Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

I was getting a little fidgety with nothing to do. I had to come up with some survival plan, "tomorrow I will gather everything I can find that will burn" I said out loud, even though no one was there, it was good to hear a voice once in a while. I thought I could tear the doors off the cupboards and the food locker, tear apart the lower bunk tear out anything that was not needed, the door to the head, the wall between the head and the galley and the berth, any decorative trim, anything not completely essential. I would build a signal fire and light it only if I saw a plane or something like that.
I came up with a survival strategy that I thought made sense, I would build a signal fire, but if no plane showed up I would not light it except for emergency heat when my propane ran out. I counted what was left of my Kraft dinner boxes, there were seventeen boxes left. I decided that when I got down to only eight boxes of Kraft dinner, I would eat four of them all at once, for strength, then carry the last four boxes with me for energy as I tried to walk for shore.
The other plan would be that if I ran out of propane before the eight boxes all that were left. I would then eat all but five of the boxes that day, light the fire, grab what I needed for the trip and light what was left of my vessel up for heat and hope that some one might see that big of a fire from some where. Then after absorbing as much heat as I could from the fire, I would have to start my trek for shore.
But I was not sure what direction I would have to walk or even if the ice made it all the way to shore. But at that point I would have nothing to lose. For now I would enjoy the luxury of the heat provided by the gas, and rest up and heal up as much as possible before being forced to pick a direction and walk. I wished I had some kind of compass, but even if I did, at this latitude compasses are useless anyway.
But I did not want to think about that any more; I continued to entertain myself further by reminiscing about the days gone by and what tangled twist and turns of fate made me into the man I now was. I could not help but think again about that little boy that I was, wondering what path my life would take and where it would lead me. It was as if that little boy was standing back there in the past looking forward at himself through time and seeing me where I now was. I couldn't help but think I had disappointed him.
Some how I was able to look back in that strange minds eye to see that little boy that was me then, watching myself as a young boy intently focused looking forward at my now predicament. I saw myself back on that day wondering what would eventually become of me when I grew up. I saw a look on my boyish face, as if he or rather I was seeing me now from then. It was like I had looked into the future as that young boy and saw me where and when I now was.
I was thinking to myself that as that young boy, I would not like what I was seeing and dread the future. But that look on my face as a little boy was something I had not expected, the look said "lets get on with it!" as if to say he couldn't wait to be where I now was. As a little boy I liked what I saw that I would become, I could see that he was terrified of what he was seeing that I had gone through, and he would go through. But he was very glad to see that he was no longer afraid of anything when he became a man, and so would face anything from that day forward to be exactly where I was now.
It was true, I was not that fearful little boy anymore, but I was not fearless, I just learned to not let fear make decisions for me, to act in the face of fear, at no time more than that is the presence of God more noticeable. It was not often that such a situation would come up. But I recall one time vividly, and it was many years ago, it was a night I thought that I might die, or be very seriously hurt, it was a night that fear tried to regain its hold on me, but somehow I prevailed.
It started out simple enough; I was sitting on a stool at the counter of a dingy old coffee shop. My eyes traced the black stains that decorated the blood red matted carpet; the worn out fibers formed trails to the coffee machine and the kitchen; dispersing like estuaries to the various tables. The front half of the restaurant was long and skinny, a row of square tables positioned with one corner of the table closest to the wall so that the sides of the table were at about forty-five degrees to the wall. This allowed for all four sides of the table to be occupied. They followed the wall back to the rear half of the restaurant that opened up into an open room with several tables for larger groups.
The stools along the counter were chrome posts with a stool on top covered in what once was bright red vinyl padding, now worn and faded. The counter was horseshoe shaped rather than just straight, in fact there were two counters like this, and they were divided by a space to make easy access to the coffee machine. The counter top was a kind of lime green arborite, the seams revealed by years of wiping rags passing over them and trapping grime in the depression. The walls were some cheesy flower pattern; old, yellowing with cigarette smoke stains and showing the wear and tear of the wiping rag. The whole place was ringed with wainscoting made from cheap paneling with printed wood grain on the press type board, and a beat up chair rail encircled the whole place. I don't recall what kind of ceiling was over this place, I don't think anyone who frequented it would; nobody in here ever looks up.
The old man to my left was grumbling about the government, he was cupping his coffee with his hands as if to warm them, a cigarette hanging from between the heavily nicotine stained fingers. He was upset about the mayor, it seemed that every year the city only developed about thirty or forty lots and put them up for sale. I was able to gather that it was done by lottery, and everyone who wanted a lot had to put their name in along with a deposit, and if their name was drawn you got to buy the newly developed lot, for only one thousand dollars. The catch was in order to keep the lot you needed to do a minimum of ten thousand dollars worth of improvements to the property with in one year.
