Rich Man's Coffin Read Online Free PDF

shelves.   She exclaimed, "I know... let's have a brandy.   You have worked enough.   You stop now, all right?   Let us drink and talk!"
              Arthur, not wanting to disobey the wishes of the Captain's wife, removed the decanter from its secluded spot on the top shelf.   He produced two glasses; and she hastily poured ample splashes of the Captain's liqueur.   She quickly drank the better portion of hers, as if very thirsty, and sat back down on the Captain's bed.
              "He treats me like chit!   Just like chit .   Does he treat his whole crew like that?   I hope not for his sake.   I don't know why I put up with it."   Arthur sat across the cabin, paying attention to her.   She continued, "He doesn't give a damn about me!   Eight months! Eight months I wait; and does he write to me?   No!   Does he send me any word or gifts by way of one of his captain friends?   No!   Like chit , I say."   She began to cry, lightly at first, and then she burst into tears.   Arthur did not know how to respond, except with a kind look and open ears.   She went on through her sobs, "I am sorry.   Forgive me.   I think it is because I am Spanish.   He does not think of me as a real wife.   I am just a plaything that he visits for pleasure.   Besides, he makes fun of me, I know.   I hear his crew mock me and the way I talk.   I cannot help it!"   She blubbered.
              "I think you sound jes' fine, Miss Monica.   I would be proud to have you as a wife.   Captain Stewart is very lucky."
              She suddenly stopped. Her head bolted upright. "Oh you kind man.   You are so nice.   Please, come sit here.   I want to talk to you."   She patted a hand beside her on the bed.
              Arthur looked at her one bare foot, her wet face, and her puffy eyes.   He felt sympathy for her as he carefully sat down next to Monica.
              She stared into his eyes and asked, "Tell me.   Does he treat anyone else this bad?   I want to know."
              Arthur averted his eyes, shrugged his shoulders, and said, “I don’t know.”
              Monica ducked her head down to capture his stare again. "You do know.   Tell me, is there anyone whom he treats like me?"
              Arthur hemmed and hawed another moment. "Yes."
              "Yes.   I knew it!   The bastard.   Tell me what he does to other people."
              Arthur looked at her sheepishly, and like a child confessing to his mother, said, "I think he called me a nigger.   I just didn't 'spect that from Mister Stewart.   And now he picks on me.   I can't do nothing right.   I don't think he likes black folks."
              Monica regained her senses as she stared sternly at Arthur.   "Are you serious?   This is terrible."   She spoke in a rational, concerned tone, but inside she was becoming even more enraged than before.   Her mind began to clear, thwarting the effects of the evening's libations.   What began as a coquettish quest for sympathy suddenly became a keen resolution to get emotional vengeance.   Deep down, she only wanted to be cherished for the person that she was; and part of her was African from her father's side.   Her husband was fully aware of that; and now the thought that he would harbor any bigoted opinions only further fueled her cruel doubt about his boorishness.   She defused her anger with a sudden realization:   She had married the wrong man .   As her newfound calm settled over her, she sauntered over to the Captain's desk and extinguished the oil lamp.   Slipping back to Arthur through the dark, she came to rest in a single stark ray of light that shined through the porthole above the skipper's bunk. Her face illuminated, she placed a hand softly on Arthur's shoulder. She said, "Please, teach me how to speak better."
              Arthur said, "I don't know."
              Monica said, "Yes, I