Chapter VII

John, the second mate, awoke early the morning of the Festival.

“Helen, honey,” he said. “Wake up.”

She murmured sleepily.

“Come on, now, wake up.”

She rolled over to her side of the bed.

“All right,” he said. He reached out, fumbled for and found his cigarettes.

“You know what I’m going to do to the captain?” he asked. He lit a cigarette and lying on his back blew smoke rings at the ceiling.

“Yes,” his wife said, “you told me.”

“First, I’m going to take that saber I got on Queglat and scrape open his scrofula. Then, when he’s bleeding nicely, all I have to do is pour a bottle of alcohol on him. Don’t you think that will be nice?”

“Yes, dear.”

“You know, I’m kinda sorry I went to all the trouble sharpening that saber. After all, it might be more painful if the saber was dull.”

“Yes, dear.”

“But then, on the other hand...”

“Dear, will you hand me a cigarette?”

“Sure.”

He shook out a cigarette, lit it off his and handed it to her.

“So what do you think?”

“It doesn’t matter, dear,” she said.

“Oh, but it does matter,” John insisted. “I think it’s very important.” He snubbed out his cigarette. “It’s all the little details that one should take into account. Can’t be too careful about something like that.”

He rolled over on his back again. “I’m hungry,” he said.

“I really thought they should have served breakfast,” Helen said.

“Well, it wouldn’t be right to leave all those dirty dishes for the second crew.”

“I mean just sandwiches.”

“Yes,” he said, “they could have made up some sandwiches. I think, though, I’d settle for a cup of tea.”

“I could brew you some on the hot plate.”

“It’s too much bother,” John said. “Are you sure you wouldn’t mind?”

“No. If you’ll get up and put the water on.”

“All right,” he said.

He threw his legs over the side, fumbled with his feet for the house slippers, padded to the hot plate, put the water on, and came back to bed.

“We’ve still got an hour before the bell,” he said.

“Are you going to shave?”

“I don’t think so; not today,” he said.

“By the way, honey; what’s in that can over there?”

“Fuel oil,” she said.

“What’s it for?”

“You’d be surprised,” she said.

After a while, the water began to sizzle against the sides of the pan.

“Time to get up,” she said. She crawled over her husband, slipped into a robe, and proceeded to brew the tea.

“It’s not much of a breakfast, John.”

“Say,” he said, “where’s my bottle of alcohol for the captain.”

“I set it over by the medicine cabinet, out of the way.”

“I wonder if it’ll be enough?” he mused.

“I hope so,” she said. “Are you going to get up, or must I serve you this tea in bed? I will if you want me to.”

“I’ll get up,” he said. He got up.

“Let’s take it in the nook to drink,” he said.

“Can’t.”

“Oh? Why not?”

“One of the legs is off the table.”

“If you’d told me, I’d fixed it.”

“Never mind,” she said.

They each drank two cups of tea; and then each dressed for the Festival.

After that, they sat in silence, awaiting the bell to signal the start of the Festival.

“I’m going to hurry out,” John said at length, “as soon as the bell rings, so I can stand outside the captain’s door and get him when he comes out.”

“That’s not fair, John,” she said. “You’re supposed to wait for the second bell before you can even start to Cast anyone Off.”

“I know,” said John, “but this way, I’ll be sure to get the captain.”

“Well,” she said, “I’m certainly glad you have that attitude.”

He asked, after more silence, “What are you going to do?”

“I think I’ll stay here for a little while,” she said.

“Yes, that might--”

The bell rang soundingly throughout the ship.

“Time to go,” John said. He grabbed his saber. “Where’s the alcohol?”

“In there,” she said.

He skidded into the bathroom, pocketed the alcohol, and started for the door.

“John!”

“Huh?”

“Aren’t you even going to kiss me good-by?”

“Oh, sure. Forgot.” He crossed to her, bent down and kissed her. She put her left arm around his neck. With her right hand, she located the table leg she had placed behind her pillow.

John drew away and half turned. “Good--”

She hit him in the left temple with the table leg. He went down like a poleaxed steer.

She laughed happily.