Welcome and enjoy your free read.

Here is your serialization of the award winning novel "Monkey" by Frank Mosco.

Chapter 2

* for October 7th thru 14th, 2018 *

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Upon completion of the final chapter, find the special free gift to be given with the release and introduction of the Monkey sequel titled

~ On Still Waters ~

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CHAPTER 2

The Old Sailor's Map

      A short time later the three men found themselves sitting in the booth of a nearby diner with the old sailor shoveling down his second helping of the blue plate special. He motioned to a passing waitress for more coffee. Stanley sat bored as he watched the young lady fill the old man’s cup. When he looked to Bart who was thoroughly enjoying the sight of this hungry man filling his needs, he could hold himself silent no longer.

      “Bart, I thought we were here to relish the wisdom of an old…”

      “Hard times, sonny,” interrupted the old sailor. “Gotta’ gets whatcha’ can when ya can. Depression on, ya know. World’s gone and got a little crazy. Things don’t come easy no more.”

      Stanley leaned back, unimpressed, “Yeah, well…”

      “So my friend, about this monkey?” Bart asked of their opportunist guest.

      The old sailor paused seriously, a mouth full of food. He studied Bart’s eyes then looked to Stanley and back again to Bart.

      “Monkey?” he said through his food then swallowed. “Monkey’s a little furry critter ya gives a French whore for a good time and some laughs, sonny. Nope, ain’t no monkey yarn I can tell.  More’n that. Much more. Ain’t nothin’ like you can possibly imagine. Ain’t fit for words… or the ears of decent folk.”

      “Yeah well, we aren’t decent folk,” smiled Bart. “We’re future lawyers.”

      The old sailor grunted, sat back and pulled out his pipe. He looked expectantly at Stanley who pulled a match out of his pocket and tossed it across the table.

      “College boys, eh,’ said the old seaman as he packed and lit his pipe and studied the two young men. He tossed the spent match on the now empty plate where it sizzled out in the remaining gravy.

      “So you just played us for a free meal, eh pops?” asked Stanley.

      The old man shot a look of displeasure at the well-healed upper class Ivy Leaguer but quickly subdued it.

      “Well, ya see… ain’t never told nobody before. Ain’t never wanted to. But them dumb-ass picture show shit heads…” He took a generous gulp of his coffee and continued, “Them shit heads got it all wrong. Way off course,” he said, then noticing a trembling in his hand, set down the coffee. The old sailor looked to his pipe to discover his other hand trembling as well. “I ain’t got much more time in this world. Ain’t got no family I know of.”

      He rose from the booth, put on his p-coat and cap and started for the door.

      Stanley threw up his hands and looked to Bart, “Told you it was a waste of time.”

      “Maybe he’s shy,” suggested Bart.

      “Yeah, like a fox.”

      Just then the old sailor turned back and motioned for Bart and Stanley to join him, “Ahoy there.”

      Bart jumped up with a smile joined reluctantly by Stanley who dug in his pocket and tossed some money on the table. As they departed, Bart looked to Stanley mouthing to himself jokingly, “Ahoy there?”.

       The fog engulfed the cold harbor limiting the vision along the docks and wharf area and offering only a partial view of the large hulking rusty steamers straining at their thick heavy mooring lines. They sat tied in the damp misty shadows of the long dark wharf like so many ghost ships, each with only a few dim lights acknowledging their presence. A ship’s bell sounded in harmony with a distant foghorn and the occasional blustering of intoxicated sailors and longshoremen drifted from a nearby bar. The old sailor, Bart and Stanley had just emerged from the fog along the dock when their attention was drawn to the sound of a breaking bottle and they turned to observe a drunken young merchant seaman stumble, fall and pass out against a netted pile of cargo. Unaware of their presence, a bum slithered out of the nearby shadows to take advantage of the young mariner’s unfortunate state and hastily began picking through his pockets.  Stanley moved to stop the theft but to his surprise he was restrained by the old sailor.

      “Belay that mate. He’s a young’n,” explained the old man. “If that thieving feller pulls a blade we’ll lend a hand for sure but that young seaman’s gotta learn his lesson. Better he lose a little coin now and earn him some wisdom or next time around it won’t be just his purse he might be givin’ up.”

