Celebrating Cap’n Blood’s Birthday with Him

Celebrating Cap’n Blood’s Birthday with Him

Yesterday, as I was making octopus pepper soup, I had a sip of seaweed kinkana, a mild alcoholic spirit. Paramole had given me the recipe to make the still when he returned from the Great Gangway. The Davy Jones Locker rendezvous was quiet, cold, and sterile as usual, but also inspirational and unencumbering. Moreover, I must emphasise I love the place; it is my kind of place; it is my home now. I only use my submarine to necessary subsea explorations and to come onshore these days, which is rare.

Notwithstanding, there was a time when taking submarine voyages was the best thing I could do. I would encounter variegated sizes of sea creatures and their unusual and inexplicable activities. The intelligence of sea creatures is something to be seen, to be appreciated. The flora of the deed sea was just as striking. On land I saw iroko and sequoia trees, but I found much bigger trees and growths submerged undersea. Nevertheless, we think everything great in our terrestrial creation happens above sea level and on solid land. I did encounter strange sea creatures and breath-taking under water structures and flora. After a while, I got fed up doing it alone. Exploring and minding David Jones Locker was better suited to the solitary life.

My unfailing experience was, an hour before a Forgone Terrors arrive at the Davy Jones Locker rendezvous, the Entrance would turn deep indigo or even purple. It is a signal for me to get ready to Mascot, a Forgone Terror to the Great Gangway in any manner I choose. Regardless, for the first time in my experience, the Entrance turned blood red. It was a signal that an unauthorised person was arriving.

In fact, I had never seen this happen and wondered who would appear at the Entrance. Was it the Devil himself, Sir Francis Drake, Vasco da Gama, Black Beard, William Kidd, Calico Jack or the god, or Poseidon? I knew it had to be a man by the attendant laws of nature. The pepper soup was ready and scenting fine, and what a meal! No more sips.

The Entrance door opened, and I saw a very familiar face, white halo afro and a white goatee. Familiarity was no preparation for the surprise. It was Captain Blood, no less.

“Sir, you are not supposed to be here,” were the first words to come out of my mouth. His demeanour could not hide his sudden disappointment with me.

“Bark and act pyratically,” he demanded.

“O Cap’n Blood of Tortuga, An Infinite Sailing Ahoy to You!” I offered.

“An’ Ahoy to You, lubber”, he said, looking me in the eye and offering me his hand for a handshake. I turned away from his gaze but he ordered me, “Look me in the eye. Are you scared of me?” I said “Yes.”

Surprisingly, his eyes widened, “You scared of me?” mimicking or showing disbelief, and he broke into heavy laughter. I felt embarrassed, though it was better than calling me a fibber.

“O Cap’n Blood, you are not allowed in here,” I reminded him.

“Die it!” he snapped.

“This rendezvous is my pet creation and don’t forget I sent you here!” he continued.

“I am not stepping on your rod, O CB. Why are you treating me like a Pyrate? You put me on a UV spot.” I said with audacity.

“Do you know why?” he asked. My head shook on purpose.

“I did not want you to lose your sincerity to the 4-7 Creed and the rest. I know the sincere and insincere Pyrates on sight, especially when I look into their eyes. You were losing your sincerity, and I could not allow that to happen,” he assured me.

“You made me a pariah to my brethren,” I said almost recklessly. He took a long stare at me and shook his head a few times.

“No sincere Pyrate hates, resents or disowns you. Not one. If you think so, it is only in your head. We have many insincere Pyrates, so many. And your mischief may have attracted them to you. Then they betray you to get ahead or something else. Never doubt what my ears have heard.” He paused, then continued as if with reluctance. “We should have kept the rule of ‘the Fewer, the Merrier’. We should have,” his voiced filled with marked resignation.

To change the topic, I wished him, “A Minimum of One Century on the Planet Happy Birthday to You.” He then stretched his hand to me for a handshake.

And with a genuine smile, he said, “Many thanks to you, My Little Brother.”

“I have always said you will cross the 100 years of age barrier in good health,” I said for reasons I know not. In a snappy response, he uttered, “O Wrong Travesty, you seem to be the only Pyrate that thinks so. They are all preoccupied with my passing.”

I remembered our necessary hospitality and rushed to get the bottle of Seaweed Kinkana. I poured out two glasses of the still up to their brims and I asked him to propose a toast. He refused and said I do it. It was easy. “To Gbogborima, the 4-7 Creed and its practitioners and the personage of Cap’n Blood,” I said. He was unresponsive. “And to all my brethren,” I added with awkward abruptness. However, he raised his glass to mine, and we downed all its contents in one swig. “What is this fine tasting rum made of?” he asked, a question I predictable predictable – it was so good. I explained how it was a product of delicately brewing seaweed, algae and tinbace, a melon-tasting marine flavouring. We shared a few more glasses in silence.

“You seem to love this place. That is abnormal. Are you trying to prove Olympian ruggedity, Little Brother.”

“O Cap’n Blood, I hated this penitentiary at first and still have not gotten used to living here but it gave me much relief from intrigues and manipulations of the 99% of the brethren and many lubbers. With hind sight it is a blessing.”

“Aha. That does not sound honest. The rambunctious vitriol you hurl at your brethren with reckless intent, and I mean anyone. That is not how receivers of blessings act,” CB said, looking at me with an even gaze.

“I kept everything in-house. Then because I was the easiest person to spot. Otherwise, many who deserved spots never got them. And I hadn’t finished what I was saying.” I replied.

“Show me around this place,” he said.

We did a short tour of the place and I showed him the Great Door. On the completion of the tour he took one shot of Seaweed Kinkana for the road. Then he headed back to ‘Ash Montana’, no before hugging me like he would a son before he left.

All in all, that is how I celebrated Cap’n Blood’s birthday with him. He was with me for one and half hours, but it was enough. Thus, I had sailed onboard Tortuga on a tatally level despite the UV. Sailing onekindishly is legitimate to those who know. “Who knows, knows,” is not for empty mouthing.

Be Good, not Lucky

Please take a look at my mariner stories, Where Is Deji Akintilo? and Paramole Returns on His Birthday. Cheers