FUGUE -- Incident at Sea

FfffBWAAAAAAAAAOOOOOOOOmph!

Well, dear -- said Hammond Morgan to his wife -- we're finally underway.

Yes, dear -- she replied.

Isn't it nice to hear the sound of a ship's horn?

Don't 'alf send chills down yer spine!

Goodbye, Aunt Pompas, goodbye (sniff) ... Wave to your aunt, Kathleen.

I always say one can do no better than to go Bruno. Best ships afloat outside her Majesty's Navy.

Yeah? Well I'll tell you, son. I gotta go by boat. My doctor told me next time I fly my eardrums'll pop out like champagne corks. Pffft.

Look at all those people on deck. Like a lot of monkeys.

FffBWAAAAAOOOOOOOOOOOOooooOOOOOOmph! OOOOOOOmph!

*****

Uuuuuuuunnh. Ohhh. Buaaa...aa...AAACH. Oh Lord, oh Goddam, oh Jesus! All over the frigging sheets.

Morgan started to roll away from the wall, but the cabin light was a searing sun -- brilliant, beringed; he groaned and buried his head under the pillow.

Uuunnh. I'm dying.

Yes, dear -- Freda said.

Turn out that Goddam overhead.

Yes, dear.

Shut up.

Yes, dear.

Give me another drammamine.

Yes, dear -- He held out his hand and felt a pill plop onto his palm.

Any people at lunch?

No, dear.

Anybody on deck?

No, dear.

Fine.

Hammond Morgan got up, staggered over to his wife, and throttled her. When she was purpler in the face and limper than usual, he released her, and there was a thud as she hit the floor.

THUD

Apart from that there was only the ship's rhythmic creaking and throbbing. His shoes were wet.

Need a drink -- he said, glancing from her to the jack-knife in his hand to the tiny porthole.

*****

I say, Sprachrohr old chap, how is the sea treating you today?

Good Lord, son. Don't think a spell of bad weather's slow me down, do you? But look here, Cedric, you call me Rupert. The old lady is Blanche. Hell, you don't know me well enough yet to call me by my last name, har, har, har.

It brings tears to my eyes, Sister Sanctity, to think the dear, dear girl, my precious little Kathleen (darlin' o' my heart) will soon be seeing the dear green shores of the Emerald Isle.

Bourbon -- Morgan said, dropping onto a stool next to a simian man with a sagacious eye.

I say, the Countess von der Welt. Madame, permit me to light your cigar.

Let me have another one. -- Morgan glared at the fish-eyed Englishman and the top-heavy Countess.

No, her father, bless his soul, was Irish. My name was Wezniknitz. Polish, you know.

Ugh. D'you think I could have a little soda water?

I swear, the whole bunch look like a tribe of monkeys.

What's on the program, son? Read it out.

Please, bartender, another bourbon.

You're kidding! The Promenade Deck Quarter-Final Rally?

The Countess von der Welt! Rupert, you must get us introduced.

Listen, buddy, don't you think they look like monkeys?

Hey, Cedric. Would you mind introducing my wife to the Countess?

Ooh, what a lovely public! Just like the Albert Arms.

Yes -- said Morgan -- they do look like monkeys.

Countess, old girl, I should like you to meet a friend of mine.

Say, you're a man of real perspis-spicacity. Can I buy you a drink?

Well, I saw it all on the telly. Missionaries strung up by the 'eels, cannibals, 'ead'unters, little pickaninnies famishin' wif bloating bellies.

The name's Sprachrohr. Maybe you know it? My ancestors were Germans, you know, red-blooded American Germans. Unnh!

(Rupert, shut up!) Countess van der Welt, you just don't know how thrilled I am.

Anyone for cards?

So I says to Alfie, I ain't goin' wanderin' about in Missipissippi on my tyour. Black savages!

Why don't you join them, Rupert. As I was saying, Countess, Your Ladyship...

I'm game, by Jove. Bridge? Excuse me, Countess, Mrs Sprachrohr.

I'm for poker myself. Just what the doctor ordered.

'Scuse me, fella. Think I'll go join those monkeys over there for some cards.

Bridge, old boy.

Poker.

Listen, you monkeys, what about Old Maid?

Why don't we draw for it?

And now we've got three blacks, three, mind you, in the Camberwell Road.

Oh, deuce it! A deuce.

King of Hearts, son.

Seven of Spades.

Ace of Spades. Old maid it is. No, let's make it poker.

Oh, I say! The Death Card. Reminds me of that time in Burma...

*****

Morgan still felt upset. He decided to wait until dark. Freda would keep.

Few people were in the lounge, as the ship was swaying widely like the arm of a metronome. The view from the window was alternately blank sky and gray, foaming ocean. And the weather was getting worse.