It seemed that he had applied for a lot and not gotten it, and that the draw was done behind closed doors, with only the mayor and a couple of aldermen present. It so happened he expounded, that for the last three years the mayor and these alderman always won the draws and got all the properties. Then they would resell them to developers for ten to twenty times what they paid for them. The old timer couldn't explain why he was the only one outraged by this, or why the developers were willing to put up with it each year either.
I surmised that it must be that some of the developers, the one's on the "in", the ones with the right "color, or mark," were getting their fare share of the wins in the lottery. Those developers that were not of that group, those on the outside, those that were the wrong color, with the wrong mark, did not get cheap lots, but instead were willing and able to buy them off of those who did. They must have reasoned that it was a fair and equitable situation for them because what they got for the extra money they paid was a sure thing, something they could take to the bank. But this old guy was with neither of those groups.
I could empathize with the old timer, living in a world that presents it self as a fair and equitable arrangement for everyone. Each equally able to gain or loose from the pitch n' toss, only to find that it was never a game of chance at the best of times. The outcome was determined long before we ever came to the table. Those holding the deck never intended to expose themselves to the risk of loss, and even more so, not willing to expose us to a chance of winning.
I got up and grabbed the old timer’s empty coffee cup along with my own and carried it to the large shinny chrome coffee machine. It had three spigots, one for hot water and two for coffee, it was about thirty inches wide and two feet deep, and maybe eighteen inches tall, it sat on four cat paw like legs, one at each of the corners of it rectangular form. Two large chrome bowl like lids sat on top of it, this was where the coffee grounds go to make the coffee. The glass tube above the left spigot indicated that the level of the coffee in that side of the machine was low. So I used the spigot on the right hand side instead, since the glass tube of its indicator showed it was over half full; no one likes to get the bottom cup.
I returned the short distance of barely a step or two to the stool and placed the old timer’s coffee on his saucer. He began to grumble about how lousy the service was getting in this place, that it had become a self-serve joint. I then realized that I had forgotten to grab us some creamers, I got up from my seat and returned to the coffee machine, to the right of it in a large chilled stainless steel box was about a hundred or more dairy creamers in their individual little packages. I grabbed us a couple of them.
The place was always full; or at least never empty, people came here from force of habit, it was where anybody who was actually nobody was, if they were not here, they were not even in town. It was a class of people that did not really accept each other as they were, but were willing to allow them to entertain each other with what they thought they were, or they thought they would become. If you had something to say, or if something bugged you, you could come hear and find someone bored enough to listen.
A few years earlier I had been in this same coffee shop one night, and I had something to say, or at least I thought I did. I considered my self a Christian, and so when the existence of God was questioned I thought it was my job to defend him, as if he needed defending. The conversation went from evolution to nuclear physics as only a group of coffee shop experts could debate it. I recalled something I had learned about nuclear physics, about the nucleus of an atom.
It seemed that the nucleus of an atom was comprised of a cluster of negatively charged particles, and since like charges repelled, the question was "what was holding the atom together?" I made the statement "Jesus said that by him all things are held together." at which several scoffed, but a few were amazed. Before long my table was the focus of the entire restaurant, with at least twenty people involved in the debate, and all of them against me. But I was on fire; it seemed I had an answer for everything, as if it was not even I talking.
One fellow, he was thirty or more years of age, he was older than I was then by at least ten years for sure. He was a taxi driver, I had seen him several times in this place, usually reading some thick paper back with all its pages frayed and curved. He was nearly always sitting alone, but he had the look of someone who was sure he was superior to all those around him. He must have read some books about nuclear physics, because he seemed to perk up an interest in what was going on around my table at what I had said.
Very quickly the group chose him as their intellectual champion against me. I was confident that I could hold my own against regular coffee drinkers, but I did not consider the possibility of going against the intellectual prowess of a taxi cab driver. I would have to sharpen my wits. He said that science had an answer to the problem of what was holding the nucleus of an atom together. He said that they had discovered a type of atomic glue that held the center together. "It's a kind of glue that actually disappears before it exists!" he told us.
I glanced at the look on everyone's face at his answer; I could tell that everyone wanted to agree with him except that what he was proposing seemed more incredible than what I had said. "Atomic glue!" I mocked him, "that's the stupidest thing I have ever heard!" I exclaimed. I had effectively used their own mocking strategy that they had been using against me back against them. This seemed to divide their forces; nobody wants to be on the side that is being mocked.
But after everyone settled down I picked up on his point. "Glue that disappears before it exists" I quoted him. "There is a name for that," I continued. "Its called spirit!" this seemed to get us all back on track as to what we were discussing. He had no rebuttal for that; I could tell that he thought I had given an excellent answer. He said nothing; he stared at me intently as he took a sip of his coffee and butted out his smoke.
