain in the valley of hope or should I say hopelessness.

I have no idea if any of the people who read this Blog are Japanese, but if so, I would like to extend my deepest sympathy for your losses and to anyone else who has survived such a Holocaust - may your God bless.

POETRY ANYONE?

After the tense sexual drama, raw violence and ugly words that were used to creat  Interview With a Hooker, which incidentally was completely fictional, I've calmed down.  Besides short stories, I sometimes dabble with poetry - not that it's easier to write but sometimes what I have on my mind doesn't take paragraphs to explain - just a few chosen words are just as effective.  

I am saddened by the sad condition our world is in and whether or not it dies before I do, either way I have loved it.  Although I have tried not to leave any heavy foot prints from my being here, I know that I've failed.  Like many, we all blame big business and politics for the blatant failures that are staring us in the face as we watch our world die; a scrap heap: the legacy for our children, but we don't have to look any further than ourselves to know that we are just as guilty.  To think the human race is intelligent and we are in God's image; how absurd is that thinking; what a fallacy - talk about an over-inflated ego.  I've been called a cynic many times but I'm not a cynic.  I've been called negative many times but I'm not negative.  I've been called a dreamer many times and yes, I am a dreamer.  I dream of many things but when I open my eyes at my surroundings, I know most of them will never come true.  However, that being said, some have come true.  I live in a beautiful place and I live with a beautiful woman - what more does a man really need?

Our Home

Beauty surrounds me

Verdant forests, blue lakes

Golden rod meadows and distant mountains

I’m grateful for small things

A brook bubbling by a path

Soft flower petals; the aroma exquisite

Mossy rocks, twisty roots

Fiddleheads and stinging nettles

Scurrying furry little animals

Twittering birds that fly overhead

The bear, the moose

Svelte deer and bushy raccoons

Jumping fish and frothy waves

Iridescent dragonfly wings

All have a place in my heart

The moon at night

Silver and glowing

Stars, comets and meteorites

The sun on my shoulder

And the wind on my back

Rain streaming down my face

Bringing tears of delight

The Universe is vast, mysterious

The Earth, our home

There’s no need to know everything

Just be thankful; appreciate

And enjoy the stay

Sarah

Sarah, my wife

She’s amazing

A marvelous mystery

She’s easy on the eyes

A joy to my ears

Soft, cuddly; so nice to touch

And be touched in return

When I’m down

Feeling as faded as my jeans

She lifts me up

Raises me to lofty heights

She’s witty, sarcastic and funny

A real comedienne

Keeps me in stitches

Deepening and lengthening my laugh lines

Making my sides hurt

She’s intelligent, intuitive

Encouraging and forgiving

A woman of depth; of sincerity

She’s a mother, a homemaker

A baker of bread, food on the table

Practical and spontaneous

Her daughters’ delight

Before shutting my eyes

We snuggle in the night

And she's a joy to wake up to

Before starting my day

Yes, she’s all of those things

Even more, a whole lot more

And I’m glad she’s my wife

Because I’m hoping, yes I’m hoping

That a good part of her will rub off on me.

Loves my Sarah

INTERVIEW WITH A HOOKER - Episode 9

Due to a few comments, I've decided to post a warning on the Blog site the same as I do for the Newsletter and Facebook.  Readers should be over 18.  X-Rated - not for kidlets.  Content at times contains sex, violence and strong language.
When we arrived at Talulu's rapist's house, which as it turned out was very close to Cool Hands place of residence, we parked down the street a short distance and sat in the car for a little while.  The house was huge, ominous and dark; only one room on the top floor was lit up.  Talulu said, “That’s where the bastard raped me honey.  See the bars on the window.”

I was about to ask Talulu if anyone else lived with him or if he had a live-in caregiver when she said, “And from what I've heard, the ugly bastard lives by himself; he has a couple of people come in during the day to clean the place, fix dinners and run errands.”

“So how do I get in?  I just can’t go up and ring the door bell at this hour.  I guess there’s only one way; the direct approach.”  Reaching under the back seat, I pulled out a long, tire-iron used for changing flat tires and said, “Wait for me to open the front door.”

