Story "CAP" 2000
Rule
more "sketch" than story, but have at it.
Rule
---------------------------
CAP
by
Rule
Cap sits on his sofa and I take the chair across from him. Behind him is
a huge painting, and the lighting in the room is such he almost looks
like part of it. It is a seascape of steep, muddy, deep-shadowed waves, with
a lurking, hazy mountain looming in the distance.
I tell him it is beautiful; a sea of my dreams.
"You know what mountain that is?" he says, "That's Tamalpias. That's the
potato patch as I remember it. I never did put my boat in it."
Don't, I think. This way it's like having the sea in your home.
"I don't know anything about color," Cap says, "and you'd think I would have
just gone down and taken a class in it wouldn't you? But no, I just go on
painting as if I knew how. I couldn't tell you what indigo blue is if I saw
it."
Like feeling bad because you can't talk about playing a piano, but can only
play it beautifully, I think.
Three topics will come up from Cap's side during my visit. I know, because
they always do; World War II and his two dreams; sailing his own boat from
Tahiti to Bora Bora, and sailing the five stormy capes alone. He's owned
several sailboats capable of doing either, but has never to my knowledge
sailed any of them far enough to sea to lose sight of land. He prefers the
dream, I think; the strait between Tahiti and Bora Bora as he saw it in the
Navy when he was nineteen. And in his dream, he is still nineteen, not
seventy-nine, and the wind is a crisp hard blue and so is the sea.
We talk of heroes, and I comment that although men may do brave things
sometimes, to be a hero the right guy has to be watching -- a politician who
needs a hero at the time.
"The guys I took to shore were the heroes," Cap says. "Those guys knew they
were never going home, because they were experienced. So they kept pushing '
em out there. They were using them until they were used up. Here I was with
my little landing craft, delivering them, a sailor boy who got to go back
and eat Navy food every night, and those guys, even when they were on the
ship, got C-rations. They'd just boil a big pot of water and dump in the
cans, and fish 'em out with tongs and throw 'em to 'em to juggle from hand
to hand until they cooled enough to get 'em open. One time I was walking by
the officer's mess, and there was this big platter of fresh fruit, and this
guy says to me; 'What is that in there? Is that fresh fruit?' his eyes
bugging out. 'I haven't seen fresh fruit in two years!' I got the whole
platter and took it up and said 'hold out your helmets, and dumped the whole
platter into them. 'Don't tell where you got them,' I said. God, I felt
sorry for those guys. When I got them to shore one time, we hit coral, and
there was still a ways to go to the beach, and they didn't go straight in,
they always fanned out on each side, and they were going bloop! Bloop! Some
of 'em shot, but others falling into holes between the coral and not coming
up because they had so much equipment on. And I thought why don't I get a
line and take it to shore so they'd have a guide, because I could see that
if they just went straight, they wouldn't have hit so many holes. But I
didn't. I could have maybe saved some guys..."
Later on, Cap asks Mae if it's okay if he and I go down to look at boats.
"Don't buy one!" Mae says loudly from the kitchen. We go to get our coats
and Cap calls out "We're leaving now," and doesn't get an answer. He calls
"Mae? Mae?" until he does.
The boat he has chosen to show me is short, stubby, and decrepit, with a
cabin so strangely placed it makes the whole enterprise look bull-necked.
"Isn't this the ugliest thing you ever saw?" Cap says wonderingly, delighted
with it. "But look at these fittings here! This thing's built to go around
the world!"
"I really like the tiller," I say.
"Isn't that great?" Cap says. "It's a LOG!"
And it is. Somebody sometime debarked a five inch diameter log like you'd
use in your fireplace, and whittled it down on one end so it would fit into
the tiller-bracket. There has to be a story there. I wonder what it is.
Cap pulls the boat closer to the dock and I hold it while he bends over the
foot rail like a pool player reaching for an awkward shot. Deep in the
cockpit, he struggles with the engine cover until it comes loose.
Apparently, it's okay to dismantle someone else's boat as long as you keep
one foot on the dock.
"Look at that!" he says, pointing at the rusted propeller shaft. "That's
bigger than those shafts usually are. And that's a diesel in there."