Inevitably; after some time the frustration of the participants of this discussion was being focused at me. Intelligent logical thinking broke down and gave way to stupidity, guile, and vile filth. It became pointless to continue the conversation, and it was nearly midnight, so I got up to leave. I was standing at the mechanical cash register to pay my bill, one coffee and about fifteen free refills. In the middle of this act, I got some kind of picture in my mind, it lasted less than an instant, and so from memory I had to study it. It was some kind of vision.
I took the four steps or so from the cash register back to where I was seated. My chair was the only unoccupied seat at the table. It was a table for four, but it was crowded with many more people than that. I could not identify whom I saw in the vision, but what I saw were two people on a motorcycle; they were riding on the ring road around Latham Island, going past Weaver and Devoe, an outfitters’ store in the old town area of the city. I also saw a bright yellow car, a taxicab; it was making a U-turn in front of the second hand store next to Weaver and Devoe.
I saw the motorcycle crash into the taxicab, I knew the rider was not killed instantly, and I knew his passenger would be okay. I also knew that the rider would not recover from his injuries. I did not know what, or why, or who it was all about, or even if it was just some fantasy of my imagination. I leaned across the table to the person that was sitting across from me, and only briefly made eye contact with him. Then I looked at them all with a subtle scan of my eyes past their eyes, since I did not know whom I had seen in my vision. I then settled back my gaze to the person that was sitting directly across from me, since he had been the most belligerent.
I made sure I spoke in very general terms; I did not want to look stupid or come across as some kind of psychic or something. "In the near future," I began; "you might be, I don't know, maybe riding your motorcycle or something…I don't know if you even have a motorcycle or not. But if you get one in the future, or borrow one from someone, and I don't know, a car, a taxicab or something makes a U-turn in front of you, and you can’t stop. Now maybe your girlfriend or someone is on the back, and she is okay, but you’re not, your hurt bad, but not yet dead, just remember these words, Whosoever calls upon the Name of the lord shall be saved! So if you have the time; just say Lord Jesus help me, and he will take care of the rest."
At that I turned and left the restaurant. I never gave what I said that night any more thought, but I did not make my way back to the coffee shop for a couple of days after that. Then two or maybe even three days later, I walked into the coffee shop. The China men who ran the joint were staring at me, as was everyone else, but I was more affected by the fact that the China men, as we affectionately knew them, seemed to giving me special attention. I then saw Lori sitting at the corner table; he was a friend of mine and was there when I had the big discussion that night.
"He should have listened to you" Lori stated as I sat down.
I did not know what he was talking about, but I was quick to agree with him. "Yeah well that goes for just about anybody!" I quipped.
"Yeah but he should have listened to you!" he repeated, this time I could tell that his statement was loaded.
"Who?" I asked
"Danny" He responded.
"Who is Danny?" I asked
"He is that guy you were talking to the other night."
"Which one?"
"The guy you said that he was gonna get killed on his motorcycle!" Lori explained some frustration evident in his tone that I was acting so clueless.
"Why what happened?" I asked, still not knowing really which guy in the crowd had been Danny.
"Just exactly what you said," he answered.
"What? He's dead or something?" I asked, not really believing he would be.
"Yeah, he got killed on his motorcycle just like you said, he hit a taxi cab, he was air lifted to the hospital, but he died any ways, and his girl friend was on the back but she is okay just like you said she would be!"
"Where did this happen?" I asked
"Right beside Weaver and Devoe, the cab was making a U-turn and he ran right into it."
I was a little shocked, I looked around the restaurant, every eye was on me, and no one was talking to each other like they usually were. They were looking to see what I was going to say next, as if I had something profound to say, but I did not, I was as shocked as any of them. After that I held a special respect from everyone that had any connection with that event, I was no longer just an anonymous face on the street.
If I was introduced to some one for the first time, the person doing the introduction always stated my name clearly and waited for a response. "Oh you’re him!" they would exclaim, some how my reputation had preceded me. It was always awkward for me, because I was not sure what it was that they had heard about me that made them respond like that. I would always respond with a lame "Oh-oh" as if they might have heard something bad about me.
As it would turn out, Danny lived with his grandmother, and she was an old Christian lady, and she was troubled that her grandson might have died unsaved. Ilene Boss, Lori's sister came to me one day and told me that she had gone to Danny's grandmother and told him what I had said to Danny about calling upon the name of the Lord. She said this seemed to comfort his grandmother, that there was a chance that he got saved. Years later, the memory of that event faded in everyone's mind, including my own, even I began to doubt that it ever actually occurred like that, how much more for everyone else the doubt of it must be.
