Fo'castle Waltz

The Old Man up on his deck quietly looked down. The Mate stood astride the messdeck. Well, it looked as if Perry and the Polack knew what they were doing—no one stopped them. I wished I'd been on Perry's scaffold. I'd have gone along, taken my portfolios, and done some of the painting I'd hoped for instead of smearing this damn red lead—

They went down the narrow gangplank trying to walk arm in arm, laughing and waving good-by—free as birds. And when they reached the soil of the Republic of Argentine they were nabbed and caged for the next ten days. The little sailor-boy Port Cop enforced by a couple of other men in uniform stepped out of the shadows of our ship's hull, collared our free spirits, and marched them off to the hoosegow without a break in their stride.

No one knew how come the cops were there waiting. Had the Old Man signaled? Had he radioed an S.O.S.?

We all went about our business, carefully chipping and red leading the hull of the good ship S.S. Hermanita, some murmuring Perry shouldn't have done it, and it's tough on the Polack kid. The Mate didn't shout down at us the rest of the afternoon. He didn't have to.

Philip went ashore with me as interpreter to help me buy that hat that evening. All the officers were eating ashore that night so he got out early. He couldn't speak Spanish as well as Perry, but the language he did speak was less apt to land you in some of the complicated situations Perry always seemed to get mixed up with.

We walked up to the town. A few of the shops were still open. One we passed showed pink feminine flimsies in its windows. Philip said that shop catered to the bordello ladies. He always called them that—he was always a polite boy. That might have been true but none that I saw wore any stuff like that.

Then we came to a shop that exhibited a number of large, black sombreros, a few berets, and a couple of bags of charcoal in its window. In the center on a stand was a light-yellow velour hat. There was an old woman sitting in the shop near a small stove.

We entered, I first, and as I swung the tall door open, it crashed up against the inside of that shop with a tremendous clatter. That was my first experience with those damn doors —they gave me a lot of trouble later. It seems the Argentinians never have those air brakes we always take for granted on our New York doors and they keep their hinges too well oiled. Whenever I'd swing a door open, I'd always forget to hang on to the damn thing and then close it, carefully. I'd just push it open and expect some resistance from those nice little air brakes which quietly and modestly add to our comfort.

The old woman jumped as if she were shot and chattered some nasty stuff in Spanish.

"She says you are a big beef," said Philip quietly.

"Tell her I just want to buy a hat."

He told her. She grumbled and went to the window.

"She says she don' see why a dumb ox needs a hat."

Philip was taking his job as interpreter too literally, I felt. The old woman's remarks had no bearing on the business at hand.

She gathered up a few large sombreros and then threw them down on a wooden counter. But Philip, who had gone to the window too, called her back, evidently insisting she bring that prize yellow velour out for our inspection.

I'd begun to try on a few sombreros. They didn't look bad. I got one that fitted and was quite pleased with my reflection in a glass that hung in the darkness of the shop. But Philip objected.

"No—no—not dat. Here, try dis golden one. It goes good with your whiskers, I bet."

See—everyone was recognizing that beard.

Philip had tried the yellow hat on and was knocking himself wall-eyed trying to get a view of his profile in the glass alongside of me.

"Not that one, Philip. It'll dirty up too quickly."

The old woman broke in with a word or two. Philip responded. Evidently her remark was not directed to me.

"Ask how much for the hat I'm wearing," I said.

He did and told me.

"She says seven pesos—too much I'll tell her."

He did, and she talked quite a lot then.

"She says I have head like dumb ox too. Don't buy it anyway."

"But I gotta have a hat."

"Sure, all right—here's a fine hat. Buy dis one."

Seems that Philip liked that yellow velour so much, unless something happened quick I'd have to buy me a hat I disliked very much.

"Look, Philip, ask her how much it is."

After a moment, he turned back to me with a broad smile, holding the hat out to me.

"She's only twelve pesos fifty centavos. That's a bargain— cheap."

I figured quickly. "Hey, whatta you mean—cheap? Four dollars and seventy-five cents—or almost five—for a hat!"

"Dat's a fine hat," Philip insisted. "Velour is a little more dear but it's worth—here, try it on."

It looked as if there was no way out. Philip was going to see that I got that hat.

"But I ain't got that much money. Last night—I spent—"

"Dat's all right. I'll lend you."