It's shadowed so by the overhang that for all I know it might be a windup
motor powered by clock springs.
Three feet under the surface of the gray water the rudder can be seen as
through thick glass. It sticks out obscenely from under the boat's transom,
packed solid with fantasy mushrooms and crabs and anemones and star fish and
snails and other icky stuff, all layered into a fat spongy sleeve of weeds.
"She's got some grass on her," Cap says. "You know, you could probably get
this one for two hundred dollars."
After reaching over to push the companionway hatch back to see inside and
having it delaminate in my hand, I agree you probably could.
On the way home we take a look at another one, at a different marina, where
Cap nonchalantly climbs around the keyed gate barrier and unlatches it for
me from inside.
"With boats it's always been an aesthetics thing for me," Cap says, and
leads me to a brown-painted twenty-footer with a shear like a swaybacked
horse. It is a Disney cartoon of a boat, a counterfeit antique with a
bowsprit and a dolphin-striker chain. (Cap astride it plunging through
heavy seas, hanging onto a saddle horn and yelling yahoo.)
When we get back, Cap's neighbor comes over. "I knew you weren't gonna get
out to the garage sales today," he says, "so I got you some stuff."
It turns out to be three cardboard boxes full of parts of obscure devices,
including two three-inch square blocks of aluminum with four half-inch steel
pipes about ten inches long threaded into them.
We stare at them dumfounded, wondering at their origin.
But the real treasure is five quarts of nails, some in coffee cans, some in
little cardboard boxes, and a big bunch in a bucket with a split seam. We
wheelbarrow them over to Cap's house and hide them in front of his old VW
camper.
"I don't want this stuff," Cap whispers. "But I don't want to hurt his
feelings."
He opens his garage door. His Ford sedan is in there, packed in solid by a
lot of stuff you could name if you put your mind to it, and a lot of other
stuff you couldn't. We sidle past, me sucking in my gut to get by the side
view mirror, hoping any cuts I get from the protruding metal stabbers behind
me won't be too deep.
After Mae's birthday dinner with their son Sean and his pretty wife Carrie,
(who flirts outrageously with me) and their daughter Erin, who doesn't,
since she's eleven and already past that self confident world-is-my-oyster
place of seven or eight and is now well into the confusion of growing up a
bit, we say our good-byes and drive home from the restaurant, Mae
backseating it from the front. Mae and I get out while Cap opens the garage
door and threads his way past pipes and rods and boards a foot high
in the center of the floor. When the light comes on I see at least forty
ropes silhouetted there, holding fan belts and picture frames and T-squares,
all hanging from the overhead crossbeams like stalactites. It is as if he'd
driven his car into custard, which hardened, and now he's got to fit it
carefully into a space like the outline of things thrown through walls in
animated cartoons, and just far enough and no farther, lest he be trapped
inside. (Cap's body wedged between car and a rust-crusted drill press
while ambulance guys wonder how to get him out for the funeral, and
Mae saying chirpily while batting her eyelashes at them; "I knew it would
come to this.")
But the house is relatively uncluttered, except for the tiny room Cap uses
for his studio. "You wouldn't believe it looking at it," Cap says, "But
everything in here is very well organized."
His latest painting is on the easel; an Indian on horseback, the horse
splashing through a stream, the Indian twisting backward to check on
distant riders, his yellow-boy Winchester swinging in his hand a la Charlie
Russell.
Looking around, I see that Cap still paints horses and sailboats and deserts
and deserted seas, and more horses, and one nude young girl.
"Who's that?" I ask, indicating it.
"That's Mae," Cap says. "I finally got her to pose for me."
"Right," I say, "And about time, too."
Mae is short and stocky, with bright blue eyes and a snub nose, and always
has been. The girl in the painting is fashion-model lanky.
"I used to be considered a good pretty-girl artist," Cap says.
I look closer at the girl's face. It is lovely.
We drink instant coffee at the kitchen table with Mae. Cap says, "I saw a
ketch in Mozambique I'd never seen one like it before. It looked like it
came from somewhere a long way from anywhere."
"No we didn't," Mae says. "We saw it in Port Au Prince. That was in that
restaurant where we got the bad clams and that big waiter came and told us
we'd better get back to the bus or we'd miss the nut festival on the other
side of the island."