It would not be till quite a while later that I noticed that their champion the cab driver had stopped frequenting the cafe. I began to wonder if he was the taxicab driver that made the fateful U-turn. If so it would have been somewhat ironic, but very possible, I doubt there were more than twenty cabs in the whole city. Also, if so, what I had said was more for him than Danny, for I don't know who got the worse end of the deal, is living with it worse than dying from it? Possibly…
But that was several years earlier, this night was nothing like that, no heavy discussion, just idle chit chat, the old guy was venting his frustration and I was giving him the courtesy of listening. Another old guy came in from the cold and entered the cafe and sat on the stool opposite mine. The waiter quickly brought him a coffee, not a word was spoken, but the waiter knew that he was going to have a coffee. He lit up a smoke and poured some sugar into his coffee cup. He took a couple of drags off his cigarette as he stirred the sugar into his coffee. He tapped the excess coffee off the spoon and set it carefully on the counter beside his coffee cup.
He was an old retired miner; he had worked in the Giant gold mine for over forty years, and now was retired and spent his days alone, his wife long gone, and his children thousands of miles away. His only pleasure each day was to make his way into this dingy old place and have some coffee. He would listen to those who were talking about their problems around him; this was his way of keeping his finger on the pulse of the city. After taking a sip of his coffee he carefully replaced the cup on its saucer, a slight tremble was noticed in his grip but he was able to control it and didn't spill any of his coffee.
Usually he would stay quiet and just listen, grunting once in a while at the appropriate times to respond to whatever he heard being said around him, but this night he had a gripe. It seemed that a new no U-turn sign had been installed in front of the post office, he said that he had been making U-turns there for over forty years, no way that stupid sign was going to stop him now.
There was a commotion at the first table, the one nearest the door and beside a large five by eight foot window that looked out onto the street. Those at that table were intently looking at something that was going on outside, others from adjacent tables were standing up and also looking out the window, blocking our view of anything that was going on outside. The old timer stopped mid sentence, and got up to see what was going on. I got up and followed him, as my curiosity was also peaked.
We made our way out the door since all those who had beaten us to it blocked the window. Not thinking about paying our bill, the Chinese men who owned the place did not get alarmed; they knew that we would never stiff them. As I walked out on to the sidewalk I still could not see what was going on, for there was a large crowd blocking my view. At some point as I got closer the crowd opened up a little and moved so that I could see what all the fuss was about.
I looked to my right and could see all those still inside the restaurant pressed against the glass watching what was going on. I myself was horrified, my heart immediately jumped to my throat, and I could see why everyone in the window had such a distressed looks on their faces, that same look I now had. Two big guys were pile driving the limp body of some small guy into the concrete foundation of the restaurant under the window. Then they picked up as high as they could and slammed him into the ground with great force. "No" I muttered with a tremble.
The large crowd of people gathered around seemed to be enjoying the entertainment. I found it difficult to believe that no one in that big crowd was the least bit interested in helping the poor guy. I looked around at the crowd, some girls in the crowd seemed to have a troubled look on their face at what they were seeing, but other girls were enthusiastically cheering on the aggressors to beat the guy more. At any rate, this was not a job for girls, I saw no young men in the crowd that looked like they might help me if I tried to help this guy. "I’m gonna have to do this alone" I either muttered out loud or thought to my self. I was not sure.
The one old timer must have heard me or read my mind, I could not sit by and idly watch, I could not live with myself if I turned away from this, I could not stand the thought of tomorrow coming and me not having done something. As I began to step towards the action he put his hand on my shoulder and pulled me back and said "It’s got nothing to do with you, leave it alone"
It seemed that from all corners of my soul relief came as well as agreement with the old timer, and for a moment I hesitated, but from deep inside a small voice required me to do something. There were four big guys altogether that seemed to be beating on this guy, I had never fought a grown man before, and I had never fought anyone for real, except as a kid in school, this was much different. Each one of these guys on their own were tough enough looking to intimidate me, I would not ever try to normally offend any one of them out of just pure wisdom of self preservation.
The biggest of the four had just run up the street and kicked the limp body of his victim in the head with his big steel-toed boot. At that I stepped over the limp body of their victim and straddled him with one foot on either side, saying a prayer as I did so. "Lord, either give me the strength of Samson or I'm coming home" that was all the time I had for prayer. "Enough" I yelled as the attacker ran up the street towards his victim to kick the poor guy’s head in some more. I was terrified, if this didn't kill me it was going to for sure hurt, either way I was very scared, from inside me I could hear the voice of fear making a very reasonable sounding case for flight.
