Jamrach's Menagerie - Carol Birch [90]
Our boots and shoes is all in pawn
Go down you blood red roses, go down!
It’s fucking drafty around Cape Horn.
Go down, you blood red roses, go down!
And for now, a time of content and full-belly warmth:
Oh, my dear mother she wrote to me,
Go down, you blood red roses, go down
My lovely son, come home from sea—
Go down, you blood red roses, go down …
… sweet and teary, some of us thinking of the mothers they’d never had, some of the one they had or the one they’d had and lost. Even my memories of home and Ishbel and Ma and everything made me happy. All we lacked was a smoke.
Tomorrow, perhaps, a sail.
But we got no sail. Not tomorrow or the day after or the one after that, and it went on.
“Once,” Mr. Rainey said, “these seas were full of whale ships.”
The wind shifted to the north. We ate the marbled flesh from the hides till they started to turn a funny green and the captain said it was best not to take any chances, so we chucked them over and were back on the salty hardtack and warm water. The taste and smell of the hog stayed on the edge of sense, the warm slip of the blood down the gullet, the juices. Having drunk, I was drier than ever, my mouth a wretched, clamouring place. Ever east towards South America. Much talk of islands. There should have been islands. The captain and Mr. Rainey often put their heads together and murmured over the quadrant.
“I can remember a time,” Mr. Rainey said, “when you couldn’t sail more than a few days without there’d be another whale ship.”
There should have been islands and there should have been ships.
“True,” said Gabriel, “the whaling’s done for.”
“Jaf.” Tim’s voice, careless. “What if we’ve sailed into another world?”
“There’d still be islands.”
“What if it’s a world without islands? What if it’s a world where there’s nothing anywhere except one great big ocean?”
By the fourth night after the hog, I was beginning to think he was right. We had sailed into another world, something running along next to ours, something that had always been there but invisible. It consisted only of ocean. It couldn’t be our world. Everyone knew the Pacific was full of islands. Where were the whale ships? What use were the compasses and the quadrant and all of the captain and Mr. Rainey’s reckonings and consultations if they could not bring us in reasonable time to one of these islands or steer us into the shipping grounds?
John Copper woke us up screaming in his sleep, said he thought there were horrible wormy things with biting teeth running up his arms and sides.
“It’s him!” he said, shuddering as if someone had just thrown a bucket of raw fish all over him like in the old story. “Poking me. He’s driving me mad.”
“Not this time,” said Skip, “I didn’t.”
“You did,” Simon said. “I saw you.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“My head’s killing me,” John groaned.
“Skip, you’re causing nightmares.” Proctor rubbed his face. “For God’s sake, man, pull along with the rest of us.”
Wilson Pride chipped in. “This ain’t fair,” he said, “and it ain’t wise. They should have him for a bit.”
“You’re right,” the captain said. “Yan, change with Skip.”
“Oh Jesus.” Gabriel lay down and covered his head.
“Beg pardon, Captain, I’m not so sure that’s a good idea,” Mr. Rainey said.
“Why not? The way things are carrying on, if he stays over here he’ll end up done away with. We need respite.”
“Very well, sir,” Mr. Rainey replied stiffly, “but I won’t answer for him.”
“No more need you, Mr. Rainey,” the captain said. “He can look to himself. Skip, I hope you’re listening to all this. Pull yourself together.”
“Yes, Captain,” Skip snuffled meekly, raising himself up and groping his way towards us.
“Skip,” said Mr. Rainey, “if you poke one person—even once—do you hear?—I will personally throw you overboard.”
“It’s my fault,” said Skip in a small voice. “It’s because I killed the dragon.”
“You didn’t kill the dragon!” roared Rainey.
“I did. I set it free so