Dripping sleep from his eyes onto wooden slats of a grand dilapidated ship, he moved across the Red Sea for one last day in a ten-year stint. With each undulating wave, the ship creaked and moaned like and old woman ready to die. It was time to embark onto new land, a land of sagebrush, maize and hops, a land where he would meet his mother for the first time since he was three feet tall. He’d shake her hand, kiss her cool cheek and ask her how she has been all of these years. No, he would kiss her on the cheek and tell her how he has been all of these years. He’d say, mostly floating across deep waters, protecting myself from the elements, night restlessness, and an incessant ravenous hunger plaguing my innards.
But I was captain, so he would say, and as captain, you have to starve and expose yourself to sharks, manic seagulls, and enraged storms. But I was captain, he’d say again, and aren’t you proud dear mother that I have made it this far to cook you pelican stew and crumpets? And aren’t you filled with joy that you can now hold my cheeks in your chubby little hands and squeeze me like you did when I was three feet tall? I have fought the sea and it fought back. Land has been discovered, wicked people enslaved, and reindeer have been hunted, plucked, roasted and guzzled by sixteen hundred forty four impoverished widows and their children. Of course I am not a wealthy man, I bear no more than twelve rubles in my pocket, but you know you can have it and you know I would only want you to buy something for yourself you might or might not have always wanted.