Part 5 (2/2)

Chapter 4.

Although affliction cometh not forth of the dust, neither doth trouble spring out of the ground; yet man is born unto trouble, as the sparks fly upward.

Job 5:6-7

I SLOWLY became aware of myself and wished I had not; a most terrible nightmare was chasing me. I jammed my eyes shut against the light and tried to go back to sleep.

Native drums were beating in my head; I tried to shut them out by covering my ears.

They got louder.

I gave up, opened my eyes and lifted my head. A mistake - my stomach flipfiopped and my ears shook. My eyes would not track and those infernal drums were tearing my skull apart.

I finally got my eyes to track, although the focus was fuzzy. I looked around, found that I was in a strange room, lying on top of a bed and only half dressed.

That began to bring it back to me. A party aboard s.h.i.+p. Spirits. Lots of spirits. Noise. Nakedness. The Captain in a gra.s.s skirt, dancing heartily, and the orchestra keeping step with him. Some of the lady pa.s.sengers wearing gra.s.s skirts and some wearing even less. Rattle of bamboo, boom of drums.

Drums -

Those weren't drums in my head; that was the booming of the worst headache of my life. Why in Ned did I let them -

Never mind 'them'. You did it yourself, chum.

Yes, but -

'Yes, but.' Always 'Yes, but.' All your life it's been 'Yes, but.' When are you going to straighten up and take full responsibility for your life and all that happens to you?

Yes, but this isn't my fault. I'm not A. L. Graham. That isn't my name. This isn't my s.h.i.+p.

It isn't? You're not?

Of course not -

I sat up to Shake off this bad dream. Sitting up was a mistake; my head did not fall off but a stabbing pain at the base of my neck added itself to the throbbing inside my skull. I was wearing black dress trousers and apparently nothing else and I was in a strange room that was rolling slowly.

Graham's trousers. Graham's room. And that long, slow roll was that of a s.h.i.+p with no stabilizers.

Not a dream. Or if it is, I can't shake myself out of it. My teeth itched, my feet didn't fit. Dried sweat all over me except where I was clammy. My armpits - Don't even think about armpits!

My mouth needed to have lye dumped into it.

I remembered everything now. Or almost. The fire pit. Villagers. Chickens scurrying out of the way. The s.h.i.+p that wasn't my s.h.i.+p - but was. Margrethe -

Margrethe!

'Thy two b.r.e.a.s.t.s are like two roes - thou art all fair, my love!'

Margrethe among the dancers, her bosom as bare as her feet. Margrethe dancing with that villainous kanaka, and shaking her -

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