Song of the Shank

They move in thick blinks of travel to the main jetty. It will cost you to get there. He will have to negotiate with a captain the price of passage to the city — Yes, ma’m. No, ma’m, five for you each — a cost too much, but he pays it. Eyes flashing beneath his cap, the captain takes Tabbs with one hand at his elbow and the other in the small of his back and helps him down into the slightly wobbling dhow. The boy leads Tom. Four in a dhow, wind smacking the sail, waves thrusting up. The captain proves to be a good ferryman, maneuvering against the strong currents. The dhow seems to glide along of itself, the water awake and rushing now that they’ve decided to take their chances, facing into the wind, feeling the wind, grateful (Tabbs) in fact for the cool salty blowing and flapping, all of the colors you can think of sparkling on the surface of the water, a shock of bouncing brightness, only this flashing substance lying between them and land on the other side, the final crossing. The captain speaks to them calmly in a condescending language, but there is no energy in Tabbs to be angry or insulted. The captain offers them oranges and bananas, which Tom and the boy accept. Eating done, they toss the rinds and peels into the ocean, the captain unspeaking, occupied with the close focus of sea, his hands working in silent rhythm, his eyes glazed with concentration. For the rest of the hour Tabbs watches the captain’s mannerisms along with the (unavoidable) shifting of the sea, Tabbs remotely enjoying the ride, forgetting. Then the ocean changes, starts to break open. The dhow rocks and dips, wood creaking, the sound of nails freeing themselves, water splashing up over the sides, splashing over them, and Tabbs starts to rue the moment, panic in the boy’s face, the boy scooting from one side of the dhow to the other and back again in an effort to avoid the water. Quit that now. Water, get away from me. Now I said quit. I ain’t playin. He reaches as if to grab his knife, until he realizes that it will do little good to cut the water, a thing that can’t be killed. Tom tries to brush and shoo the water away from his person. Tabbs feels dizzy, sick, stupid. Have they come this far, land just up ahead, only for the dhow to disintegrate beneath them, right under their feet, for them all to sink into a place of forgetting, nothingness? For his part Tabbs displays not the least bit of panic — too late for that — hands stiff and calm, keeps his knees parallel to each other beneath his dress, while light bounces off his scarf, tries to remain as calm as the seated captain. Tom stands fully upright, shoulders squared and chin high, in self-assured defiance of the swaying, hands outstretched to balance himself, knowing without the others’ saying that they (Tabbs) are afraid, that all is not well. With gracious ease the captain works the rudder this way and that and regains control of the craft, careful to give Tabbs a look of amends. Or is it something else? Hands moving, he draws the dhow parallel to the quay. Then he just sits there, looking at them, waiting for them to quit his dhow. He does not try to hide his dismay, making it clear that he will not assist them. To his credit, the boy (wobbly) regains his composure enough to climb the stone stairs twenty feet to the pier with Tom directly behind him.

They walk without hurrying, long slow breaths, although the streets are full of alabasters, alabasters who watch three Negroes go by, the only three, a Negress, a boy, and a blind nigger, Tabbs tense with uncertainty. The air carries to his ear sounds that have no understood meaning. Every window in the city unshut, shades lifted, curtains open. He should shrink down into himself, go back, but he cannot. Despite the heavy petticoats he feels light in his low-cut boots. The boy steers Tom away from any obstacle in his path with a slight tug of the sleeve. Tabbs realizes that they have set a course for the train station, Tom leading the way, walking more sprightly than he and the boy. Who is he that he can do this? Blind Tom can do anything.

They move in silence, everything suddenly heavy and slowed down, until they reach the train station, shade-filled and muted in color. A strict stillness. Alabasters, their curious watching of Tabbs, Tom, and the boy. Tabbs purchases three fares. (He catches a waver in the eyes in front of him, the alabaster caged inside the ticket booth.) And they take a bench, sit down, and wait, Tom between Tabbs and the boy.

We’re going to her, Tom says.

Tabbs’s hand on his shoulder to quiet him, a tenderness.