Saturday, August 13, 2011

6 Must Die

I don't believe in luck, good or bad. I don't believe in anything much. Something did happen once. My father was a fisherman. He ran a trawler out of Whitley Reef. One night, late, he was coming back in. He was out beyond the reef, out near Spivey Point. He looked to windward and saw a brig under shortsail, heading right for him. And he radioed, there was no reply. Nothing moved on deck, but she held her course. My dad and two of his hands, they boarded the brig, the Risa Jane. No one was on board. There was food on the table, and a hot, steaming cup of coffee. But underneath, the tin cup was rusted to the table. And then something caught my father's eye. It was a gold doubloon, minted in Spain, 1867. My dad picked up the coin, put it in the breast pocket of his jacket, and zippered it up. He came home, told us the story, and unzippered the pocket to give me the coin. It was gone.



Image by Andrew_Simpson.


1 comments:

Herr Punkinstein said...

That's a beaut, that is. I particularly like the Spanish moss all over the fence. I'm fond of skeletons and boats and skeletons on boats. And Tom Atkins for that matter.