Quietly shutting the car door, I crossed the street, walked around to the back of the house and smashed a basement window.  When none of the neighbours lights came on and no alarms went off, which I thought was unusual, I unlocked the window and let myself in.  As soon as I crept up the stairs and opened the door leading into the kitchen, I found out why there wasn’t an alarm system; I was face to face with a growling Doberman and he was about to eat it off.  Now the thing about most viscious dogs, is that they try to bite the closet thing in front of them, so when I reached towards the dog with my left hand and he dove for it with his mouth wide open, showing his pearly-whites, I shoved the tire-iron as far as it would go into the dog’s maw and gave it a violent twist; the sound of the Doberman's neck snapping was music to my ears.  Stepping over the dead dog, I listened for awhile but everything was quiet.  No alarm; no sirens; just the muffled sounds of my feet as I headed out of the kitchen and made my way to the front door. 

After I let Talulu in, she led me upstairs.  When we reached the top of the stairway, we could see a sliver of light  flashing intermittently under a door at the end of a short hallway and some indistinguishable sounds could be heard.  I noticed a keyhole under the doorknob and hoped it wasn’t locked as I reached for it.

The door opened smoothly and quietly; the perv, his back towards us sitting in a wheelchair, was doing exactly what I thought he’d be doing; except he wasn’t watching Cool Hands being methodically beaten and murdered; he was watching himself raping and beating Talulu. 

Talulu gasped at the extremely graphic images projected on a large screen as I grabbed the wheel chair and spun it around. 

The creep was an ugly looking man: half bald, one side of his face hanging off his jaw, reddish hooked nose and one watery eye; probably the result of a stroke or perhaps from the beating Cool Hand had inflicted.  His eyes opened wide when he saw Talulu and then glanced at me.  Even though he looked like he was next door to death; could die naturally at any moment he mumbled, “Did you come to kill me?”  

I glanced at Talulu and if looks could kill, that creep would have been dead but I said, “No.”  Talulu looked at me as if to say why the hell not when I continued, “We want the video showing you killing Cool Hands.”

“Cool Hands?” he asked questioningly.  “Who the hell is Cool Hands?  I’ve never heard of him.  And look at me; I couldn't kill anybody; I'm a useless fucking cripple.”

I looked at Talulu and said, “Well...what’s Cool Hands’ real name?”

Talulu looked at me and then at the poor excuse of a man slumped in the wheelchair.  Bending down, making sure the pervert got a real eye-full of her shapely breasts, she whispered in his ear.

His eyes opened wide and he said, “I never knew you called your pimp Cool Hands?”

Talulu nodded and then looked at me, “Sorry honey; its private.”

Glaring down at his dispicable scowl I said, “So where is it?  Where’s the video.”

He looked at me defiantly and said, “I don’t have one and even if I did, I wouldn’t give it to you!”

“Well, is that so?  We’ll see about that,” I calmly said.  “Move away from the wheelchair Talulu, I’m about to get some answers.”

As I swung the tire-iron I yelled, “Does your body have any feeling or are you almost dead from the neck down?”  When the tire-iron connected with both knee caps, almost removing them completely from his legs, the creep screamed in agony.  “So, that hurt, eh?”  “How about here?” I continued as I took aim at his shins and then broke them one by one.  Tears were flooding out of both eyes now and were streaming down his cheeks as he squeezed the arms of the wheelchair, trying to contain the excrutiating pain.

 

Mumbling hysterically, sitting helplessly in his wheelchair, his eyes almost rolled up into his head I said, “Your arms are next, unless you tell me where that video is.  And I wouldn't screw around if I were you, especially if you think your two goons and pet doggy are going to come to your rescue; because they aint; I killed them all.  And you're next, if you don't fucking tell me where that video is” 

Talulu appeared a little pale, and to tell the truth, I was feeling a bit queasy too – breaking bones and inflicting unbearable pain was not one of my traits.  But I needed that video and come hell or high water, I was going to get it, even if it meant beating the son of a bitch practically to death.

When Talulu’s tormentor stammered, drool and tears dripping off his chin, “Then why…why don’t you just kill me; get it over with?” 

I just grinned at him and said, “I probably should, because you’re most likely enjoying all this pain; you masochistic, sadistic, demented son of a bitch.”