I spread my stance for balance and put my palm up towards the attacker, his chest ran right into my hand and I stopped him in his tracks at arm’s length. He immediately looked infuriated, he took a swing at me, but I was able to duck it, or rather move out of its range. It seemed as if fear still had a hold of me and it was not going to let me worsen the situation by hitting this guy back, but I forced my self to swing at him anyway. I made good contact and it stunned the guy good, I was surprised at the effect of the hit, I was afraid that he would not even feel it. At that moment all fear left me, in fact, I felt something rise inside me, something that enjoyed this, and I felt like the game was a foot, and I would make this my game.
I had wondered how that whole crowd could watch and no one in that crowd had been willing to do what I had done, but this was quickly answered. The whole crowd attacked me, as it turned out the four big tough guys were also part of the crowd themselves. I saw one of them smile a sneer at me as the crowd attacked me, as if some how this validated him. They kept leaping on me and on top of each other, trying to overload me so that I would crumble to the ground. I could see nothing; the throng that had engulfed me blocked my view. My legs nearly buckled, but some how I was able to command them to overcome the load.
I knew that if I let them get me down this thing would be over, and I would look the beaten fool. They were clinging to me everywhere, and piling on from all directions, some were clinging to my waist, others to my legs and others to my arms chest and neck. It turned out that their efforts were self defeating somewhat, as those attacking me from behind balanced those who attacked from the front, and the left from the right also, so I was able to stay on my feet. I had an advantage in the area of intelligence, I knew that behind me to my left was a one hour parking sign, if I could get a hold of that I could hold myself up and keep them from getting me on the ground.
There was probably much more than four hundred pounds of attackers pilling upon me trying to bring me down. A couple of people were tugging at my ankles trying to pull me down, but with all that weight on me the traction under my feet was more than they could overcome. I did the penguin shuffle and made it to where the signpost was. I reached my arm through the layers attackers clinging to me, I felt for the cold steel of the signpost, I got a good grip on it, and pulled myself as close to the pole as possible.
There was a cube van parked very close to the curb next to the sign, I knew that there was only enough room for me between the van and the signpost. I pulled myself as close to the post as possible, freeing my other arm I grabbed the signpost with both hands and rotated myself around the post with such force that those clinging to me would be forced off. I heard the sounds of someone being jammed against the box on the van, their cry intensified equally with the force of my movement around the post. It was the sound of a girl squealing as my determined advance between the post and the van crushed her. But I did not let that slow my advance.
I don't know who it was that was being jammed into the van. But some how from the sound her voice, the anguish in it, created the image of the distressed face of a young girl in my mind, as if she was able to address me directly and plead for mercy. But I could not afford to grant her any; she needed to learn this lesson anyway! I thought.
I emerged from the other side of the post cleaned of all those parasites. In my minds eye I could not help but chuckle, it must have looked keystone cops funny. Now I was standing on the sidewalk between the van and the building. This narrowed their field of attack from three hundred and sixty degrees too less than forty-five degrees. They were three rows deep in front of me launching a persistent attack and behind that were many more that were too far away to mount any kind of productive attack.
I had more attackers after me than I could count, perhaps as many as thirty, but definitely more than twenty. Most of them were just young girls, perhaps fifteen to eighteen years old, and an equal amount of young boys of about the same age. I could not help but wonder; why did they all share so much hate? Most of the girls would normally not be unattractive in any normal setting, but the hate they were consumed by this night made them all seem ugly. Still, I refused to hit them, they hit like girls so it was not much trouble to ignore their hits, and they were not strong enough to hurt me even a little bit.
Realizing that I would not hit them, the young girls made up the front line of attack against me, all their cowardly boyfriends lined up behind them, using their girlfriends as human shields. I told them to clear out or they might get hurt, but they just spit their vile at me and refused to move. I tried to ignore them, but for some reason, inside my head was playing a different movie. I was picturing what would seem really funny at this very moment, and I could not help but chuckle to myself. The human shield of girls saw me chuckling to my self and one actually said, "What's so damn funny?"
"So; you doing anything later?" I said to her as if I was making a pass at her. That is what I was thinking that I thought was so funny. She had a confused look on her face for a moment, as if she thought I was serious. Well, knowing the ego of a young girl, I am quite sure she thought I was serious. I fended off a few punches that came from some punks behind her, and I noticed that she was maintaining eye contact with me through it all. "Ha ha!" I laughed at her, "You thought I was serious! Ha-ha!" at that she took a swing and hit me in the face. Ok I deserved that, I said to her, but it didn’t hurt.
