EPISODE 2

Stowaway Rock

 

The creaky deck developed a rusty hue as it rose above the undulating sea where the air was heavy with salt under a cerise pillow of cloud, while a pod of dolphins were mounting the swell in anticipation of a blitz. They were teasing the herrings into a tight cluster.

              Alert to the oppressive storm coming in just off the horizon, sailors handling the ropes had no need to speak amid the rustle, bustle of the sails that furled and snapped in the translucent wind.

              A halo formed of sea spray distinguished the metallic ketch apart from the dolphins, which held fast to the rhythmic dance of the boom. While down below in the fardage, both Sash and Barney were trying to keep their heads above numerous bails of barley in the darkness.

              I knew at once we were in strife when I kept tripping over a muddle of coarse rope and had grazed my shins up to my knees. Something told me the nightmare had to come to an end sooner or later, but would I have to pay for the privilege of not being thrown overboard? When the stock man dragged us feet first from the pile and threw us like two sacks of potatoes over his shoulders, I thought we were goners right there and then.

              Fortunately we landed right at the master cook’s feet, and as luck would have it, we saw daylight for the first time in three days. We had to be grateful for getting the best job on the high seas. We soon knuckled down and got to peeling them potatoes. I’ll admit it was kind of therapeutic after a while. Anyhow, we were on track to a new life of living abroad. I looked forward to landing on the golden beaches with coconut trees galore—just like the picture that hangs in the library at my old school. Determined never to miss another day of school, I was, when I said goodbye and good riddance to that place. As far as I was concerned I would never look back.

              I pictured my grandpa standing above his mantelpiece, with a whopping, great king-cod firmly in his grip, God bless his soul, and there we were, Sash and myself, with an enormous king-mackerel staring us right in the face from the kitchen table. It must’ve been the best kitchen on the high seas!

              Grandpa always said, ‘You’ve gotta grin and bear it, Barney. Whatever happens, look on the brighter side of things, and that way you’ll always come out on top.’ Well, it was like landing in the butter. Me and Sash soon got to learning the ropes. We helped feed a hardy crew of sailors on this, our ship to freedom, as I called it. We learnt lessons that were to stand us both in good stead.

              Well, I said to Sash, he had to quit his moaning or else we were never gonna get to go ashore during our voyage to Africa. We longed to stretch our legs on land. Me, I was determined to get myself an hour’s roaming, even if it killed me. Sash wasn’t too bothered about staying on board ship, but everyone else had been bragging about what they were going to do on their day off, see, eventually Sash gave in. We began to dream about our huge stick of rock—the sweet, cherry flavoured one with ‘Gibraltar’ written along the middle.

               One complication arose, seeing that neither of us had a passport to our name. Meaning that we had to always stay on board, regardless of what the weather was doing, until we got back to Guernsey, worst luck! It was too early to tell, but I figured we could solve our little problem, easy-peasy—Never had to pay a ticket in my life! I got to thinking… Heck! It wouldn’t hurt to borrow a couple of passports just for an hour or two.

              Them poor sailors happened to fall sick right in the nick of time, due to a sudden bout of the gripes, so they told me—no harm done, was there? Well, timing, you see, was crucial—I’d slipped ’em one of those little white pills the master cook always took before he hit the sack. He snored like barmy!

              When Sash saw our sailors fall prey to the local birds at the dock he started to have second thoughts though, because them kind of birds had long legs and fancy feather boas too, and they scared the hell out of us.

           Of course, we earned quite a few bob between us, doing the sailors’ washing and all. So with our pocket-monies intact, the time came for us to skedaddle out of there. We crossed the ramp and ran into the crowd, keeping a low profile till we passed the border control.

          Talk about the rock of Gibraltar, we found tons of them at the markets, but if only I’d known at the time, we’d got the wrong kind of currency stashed in our pockets. It was 1999, but nobody told us about the Spanish changing over to Euros. That must’ve happened over night! All we had was a handful of rotten Pesetas! Our so called friends, the scoundrels, had given us all their obsolete coins in exchange for our very hard work.

          It was like a kick up the backside, but let me tell you, they were to suffer for their dishonesty, and rightly so!

          Anyway, there we were the two of us, surrounded by pink, sugary candy, thinking how marvellous we’d got it—better than our dreams, I would say, when lo and behold, this Spanish geyser started to threaten us with his walking stick. What the hell had we done wrong? I asked myself, when I diligently handed over the shiny shrapnel, in more than plenty I might add! I nearly copped it across my knuckles from the old man, just like our teacher used to do with her ruler, even when it was none of my doing, believe you me!

          I didn’t like the way they did business—foreigners or not—I didn’t like the language they used on us neither, like ‘Estafadores! Trampa! Tramposos!’ It really went against the grain—so, I grabbed my little brother by the sleeve and we scarpered like billio out of there before we’d got ourselves beaten up, and we ran back to our sanctuary at the wharf.

          As the ship pulled away from the harbour, we stood on the deck waving our giant sticks of rock in triumph. I knew exactly how my grandpa must’ve felt in his portrait above the mantelpiece. As proud as punch!

 

Written by Georgina Zuvela

25 November 2016