She asks me about my bypass operation. "How many did they do?"
"Four," I say, wondering if it's some kind of contest.
"My niece had one. We saw her in Tallahassee when we went to visit Alice,
but she wasn't there, so we went on to Connecticut and visited with George
and Thelma, but they go to bed so early, and George had been sick with
cancer, so we hardly talked at all. But Betty said he was getting worse."
"Oh," I say, never having heard of any of them.
"You didn't tell us about Elsa's funeral," she twitters.
I tell them that she had one, and that I'd have liked to just do without it,
but there was her family to consider, and that it was a good thing she
didn't look like herself lying in that open casket surrounded by satin and
stuff she'd never laid against before. "If it had looked like her, I would
have probably marched up there and told her 'look Elsa, you've made your
point. Now get up out of there and come back home where you belong.'"
Mae laughs cheerfully.
"I want to be cremated," Cap says.
Mae goes to bed. "If anything happened to Mae, I don't think I'd marry
again," Cap says. "I'd just want to be alone."
"Mae! Mae!" his plaintive voice echoes in my mind through a house now full
to the brim with cardboard boxes and defunct machinery, including two
incomprehensible aluminum blocks with half inch steel pipes threaded into
them, the whole house now nothing but Cap-shaped tunnels.
- end -
Ejucaided Redneck
> CAP
> by
> Rule
I liked this.
Some low-grade quibbles, along with maybe two problems with a couple of
incidents...
> Cap sits on his sofa and I take the chair across from him. Behind him is
> a huge painting, and the lighting in the room is such he almost looks
> like part of it. It is a seascape of steep, muddy, deep-shadowed waves, with
> a lurking, hazy mountain looming in the distance.
Too many adjectives. "Steep, muddy,. . ." sorta overwhelm
"deep-shadowed," which for me, is the stronger description.
And for what it's worth I spent a lot of time in or on oceans, and never
saw a "muddy" wave.
> And in his dream, he is still nineteen, not seventy-nine, and the wind is
> a crisp hard blue and so is the sea.
Oh damn it all, ain't that just the way it is...
> and those guys, even when they were on the ship, got C-rations. They'd
> just boil a big pot of water and dump in the cans, and fish 'em out with
> tongs and throw 'em to 'em to juggle from hand to hand until they cooled
> enough to get 'em open.
Actually and factually, on transports --I crewed on one, as an assault
boat coxswain, for a little better than four years-- the grunts had
their own chow line, ate the same food as us squids.
And C Rations had a can of Sterno in each package, specifically to heat
the canned food, _if_ you had opportunity and time. Boiling cans would
cause them to explode.
> One time I was walking by the officer's mess, and there was this big platter of
> fresh fruit, and this guy says to me; 'What is that in there? Is that fresh fruit?'
> his eyes bugging out. 'I haven't seen fresh fruit in two years!' I got the whole
> platter and took it up and said 'hold out your helmets, and dumped the whole
> platter into them. 'Don't tell where you got them,' I said. God, I felt
> sorry for those guys.
An standard enlisted sailor --your young Cap, by virtue of being a boat
coxswain, is probably a third class boatswain's mate-- would/could never
do this. Deck apes don't "walk by" the officer's mess. That's in
"officers' country.," a section of the ship one entered _only_ if you
had serious business there that couldn't be conducted elsewhere (like
painting the bulkheads or something).
Officers, in the "old Navy" --up until the late seventies-- were taken
care of by a class of sailor called a "steward's mate." They cooked,
cleaned, served meals and did the laundry for officers. During WW II
almost all of them were black. Afterward, most were Filipino. Now,
since one thing your Cap seems to regret is never having done anything
he'd consider heroic, but only observed the heroism of others, you might
change this to fit, and be realistic as well. Stealing food from the
officers' mess would be a very serious matter. What if he observed a
young black --Cap would probably say "colored"-- steward's mate steal
that platter of fruit and give it to some grunts?