The four big guys had made their way to the front of the group and began to assault me. I would hit them hard, harder than I had hit anything in my life; my results were greater than expected. It felt like I had actually fanned on the shots; that I had in spite of all my effort I had missed, or at least made a weak contact. But the results proved otherwise, as they would topple over on their heals and hit the ground, not getting up until someone helped them up. It was as if it was not my fist that was hitting them, I could not feel the jolt of any impact, just the results.
With greater and greater fury they increased their attack upon me, but by now I was in some automatic mode, merely giving my arms permission to strike rather than actually performing the act myself. It was wintertime, and the streets had about six inches of frozen snow and ice on them. In this northern city they never plowed the roads in the winter, they just let it pack in. for this reason everyone was content to keep the fight on the cleaned sidewalk rather than the slippery street.
The row of young girls that were lined up in front of me continued trying to scratch my eyes out and pull at my hair and hit, overall just a bit of a nuisance. But from behind them the four big guys were ducking down and popping up to take a swing at me. I took a few good shots this way, as it was hard to block their hits with the screen of girls and with the distractions they were causing. The only reason the girls dared to stand in front of me was because they realized early on that I would not hit a girl, I decided this had to change.
After getting popped a good one in the choppers I decided it was time, the girls had to go. I told them to go away or I would begin to hit them, a couple of them immediately retreated, but about four or five or more became defiant and screamed that I wouldn't dare and that I was some kind of woman beater if I did. I calmly told them that I had already stopped giving a damn what they thought of me. They tried to get tough, it was pretty cheesy, I gave them one last warning and then hit each one of them once, there was not one tenth of a second between the first girl getting hit and the last one hitting the ground. I had not hit them hard, but it was more than enough to send them away not to return.
The four big guys now were enraged and without their human shields pretended to be men for about three seconds, I had hit them all again and they faded back into the crowd, leaving the remaining teenaged boys to carry on their fight. These kids were much more formable opponents than the girls were, but still not militarily effective. They had finally figured out that they could walk around the van and attack me from behind. But I would severely punish them for this; still, I reasoned that I needed a more secure flank.
There was a narrow opening between the restaurant building and the building next to it, it was about two feet across and was blocked on the backside. I backed into this and fended off their assault fairly easily, the three biggest of the four big guys had seemingly gone away, and I was tired, and bored of the whole ordeal. I walked out of my strong hold and stood amongst them, there was only nine or ten of them left, and they were all very fearful of me and kept their distance.
There was one young guy that had been particularly annoying so I approached him to teach him a lesson, he backed away, and as I persisted with my approach he ran. "That's right! You run like a dog! Smartest thing you've done all night!" I shouted at him as he disappeared into the darkness. My whole life it seemed I had found his sort; so tough and brave when they have nothing at risk; when there chance of being victorious is assured; when they are protected by the anonymity of the crowd. But singled out to back up their bark with some bite they run like whipped puppy. I resisted chasing him down, yet part of me so wanted to. Cowards like him give me a furious reaction that desires to be fed, perhaps if I caught him I would do to him what I would have done to that long legged freak in my childhood nightmares that always ran away and disappeared into nothingness whenever I challenged him.
There was actually two of the big guys still hanging around, not just one as I had thought. When I had emerged from my stronghold they resumed their attack but it was still a one-sided fight. I had formed an imaginary circle around me; my no mans land. Whenever they entered it I hit them, they were trying to kick me, they were trying to wrestle me, but all I would do was hit them as soon as they were in range. The two of them had been hit several times and were bleeding from their noses, eyebrows, and lips. But I was still pretty much unscathed, I had a fat lip from when one of them hit from behind the screen of their human shield of young girls, but that was it.
They backed off and stayed out of range of my strike zone. They would try to simultaneously attack me but I was still able to hit them both. If I wanted to, I could finish them anytime after I hit them because they were stunned for more than ten seconds or so after each hit, but I let them recover, but by now the fight was pretty much out of them. The only thing that kept them going away was the goading on from the crowd and from their girlfriends. The crowd had given up on trying to get me. I thought about what I was doing, and I looked around and did not see their victim anywhere, I hoped that he had left or someone had gotten him help. I decided my objective was achieved, and that to fight any longer was fruitless.
I walked up the street towards one of the big guys, intending to just pass by him and go back inside the restaurant; he backed away and gave me a wide berth, intently staring at me the whole time. This was the first good look I had at any of them; during the fray they were all faceless opponents.
His face was pock marked from acne, he had dark straight hair, dark eyes and thick eyebrows, he had a large square jaw, not the kind of face any one would dare tease. I could see swelling on his cheeks and lips and blood from his nose from being hit a few times. He was breathing heavily his entire body heaving with each breath but his gaze was fixed upon my eyes. I don't know how to describe the look in his eyes, it was a look of confusion, as if his hate and anger was now overcome by his fear, and he was trying to overcome his fear but his hate and his anger were failing him. That is the only way I could describe it.