You've won again. I don't know how you do it.

Oh, Sister Sanctity, I do envy you your freedom from earthly travails.

It's nothing, just faith in my cards and a strong stomach for bluffing.

What darling little cigars, Countess.

Oh, they stink. I fold, son. Maybe I'll get a better deal next time.

Yet, we're only given one life to lead. We must make the best of it or face eternal...

Damnation! How does one win this silly game?

You must visit the shrine in County Cork. There are no less than three saints buried there.

Three Jacks. I win, you monkeys. I'll own your mansion before long, Sir Cedric. That's how you win at this game.

Oh, dear. You've already been to the shrine?

By Jove, what a place to rake in money! I wouldn't stake that in a card game if my life depended on it. You should see the tourists lined up outside the gates.

It must elevate your soul to see so many devout pilgrims.

Bunch of tourist monkeys. Every damn one of them.

Quite true, but they really bring in the money, especially now I've put a pub in the dungeons. Before that I don't have the slightest idea what drew them to the mouldy old place.

Faith, that's the word, faith. Oh, Sister, how can one preserve one's faith in these troubled times?

Can it, Cedric, and deal those babies. Hit me, son.

At that moment the ship, at the low point of a roll, should have started to swing the other way. It didn't. A second wave had hit, and Morgan was looking straight down at the sea. Everything began to slide. People went flying.

Oops.

Oh, my damn head. Blanch, I've cracked my skull.

Watch those damn cards. Watch out.

THUMP

Gott im Himmel! -- Morgan was squashed. Furniture had come to life, and Pandemonium reigned.

Ooomph. Excuse me, Countess, but I can't breathe.

Hah, hah. Monkeys. Whoopee, hah, hah.

Roll over, you damn tub of lard. I can't breathe.

Oh, Sister Sanctity!

Monkeys, ha ha. Oh God, a squirrel. That's what they wear under those habits. Whoop hah!

Lart? Lart? Tup of Lart?

Help!

Good heavens, somebody pull the Countess off that poor fellow.

Help me up, son. Call Blanche. Careful you don't slip on my brains.

Who's gonna pay for my drink? Who's gonna pay for my suit?

Ruined the only winning hand I've had.

*****

Morgan returned to his room. The excitement caused by the freak wave had cleared his head of its fragmented perceptions. But there was a problem: the porthold was bolted shut, and high seas gurgled from time to time over the glass. He decided to take her on deck and drop her overboard.

He had no trouble getting the body up the stairs. It was dark on B Deck. Freda was wrapped up in a shawl and looked nicely drunk. One push and she'd be gone forever.

Damn monkeys. -- It was the misanthrope and his companions; they were strolling along the deck.

By Jove, that was quite a lark (hic). You should have seen the Countess wallowing on that poor man.

Listen, shon. I wa'n't in no condition to see anythin'. Damn lucky I di'n't frackshur my shkull.

(Hic) You should feel all right now, old chap. We took care of you with that Special.

That damn stuff'll cure one headache and leave you a worser one.

Ah, but you've forgotten the bitters I put into it. Learned that trick in New Guinea (hic). By Jove, if that isn't the fellow there! I say, Morgan, how are the ribs? 'Tisn't every man can survive being sat on by a fifteen-stone hippopotamus.

First time I ever heard that. Stoned fifteen times over, eh? Yes, sir, son. What's it like to be sat on by a fifteen-stoned Countess -- eh, har, mmm. Your wife sick?

A touch of seasickness. Nothing much.

By Jove. I can't say I like her color...Oi! you baboon, what d'you think you're doing? -- The misanthrope was balancing on the back railing.

I'm going to end it all. It's a linely loaf being the only human in a world of apes. Farewell, dear friends.

SPLASH

Man overboard! Oh I say, Help! Man overboard!

Don't panic, son, don't panic. Blanche! Blanche!

Meanwhile, Mrs Morgan took her last dive. The ship lurched back as though relieved of a great weight. Morgan hardly heard her splash.

Good heavens! Dash it all, he fell in the pool. What a bloody ass!

They all clambered over the railing and down to the lower deck, where the misanthrope was sitting in a life preserver, floating in the swimming pool. Morgan helped him out and then looked around.

My God, where is my wife? Who has seen my wife?

By Jove, that was beautiful. You looked like a sultan on his potty, old chap. I say, how about shuffleboard up on the sports deck, tomorrow? I'll invite the Countess. Heh, hah, hah, hic.

Oh, Freda, my Freda!

Don't sweat it, fella. Thanks for hauling me out. I'll buy you a drink even if you are a monkey like the rest.

*****

Later on, Hammond Morgan lay on the barroom floor choking to death on a martini olive.

Damnation! -- said Sir Cedric.