The story of Wan-eye Jackson.

“For blood and sport at the point of the knife,”  the old pirate spat.  “But at the end of the line; there’s no winner in the game.”   The music in the pub rolled and swelled like the sea in spring, full of hope.  But he was out of tune, his memories dashed with bitterness like waves on a rocky shore.  “That’s how we used to play out there,”  he pointed vaguely toward the dock, “but now that it’s over, all I have left is a story.” 

 “We sailed out of Fennario; bound for the horn."  There was a tear in the captain’s eye, like the good things in town had been washed out of his head, rolling away into a tiny drop; the image of a fair maiden suspended there before it hit the deck.   "When you leave the last fair deal for open water, all the braggin and wine behind; the queen of diamonds winks somewhere out there, just for you.  The ocean is a lady, hard won, paradise on a crest of a wave, her angels aflame.  But she’s got no yellow hair, no body to keep you warm.  There’s no pub, no walls lit by fire, no sweet conversation, nothing but the mates and oh yes,”  he looked deep into my eyes, “that what puts fear in your bones.”   I glanced nervously around the old pub; as the beams began to melt into a kind of hull, the whiskey-soaked floor a rolling deck; a patron made a toast in the smoky distance like he was raising a dark flag.  I wanted to dash for the door, but I was caught in slow motion. 

“One man gathers what another man spills,”  He hissed, “But the creatures of the deep can gather a man himself.  Let me tell you about the one we called Wan-eye Jackson.  He was dippin the chum bucket in, and, and….."  he started to shake "………..but I exceed myself….”  He gulped whiskey and wiped his crusted graphite brow, “It seems that I’ve come a long way and my reason is tattered.  I am here by grace, not choice, to tell you this story, I have seen too much, and I suppose...” he paused for what seemed like an eternity, and his eyes moistened by degrees, his jaw clenched, “It doesn’t matter anyway.”

“Well, we’d sailed ‘round the horn and come back up laden with booty;  hoping Her Majesty wasn’t catchin' the same winds, when we fell adrift in the Sargasso Sea, still as glass.  With trouble ahead, and trouble behind, we had no business sittin' still.  Nigh on a week went by, and we were down to a few wheels of hardtack and a dozen dying turtles.  So anyway, Wan eye was lowering the chum bucket when. . . ”  The strings of his heart seemed to sever just then; he couldn’t have been more alone on the moon.  His voice trailed off.  After a time he collected himself and began again, “Wan eye was stronger than all of us, always working on deck.  When he said ‘Aye’ to the captain, you couldn’t really tell if he was referring to his one good eye, or saying yes, which may have led to a lot of extra chores, and him admittin’ to things he didn’t do.”  The old pirate’s mood changed a bit and he chuckled. “There was the incident with the handsome cabin boy, which I won’t go into here, except to say that the cabin boy, we later discovered, was a fair maiden, dressed in men’s array, so in a way, even with one eye, he could see pretty well”

“All of us is half blind anyway, sometimes the light’s all shinin’ on us, other times we can barely see.  It was a hell of a trip, and we were glad to have stalwart Jackson along with us, with as many eyes as he had, or not.   Brave man, too, when winds both foul and fair were swarmin’,  or we were floatin’ through no man’s land, Wan-eye would say ‘the only game in town’ with a grin most ghastly,  or there be fire on deck or cannonballs whizzin’ by he’d say ‘my time comin’ any day, don’t worry ‘bout me, no’.   So a big inspiration to the men. 

But he’d have his moments.  Took me aside, he did and told me his biggest fear; the….”   The wizened man paused again, gulped, and stammered, “The bite of the shark!   It’s.. tis.. toothy.”  He gritted his teeth and spat the word, with disdain and a tremble in his growing brogue.  

“Wan-eye Jackson; he na fear the killer squid that could pick a man off deck in a pea soup fog with it’s sucker-filled tentacles, drawin’ him into it’s hoary beak and draggin’ him down into the deep, NO, and Jackson, he na fear the sperm whale, which could breach up and crack a whaler in half; sending some east, some west, all to drown in the depths, NO, but the shark; the bite of the shark………”  He paused “……….. ‘tis toothy.”  He gulped the rest of his whiskey like a keelhauling was next.  “If I told you all that went down, it would burn off both of your ears,”  he admonished.  I felt them about to combust.  “And I’m about to tell ya.” 

“Well, where was I.  Well Wan-eye was lowering the chum bucket in hopes of lurin’ some grouper, stranded as we were, hell always bein’ halfway twixt now and then.  Jackson was singin’ to himself, ‘some folks trust in reason, others trust in might, I don’t trust in nothin’ , but I know it come out right,’  which was way too optimistic, but still true as anything on the green sea.”  He paused again, as if he sensed something behind or to the side of him, something very, very bad. 

“Twas then we saw the fin come up to one side of Jackson.  The captain saw it too, and called out to him, but sadly, Jackson was almost deaf as well.  Took a cannonball just to the side of his head when we were takin’ on Her Majesty’s Intrepid.  It was a business without mercy, ashes for dreams, but it was our business.”  My mind followed the drumbeat of his cadence, but when he would stop, I found myself adrift; where phantom ships, with phantom sails, set to sea on phantom tides. 

“And then,”   he burst out, and my hair stood up, and strange as it was, it was stranger still that no one in the pub reacted, “then it happened,….. a Great White leaped out of the froth at the edge of the bucket, and Jackson, still singin’ fearlessly, and lookin at the rope with ‘is one good eye, was bent there above the water and it happened, the beast, the beast…..”  He shook from head to toe, “Took Jackson’s head clean off in a single bite and dove back down into the water.”  

The old pirate reached for his drink while staring straight ahead, missed his grab and it went flying onto the floor, broke into a thousand pieces, “and then; as if the beast was doin’ it for sport and blood, apparently spit Jackson’s head back out and it resurfaced.  And as his one good eye broke the surface of the water,  held in some trust, but not knowing what it meant, it seemed to me to be lookin’ back, and at the same moment…” He was foaming at this point, “Jackson’s arms went up to feel for his head that wasn’t there, as the eye stared woefully at nothin’ but the shadow of the toothy bite.” 

He slammed his head down on the bar and somehow simultaneously grabbed a bottle of whiskey, and without lifting his head, turned up his mouth and one eye at me and drowned himself in a long guzzle.

It’s been 21 years since that story and still it won’t fade away.  I don’t like to think about it, much less tell it.  But I’ll share it with you, one more Saturday night.