Fo'castle Waltz

It was as simple as that since her parents' only objection to him was that he was a goy. His pink face lit up like a rising summer sun—he would! He was delighted and thanked me profusely.

That guy took me too seriously and that had me worried. I warned him it hurt. Did it? Well, I'd been told— But I thought all Jewish boys—? Of course, of course. But it happened so long ago—anyway when a fellow's only nine days old that's one thing—it's only a snip—but from then on it's an operation, and terribly painful.

But that didn't faze this guy. For his dark-eyed, ivory-skinned little darling, why, he'd do more than that—why, he'd cut off his arm. He was ready to die for her.

I suppose I might have told him that story from the Old Testament (Genesis 34th Chapter) when that goy Shechem, son of Chamor the Hivite and a prince, at that, saw "Dinah the daughter of Leah whom she had borne unto Jacob," and—to quote again—"he took and lay with her and did her violence" unquote, and Shechem got to love the gal and wanted to marry her. Her brothers were all wrought up, and when this guy's old man, Chamor the Hivite, came along and said his son was sorry and that he and all the other goyim of that city in Cana'an admired the Jew girls and would like to marry them—to quote again—"the sons of Jacob answered Shechem and Chamor his father with cunning and spoke: because he had defiled Dinah their sister," and they said "on this condition will we consent unto you—if ye will become as we, that every male of you be circumcised."

The Hivites granted that and every man-jack went and got operated on. Then the story goes on that Jacob's boys avenged the family honor. "And it came to pass on the third day, when they [the Hivites] were sore, that two of the sons of Jacob, Simeon and Levi, Dinah's brothers, took each his sword, and came upon the city unresisted and slew all the males"—including of course Shechem and his old man—them "with the edge of the sword." I suppose that hurt more.

Old Jacob for practical reasons hadn't approved of that, but his boys were hot-headed and had their Irish up. And so it was written.

Of course, this moon-calf sitting there opposite me with his empty glass and the biscuit crumbs clinging to his cheeks was no rapacious Hivite. But I suggested he get some guarantee before he made hospital reservations, just to be sure that it wasn't only his goyishkeit that her family objected to in him. I didn't tell him that it might be this quality of wide-eyed immaturity and pompous preciosity I too found very wearing after spending the morning jabbering with the guy, and made me glad to say good-by after those bottles were emptied.

Back on our own ship that Sunday noon I found I had missed out on an invitation to eat roast beef aboard the Limey tied up alongside us. Al, Mush, Joe, Perry, Scotty—pretty much everybody had got in on it. Al with his smooth talk had arranged it, and the only one to talk to at our dinner table outside of Bird-neck, who hated Limeys, was the little Bos'n.

The little Bos'n was feeling good and felt like talking. After dinner, I asked him if he'd sit for a portrait. His face crinkled up in that catlike grin of his—he was embarrassed—but after a few minutes he said he'd be mighty proud to.

It was cold out on deck and we sat around in his dark varnished cabin and I made a drawing of him. He insisted on posing with that old dusty Ship's Officer's cap pulled forward shading his eyes.

After I'd been drawing a few minutes he talked, without moving his lips much. He told me he'd been worried about Mush and me hanging out with Perry. Not that Perry was bad. Just that he was the kind of sailor that makes mistakes and gets himself and everybody with him in trouble. He meant to warn us when he saw us going ashore back in Rio Santiago, but it was just as well, since we'd managed to stay out of any serious mess.

We looked like nice clean kids, he said, and he'd hate to see us go wrong—same as his own kid. Yeah, he had a kid—a nice kid back in the States. The kid boarded out while he was away at sea. Then he hunted around in his neat locker and got a photograph and handed it to me. It was a picture of a blond, curly-headed boy about four years old.

The little Bos'n talked quite a lot about the little boy, and somehow his talk shifted and he told me about the officer's cap he was wearing. It was tied up with his thinking about the kid.

He had been an officer. He'd shipped as a Second Mate aboard American ships for quite a spell and he had a First Mate's license too. Something had happened down in El Maria, Spain, one night, and he'd been broken—well, here he was starting over again as a Bos'n. That officer's cap he wore was to remind him to hold his temper. It (his temper) had got him into trouble before.

Then he shut up and didn't talk any more for quite a while. I overworked that drawing hoping he'd start up again. Finally, he went on.