Gene Hackman - Wake of the Perdido Star

On deck, Jack marveled at the complexity of ropes and cables stretching to the tops of the masts. Walking down the gangplank to get a better look, he spotted two young women staring at the ship from the end of the dock. There was something familiar about the tall one with the red hair. As Jack moved toward them, they turned quickly and started down Derby Street, giggling. He followed, and caught them at Hodge’s Wharf.

“Please don’t think me rude. I just wanted to thank you for the fine directions you gave. Colleen, wasn’t it?”

The girls looked at each other and laughed.

“Yes, it’s Colleen. And this would be my friend, Prudence.” The brilliant green eyes teased as Colleen spoke. “And what would be your name?” Jack was stunned that she pretended not to remember.

“It’s Jackson, but everyone calls me Jack—except my parents, at times.”

“Jacksooon.” She elongated his name as if making fun of it. “I’ll be off. Have yourself a day of sun and health.” She grabbed Prudence by the arm and started down Derby.

“Would you join me in a cup o’ tea at the inn yonder?” Jack asked.

Colleen turned. “Tomorrow, Jacksooon, maybe tomorrow.”

His hands were shaking as he watched her walk away. What if they had accepted my offer of tea? he wondered. I have not a penny to my name.

The next day at one o’clock, Jack and his father returned to Peele’s tavern with the horses. What looked to Jack like the exact same group of people filled the pub. Cyrus Peele started speaking almost before they were through the door, his brother standing quietly at the far side of the room.

“Mr. O’Reilly, good to see you again, sir. I have a bit of bad news, I’m afraid. You see, the bank is after me, and a few of my suppliers came this morning unexpectedly. And, well, the upshot is, I don’t have the money for the team. I know this puts you in a bind, what with your boat leaving in just a few hours and not having time to go looking for another buyer.” The bartender glanced around, making sure he had his audience. “But I’ll do this: I’ll give you thirty-five dollars for the lot, and I’d be stretching things to do that.”

Ethan’s color faded after the man’s first words. The patrons began to stare. He knows he’s been duped, Jack thought; Peele obviously waited until the last minute so they would have no other choice.

Jack’s misgivings about the Peeles were accurate. That sense of cold calmness he knew so well rose up his spine. He looked across the room at the younger brother, who put on an innocent face but seemed to grow nervous under Jack’s steely gaze. Jack contemplated smashing the whiskey bottle on the bar into the face of the bartender and then getting the fat one across the room before he reached the door. His thoughts stopped, though, when he noticed his father’s head drop slightly, nodding in recognition of what had happened. A wave of caring poured through Jack.

“I don’t believe, sir,” Ethan began in a weak voice, “that you are dealing in good faith.”

The bartender’s eyes went cold. “You can take it or leave it, bumpkin.”

Ethan’s humiliation caused outright laughter. The whole bar seemed in on the joke. Jack felt his face burning, and he did everything he could to control himself.

“I’ll take your money, sir,” Ethan said, “on one condition.”

The bartender spread his arms on the bar and looked around, thoroughly enjoying the moment. “Name it.”

“You’ve bested me in this deal,” he said. “That I can live with. But you, as a man, will give me your promise that you’ll treat the animals well. Do I have your word?”

“You have my word as a Peele, sir,” the bartender said. Jack wondered what that was worth. There was loud clapping from customers and the show was over. The two out-of-towners had been taken down a notch or two, and all seemed to have had a good time at their expense.

They walked back to the ship in silence. Jack’s father seemed to have aged over the last two hours, his gait halting, eyes unfocused. Jack wanted to comfort him, say something to relieve his pain. But when they reached the ship without a word, Ethan slipped quietly to the bowels of the boat, and the comfort of his wife.

Jack stayed above deck. Quince, the huge sailor who had shown the family to their quarters, stood off marking goods as sailors carried provisions belowdecks. He glanced at Jack.

“Are you looking forward to shipping out, lad?”

“Yes,” Jack answered, having taken an immediate liking to this man. “But maybe a little scared, too.”

“Well, that be natural, boy. We’re all a little frightened at first. You’ll get use to her and once you got yer legs under ya, there be nothing like it.”

Jack thought a moment. He wanted desperately to confide in this man, to ask his advice on something that had been running through his mind for the last hour. “Excuse me. But your name is Quince, right?”

“Quince it be. Oliver Quince, but all the lads call me Big Q or Quince, whatever pleases ya.”

“I’ve a problem that needs solving,” Jack raced on, trusting his instinct about the fellow. “If you’ve been wronged by a knave of a man and have limited time to make things right but feel it must be done, what would you do?”

“You got but one life to live. If you want your peace of mind, you need to set to rights what’s bothering ya.”

This relieved Jack. “Exactly what time do we leave?”

Hansumbob passed by just then and shouted, “Six bells on the noggin, and if you’re not on board, you’re sure to get a floggin’.” Ole Bob grinned wide, as ugly a face as Jack had ever seen, but with a warmth that was irrepressible. Jack crossed the deck and made his way down the gangplank.

Hansumbob walked along the deck parallel to Jack. “What be your name, lad?”

Jack shouted his name as he picked up his pace away from the ship.

“Be proud of yer name, Jackson, we got plenty a strange ones on board: Coop, Red Dog, Cookietwo. One day, Bosun Ben Mentor asked Cookietwo how he arrived at that name and he near threw’im in the bay, did Cookietwo, so now Mentor checks his soup real careful.” Hansumbob had reached the stern of the ship but was still talking. “The captain won’t wait and it’s a long swim to Cuba.”

The old sailor stood watching as Jack waved and walked toward town. With a quick look back at the boat, Jack broke into a full run. He had four hours to do what he must.

The blacksmith hummed tunelessly as he worked in front of the barn. Jack knew the pounding on the anvil would drown out the noise, and he slipped the latch on the back door of the barn. Jen snickered as Jack slipped the halter over her neck. He was exhausted from the run back to the smith’s, but a fire inside him suffocated the pain. Mary slobbered over his neck as he haltered her and led the two out back. Jack quietly latched the doors, then led the mares down the street, expecting to hear a shout from the smith at any moment. He mounted Jen, and with the rope lead to Mary, picked up his pace.

After several blocks, the houses thinned out to farmland. Jack didn’t know how far he would have to go but he was determined the brothers Peele would never see these animals again. He kept the team at a gallop for the better part of an hour until he saw what he was looking for: a small farm off to his left, horses and cows in a large meadow.

Jack pulled up next to a sprawling oak and dismounted. Heading the animals toward the distant pasture, Jack said his good-byes as his mother had requested. With a shout from Jack, Jen and Mary trotted toward their own kind.