Published 'Momentum' 1990
‘One’s life is in itself a form of apprenticeship’, said the sailor to the girl, as the tardy afternoon began to slip on its eveningdress.
He was on leave from his ship: the Captain’s favourite, for his more than just a spark of intelligence compared to the rest of the crew. He had often been invited to the Officers’ table, to spin a yarn or two, to plait a tale, to hold forth on all matters philosophical, spiritual and mundane.
The port which the ship was visiting on this occasion was an occidental one, well beyond its beaten track seeking new customers. The arrayed cranes, lifting from the docksides, were huge stick insects, totems to some higher industry quite beyond the comprehension even of one sailor with the uncommon nous.
His bearing-place was tucked away cosily within the gleaming gulf of the Home Territories, easier than the ship’s customers could even imagine; so it was unsurprising that the recipients of the ocean spice trails here in the waters of Upper Europe and the providers of such from the Home Territories could never meet cultures eye to eye.
Our sailor had discovered the girl lolling against a large bollard, mooning the time away till she could ply her trade more properly, she said, in the darker hours. He was immediately attracted to the uncanny planes of her face, compared to his own high cheekbones and sunken narrow eyes: her eyes were wide and innocent-seeming, he thought, also reading the lines of her features as he would a mandala or natal chart at home. In short, she was to him, a dreamboat
‘Wha’ d’ya saaay?’
Her voice too, was deep for one so fair, with a lilt and dialect fit for a fairy-tale princess. He found it difficult to follow her drift, because of the unusualness of the speech rhythms; but he took it with a pinch of salt, got the bit between his teeth and carried on without bothering to backtrack, confident that her all-encompassing mental nets would be able to trawl anything with which he could sow her feminine tides.
‘And being an apprenticeship, one shoud learn everything one can before embarking on the voyage beyond death.’
‘Aaay?’
Our sailor winced. This was the first time he had come across one who answered so readily. It was almost off-putting to talk along the knife-edge of such a sensitive audience. Her responses were so very much to the point ...
But then he continued: ‘By logic, there can only be one religious faith, that which represents the belief in the positive aspect of death. A faith without this as its paramount tenet would not be worth the parchment it s written on. Accept that as an incontravertible premiss, and all religions become one in such a faith. God is that faith. Faith is that God. God is not an entity with omnipowers, not an anthropomorphic puppet master ...’
‘Gor blimey mate, ‘as yer ‘ed swallowed yer tung?’
By now the sun had risen elsewhere in the world, probably in the Home Territories he surmised; the mist was gathering apace linking sea and land with translucent mountains of dream, the coloured decklights of our sailor’s ship still seen bobbing spasmodically in the uncertain tide. A chill clung to his bones.
He deci’ed it was now high time to offer some spice as a reward for her kind attention. After all, it was in the nature of his race to chat up the local population in new client lands. The spice would no doubt hotten her bland stews ...
He passed her a free sample packet, with a smile. ‘I hope this complimentary gift supplements thy already warm heart ...’
‘Ey up guv, I don’ wan’ any of yer bleedin’ smack. It’s comin’ out our ears ‘ere, any rate. I only perform for hard loot…’
She hesitated, then snatched the packet and darted off into the dirty underclothes of the night.
As our sailor rowed himself back to the ship, the gentle rippling of the oily sea as music to his ears, he determined to retain at least some of the wisdom he’d heard in the Upper European land for the benefit of the Officers’ table. The natives’ arcane rituals of gift-taking were a sight for sore slits.
