Castle Dreams

Thirteen River

“ … And so the hooker said to the chicken, “Sure, honey. Throw in a jar of mayonnaise and you got yourself a deal.””

Full-throated laughter came from the stern of the ferryboat, faint echoes returning from far across the water.

“That was amusing. Tell another.”

The shore took form out of the darkness ahead. Bare but for a few quaint buildings hugging the edge of the water. Taken as a whole, the assemblage looked not unlike a fishing village. This was impossible.

“I have about exhausted my trove of conceits and epigrams,” he told the boatman.

“Then spin me another tale of adventure.”

“The shore nears.”

The ferryman looked. “So it does. But you have given good measure. For the briefest moment I have been diverted from the tedium of my routine. And for that, mortal, I thank you.”

“You are quite welcome, boatman. What is this place?”

“The Port of Dreams.”

“Why is it so called?”

“I know not. Unlike the rest, you ask many questions. You will have your answer in due time.”

He regarded the approach of the village, peering past the houses.

“This is an island?”

The ferryman nodded. “Aye.”

“One more question, please. What is the name of this river?”

“This is the River of Dreams.”

“Ah.”

“And just downstream, at its mouth, begins the Sea of Oblivion, into which the river empties.”

“I see. These names elicit in me a strange foreboding.”

“Such feelings are often justified.”

Ahead, a wooden dock. Along the shore the masts of many sailing ships reached up to the darkness overhead. He wondered how he could see anything in this gloom. But see he did.

The village seemed quite the going concern. Workers plied the docks, toting bundles. People in robes gathered along the shore in little groups, talking. Doing business, perhaps.

He again grew aware of his nakedness.

“Have you anything I might wear?” he asked the ferryman.

“Not I. But such may be purchased ashore.”

Again, this purchasing. With what?

The ferryboat drew up to the dock and kissed its side. The boatman cast a mooring line. A barefooted dockhand caught it and tied it off.

He stepped from the boat to the dock and turned.

“My thanks.”

“It is nothing. You tell good stories, mortal. Before I go, one more? A witticism, anything.”

“A riddle?”

“A riddle then.”

“Knock, knock.”

“Who is there?”

“Not a soul.”

The boatman regarded his passenger.

“You have given me something to think on, mortal. Fare thee well.”

“Catch you later.”

He watched the ferryboat pull away. Soon it vanished into the darkness whence it had come.

Looking down at his nakedness, he pondered what to do. He looked up. No one paid him the slightest mind. He shrugged. He began walking toward shore over the rough planks of the dock.

A man with a pushcart offered his wares.

“Garments, sir?”

He stopped. “Yes. But I cannot pay.”

“Pity.” The man pushed off.

He reached shore and walked left along the wharf, past docks that led out to tall ships. There were many, their riggings varied and exotic. He stopped to examine a particularly striking vessel.

He realized that he was hungry.

How could this be?

Well, why not?

He looked around. There were shops, ship’s chandlers for the most part. But he smelled food and followed the scent down a cobblestone street until he found himself in front of an inn. He entered.

It was a small place, narrow and dark, with a sawdust floor. But the odors were good and the place had a pleasant atmosphere. A few tables were occupied; people sipping drinks and talking.

He approached the bar, where a man in rumpled robes was wiping glasses with a greasy cloth.

“I am in need of food and drink,” he said.

The man looked up, the stub of a cigar clenched between his teeth.

“So?”

“I am willing to work for you. All I require in payment is some bread and a tumbler of water.”

“Oh, really?”

“That is all.”

“You want a job, that it?”

“Yes. I need a job. Temporarily.”

“Yeah, it’s always temporary. Until you get yourself a ship.”

He realized it must be true. “Yes. That is correct.”

“Yeah. Look, pal …”

The man plucked the fetid cigar stub from between his thin lips. “I got nothin’ for ya. Business been slow. I don’t know what it is, but it’s been like a morgue around here lately. I got no need for a waiter, busboy, whatever. Okay, pal? Try up the street.”

“I must get a ship.”

“Yeah, I heard it all before. Your family was hard up, couldn’t give you a decent burial. So you get here, butt hanging out, y’aint got a nickel, can’t get arrested. Hey, I really feel for ya, pal, but like I said, I got nothin’.”

“If you loan me some money, I will pay you back.”

“What do I look like, a banker? You see any moneychangers here? Hey, do yourself a favor. Go see Traveler’s Aid. They’ll help you out.”

“I can entertain your customers.”

“You go — Huh? What can you do?”

“I …”

“Yeah?”

“I can play the piano and tell jokes.”

The man looked around. “Well, I’ll just tune up the old Steinway.… Hey, you see a piano in here?”

“Get one.”

The man guffawed. “You know what a —”

“Rent one. Lease one.”

“You got all the answers.”

“You said business was bad. Perhaps you need a draw.”

The man was silent as he stuffed the cloth inside a beer mug and squeakingly wiped.

“Maybe you got an idea, there. Something to attract the walk-in trade. You play pretty good?”

“Fair. I tell good jokes. Patter. Satirical songs. One-liners.”

“You got experience?”

“Plenty.”

“OK. Let me ask around, see what rate I can get on an upright —”

“Baby grand would do better. You could position seats around it and I could take requests. You won’t have to pay. I’ll take the tips.”

“Yeah. Lots of tips. I get seventy-five percent.”

“I’ll give you ten.”

The man laughed toothily. “You’ll hand over fifty percent and like it. I’m paying for the piano.”

“We split sixty-forty, my favor.”

The owner thought it over. “Okay, sixty-forty.”

“And your cut gets cut to twenty-five after a month.”

“There’s no time here.”

“Whenever.”

“Minimum thirty.”

“Done.”

“Okay, pal, you got yourself a job. Here.”

The man rolled a coin at him.

“Go out and get yourself some decent clothes. Don’t want my employees walkin’ around with their shortcomings exposed.”

He took the gold coin. “Are you human?”

“Naw.”

“But —”

“I like myself this way. Makes the mortals feel at home.”

“Very well, then. I will be back.”

“Wait.” The owner pushed a tankard of ale across the bar. “You look like you need this.”

He took the vessel and tilted it toward his mouth. He drank the whole thing down.

He wiped his mouth and caught his breath.

The owner grinned. “Yeah. Goes down good after a long ferry ride with that seven-foot-tall nightmare, huh?”

“Death’s a bitch.”

“And then you’re reincarnated.”