Hem’s Ghost

By James Heaton

Copyright 2019

HEM’S GHOST

The trusty bottle of Captain Morgan’s rum cost $7.85, and it was as good as I remembered it. From the first time I ever drank rum , twelve long years ago, until now I see it as a jovial drink, never a drink for the down and out. Rum brought to mind pirates and my love for Jimmy Buffett songs, I had heard how it was medicine to the pirates in days of old, curing scurvy and now it was going to be my medicine once again.

I made my way out of the liquor shop just as they were closing for the night, and across the street with my tell — tale brown bag to the sidewalk. I walked to the edge where the sand and grass met and found my way to the boardwalk. I marched through the thick sand about a quarter of a mile to one of the newly built swings that the city had just installed to update communities appearance.

I sat down and watched the stars, they didn’t move but the light house beacon was bright and powerful shining for all to see. As I drank and started to relax I continued to watched the stars, still they did not move. I sat for over an hour thinking and taking sips of the rum, feeling the alcohol burn as it rode down my throat. It was warm to my chest and I felt the buzz as it melted away the pain. Soon I would be drunk and then I would be sleepy and pass out. I watched the stars, Venus moved a little but that is a planet and it didn’t count so I kept watching to see if they moved.

Looking out at the jetty I could see the foam of the waves as they pounded into the heavy rocks that separated the beach, helping to prevent erosion. The rocks were strong and mighty, I wanted to be those rocks.

“Why could I never be strong, why did I falter when things got too tough?”I asked myself, expecting an answer.

I looked hard at the jetty, it seemed to move — no it was a silhouette of a man moving. He looked like he came out of the jetty. Maybe he was fishing by the jetty at night. When you drank you saw things, like stars moving. I watched as he limped toward me, I was on guard but I always welcomed the company of a fellow drunk. He was headed toward me, it was obvious that he was making his way toward me. He wore khaki pants that blended in with the sand, his left hand was shoved into a green military coat that was buttoned up to his chest. He was tall and barrel chested, with a white beard. He wore a rugged ball cap that sat crooked on his head.. His walking cane sank in the sand but offered some support for his bad leg.

“You got a light young fellow?” His voice was gruff and precise.

“Yeah, I sure do. You wanna sit down?”

“Hell yes, damn legs gonna be the death of me.”

I pulled out my lucky silver lighter, flicked it open and lit his cigar. He pulled out a second cigar and handed it to me, I accepted. Biting the end off I lit it and drug a bit of the sweet smoke into my mouth. It was a Cameroon wrapper from the taste it was very moist. I hadn’t had a cigar this good in years.

“How about some rum old timer?” I offered the bottle to him.

“Thank you, don’t mind if I do. Rum will warm the soul and kill any pain that ails you.”

He took a large drink, “ yes that’s good rum.”

He handed me the bottle. It was magnificent the way two people could bond off a bottle of alcohol and cigars. Men could share a passion that God didn’t create, I think he left it open to us to create. Men and women just never saw eye to eye on these things.

“You gonna drink that or play with it?” I had held took a sip and held the bottle on my lap as I stared at the waves.

I passed the rum, his hands were huge as they grabbed the bottled. He had beautiful hands, they were thick and powerful with clean fingernails and white and black hair that flowed out of his shirt sleeve to the top of his hand. He had very tan hands, I figured him to be a worker.

“You work around here?’I asked him as I studied his pants. They were clean and pressed, not dirty or torn.

He coughed and flick the ash of the cigar, it glowed a bright orange.

“Use to, I was a sailor. Now I just walk the beach and bum booze off other drunkards.”

“So do you live here on the island or back mainland?”

He adjusted his hat and chewed the cigar. He left it in his mouth as he talked.

“Son I wouldn’t step foot on the mainland, the ocean is my home. I just like my nightly walks in the air, its good for the lungs. The salt cures everything.”

He was preoccupied with the ocean, as if he could see the horizon past the pitch that stood in the lack of the moon. I tried to see what he saw but I didn’t have the sailor vision he had.

“You one of those students from the city?”

“No, I was. Ten years ago, ten long years ago.”

I couldn’t believe that it had been that long. I was caught in a dream when he spit out a wad of tobacco juice.

“Your girl dump you? You out here killing your pains? Ha, ha.” He laughed as he tried to figure out why a young man like me would be out here like him.

“No actually its my little boy, he’s dying. I left him four hours away in a hospital and he’s dying from cancer. I couldn’t handle the pain. I couldn’t deal with the pressure of everything so I came back here, to my island of escape. I’m so damn confused, I don’t even know why I m here.”

I ran my fingers through my hair pushing it back out of my eyes.

“Sorry to hear it. I know how you feel.”

I looked at him slightly confused.

“I lost my daughter in a car crash. She died forty five years ago.”

I hated him for having more pain than me, but I felt sorry for him, it was my night to feel sorry for myself.

“I stayed drunk all the damn time, my wife left my sorry ass.The doc down at the VA hospital says I got six months to live. I told him that they gave me less than that when the bastard Austrians shot the hell outta my damn leg.”“You were in the war?”

“Oh yeah, your sitting next to a war hero. I got a damn bunch of metals. I was a journalist and I got the hell blown outta me cause I was too damn stupid to stay in a safe place.”

I took a big drink and felt like hugging him but knew it was the rum making me loose and relaxed. Drunks either wanted to destroy things or love everybody around them. I was a loveable drunk.

“Yeah kid I had my time of feeling sorry for myself. Now I sit down here with drunks and talk, how’s that for living?”

“That’s awful. You sound like you’ve really done some living. Did you say you were a writer? I’m a novelist myself, I’m finishing up my first book.”

My drunken arrogance came out and spilt on the sand. As if he cared if I was a writer or not, as far as I knew he could have been a world famous journalist.

“Well kid I really hope your story has a happy ending. I get tired of sappy endings with morals and meaning. They don’t write good books anymore about life.”

“I agree, where is the realism? Too much spying and romance. Nobody writes about real life anymore.”

“You ever read Old Man and the Sea?” He asked me in a fatherly tone.

I smiled as I chugged the rum, harder this time. I handed him the bottle and shook the ash off of my cigar. I reached into my back pocket and pulled out a worn copy of the book.

“Its my favorite, its like my bible. I read it everyday.”

“How about that, we’ll listen kid, learn from Santiago. Life is more about keeping the happiness you have than actually obtaining more happiness.”

He had the bottle in his hand and his hand on my shoulder. I could smell the cigar smoke coming from behind me, it was rich and aromatic. It made me relax even more, with the waves and the rum.

“Son, go sleep it off then go home to your boy. When you get around to it write a story about an old man who spends his whole damn life trying to do better. He forgets to enjoy what he has and when he least expects it God jerks it outta his hands. When you write about him make him a lot like me and in the end of the story, after seventy eight years of being hard headed he finally starts to understand a thing or too.”

I looked at him for the first time since he sat down, I really looked at him. I looked at his hat, the beige sun worn cap that had frayed edges and stains around the seams. His jacket with its thick texture and his cane. He carried the most beautiful cane of rich maple. Then I looked at his bearded face. I knew his face from some where. I tried to place it but I was too drunk.

“And kid don’t forget to mention that he drinks too damn much.”

I got up and stumbled through the sand, then I turned to tell him thank you but he was gone. The swing was gently swaying back and forth and I looked down the beach for him to be walking away but I couldn’t find him. I look all around, searching with my blurred vision for his silhouette.

I couldn’t find him, it was then I realized who he was.