Cabin Boy

Gotta cut my hair again. It's getting too long, too... I
dunno. Makes me edgy. Like the new guy captain picked up
through India. Caught the tail-end of the glance he gave
me first thing this morning. Didn't like it. Warning
shot.

It's being stuck here that does it, more than anything.
Keep catching myself in the grimy cabin mirror, trying not
to look too close. Just passing by, I tell that face, not
stopping, just passing. Dunno if it's true really. Makes
me feel better though.

There's been no wind for weeks on end. Blue skies, blue
seas and palm trees: our own little slice of paradise, with
the sun baking down and our toes buried in sand. Gets to
you, after a while, every so perfect. Gets to me, anyhow.
Sometimes I want it all to just stop, you know? Just stop.
Freeze. No insects singing amongst the leaves, no waves
spooling lazily onto the shore, no creak of rigging set
tight for nothing, no nothing. Just me, and the quiet dark
behind my eyes.

Figured I'd never feel at home in paradise anyhow.

The rest of the guys are alright. They find ways to amuse
themselves: cheap drinks, cheap local girls with bigger
smiles the more you spend. Nowhere to take them but the
beaches, of course, but then who cares? Good a place as
any at the end of the night. They try and get me in too
sometimes, and god knows sometimes I want nothing more, but
you know those girls with their smiles and their big dark
eyes don't miss a shot, even when the moon's down. They'd
work it out, if I even tried, they'd know, straight away,
and then what happens? All secrets are worth something.
They'd happily trade me in.

It's a living, I suppose. Same as the rest of us.
Everyone just wants to get by.

But this waiting game, it's killing me.

The little things could give me away.

Like there was this puppy, on the beach the other night,
when everyone had picked their someone for the evening and
I'd run out of free beers to play for. Even Captain was
gone, leaving me stranded: taken the rowboat and back to
his cabin with one of the girls who talked some language he
liked. I was curled up to sleep, arms tucked in against
the mosquitos, when I heard this whimper, felt a wet nose
brush my face. Looked up into two big brown eyes. She
cocked her head and kept on crying, so I gave her some
water, poured out on a banana leaf.

Lapped it right up and cried for more. It broke my heart.
Gave her most of what I had left.

She yawned and curled up over my ankles, but I was scared.
You can get sick from dogs, you know. Really sick. So I
pushed her off and found myself another spot, while she
just shrugged and went to sleep in my shadow.

An hour later, I hear this whimper. It's her, paws up on
the bank where I'm sleeping, too small and tired to pull
herself up. What else could I do? I gave her a hand up
and we curled up together, two lost kids keeping each other
warm.

Told Captain about her next morning, when I was tidying up
the cabin from the night before. The woman had left her
scent on all the sheets: they had to be washed, to make
sure she didn't make herself at home. He said I couldn't
keep her, I should just leave her where she was. Fair
enough, I guess: she probably gets fed better than I do,
curling up with random strangers on the beach at night.
Keep meaning to sneak down with the scraps from dinner,
share them out between us, sometime when I won't be missed.

But it seems like I'll always be missed at the moment.
Even when there's nothing for me to do.

There's always something, and I usually get it wrong. Or
that's what it seems like. Always something wrong. He's
not a bad man, the Captain: just particular, you know? His
way is the right way and all other ways are a waste. Tried
making suggestions, at first, asking questions, but it got
me nowhere except stranded on some beach. Had to play all
my favours, and some of his, just to get back to the ship
the next morning, and then of course I was in trouble for
being late.

Learnt my lesson after that: just keep your head down.
Don't stand out. Just keep trying to get by.

He never beats me or anything, anyway. And when I was sick
he even put his hand on my forehead to see how bad the
fever was, let me sleep in the cabin 'stead of below with
the crew. My brain was snapping, seeing colours in the
walls, but at least I didn't have to keep my face up, face
up to them. And when he saw... well, dunno what he saw,
but I saw his face and it was like he knew...

Praise God for small mercies. He's not a bad man.

But still I don't know how long I can keep this up.
Sometimes I think, you know, give it up, go home. You get
a craving for the stupidest things, like tea and biscuits
on a fucking canal boat in the flattest, slowest river on
this green earth, and you think, well hey, what am I doing
here? What am I doing here, on the other side of the
planet? But then the wind picks up again and you set off,
to some new place, new strips of paradise, with more girls
with eyes that you couldn't read in a million years and
cheap beer and maybe the biggest jellyfish you've ever
seen, and you remember that this is still better than
winter, this is still better than the choices you had back
home...

There was this beetle I found on the rocks last night, on
his back and kicking lazily, like he couldn't even be
bothered to fight for life. Turned him over, and this
morning he was still there. Thought he was dead, but when
I picked him up he gripped my fingers like he knew that I
was his last chance, and how could I say no to that? To a
creature that didn't even know how to cry?

I'm getting too old for this trick, too soft. My underside
is starting to show. Gotta get out while the going's good,
find a new ship that needs a new cabin boy, find a Captain
who doesn't ask too many questions or look too closely at what's in front of him.
Cut my hair, get some new clothes. I can still pass. There's coconuts on the
beach. They won't mind if one goes missing. Just gotta
wait for the next boat out.