Jamrach's Menagerie - Carol Birch [103]
Dan called us to him like chickens. “Here, boys,” he said. “No point in looking.”
We sat with him in the prow.
“Look at me,” he said. “Here is something we must do and it’s very important. It’s an order. You must remember all the words to ‘Tobacco’s But an Indian Weed.’ ”
“I don’t know them!” Tim protested.
“Yes, you do. Think. You remember, that time by the Wapping Steps?”
“Yes, but I can’t remember any words.”
“You must try. Jaffy, what about you?”
“I only know the first couple of lines.”
“Good. You begin.”
Tobacco’s but an Indian weed,
Grows green in the morn, cut down at eve,
We are but clay …
“Something else,” said Tim.
We are but clay, da-da, da-da,
Think of this when you smoke tobacco.
Tim looked at Dan. “Go on, Clever Clogs,” he said.
“ ‘The pipe that is so lily white,’ ” sang Dan softly, “ ‘Wherein so many take delight; It’s broken with a touch …’ ”
A short pause. Wilson’s high-pitched breathing filled it.
“You, Tim,” Dan said, giving him a shake, “your turn. Look at me. ‘It’s broken with a touch.’ What comes next?”
“ ‘Man’s life is such …’ ” Tim continued, and we three in unison:
“ ‘Think of this when you smoke tobacco.’ ”
“Happy little souls, aren’t you?” Gabriel, irritated.
“Skip? You know it?”
Skip shook his head. His eyes were big and glassy.
“Soft now, Wilson, good man, let it go,” the captain said tonelessly.
Wilson whimpered like a small baby.
“Look at his throat,” Dag said.
I turned my head.
“Jaf!” Dan pulled my face round by the chin. “Next verse now, come on.”
“I don’t know.”
“Concentrate. You do.”
“I don’t.”
A sound like a pumping bellows began.
“I’ll give you a start. ‘The pipe that is so foul within, shows how man’s soul is …’ ”
Drowning. His throat squeezing. His voice forcing out from some abyss, a hollow animal bellow.
“Hold steady,” said the captain.
“Look at his throat!” Dag, panicky.
“Tim! Continue.”
“ ‘Full of sin,’ ” said Tim.
“Good! Jaf!”
“Don’t know.”
“Try.”
I don’t remember. Something about smoke and all of us returning to dust, blah blah blah …
“ ‘The ashes that are left behind,’ ” said Tim triumphantly, “ ‘should serve to put us all in mind.’ ”
“Oh yes,” I said, joining in.
That unto dust return we must.
Think of this when you smoke tobacco!
“Now now now, one more verse, come on, boys, think hard.”
“Smoke,” I said.
A horrible sound, a rattling, choking, vomiting sound, as if the lungs of the man were heaving themselves up his throat and out of his mouth.
“Smoke!” Dan snapped his fingers. “Skip! You!”
Skip was crying.
A breath like the scraping of a nail on slate, exhaling into silent infinity.
“ ‘The smoke,’ ” said Dan gamely, “ ‘that is so …’ ”
“No!” Tim. “ ‘The smoke that doth so high …’ ”
“That’s it,” the captain said.
hey are now three in their boat and we are five. I counted on my fingers. We are eight. Should one of us move over to the captain’s boat? But who should go?
“I want you boys here,” said Dan.
That leaves Skip and Gabriel, and neither wants to go. We all sit, stupid with the problem. Anyway, someone says, too late now, soon be dark. For God’s sake, let’s just sleep on it. We’ve eaten. That too has made us stupid. So we should say the prayers now as usual, but we just lie there like bloated sacks, none of us moving.
The dark night came down and there was nothing, not a star. No one lit a lantern or spoke.
After a while: “Oh Lord,” said Dan in an odd tone, defiant, almost declamatory, a peculiar smile in his voice, “here we are … here we are still. We are … we are …”
“Eight,” I said.
“Thank you, Jaf. We are eight souls afloat. What do you say to that, hey?”
And then there was laughter, I don’t know who, me anyway, and Tim because he was next to me, trembling hard. And Dan, but I don’t know who else. A few. The covering dark gave the feeling of giggling under blankets. When we stopped there was only the gentle sound of lapping waves, soothing. I yawned. Saliva ran again, bitter as lemon. Strips of meat hung in the darkness,