As I approached the restaurant door his girl friend was yelling at him to kill me. He looked at her and shook his head "No" to her. At that she charged at me and began flailing her fists at me pounding them on my chest, I had already had enough of this and forcefully pushed her back, causing her to tumble back onto the side walk. At this she shrieked her boyfriends name, I can't recall it though. He then charged me indignantly and determinedly to protect the honor of his girl friend, I knew he had no choice.
I swung my arm out at him as he approached, but I had fired too soon, I thought I had completely missed him as my fist round housed in front of him. I had also overthrown the punch and yanked my arm out of joint; it hurt terribly and would be useless from that point on. To my surprise he stopped in his tracks, looked at me with out any real expression on his face at all. His girlfriend was still yelling at him to get me, but he just blinked a couple of times, the color seemed to drain out of his face, his knees buckled and he collapsed on the sidewalk.
Foaming blood and saliva was coming from his mouth and he was out cold. Get him up and help him I shouted at his girlfriend. I then turned and went through the doors to the restaurant, when another of the big guys tried to attack me from behind, but when I turned quickly to face him before he had expected me too, and he said "Hey it's ok man! I got no problem with you!" I told him to stay farther back from me then, and he retreated.
I sat back in my stool and noticed that my coffee cup was gone, Sam, the china man who managed the joint quickly replaced it with a fresh cup and saucer. Turning to the old timer again I asked him if he had said anything to the paper about how crooked the lottery for developing lots seemed to be. He looked at me blankly for a moment, but picked up on my queue and he said that it was pointless, nobody seemed to care about it except him, and that my lip was bleeding. "Rats I hate that," I said while pawing a napkin from the dispenser to dab the blood off my lips. That's right… that is me…always Joe cool.
I don't know how I was so successful that night except that God answered my prayer instantly and exactly as I had requested because I acted in spite of fear, and even terror. But I failed my mission that night, perhaps I was show boating the power of God or something, I don't know, but while I was busy fighting they took that beaten limp victim of theirs away and murdered him. Now there were also some strange coincidences and events that surrounded this event that remain unexplainable. As if a link with my past had been formed and old scores made even.
The first thing that struck me in the heartstrings was when I found out whom this guy was that they had killed. It had been a cold night and my truck had jumped its timing chain, it was pouring down a freezing rain. As I walked home in the rain a black Pontiac Fiero pulled over and gave me a ride home, I didn't know this guy, he was Vietnamese and about twenty or so years old and was small in stature. I thanked him for going out of his way in the terrible driving conditions to drop me off at home. "Nobody should have to walk in that kind of weather.” He responded. I thought it strange that I had contact in such a manner with him and then would be there at his death.
The next strange thing was that no one seemed to know it was I, in contrast to an earlier event where I know it was not me and everyone thought it was me when I was in high school. Instead, I met a guy who was going to court to testify in the murder trial of those four guys. He was claiming to be the one that did what I did, he told the story almost as if it was me telling the story, except he was not as cool, and he was not alone, everyone thought it was him, and he didn't even look anything like me. I knew I was there this time, I felt the pain tasted the blood and my arm still had not quite recovered from being overthrown. Somehow I felt that it was okay anyhow, as if things were made even.
I couldn't help but think that all those years of standing up to bullies as a kid in school had some how prepared me for that night. I felt comfortable fighting in a crowd, more comfortable than one on one. But it all seems so pointless when the guy you’re trying to save dies anyway, sure, perhaps the point is that I tried to do the right thing, but how does that help him? …Or his family? If I had this to do over I would do many things different. I would not fight beyond the first few seconds and then as soon as possible even with them poking kicking or jabbing at me I would tend to the victims needs. I would concentrate on protecting him, not the fight. I failed him. But there are no second chances, especially for him.

I was now sleepy, I closed my eyes and drifted off into a deep sleep, it was such a cozy comfy feeling falling asleep like that. When I woke up the next morning I felt better than I had in a long time, I was not coughing as much any more and the skin on my arms and legs was healing up nicely. It was a great day, I was sure good things would happen today, I started on breakfast, I cracked open a box of soggy Kraft dinner and began just dumping the cheese powder into the box and adding a little water I would stir it up. Some of the noodles were soggy form the salt water and some were crunchy, okay so it was not that good.
Soon after I finished the box of Kraft dinner, I began tearing the bathroom door down to salvage it as firewood; I also pulled all the drawers out the door to the hood locker and as much of the lower bunk as I could. I tore the bulkhead down between the berth and the head as well, but I had to leave enough structure to support the upper bunk so that I would still have a place to sleep. I tossed all the salvaged pieces of wood up through the hatch in the deck and then hauled it to the back of the broken off section of boat hull and made a fire pile that I could light if I saw a plane or something.
