A Haven From the Storm
Chapter 2: In Transit
To get to Mineral Village would take a day. The local bus from Liberty City to Capital City would stop at Edgeport. I would have to stay there overnight and take a ferry boat to the village the next morning. That part of the coast had a number of small farming, fishing and mining villages that were only accessible by boat. The rugged Jefferson Mountains came up to the coast there, and it had never been populated enough to justify building roads in such rough country. So Edgeport was the portal, by boat, to those villages and towns.
I got on the subway to get to the bus terminal. The train was, even at midday, full of stinky bums sleeping in puddles of cheap booze. Ten minutes later, I exited at the Chinatown stop, and the smell of bum was replaced by the reek of rotting fish from the nearby Belly-Up cannery. I wouldn't feed that stuff to an alley cat, but they were selling it to people as 'Premium Quality Mackerel'! A quick run into the bus terminal (full of more winos,) two hundred more of my vanishing G's spent for the ticket to Edgeport, another run to the bus which was just about to leave, and it was good bye, Liberty City. Good riddance!
My fellow passengers looked mostly like exhausted laborers, and they quickly went to sleep in their seats. I looked out the window at the closed, decaying factories and warehouses on the city's outskirts and daydreamed. When I was young, this trip was a real treat. I loved Grandpa and his farm. My parents and little sister and I would visit at least once a year. Dad had been born there and grew up there, leaving to go to school and settle in Springfield, Mom's hometown.
And before Mineral Village was Edgeport. It was a quaint fishing and shipping town, also popular with family tourists. We'd have a day of fun there before going to the village for a week or so. It'd be good to see all of that again. I hadn't made the trip since I entered college seven years ago, I had been so busy. Just too bad that Grandpa won't be there, I sighed. Then I dropped off to sleep.
About four 'o clock, the smell of salt water woke me up. We were getting close to the shore and my stop. I looked out the window just in time to see the old sign:
Welcome to Edgeport
The Way Life Should Be
decorated with sailboats and smiling fish. That sign had been there unchanged since I could remember. Always before, when I saw it, I knew funtime was ahead. It turned out to be the last unchanged thing I saw.
The bus here turned off the highway onto Adams St. towards downtown. The houses alongside were barer than I remembered, many needing fresh paint and other repairs. Ahead was "Henry and Martha's Clam Shack", but what had happened to it? Before it was always THE place for a family to stop for some good simple seafood; there was a plain whitewashed wooden kitchen-counter where you ordered, then you took the best fried seafood you ever had to a picnic table with an umbrella for shade and enjoyed. But now, the picnic tables were all broken up, the umbrellas gone, and the kitchen windows broken out with the walls defaced with gang graffiti.
More desolation followed. Dr. Allen's World of Shells, Annie's Seaside Crafts and Souvenirs, The Old Salt's General Store - all boarded up and defaced. Captain Scott's Surf Fun Park - the previously brightly lit sign lying broken on the ground and shards of metal the only sign of the rides that used to be there. There were only a few people on the streets, and although not ragged and scared like the cityfolk I was used to, they were poorly dressed and looked listless and dejected as they shambled along. What, I asked, has happened here?
The bus pulled alongside the small brick station, and I got out. I was the only one to get out - even more amazing as always before, half the passengers were headed here. Well, I shrugged, no amusement here. I mind as well go to the docks and see about passage to Mineral Village. Going down Fish Street to the waterfront, I saw that the Sea Gull Inn and Pub was still open, but just barely. Like everything in Edgeport, it needed fresh paint and repairs - and the only people in the pub seemed to be a small group of grubby looking bikers, drinking and glaring as I passed. This was worrisome as I likely couldn't get a boat out this late, and as cruddy as it looked, it might be the only place left in town to stay overnight.