As I stood watching him clench his teeth, half of his face grimacing in agony, I nonchalantly continued, “I’m not going to kill you but before we leave here, if you make me rip this whole fucking house apart searching for the video, I am going to make certain that you will only be alive from the neck up, and oh yea, I’m going to poke your eyes out and cut your tongue off too.  Now where were we Mr. big-shot in a wheelchair?  Ah yes, let’s see how amusing you’ll feel; see if you're going to laugh and giggle, squeal with delight when I break your funny bones one by one – somehow I don't think you'll find it very humorous but it’s going to give me a big laugh.”

As I wound up the tire-iron like I was a batter in a big league baseball game and took careful aim at one of his funny bones, I knew I’d won.

The DVD was laying in plain sight by the computer, which was connected to a projector - what a goof - even if he hadn't told me, I'd have found it.  The DVD had a small label glued to its shiny gold surface and was called, Death of a Pimp.  After I hit the eject button on the computer, took out the DVD of Tulala, which was called Hooker Gets a Banging and put it it in my pocket, I placed Death of a Pimp into the DVD tray, pushed it into the computer and then clicked Play.

I heard Talulu gasp when she saw the two thugs, who had broke into her decadent workplace of sexual delight, beginning to brutalize Cool Hands.  I wasn't interested in watching any part of his death; just seeing the horor on Talulu's face was hard enough.  Like that night at the pizza restaurant, when I watched Bernie grab that child molester by the hair and throw him face down on the floor, I grabbed the pervert sitting in the wheelchair by his shirt collar (he didn't have enough hair) and  tossed him out of the wheelchair like a rag doll.  Then I dragged him; his shattered bones scraping across the hardwood floor and propped him up against the wall so he could watch the video of Cool Hands being savagely tortured and beaten to death.  After taking a deep breath to cool my anger, I walked over to a phone, which was sitting on a small table near the computer and watched the video for a few moments before placing the call.  When Bernie answered, I gave him the address and told him there was an interesting video he should watch.  Knowing how much Bernie detested perverts, I also told him that the perv who had recorded the video was so engrossed in what he was filming, failed to see his own reflection in a large mirror that was hanging on a wall near the vicim.

After I hung up, I walked over to Talulu and put my arm around her and as I led her out the door she said, “Just a sec honey.”  I have to admit I cringed when she went over to the busted up son of a bitch slumped against the wall and stomped on his balls with her high heels.  Ooh – ouch – that must have hurt.

Once we were back in the car and heard some sirens approaching, we just laughed and nodded our heads; it was time to go.

Several years have gone by since I interviewed Talulu and a lot has happened since then.  She actually retired and got married like she said.  And so did I; got a couple of kids too and here they come to answer the door bell.

When they opened the door they both yelled in unison, “Hi Grampa!  Hi Gramma!”

While they were taking off their coats and hanging them up in the closet, I walked into the kitchen and said, “Hey Talulu; your folks are here?”  Fancy that, her real name was Talulu but not the Tight-Thighs part; she just made that up.  And oh yeah, my name isn’t Len but I guess there’s no reason to tell you my real name, so I won’t. 

EMAIL COMMENT:

 

Ian B:  Great stories Len. You are spending too much time in the shed though, haha.  Maybe Holywood will be calling on you for a script:)

 

Len:  Thanks Ian.  At least I'm not in the doghouse - not yet anyway.  I doubt Hollywood will be calling me for any scripts but thanks for the complement.  

INTERVIEW WITH A HOOKER - Episode 8

Due to a few comments, I've decided to post a warning on the Blog site the same as I do for the Newsletter and Facebook.  Readers should be over 18.  X-Rated - not for kidlets.  Content at times contains sex, violence and strong language.

Cool Hands’ place, or perhaps estate would be a better description, was located on the outskirts of the city, where many of the more affluent people resided.  I wasn’t surprised after I’d just seen Talulu’s work space; her grandiose palace of lust.  When we arrived at the front door Talulu said, “That’s strange; the door’s open.”  And looking around up towards the veranda’s ceiling, “The cameras are gone too.”

As I slowly pushed the door open I whispered, “Stay here.  I’ll see if it’s safe inside.”

