Sybrina Read Online Free PDF Page B

bandages.  I scan the area.
    “What do you need, Paul?” Mr. Overton notices that I am searching for something.
    “ A piece of wood, flat, like a small board.”  I gesture with my hands.
    “ I can get one of those,” my helper responds eagerly.
    “ You can? What is your name, sir?” Mr. Overton asks.
    “ They call me Mouse,” he says proudly like a small child.
    “ It would be most helpful if you could do so, Mr. Mouse,” I add.
    The deckhand sent to help me, Mouse, scurries like one, up the ladder and topside.
    “A few more moments, and I can take care of this,” I assure him. 
    “ I’m Michael,” the injured man says.  His voice is deep but carries a bit of youth to it.  His hulking frame must make him appear older than he is.
    “ Hello, Michael.  I’m... Paul.”  I nearly needed to catch myself from spewing my true name.  “This is Mr. Overton.”  I introduce us.
    Michael winces in pain as the ship rocks.  His eyes meet mine as he peers at me intently. I kneel beside him to hold his arm steady.  He is very brave; the break must be agony.  I glance up at Mr. Overton, who looks sincerely troubled to see this man suffer.  I can’t help but wonder what has brought each person to this voyage. 
    I hear someone on the ladder and just as I suspected Mouse is lithely descending.  He rushes over to us.
    “Here.  Will this do?”
    “ It’s perfect.” I smile at him.  “Take those bandages.  Pick out the longest ones.”  I decide to try and distract Michael’s thoughts as I set the bone.
    “ Is this your first time on a ship?”
    He shakes his head , grimacing.  “No,” he grits through his teeth.   I shift his arm, quickly setting it.
    “ Hand me the plank.”  Mouse hands it to me and I position it under the break.  “Now the bandages.” I begin wrapping it.
    “ I am heading home to England.”  His breathing is labored from the sharp pains.  Each time he looks at me, it is queerly.  Michael’s gaze is admiration and confusion.
    “ Is there any more whiskey?”  Mr. Overton places the bottle to Michael’s lips.  He takes a long pull.  I finish wrapping up his arm.  “Keep this as steady as possible so it will heal correctly.”  He nods in understanding.  “Try to rest now,” I order. 
    I straighten to a standing position and scan the room, fairly satisfied that everyone has been tended to.  I look back at Michael and he is staring at me.
    “Your help, Mr. Mouse, has been most invaluable.  Thank you.” I attempt to redirect the attention from myself.
    Mouse puffs out his chest with pride.  “Anything else I can help ye wit’?”
    “ I think we are all fine for now.”
    Mouse gets close to me and sniffs.  I am terribly uncomfortable with him being so close.  I casually step away, hoping that he will take the hint.  He slips close to me again and whispers , “Tinker thinks you’re a girl.”
    My eyes go wide at his proclamation.  I don ’t dwell on it because I have to make my rounds again; throwing myself into my work I recheck the passengers.
    *****
    My feet dangle from the large crate I use as a seat, and I fit the great tome in my lap. Oh, how I miss my books. The medical journals, textbooks, even my own notes.  I painstakingly drafted renderings, findings, annotations, and detailed records.  Everything I saw and heard in lectures and laboratory experiments found their way to paper.
    The crew positions themselves in repose, relaxing.   Some are perched on the massive machinery used to ascend the ship ’s sails and some lie across the sodden floor.  They settle in to hear me recount the Melville tale of the great whale.  I insert my index finger between the untouched pages and find page one, chapter one.  I suck in a breath to carry my voice and catch the intensity of the eyes of the sailors.  I begin.
    Call me Ishmael.
    Some years ago—never mind how long precisely—having little or no money in my purse...
    A ship-hand snorts at