I got to the end of Fish Street and there were the docks and boats. At least this place hadn't changed. There were still the little fishing boats, with the crews unloading their catch and packing them into crates. The ferry boats were still on the north side of the
docks, and there...I couldn't believe it... there was the old Coastal Princess ferryboat we always used to ride to Mineral Village. Even more amazing, there was her skipper, old Captain Willowbee, eighty if he was a day, standing on the deck barking out orders to a teenage boy stowing away gear.
I walked up to the Coastal Princess and called out, "Hello, Captain"
Captain Willowbee looked down at me, then jumped down from the bridge to the deck (a move that I would have had trouble making.)
"Hello, young fellar, and whut kin I dew few ye?"
"I'd like to go to Mineral Village if you're still making the run."
"Aye, makin' the trip every mornin' like the past fifty years. Wait, ye look familiar tew me. Ye be the young 'un who travelled with the family of the old farmer in Mineral Village, right."
"Right Captain."
"Hee hee hee. Tell me I'm gettin' old. Hardly ever ferget a face."
His face got grave and he went on:
"I'm sorry to hear about - your grandpa, right? He was a highly regarded man in these parts. The village depended a good deal on that farm." He sighed: "Don't know what they're goin' to dew with him gone. So you're going there to wind up his affairs?"
"That's right, Captain. Figure I'll spend a few days, then..." I shrugged.
"All right then, I kin carry ye to the village. Boat leaves six in the mornin' sharp as always. Carry ye fer three hundred G's."
"Good, Captain."
He looked at me thoughtfully.
"Where yew stayin' tonight?"
"I was thinking of the Sea Gull Inn, but..."
"Know what ye mean. Nothin' but riff-raff stay there now. Well...seein' as I know ye, ye could just berth on the boat overnight, if ye could stand sleepin' in a hammock swaying with the tides."
What a relief - I didn't have to stay at that foul looking inn. And the idea of sleeping in the crewroom of a boat sounded delightful - a throwback to earlier days.
"That sounds wonderful, Captain. I thank you."
He waved it off. "Never ye mind, young fellar - glad to help out. No extra charge for the berth - dunt cost me nothin'. Throw in twenty G's more fer supper and breakfast - real sea cookin'!" He nodded at the boy securing the lines. "That's my nephew, learnin' the ropes, so tew speak. Heh heh heh. He ain't good fer much yet, but he can cook up the old dishes, not too shabby, either.
"Oh, ye'll be sharing quarters with a couple of others. There's Zack, shipper for Mineral Village. Dunt let the looks of him skeer ye - he's just as friendly as a puppydog, less ye trifle with him. And ye look too smart to do that. Heh heh.
"Other feller - dunt know of him. Some kind of vagabond or hobo, calls hisself Cliff. Says he's lookin' fer work." He sighed. "Lots of people out of work now. Usually wouldn't carry that type to the villages, but he made hisself useful on the docks this mornin', so I figger he's not a layabout or a crook. 'Sides, he won't cause any trouble around Zack! Heh heh heh.
"That's all your gear in that backpack? Well, come aboard and get stowed away. Dinner's in an hour. Hear that boy -" looking at his nephew " - one hour - so git them lines tied off and look sharp about it! Cabin's just below deck and first room tew the left, ye can just go on down and get settled if ye like."
I climbed aboard the boat and started down the hold ladder, then turned to Captain Willowbee.
"Captain, if I can ask you a question. What happened to this town?"
"Bad business, young feller, bad business. Only happened a couple of years ago. Times started gettin' tough and the tourist trade started fallin' off. Then that Scott fellar, ran the amusement park (called hisself a cap'n, but I never heered of him skipperin' anything more than a fishing raft!) got what he thought was a good idea. Started havin' concerts on the weekend at that park, and advertisin' it in the big cities. Worked not tew shabby fer awhile - had some drinkin' and litterin' problems but no more, and the money was comin' back in.
