The Feet of God

129 - IT WAS BEAUTY THAT KILLED THE BEAST

The rocking of the boat woke me from my nap.  The sea had gotten choppy.  The red sky was now looking black.  You couldn’t tell if we was head’n toward the dark clouds, or if them clouds was coming direct after us.  Maybe it was a little of both.

In my stupor I’d found my way back to The Gypsy Soul on autopilot.  Awake now, I crawled out and rejoined Crespo in the main cabin.  He was reciting poetry and singing sea chanteys.  He didn’t seem fazed at all by the ominous change in weather.  Crespo continued to blabber away while he navigated The Tempest through rough waters.  He seemed to be in good spirits no matter how much the sea pitched and tossed us about.  It gave me a little confidence to know he seemed so confident doing what he was doing.  Even a madman can be competent, I hoped.

“What time is it?” I poured myself a drink.

“Aye, eight-and-half bells,” Crespo laughed.

“What’s that mean in plain English?”

“It’s Happy Hour.”

Crespo picked up his favorite theme and started another lecture on pure beauty.  Which of course led to Baby Harmonica.  He repeated his hellbent determination to seek her out and claim her.  Stipulating only that he needed to make a few stops along the way.  “She is all I want,” he avowed.

As he continued on his need to possess, he seemed like a man possessed himself.  I mean, Baby Harmonica was an obsession for him.  It seemed like he wanted to possess her just like he owned that statue of Circe.  It creeped me out that this was my little sister we was talking about.  But if he thinks he can collect people and own their love, he’s in for a rude awakening.  Instant bad karma, guaranteed.  Even I know that.  If he’s so smart and worldly, how come he doesn’t?  Unless, maybe, he’s plain nuts.

Suddenly a tremendous crash shivered The Tempest from stem to stern.

There was a sickening screech of metal being loudly ripped and torn asunder.  The boat was shoved off its course by the impact.  Crespo and I raced to see what it was.

At first I thought I saw a big black torpedo.  While giving silent thanks it hadn’t detonated yet, I noticed on second inspection it was actually a one-man submarine.  The damn thing was partially lodged into the side of Crespo’s boat.  A hatch opened and a Black man with dreadlocks popped out.

“Medusa!”  Crespo shouted in rage.  “Damn you!”

The man in the black sub smiled and waved.

While Crespo ran below deck, I yelled to the guy, “Who are you?”

“Swiss Navy,” he saluted.

The dreadlocked dude quickly got back inside and sealed the hatch.  The propellers revved in reverse and the black sub pulled out of The Tempest.  The black sub made a quick dive, and it dissolved from sight.

Crespo came runnin’ out with a loaded rocket propelled grenade launcher over his shoulder.  “Where’d he go?  Where’d he go?”

I pointed in the general direction that the submarine took off in.  But for all I knew, it changed course underwater.  Who knew where it was?

But that didn’t stop Crespo.  He fired a rocket grenade at the water.  There was a flash and a concussive blast followed by a huge splash of water on the surface.  Crespo fired several more times in quick succession without scoring any hits, except for the hundreds of dead fish that floated up.  In anger and disgust he threw his RPG to the deck.

We immediately surveyed the extent of damage that was done.  The black sub had gouged a hole in the side of The Tempest.  We had a major hull breach and was taking on water.

“Who the hell was that man?”

“Satan.  Lucifer.  Beelzebub.  Lord of the Flies.”

“Huh?”

“Spawn of Hell.  A fiend who deliberately rammed my boat in an attempt to take my life.  But I won’t give my enemy that pleasure.”

“What do we do?  I don’t think we can bail water fast enough.  And there’s no duct tape enough to fix that hole right now.”

“Abandon ship,” Crespo made a beeline for the lifeboat.

“But there’s only room for one in the dinghy.”

“Now you get it.”

 The Tempest lurched and listed once more severely to its side.  Crespo lost his footing and slipped.  He fell hard, busting up his head pretty bad as it repeatedly smacked against the rusted railing.  A nasty gash appeared on his forehead and it bled profusely.  Crespo struggled back to his feet.

The Tempest heaved again, only this time more sharply, and the deck was at a steeper angle than before.  Crespo tripped on some loose ropes and fell down hard again.  He got himself caught up in the ropes and some fishing gear just before he slid overboard.  I ran to get a closer look.  Crespo was in a tangled knot of ropes and netting and he was dangling helplessly from the side of his sinking boat.  Water churned red from the blood gushing out his gaping head wounds.

I figured there was nothing I could do to help Crespo in his dire situation, and besides, time was at a premium.  The waves battered The Tempest so I didn’t waste a moment getting my ass to the lifeboat.  I pulled a Houdini and managed to free the dinghy from all the straps and tethers.  I hopped in the little lifeboat just as water filled in all around.

Mission accomplished:  The Gypsy Soul was floating free and clear.

Although the rough sea separated the two boats, I could clearly see Crespo’s bound up body tight against the side of The Tempest.  Then I noticed a flash of fin in the water.  And another one.  Bull sharks.  Crespo was being dipped in the drink like so much human bait trolling for man-eaters.  And they came.

Every time he got pulled under the water the sharks fed in a savage frenzy.  Crespo was defenseless while he was being eaten alive.  The water was as red as his eyes.  Shark fins was everywhere, giving me some grave concern for my own safety under the circumstances.

I watched in silent witness when the ship rolled over, then it tipped with the aft section stuck straight up in the air.  It was pointed downward on a final voyage to the ocean’s bottom, and whatever part of him that was alive after the shark attacks, Crespo drowned to death on his way to Davy Jones' Locker.

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