      The three of them watched as the bum snatched the seaman’s money and ran off into the darkness then they continued walking along the wharf until the old sailor found a suitable spot allotting him a view past the moored ships. He could see nothing but fog yet as he sat heavily on a crate near an unloaded stack of cargo he looked into the distance with interest, possibly seeing a world yet to be traveled or remembering one which had. Stanley surveyed the surrounding wharf with suspicion, thinking the old man may have drawn them into something ominous. Bart wandered about and childishly stretched over the bulkhead, squinting down into the dark dirty water. Something nearby drew his attention and he looked to discover an extremely large wharf rat, easily the size of a husky cat, scurrying up a thick ship’s mooring line.

      “Big,” shivered Bart. “Biggest damn mouse I ever saw.”

      “They say the fog is the restless souls of sailors lost to the sea and if you listen close, real close mind you, you can hear ‘em callin’ ya to join ‘em.”

      The two young men looked out into the dense fog blanketing the harbor then Stanley turned his attention back to the dark passages of the docks.

      “It was back in eighty-nine,” continued the old sailor. “I missed the war. Too young.”

      Bart turned to the old man, “The great war? With the Kaiser?”

      “Eighty-nine, sonny. War between the states. I comes off the farm outa’ Ohio back in seventy-one. Went to be a whaler but the whalin’ was died off so’s I worked the merchant cargo ships to Europe and then shipped out west to Asia and the China trade. That’s where the story begins. Eighty-nine, in Borneo.”

      “Borneo?”

      “Yep. Was workin’ the Saint Jane, a big four-master outa’ San Francisco. Now she was a real sweet lady that Saint Jane but a real serious job of concern she was too. We catched us an unfortunate storm outa’ New Guinea, the southern end of a deviate typhoon, and had to put into Borneo for repairs.”

      Stanley lit a cigarette and relaxed against the pile of crates in anticipation of what he expected to be the old man’s lengthy cock-and-bull story.

      “Yep, Borneo. We had us some time on our hands ya see ‘cause the First Mate he got sick and the Capt’n had to wait for a doctor. Anyways, a couple of us boys got a little rumbustuous. You know, too much rum and some unsavory ladies.”

      Bart looked to Stanley and smiled. He was taking a liking to the old man and sat next to him so as not to miss any part of what he thought was becoming a colorful sea tale of interest.

      “Anyways, we all ends up in some local pig pen them Borneo heathens called a jail where we comes across this old Samoan. Tattooed head to toe, he was. If ya hadn’t known better ya’d s’pect he had a shrunk head in every pocket and designs on yer own. Well, turns out this old man was in dire health and short ta live, wantin’ nothin’ more but to ease his pain. So we take him out, gives him the last of our rum to kill his ailin’ and in his gratitude just afore he died, he offers up a story… and a map.”

      “A map,” echoed Bart.

      “Sure ‘nuff,” said the old sailor as he tapped the spent tobacco out of his pipe on the side of the crate and watched as the ashes fell to the ground.

      “Map... changed my life, it did,” he continued. “Changed all our lives.” He packed in some fresh tobacco from an old leather pouch. “Them that lived, that is.”

      “Changed. How?” asked a now interested Stanley.

      “Don’t get me wrong, now. It weren’t no mutiny or nothin’,” said the old man, looking down in shame. “Not to speak of.”

      “What do you mean?” asked Bart.

      “Well ya see, right after we put to sea the Capt’n up and died. Just up and died. And we’d left the First Officer in Borneo. Heard later he died same as the Capt’n. Bad food or some damn shit like that. So’s there we was kinda’ rudderless and we had this map. Map was wrote in Portaguee it was but we had this ship’s carpenter could read Portaguee. Turns out this map was about an uncharted island in the Indian Ocean below the ‘quator somewhere’s ’tween Sumatra and Madagascar… with riches. Not your usual storybook treasure kind of tripe mind you but riches, untapped. Mountain full of diamonds there just for the pickin’ just like that Samoan said, but…” He paused while digging through his pockets to come up with a match. Finding one he struck it on his shoe, lit and drew on his pipe and continued, “…seems all them few souls fortunate ‘nuff to find them diamonds never lived long ‘nuff…  ta…”

      “Never lived. Why?” asked Stanley.

