Pirate Talk or Mermalade Read Online Free PDF Page B

time or the like, less your own watch which I hide, and the ships’ clocks, when they are in port. Even if you wind each of them every week, there are still only fifty-three to divide with Cyrus.
    He must be of noble birth to gather the business so quickly, regardless of what he says, a duke at least or a—
    He is too handsome by half, yes.
    I think you’d be just as pleased to be without a shawl, to show yourself.
    Oh, let the ocean take you.
    Cyrus, Cyrus—she’s yours.
    Close that window, you fool. It’s market day.
    I should be down there beside Cyrus, listening to him unhook the watches out of the waistcoats of the wealthy by his very words. Never has there been so many who needed oil in their works or their clockhands reset until he opened his shop.
    And where were you?
    You had dresses a’plenty until Cyrus washed up.
    You did nothing about him, always mooning over getting the bone or moaning over your brother, the foul pirate. Give me that shawl back.
    From where, pray tell, do you get the cotton for your petticoats? Stolen of the pirate. The cocoa for your cups in the morning? The pirate. The lovely Madeira? Even the ribbon in
your hair be blue only on account of the pirate’s indigo. The foul pirate.
    Don’t you think Cyrus is a handsome one? He’s four years your younger.
    Quiet, woman. I’ll not have you scull the bottom for daggers. I will take the Hope to the last port if you drive me to it, and leave you behind. I will, even though I fear a voyage at sea more than I fear your noise and bother. Keep the shawl.
    Cyrus! Cyrus!
    I am so easily rid of?
    We have no children. You were too timid.
    That is your own doing. Or not doing. But this too can change, knowing the temper of your heart and of Cyrus’ desire. But not with myself as witness. I will sign ship’s papers today, I will.
    I believe you will. And let it be a long voyage out—on the Hope.
    My luck will leave with me.
    Perhaps—but what if Cyrus will not have me?
    You think so little of me that I must bear such a question? Fruit falls from the trees here, winter cannot harm you. You have your shawl. But I would hoard your petticoats too if I were you. The daughters of others are younger.
    And eager, even for a tradesman such as he. You should send for me then, as soon as you come into money.
    And blacken my future further?
    How will you rise in the morning with a starched collar and leggings without holes? And eat as quickly as you
can seat yourself? Answer me.
    I now know the compromises a man makes. You are an expensive charwoman who spares me nothing. The years I have spent with you.
    Two—no more.
    Put that pot down.
    I shall not until you receive damage.
    Amazon!

10
    1723 High Seas
    The sails like a curtain, stars and then no stars.
    My mother loved the line, especially the rope as thick as the mate’s wrist. Even my brother worked the line, in secret, though on land, not the sea. You’d like my brother, though you’d put fear into him with all your fierce tattoos.
    A man must be his own placard if he has lived out a legend. Rain behind that swell of stars. There—through the straights.
    A squall?
    A squall.
    That last lightning nearly stopped my heart.
    Those were good flashes.
    Luggams says in the worse of storms, the lightning goes green and runs up the rigging.
    Hear the singing?
    No singing in these straights. Luggams hates the singing.
    It can’t be the fish, singing.
    Luggams forbids all singing whatsoever now that Shanks is gone. He doesn’t like the caterwaul of cats neither but cats we have to have, for the vermin.
    Aye. The pigs we shipped before would at least dance,
they would eat out of your hand for a sniff of bread.
    Pigs will eat your hand.
    A pirate bunch, pigs. I wish we had some still.
    If you eat at all, best eat in private, with yourself alone on the poop deck, or else someone will fight you for it.
    Not for me the poop deck. The stink!
    Clean as the Pope’s hand. All that is left to eat is shoes, and those