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After she went inside, I would spy on her through the tavern door.
By habit, she seated her sleek brown body comfortably at an empty table,
adjusted her pistols for comfort, grinned to portside,
and cast her startling eyes about the room boldly.
A fist rested on her hip, the other hand teased the shiny serpent. But few of the tars were so bold as to meet the stare of the bristling siren in arms, but the few who did were her men, and glad they were to pay handsomely for her exotic favors. She would rise and beckon to such a stalwart, and off the two of them would go, to one of the tavern's alcoves. |
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As to myself, I was a sterling prodigy,
the equal (in some ways, opposite)
of the little darlings who become great
players of the viol or masters of chess --
but my own skills reflected the lawlessness
and chaos that flourished on our island. One early memory is particularly clear; I could have been no older than four years when it happened: |
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| Starry evening -- sky many colors. In sand behind tagua tree -- a great fat sailor, sweaty all over, drunk, out cold, stinky. Brown bottle in hand. I work it loose -- breaks on rock. A shard of it, wet with rum -- I use it to cut purse from his belt. Shard slips -- cuts his side -- he rolls, groans, drops back to sleep. Blood spills over my finger, I bring finger to my lips -- good! -- blood mixed with rum. I go buy tamerand candy with his silver. |
Copyright © Michael B.Stevens, 1999, 2000, 2001, 2005. All rights reserved. Format modified Aug. 2005