      “Island was… s’posed to be cursed. Protected… by…” The old sailor squirmed, growing nervous with the troubling memories flashing through his mind.

      “What?” urged Bart.

      “Beast… a… god-awful beast,” replied the old sailor, raising his pipe to his mouth only to discover it was extinguished. His hand was shaking.  Stanley struck a match and held it for him.

      “A beast?” asked Stanley, noticing the old man’s quick recovery with just a few puffs of the pipe and wondering what kind of exotic tobacco could be so soothing.

      “So anyways, the crew took a vote,” the sailor continued.“Decided to venture out for them diamonds, we did. Had nothin’ to lose, you see. With no capt’n it weren’t likely we’d be makin’ much coin for our efforts of takin’ the Saint Jane home right off.  Ship’s owners weren’t too generous back then, ya know. Most likely would of accused us of some kind of conspiratorial shenanigans. Maybe even hung us.”

      “You went there? To the island?” asked Bart.

      “We went. Better we’d gone straight to hell I say.” He fell silent as he removed his hat and set it on the crate beside him then wiped his brow with a kerchief.

      After a moment Stanley stood tall, stretched, checked his watch and nodded to Bart, “Getting late. We have a match tomorrow.”

      Bart nodded agreement then turned to the old sailor. “Did you find the diamonds?” he asked as  he rose to depart.

      “What we found…“ replied the old man nervously. “What we found no man should ever see.”

      He sat back relishing his pipe, remembering.

      Stanley looked to Bart with a shrug, thinking he had run out of story, then the old mariner continued.

      “Diamonds? Yes sir, you can sure ring that to be true. Big as your fist they was, plump as a Dutch mama. And plentiful to. Solomon himself can’t imagine. Sure, we found ‘em… but that weren’t all we found.”

      The old sailor fell silent once again as he gazed into the fog and drifted into the past, seemingly not to return. After a long moment Stanley drew some cash from his pocket and set it easily into the old man’s hat. As an afterthought he tossed in his matches then turned and walked off.

      “Take care old man,” said Bart as he patted him on the back and walked away. “It was a grand yarn. Enjoyed it.”

      “Wait!” called out the old sailor, causing Bart and Stanley to stop and turn. “You don’t understand. I was the only one… The whole ship’s company and the only one to live. Never told nobody… till now.” He retrieved his hat, rose and walked to the boys then reached into his coat withdrawing an aged canvas pouch and held it to his chest.

      “It’s alright old man,” said Bart. You don’t have to explain. We understand.”

      He extended the pouch to Bart.

      “Really, it’s quite alright,” Bart added. “You don’t owe us anything.”

      “Do you read Portaguee?” asked the old sailor seriously, handing the pouch to Bart..

      “What… You mean… The map?” came Bart as he accepted it.

      “Some souls might say it’s a map,” offered the old man. “I’d say it’s… a doomed course to perdition.”

      Bart unwrapped the old canvas to discover a yellow aged folded piece of parchment. It was indeed a map and while Bart and Stanley turned and inspected it in the dim limited light of a nearby ship the old sailor silently turned and walked away, quickly disappearing into the misty shadows. When the boys turned back they discovered they were alone.

      “Gone.  He’s gone.”

      “I didn’t catch his name,” said Stanley.

      “He wouldn’t tell me his name and didn‘t want mine. Said he was a man of the sea and too many names hindered his passage.”

      The seasoned sailor stooped a bit as he favored and rubbed the old injury in his leg. As he limped through the heavy mist a distant foghorn sang through the harbor and he paused, turned to the lingering sound, struck a match and relit his pipe. By the brief glow of the match came visible his haggard face as it grew a sly devious smile.

END CHAPTER 2

Be sure and return next week for Chapter 3.

Don't forget to look for the special free gift to be given with the release and introduction of the Monkey sequel titled,

~ On Still Waters ~

NEXT WEEK!

Chapter 3

The Christmas Revelation

SEE YOU AGAIN SOON!