I saved all the empty boxes of Kraft dinner and hung them over the stove so they would be very dry so that I could use them to light the signal fire quickly if the opportunity presented it self. All though it was a small task, completing it gave me a great feeling of accomplishment. My next task was a little more technical but less essential, it was a luxury item that I decided to build. What I wanted more than anything was a coffee percolator.
First I took one of the empty lucky beer cans and perforated it with a small nail that was holding the bottom in one of the drawers that I salvaged from the galley counter for the signal fire. I made as many small holes in the bottom of that can as I could, careful to keep them as tiny as possible. I poked as many holes as I could in that day; this exercise occupied me till dark.
It was time to eat so I cracked another box of Kraft dinner and mixed it up right in the box, it was beginning to taste better each day. The daylight quickly ran out and so I was not able to complete work on my percolator. The dim light from the burner was not enough to illuminate anything with, and so I decided to try to make a candle. I thought hard trying to come up with what I could use for the raw materials to build a candle. I supposed a wick was easy enough; some cotton from my T-shirt or underwear would probably be okay. But the wax was another problem.
I knew that in there was a wax gasket under the toilet where the porcelain connected to the plumbing in toilets found in regular houses, but I was not so sure about the toilet on a boat. "It’s probably a rubber gasket of some kind" I reasoned. I needed something as a fuel for my candle, some kind of paraffin. I could think of nothing that might contain wax on board what was left of my vessel. I thought about maybe scraping the varnish off the deck structures on the ceiling. But that probably wouldn't work. I needed some kind of fuel to use for candlelight but I could think of nothing.
This was frustrating; I hated to not be able to come up with a solution to that kind of problem. I thought of making electricity from the heat of the stove and using it to light a light bulb, I had some light bulbs still intact in their sockets. I needed to build a thermal couple; I think zinc and nickel wires twisted together would create a small voltage, perhaps enough to light a bulb. But where would I get zinc or nickel?
I could pretend the caulking was made of some kind of zinc, and that the wiring for the lights was made from nickel! Wait that's not right, pretending won't help, why did I think of that? Oh I’m falling asleep I got to think clearer, got to solve my problem, what was the problem anyway, something about fish or some’ and before the next thing I knew I was fast asleep.
I woke up some time later and recalled that I had a dream while I was sleeping. There was this fox; it lived in a culvert on the road that followed Francois Lake in northern British Colombia. One time while I was driving along going pretty fast it ran out in front of me and I ran it over and killed it, I had no chance of stopping for it. I wondered why that memory had triggered such a dream.
But in my dream it did not die, I some how knew it was the same fox that I had run over many years earlier, but now it was alive in my dream. It did not go unscathed in my dream however; it had lost all of its legs, and was a helpless torso. I felt worse for this helpless fox now than I had when I had actually killed it. It was somewhat of a horrifying sight to see that limb-less fox, the shock of that sight made me extremely uneasy.
It seemed utterly helpless and its future looked hopeless, I knew that it would eventually starve to death. But it had a look of contentment on its face; it did not seem to be the least bit worried about its fate. I figured it just didn't know any better. Then out of the forest came a black cat, a mountain cat, some kind of a mountain lion, but it was jet black, like a panther. I found myself unarmed and was a little fearful of its determined approach. But it paid no attention to me, and it walked right by the crippled fox, barely acknowledging it.
At that moment the big cat sprung from its slinking walk and took down a small fawn that was near by, killing it nearly instantly. The big cat tore in to the flesh of the wee beast and devoured all till she was full, the whole time looking up with those big eyes wary of anything that might challenge her for her kill. When she was finished, and had her fill, she dragged what remained of her kill to the fox, and carefully positioned it so that the fox could eat her leftovers without having to move. This went on day after day, the fox always trusted that he would be provided for each day and did not worry, and that big cat always fed him.
It was a strange dream to have, it seemed more coherent than most dreams that I had, and I couldn't help think that it meant something. It was still very dark out side and I was lying in the bunk feeling a little stir crazy. I tried to cipher the dream a bit but before long I realized that it meant nothing, it was just a dumb dream and not worth fretting about.
I was trying to come up with a reasonable design for my coffee percolator, I was wondering if I could some how work the thin aluminum of the beer cans into useful shapes by rolling it or working it over something. My mind began to wander once more. If I can just close the trunk of this thing… Pushing down on the old Cadillac trunk lid to compress all the blankets and pillows into the trunk we can get going. I'm sure that must be crushing the bread that was on top of the food box. I hope the ketchup doesn't get all over the pillows and stuff… and once again I was fast asleep.