Captain Kidney

Sow’s Ear, d1, Silk Purse tomorrow🙂. [HALF-BAKE, unfinished, narrates well in a West Country way, not quite fit for page, [precious]]

‘The name is Captain Kidd’ I said to him, [to] the sailor man.

Sensing a sneer I jabbed him, up from his sky, down to my sea level.

I spiked him good, no doubt of fact.

I withdrew dirk from a streaming eyeball, it leeched on my deck.  But to [wizened] amazement of all spectators the eye skittered – away, bobbled along planks in the roll of ocean.  Was there life remaining in an eyeball?

–   ‘Eyeball,’ I announced, ‘make your grotesque, your dance, a jig alone, a shanty eye or hop.’

[And] gingerly, stepped cross the dancing eye, touched in a satisfaction the steel of blade held in my palm.  I wiped it certainly, and wiped it indeed, on my boot leather.  White metal gleamed like a newborn’s teeth – under this terrible and boiling hot sun of the Atlantic waterway.

The assailant, jack tar, American – only writhed upon our planks. His earthy hand reached, and clutched for something absent over that cheek bone. [surely, brothers, you know what he sought]. Only I followed course, by sextant or no, of the eye.  But our Third mate – hearing commotion – of the combat sword – he stepped to, scrambled ‘sprit netting, and witnessed the horror vision still bounce on forecastle.  Decisively, my Mate kicked eye [in a soup now] overboard,  parabola of eye washed to sea.  Dolphins circled our vessel, titbit treat, aye, aye, aye aye aye they cried.  Meanwhile, this, my, the sympathetic mate fellow, he splashed a bucket of salt water upon that cheek – of the invalid buccaneer.  You see, he bubbled blood from socket.

And rapscallion screamed one final time, a high shriek – irritating to my command of sailormen.

‘Go then, you.  Go leap ye yonder, ‘ I said, ‘seek the shoreline of Newfoundland,’ I said it, or repeated – possibly, the words – and said, ‘Save the one jelly while ye have the one jelly remaining,’ t’was my philosophy.

And he rose, this Cyclops under a bonnet, and staggered, tumbled over bulwark rail. In mercy I tossed fiddle over the side, for the flotsam steady. Unfortunate to see fiddle sink under rising keel, and know sailors cannot swim, by tradition.

All episode complete, I slid steel, down aside my belted hip.

‘Next man devours the captain’s grog, or gives me a looking – I shall slash his ears, poke out eyes, and swallow a tongue for the digestive exercise.’ I nodded – mannish, rogue – listen up, [ye] the lady friendlies.

From the rigging, boys listened, and they [too] swallowed, swallowed the hard lines.

‘Set course for Bermuda,’ I cried, an example had been set for community. Helmsman Rafferty tipped his cap, swung the wheel in those steady, and big hands.

Aye aye x