“No way honey; I’m sticking to you like glue.  You’ve saved my life already once tonight, no way am I staying here by myself.”

The entranceway was massive; even though it was dark, I could tell my whole apartment could easily fit into it and still have room to spare.  As we made our way through the living room, Talulu holding onto to the back of my jacket, I could see a bit of light shining from a hallway.  We stood quietly and listened before proceeding towards a half open door at the other end of the hall but everything seemed very quiet; too quiet. Cool Hands’ house was as quiet and almost as cold as a morgue’s refrigerated drawer.  All I could hear and feel was Talulu’s warm breath against the back of my neck; which made the short hairs stand straight up.  Man, the sex appeal that woman emitted was intense.

Either someone heard us come into the house and was waiting in the eerily lit room at the end of the hallway or they had left but whatever feeling that was pulsating behind that door wasn’t good.  I’d been afraid up in Talulu’s love nest but everything had happened so quickly, I hadn’t any time to worry about the outcome.  But after that bloody conflict, I didn’t know what to expect once we pushed this door open.  I suppose we could have just left and that might have been the smartest thing to do but like a moth to a flame, we were both drawn to the light behind the door.

When we finally arrived at the door, after creeping very slowly and ever so cleverly down the hallway and pushed it wide open, we were greeted by the most horrible scene I could ever have imagined.  The room itself was in no state of disarray, everything seemed to be in its immaculate place.  The only thing out of order was the blood; it was splattered everywhere and bound to a chair near the centre of the room, I assumed was the body of Talulu's friend, Cool Hands.  He was completely naked and tied to a chair and from the looks of his condition, he had been savagely beaten.  Judging from the blows and the gory baseball bat lying at his feet on the thick, plush white carpet; he must have died slowly and in agony. I don’t think there was a bone in his whole body that hadn’t been cruelly busted; chunks of bone protruded through his flesh like voodoo needles and as my eye drifted away from the carnage, I saw an eyeball lying on the carpet. 

Talulu was in a shock and became very angry at me when she saw me kneel down near the eyeball and look very closely.  She half screamed and half whispered, “What the hell are you doing?  Are you some kind of a perve?”

“I’m not looking at the eye.  I’m looking at three strange roundish indentations in the carpet?  Do you know if he had a small three-legged coffee table here?”  And then the same pattern of indentations caught my eye on the other side of Cool Hands’ body.  “Did he have two matching tables because I can’t see them anywhere in the room?”

Shaking her head, trying not to stare at her friend’s body Talulu stuttered, “No…oh…poor Cool Hands.  No, he didn’t have any little tables like that.”

“And look at these two narrow ruts in the carpet; very odd.”

Upon hearing a distant siren drawing near, I grabbed Talulu’s hand and said “Let’s go; I don't know if that cop car is coming here or not but we sure as hell don’t want to be discovered in this place too.”

“But shouldn’t we do something about poor Cool Hands; I hate to leave him here like that.”

“There’s nothing we can do for him now; let’s go!”

Taking one last look over her shoulder at her dead friend, I pulled Talulu towards the door.  “I know who did this!" she vehemently spouted.  "It wasn’t the competition; some low-life pimp.  No, the person or should I say sick perverted bastard who did this is none other than that filthy son of bitch that raped and beat the living crap out of me.”

"I agree, the three marks were most likely made by a tripod and the thin parallel ruts would certainly explain a wheelchair.  The two goons who came after you were probably the same ones that beat Cool Hands to death.and I'll just bet you, he got his jollies off watching them.  What a low-life creepy bastard; wouldn't surprise me if he’s at home right now watching a replay of Cool Hand being slaughtered with a baseball bat."

We could hear the siren blaring and see the lights flashing of the approaching cop car several blocks away as we strapped ourselves in and drove off.   I looked at Talulu and said, “It’s time to get even.  It’s time to call on a very sick bastard and give him the medication he needs!  What’s the difference, I’ve already killed two guys tonight; might as well make it like a baseball game; strike three and he’s out.  I hope you know where this bastard lives.”

Grinning from ear to ear like a Cheshire cat Talulu said, “Oh yeah honey; I know where his lair is; don’t you worry about that.”