"Then that weekend, had a real ugly bunch of flotsam in - called themselves 'rappers'. Well, I'll tell ye, the crowd that lot brung in was wild and hopped up like you never seed. When a bunch of them wrecked the fence around the park, ol' Scott yelled the concert was over and they should go home, then he turned off the 'lectricity. Bad move! They went amok, tore up ever'thin' in that park, then went for the town shops. Stole what they could and wrecked the rest. Town cops couldn't dew much, as they was bad outnumbered."
"But the docks look undamaged."
"Yes, young fellar, when we sea dogs heard the ruckus, we all sorta banded together at the docks. They tried to get at 'em, but they discovered that a bunch of old salts were a little harder business than old shopkeepers. Some of 'em went overboard with ther heads caved in. The ones that got away musta told tales, 'cause we ain't been bothered by 'em since. Heh heh.
"Never seed or heered of Scott after that night. Don't know if the trash got him or he just decided the townfolk weren't pleased with him and got out of town while he cud. They talked about rebuildin' but their hearts just weren't in it. Henray and Martha retired down south and the rest..." He shrugged. Now, Edgeport is back to how it started, fishin' and shippin'.
"Wal, reckon yew must be wantin' to get settled in rather than hear an old salt spin yarns. See yew tomorrow, young fellow. Hey boy! Get them vittles cookin', got a lot of hungry folks here!"
I went down the hold, admiring the old wood and fixtures of the ship - at least a hundred years old. As I got near the cabin, I could hear a husky voice saying:
"...and then just go past the town square - Rose Square - to the big inn. Guy who runs it, Doug, he'll make the price easy for you and he may have some odd jobs for you too. And the cooking there! Best in the county!"
I entered the cabin, a clean if bare room lit by old kerosene lamps and strung with several canvas hammocks. Lying on one was a boy about my age, a little ragged but alert and intelligent looking. Standing in the middle of the cabin was the speaker, a huge well muscled man smiling and talking animatedly to the boy. He saw me come in, ran up to me, grabbed my hand and and almost shook it off.
"Hey guy, how's it going. Welcome aboard, name's Zack."
"Good to see you, I'm Jack."
"Jack, Zack! Zack, Jack!" He laughed and slapped my back.
I could see what the Captain said about him. I'd known people like him. There was the machinist at Dynatech, Al. Always cheerful and joking like there was nothing that could bother him. Once, snacking at a joint after hours with the rest of us, a punk did try to bother him. In less than five seconds, the punk was unconscious against the wall, upside down, and Al was back to his jokes like nothing had happened. Well, I never gave Al any trouble and I wasn't going to give Zack any either!
"I'm the shipper for Mineral Village. Don't usually leave town, but I was trying to cut some deals with some new wholesalers who came up from Capital City. Where you headed?"
"Mineral Village also. My grandfather there just died and I'm going to wind up his affairs. Did you know him?"
Zack looked upset. "I'm terribly sorry, Jack. I sure did know him. What a great man he was! He worked that farm right up to the end - he shipped out at least as much as the whole rest of the village. Friendly as you could ask too, always asking how I was and about tales of the mainland when I went. He was in the habit of giving me big fish out of his pond too...mmmmm.
"He must have been over eighty, but was working that farm right up to the end. Caught a cold from fixing the fence in the snow. He should have taken it easy, but went out working the next day anyhow. When I came around in the evening, he was lying in the snow, all blue. Got him into the house and went quick to get the doctor, but when we got there, he was already gone. Pneumonia, the doc said. At least he went quick, that's a mercy. We'll all miss him. Don't know what'll happen to the village now. His farm was half the income of the village and there's noone free to take it over. I was hoping we'd miss the hard times everyone else is having, but..." He shrugged and sighed, then looked at me curiously.
"What do you do, anyhow? Ever do any farming?"
"No, I'm an engineer. Well, I was. I'm unemployed now."
"Hard times all around." He looked a bit more curious. "Planning to stay in the village long?"
"Not really, just to get done what has to be done."
"Well...We'll see about this. Hey! Seven 'o clock - chow should be done. I'll go up and get it, you guys get acquainted and I'll be right back."
"Hello, Cliff, do you know anyone in Mineral Village?"
