It suffices to say that because this is one novel in a series, there may be things not understood unless one knows what has taken place in previous novels from this series. Here is a link to the first novel in the series: The Big Gamble in Paradise, paperback or Kindle.
I hope you enjoy.
Lonely Cowboy
The Tramp Islander sailed smoothly above the blue South Pacific waters. Perhaps this may have been her most valiant and prosperous voyage out of a thousand. Only she knew, as well as those who manned her before. How many sails had she worn through? How many tones of cargo had she hauled? How many men have strolled her decks and hoisted her sails and pumped her bilge? She speaks of them, if one listens. She moans and creaks a language, yet to be translated but felt. It is like a melody with no words—only emotions, imagination, and dreams. Like listening to a song in another language and understanding it. Someplace in the universe there lies the collective memory of this vessel, from an oak timber to a hewn beam—and all that rests in between.
Trace gazed out the port window of the pilothouse. He scanned from the horizon upward and stopped at a lonely pulsating star. Although surrounded by other stars, it appeared lonely. It’s like taking notice of one person in a crowd. Something draws your attention to that one person. There is nothing attractive or familiar about them. And when you look away, you feel they are looking at you.
’The universe; where does it end?’ he thought. ‘And when it ends, what is beyond that? I’m sailing for days and this place called Earth is less than a crumb in the existence of space and time. The same thought drives one man to insanity and the other to explore for meaning. And in-between is chaos. For the ones with neither insanity nor curiosity, they are left to manage the chaos. That seems what most of us do.’ He chuckled. ‘I guess herding cattle is a metaphor for the meaning of life for the greater number—manage the chaos.’
He grabbed the thermos from the chart desk and poured a coffee into a thick white mug. Not for want, but for something to do. He blew and sipped.
Several things crossed Trace’s mind. ‘Will the crew change after they realize having some wealth? Will they stay or move on? It may mean getting a new crewman; two or three. I have good men now. They know the boat. They know it better than me. I’m not looking for Sage to stay. Buddies get together for a while and while they’re still buddies they split. They know when the relationship is getting stale and if it’s going to last, they have to part while the gitten’ is good. I look for him to go back home and buy some land, like he said.’
‘What about me? Have I had my fill? Should I cash in and head back? If not for the gold we come into, I’d be going back to Suva and calling Allie for more cargo. I can’t allow the gold change me. It’s a distraction to be dealt with later.’
He sipped from the mug again and turned his head to the stars. He fixed his attention on that one lone star again. It was not the largest. It was random, just where his eye rested. ‘I wonder if there is a planet orbiting that star. And on that planet, there is an ocean. And on that ocean is a boat with a man looking at and wondering about this solar system. Does he contemplate my existence? Has he found what I’m looking for? Is he centuries ahead of me or centuries behind me? Or are we contemporary?’
‘Are we supposed to merely maintain our existence or contemplate and solve the bigger issues of existence? It seems as though we have limitations but our understanding, at least the way I see it, is unending.’
Another sip. ‘This coffee is still good.’
Trace sat the cup on the dash. He looked beyond the bow and saw nothing; no lights were sighted; starboard or port. He checked the time from the clock on the chart desk; 2:35 AM. He closed his eyes.
He jerked and opened his eyes. He checked the time; 3:10 AM.
‘I thought I just dosed for a moment. It’s been thirty-five minutes but it feels like eight hours.’
He sipped the coffee. It was cold. He slid open the port side window and tossed the coffee out and poured another. He checked the heading and made a ten-degree port adjustment. “Must have caught a south wind,” he murmured.
He glanced at the radio on the middle shelf of the chart table. He switched it on and searched for an English language station. He stopped at a station playing country music.
‘Reminds me of home,’ he thought. ‘You could drive up to a neighbor’s place and hear it coming from the house or the barn. Sometimes far from home, that fiddle can cut right through your bones. Your legs and arms seem to fall and there you are, in a puddle of tears longing for home. I’m used to that now—now it’s just tears.”
He softly whispered the lyrics of a song he heard a few cowboys sing;
“There's a place way out west called Texas.
There's a cow called the Texas Longhorn
Some kind of man called a cowboy
And Texas is where he was born
He wears a pair of old ragged blue jeans
A crumpled hat and a faded old shirt
And a half-worn-out pair of old cowboy boots
Polished up with that good Texas dirt.”
“Ahem.” Someone cleared their throat.
Trace turned toward the sound. Sage’s sleepy face emerged from the companionway.
“Did I wake you?” Trace said.
“Nah,” Sage said, “just having a hard time sleepin’.”
“Well,” Trace said, “why not sit here and watch me fall asleep?” He reached over and switched off the radio.
Sage sat on the chair at the chart desk and faced Trace.
“What’s troubling you?” Trace said.
“I went to the forward cabins after supper,” Sage said. “From there, I heard Sean and Chuck talking on deck.”
“I saw them from here,” Trace said.
“I couldn’t make out every word,” Sage said, “but they sounded, well,” he hesitated, “maybe that’s the way deckhands sound. But they sounded like men about to leave the herd because they got short-changed.”
“What did they say?” Trace said.
“That’s all I’m gonna say about it,” Sage said. “I’m just tellin’ ya what I heard. You're gonna hafta taste the stew for yourself. Ya know, if it’s bad enough, it’s best ya toss it away.”
Trace bobbed his head. “Thanks, you’re right. I’ll get to the bottom of it.”
“I hope I’m wrong,” Sage said.
Trace grinned. “Sleep well, cowboy. Ya did good.”
Sage rested his hand on Trace’s shoulder. “Wake me when we get to Amarillo.” He disappeared down the companionway.
Trace leaned back in his seat. He flipped on the radio and smiled at the sound of a lonely steel guitar.
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