Читать книгу Thieves of the Black Sea - Joe O'Neill - Страница 21

That night, the boys were treated to a magnificent feast by Captain Scopas and his clan. A long and fat sea bass was being grilled on a spit over an open fire pit on deck. The fish, still whole with its eyes and tail, was being turned and doused with a mixture of olive oil and herbs until its skin began dripping and the luscious white flesh was solid and meaty. Some sardines were fried in a huge black pan and given as appetizers.

“Aji and I used to beg for sardine scraps in the harbor. These are much better than the raw ones we used to suck on,” Tariq said.

“Raw sardines? That sounds disgusting!” Aseem said and the boys laughed.

Captain Scopas played a mandolin and sang song after song in his native Greek. Eventually, the entire clan gathered in a circle and sang with him, stomping their feet and clapping their hands in a frenzy of song and movement. The boys’ faces lit up with excitement watching the dancers in the firelight on the old boat.

The eyes of each sea gypsy glowed in the darkness, illuminated by the fire. Unlike city dwellers, these people didn’t know how to hide their emotions. Every song was sung with full voice, as if the words resonated from some deep place within their hearts. The dancing increased in intensity and raw energy with each song. The laughter was honest and true, as if unfettered joy were pouring out from their souls.

Each clan member came and hugged the boys and even kissed them on the cheeks. Everyone immediately accepted the boys into their clan without trepidation or judgment. The boys were now to be treated as members, and even looked up to with a certain amount of respect for surviving such an ordeal.

Tariq watched the festive scene in front of him and felt mesmerized by the people and their dancing and singing. These people were so full of life that it was hard to feel the grief that had been consuming his thoughts. Looking up at the stars, Tariq was struck by the immeasurable beauty of life. Only days ago he had been inches from death, and now he was singing and dancing on a gypsy ship.

He knew, at that moment, that Melbourne Jack would have loved this ship and these joyful people. He couldn’t help but smile.

Eventually, Scopas gave up the mandolin to another man and brought Panos over to join the boys.

“You must tell me. How did you train your shark?” Fez asked.

Scopas translated and Panos excitedly provided an answer, again translated by Scopas.

“It’s a nurse shark, and not so dangerous. Lako was attacked by another shark and seriously injured, so, Panos created a shallow pool and fed him until he was healthy enough to swim fast. After that, Lako would always find Panos in the sea and allow him to ride on his fin. When the clan left for another port, Lako followed us and has been with us since.”

The boys laughed and slapped Panos across the back. Panos beamed with pride at being the center of attention with these older boys.

“So boys, how did you happen to be stuck in the middle of the Mediterranean?” Scopas asked.

The boys looked at one another, not sure if they should go into detail about their former lives. They nodded as an affirmation that Captain Scopas could be trusted.

“We were part of a resistance in Morocco, where we fought an evil caid. Our friend, Melbourne Jack, built the hot-air balloon. We crashed into the sea after we were attacked by a French airplane,” Tariq explained.

Scopas lit his pipe and took a long drag.

“A resistance?” he asked.

“Oh yes, we were spies against Caid Ali Tamzali. We watched his troops. Aseem and I infiltrated the military, posing as soldiers. We stole vital secrets. Tariq even managed to hijack a shipment of arms from a boat,” Fez explained.

“Tell me more, if you feel comfortable,” Scopas asked.

“Well, we were trained in the Rif Mountains by a man named Malik. He taught us to fight, to hunt, to track animals, and how to be warriors. In the cities, our friend Timin taught us how to be spies—by blending into the environment and using a set of codes to communicate,” Fez answered.

“Very interesting…what happened to this Melbourne Jack?” Scopas asked gently.

“He died at sea,” Tariq answered mournfully.

Scopas could see that Jack’s death still affected Tariq more than the other boys.

“And did you defeat this caid?” Scopas asked.

“We don’t know. The battle was still raging when our balloon went out of control in the clouds,” Aseem answered.

“I am sorry for your loss. I have lost many friends in battles through the years. Although lost, they are never forgotten. Here, let me say a toast to your friend Melbourne Jack.”