As we were driving by a small shopping centre, I spotted a telephone booth and said, "I'll just be a moment, I need to make a short phone call."

Thumbing through my wallet, I eventually dug out a dog-eared business card and started dialing a number.  When a voice came on informing me that I’d reached the police station, I asked to talk to Sgt. Bernard Smith.  He was a plainclothes detective I’d met one evening in a small pizza restaurant that had some rather shady events happening after hours.  He'd  been arm wresting with another cop in the booth in front of mine and when they finished, he challenged me to a bout.  Now I’m not a small guy by any means and I’m not that weak but I knew I couldn’t possibly beat either one of them.  I was about to decline when I noticed their big smiles and like a fool accepted the challenge.  I thought I did pretty well but the two of them laid my arm out on the table pretty handily.  It wasn’t until after we’d had a few beers, they told me who they were and what was going down.  Apparently selling booze after hours was just a slight fine so they were waiting for the entertainment to begin; they were there to shut the business down permanently and lock up the owner.  I told them that this was my first time to this place; heard it was like a 1920’s speak-easy and I was writing a novel – looking for a bit of first-hand colourful knowledge.   

When I asked why they were waiting, they both smiled and pointed, “This.”

A sultry little vixen probably not more than 15 years of age (I learned later was the pizza owner's daughter) came swaying out from behind a curtain to the beat of some music that had been turned up.  The place was full of men and they began cheering lustfully when she began taking off her clothes.  As she went from table to table, men were stuffing money into her G-string while they fondled her – and I mean fondled her.  When she arrived at our table, I couldn’t tell before, but now, as she stood looking at us and smiling, I could see in her eyes that she was just a scared little girl.  We stuffed some money into her G-string and other than that, didn't touch her.  When the music ended she went behind a curtain to deposit the money - where the greasy wop was waiting.  It wasn't until she came back out and began dancing towards the patrons that I had a good idea of what was going to happen.  I’d seen the owner talking to a man just before her performance began and he was beckoning to the girl to come closer to his booth.  When she arrived, he ripped off her bra exposing her tiny breasts and then snapped her G-string off as well.  As if searching for help, she looked around the room but no one was coming to her aid.  When he pulled her to him, insisting she grope him while he did the same to her, I looked at the detectives imploringly, but Sgt. Bernard Smith (Bernie) said, “Not yet.”

Looking around the room, I noticed most of the men had left, only a very few remained.  When the man dropped his drawers and set the naked girl on his lap, I knew it was going to be more than just a lap dance and that’s when Bernie and his partner made their move.  His partner grabbed the little Italian and snapped the handcuffs on so fast; he hardly had time to blink and I watched with amazement when Bernie lifted the girl out of the booth and then grabbed the perverted molester by the hair, dragging him out of the booth, throwing him face first on the floor and then handcuffing his hands behind his back.  I guess Bernie and his partner must have been wired because almost immediately, about a dozen cops appeared from out of nowhere and arrested everyone; including me.

As we were led away to the paddy wagon, the child molester with his pants still around his ankles, I thought I had some wonderful content for my book but when I was tossed into the same cell with everyone from the pizza cafe, I began to worry.  I was sitting on a cot crossing and uncrossing my legs, trying not to piss because I didn’t want to take a leak in front of all the perverts I was locked up with, when the jailer and Bernie came strolling down the hallway.  Bernie pointed at me and said, “That one; bring him up to my desk.  I’ll be there shortly.”

When I was seated next to his desk in a small enclosed office he said, “It’s a good thing you arm wrestled with us and we got to know you, otherwise I wouldn’t be letting you go.”

“Letting you go,” what magical words; the relief I felt was wonderful.

 And as I thought back, Bernie answered the phone.  He didn’t know who I was until I explained about the night we met at the pizza restaurant.  When I told him what had occurred during the evening, he wanted us to turn ourselves in but I told him not yet; there was still a little unfinished business that needed doing and for him not to go far from the phone.

When I got back into the car and turned the key Talulu said, “Who were you phoning?”

“Just a friend,” I answered.  “At a time like this we need all the friends we can get.  Now where does that shit-head live.”  To be continued...