"No, Jack, I've never been to this part of the country. Sorry about your grandfather and your job."
"Thanks. What do you do?"
"Me?" He laughed "I'm a travelling minstrel! Well, I would be if my poetry was any good...but I'm working on it. I just like to wander around the country, doing odd jobs and meeting people. I bet I know ten thousand people!" He frowned. "Must be the wrong ten thousand. No work anywhere I go, so I figured I've never been here, why not try it."
"How long have you been living like this?"
"Quite a while! I grew up in a tiny town in the midwest - folks ran a farm supply store. Nice town, nice people, nice family - and I was so bored with it all! I just couldn't stand the idea of working in that store for the rest of my life. And going to college...sitting in classes listening to greybeards lecture on dusty matters...and sitting in libraries reading 'till my mind turned to dust also. No sirree, not for me! Well, on my eighteenth birthday, I just lit out of there. Hit the road and never looked back. I'll try any work, talk to anyone, but not for long. Gotta keep moving."
"Don't you miss your family? Don't you ever get tired?"
"My folks...yes, I miss them when I think about them. Wonder how my younger sister grew up. Guess she married a farmer by now. I drop them a line now and then, let 'em know I'm still alive. Tired...not yet. I haven't seen everything yet!"
"And when you have?"
He laughed. "Then I'll go around and see it all over again! I've never seen this place - seems nice, if a little run down. But everywhere is run down now so what's the diff. That old captain is a hoot! Like something out of a nineteenth century sea novel." He skillfully imitated the Captain's old Yankee accent. "Boy! Dunt usually hold with tramps! But I sees ye've got willing hands and a strong back, so I guess I'll give ye portage out of here. But I heer ye doin' anythin' wrong in them villages, I'll come after ye myself!" Cliff rolled in his hammock, howling with laughter. "And that Zack! Strong as an ox...check...two oxen! I've been known to work up a little sweat now and then, but I saw that guy humping two barrels of flour, hundred kilos each. One on each arm! Don't think I'll challenge him to any arm wrestling."
Just then, Zack reentered the cabin. "Arm wrestling? Any time you're ready, pally! I'll even lay you five to one odds."
"Good way for me to lose some money!"
"Anyways, here's dinner guys. Chow down!" Zack handed each of us a tin plate heaping with grilled fish, boiled potatoes and greens. Delicious! Cliff and I were hungry all right, but before we had even gotten one fish down, Zack had cleaned his plate.
"Nothing like a day's work to whet the appetite, eh? I really love fish! As long as you've got honest work, good friends and good food, what could be wrong." He frowned. "A wife would be good also...but what the hey! Plenty of time. I share a cabin down on the beach with an old fisherman called Greg. Nice guy, but he kinda lives in his own head. Sitting there eight, nine hours a day fishing...comes home and repairs his gear and might say a dozen words a day. He's not mean or anything, I don't mind, he's...just somewhere else, ya know. Takes all kinds, I guess."
"Oh, here guys, a little nightcap." He handed us tin cups full of something smelling of rum and lime.
"What's this?" Cliff asked.
"Grog! Old fashioned Navy Grog. I tell you, the old captain still thinks it's the nineteenth century. Bet he wishes he could have sailed the seven seas on the East Indies trade, but he's just run ferries out of Edgeport for the last sixty years."
I didn't usually drink, but after this day, I was grateful for it. Besides, an old timey drink fit an old timey boat in an old timey port.
"Guess we'd better turn in, guys. More work tomorrow, and the boat leaves at six, so I've got to be up before then. Oh...I almost forget...it's New Years' Eve. Can't stay up for it, so lets do our toast now."
We all stood up and raised our cups. Zack called it.
"To a better year for all deserving people!"
"Hear!"
"Hear!"
We clanked our cups and drank deeply, then fell into our hammocks as Zack turned off the lamps. I fell asleep almost instantly, thinking that a guy should have, at most, only one day like this in his life.