Scopas stood up and motioned for silence. Eventually, all eyes of the clan were on him and the boys. Then, in Greek, Scopas gave the following eulogy:

“My friends, these brave lads lost a friend as they were fighting an evil caid. His name was Melbourne Jack and he died in the sea. As you can see, the boys have been through a horrible ordeal. Please raise your glasses for their good friend Melbourne Jack. May he find peace in heaven and smile down on these boys throughout their lives.”

Everyone in the clan raised their glasses and looked at the boys. Tariq, Fez, and Aseem stood up and raised their glasses as well, although they had no idea what was being said.

“To Jack!” Scopas said, drank a whole glass full of ouzo, and then threw the ceramic glass down on the boat’s deck, shattering it to pieces.

“To Jack!” everyone screamed, drained their glasses, and then threw them down, breaking them as the captain had.

Scopas urged the boys to down the contents of their own glasses and then break them. The boys looked at one another, gulped down their water, and then threw down their glasses hard and watched as they shattered.

The deck was quickly covered in shards of broken ceramic, and just as quickly, the clan resumed singing and laughing.

“Ah, that is the Greek way. We say a toast to our fallen friend and then break the glass as a way to say goodbye…to finish it. You understand?”

“Yes,” the boys answered.

“Good. The song they sing is a song for the dead. You see, it is not a sad song, but a song to celebrate life! That is our way,” Scopas instructed and then sat back down and urged the boys to do the same.

“Boys, I have some serious business in Constantinople. I need some assistance, and you just might be the right boys to help me.”

“What kind of business?” Tariq asked.

“I’ll explain everything when we dock. Now, enjoy the song and do not be sad!”

Captain Scopas smiled and tousled the hair on each boy’s head, and then they went about listening to the beautiful singing of the clan.

Later that night, Scopas made his way to his quarters where he was joined by his wife, Calliope. She was a little younger than he was, with long, dark hair that went down past her shoulders. She was already dressed for bed in a white nightgown and was quietly brushing her hair.

Scopas sat at the edge of his bed and washed his bare feet in a basin of cold water.

“There’s something about these boys,” he said to her.

“What do you mean?”

“There’s something about these boys that is different. I can’t place my finger on it. They are very wise for their age…and very courageous. I get this feeling they are meant for bigger things.”

Calliope smiled and continued brushing her hair.

Scopas was deep in thought.

“I do not know why it is. I have dreams of them each night and they are constantly in my thoughts. It is very strange. I may ask them to spy for me in Constantinople.”

Calliope briefly paused brushing her hair and then continued.

“They remind me of you when you were younger,” she said. “So full of life…if you feel they can help you in Constantinople, then ask them.”

Scopas thought a moment before answering.

“You think I am taking advantage of them?” he asked.

“Of course not.”

“Then I shall ask for their help.”

Scopas began to ready himself for bed when his wife finished brushing her hair and went to a small dresser, opened up the top drawer, and took out an object covered in burgundy cloth. She gave the object to Scopas.

“What is this?” he asked.

“You’ll see.”

He unwrapped the object. In his hands was a white chess piece. It was carved from marble in the shape of a king.

“It was your brother’s. He gave me his favorite chess set just before he died. He said it was to encourage you to play, however, I think it was as if he had a premonition of his own death,” she said somberly.

Scopas felt the piece in his hand. It was smooth and perfectly carved. His brother had spent over a year carving the board and each individual piece. This king was a representation of the British King William the Conqueror. His brother had been studying medieval history, and his favorite king was William.

“Elektra plotted her revenge, and so must you, but never forget why you seek your revenge,” she explained to him.

Scopas felt the piece in his palm. His brother had been a huge advocate of chess since they were both young children. While Scopas was out having adventures and enduring no end of mischief, his brother would be home studying chess strategies or have his nose stuck in some book. The piece brought back so many memories of him trying to teach the finer points of the game to Scopas, but ultimately he didn’t have the aptitude, or the patience, to ever be much competition to his brother.

“Thank you,” he whispered and kissed her before going to bed.

Scopas placed the piece in his coat pocket as a token to remember his departed brother.