> When I got them to shore one time, we hit coral, and there was still a ways
> to go to the beach, and they didn't go straight in, they always fanned out on
> each side,
If a boat beached on coral, the boat coxswain, unless he was a rank
coward, or very stupid, wouldn't off-load his troops. They'd be cut to
ribbons. Landing craft --LCVPs and the larger LCMs-- had very powerful
diesel engines quite capable of pulling a boat off a reef. The coxswain
would just go full throttle reverse, get the boat loose, and then go
around the reef. (They always briefed us about such things anyway, and
often a smaller boat would put a red marker buoy over them.)
What _could_ happen is the boat could run aground on a beach that went
shallow too fast, and the grunts would have to step out into deeper
water, and some of them could easily be lost to drowning. .
> And I thought why don't I get a line and take it to shore so they'd have a
> guide, because I could see that if they just went straight, they wouldn't have
> hit so many holes.
The boat wouldn't carry a long enough line.
> The boat he has chosen to show me is short, stubby, and decrepit, with a
> cabin so strangely placed it makes the whole enterprise look bull-necked.
Nice description. I think I know what that boat looks like.
> After Mae's birthday dinner with their son Sean and his pretty wife Carrie,
> (who flirts outrageously with me)
Nice touch. One way a man knows he's getting old is these young pretty
women flirt with us in a way that clearly mean absolutely nothing...
> She asks me about my bypass operation. "How many did they do?"
> "Four," I say, wondering if it's some kind of contest.
é®®other nice touch.
> "I want to be cremated," Cap says.
Seems like he's the sort who'd have a specific post-cremation request,
probably to scatter his ashes over some beach the developers got hold of
forty years ago.
> Mae goes to bed. "If anything happened to Mae, I don't think I'd marry
> again," Cap says. "I'd just want to be alone."
>
> "Mae! Mae!" his plaintive voice echoes in my mind through a house now full
> to the brim with cardboard boxes and defunct machinery, including two
> incomprehensible aluminum blocks with half inch steel pipes threaded into
> them, the whole house now nothing but Cap-shaped tunnels.
Nice ending.
Apart from the nitpicking about the military stuff --but the military is
something very hard to get right if you haven't actually _been_ there--
I enjoyed this.
You oughta be searching for markets, you know that?
--
I hate graveyards and old pawnshops
Cause they always bring me tears.
Can't forget the way they robbed me
Of my childhood souvenirs.
--- John Prine ("Souvenirs")
--
"Bearskin to Holly Fork: Stories From Appalachia"
is now available from Amazon, Barnes and Noble,
or your favorite local bookstore.
Fiction, poetry, essays
New MP3: "Second Cousin"
http://www.bobsloansampler.com/
Most recent Lexington "Herald-Leader" column: Political Dead Duck as
Scapegoat
http://www.bobsloansampler.com/col06.htm
Carl Edgar
>like part of it.
how about
"and the roomlight etches him into it"
Shakespeare's work takes on new meaning when you consider that we was writing
longhand with a feather.
(Carl Edgar, 1943- )
Rule
"Ejucaided Redneck" <rls...@mindspring.com> wrote in message
news:3FFB3C85...@mindspring.com...
> Rule wrote:
>
> > CAP
> > by
> > Rule
>
> I liked this.
>
> Some low-grade quibbles, along with maybe two problems with a couple of
> incidents...
>
> > Cap sits on his sofa and I take the chair across from him. Behind him is
> > a huge painting, and the lighting in the room is such he almost looks
> > like part of it. It is a seascape of steep, muddy, deep-shadowed waves,
with
> > a lurking, hazy mountain looming in the distance.
>
> Too many adjectives. "Steep, muddy,. . ." sorta overwhelm
> "deep-shadowed," which for me, is the stronger description.
>
> And for what it's worth I spent a lot of time in or on oceans, and never
> saw a "muddy" wave.
Point taken, Red. I liked both, tried the sentence several ways, stared at
them for awhile and gave up and USED both. Bad idea.
>
> > And in his dream, he is still nineteen, not seventy-nine, and the wind
is
> > a crisp hard blue and so is the sea.
>
> Oh damn it all, ain't that just the way it is...
>
> > and those guys, even when they were on the ship, got C-rations. They'd
> > just boil a big pot of water and dump in the cans, and fish 'em out with
> > tongs and throw 'em to 'em to juggle from hand to hand until they cooled
> > enough to get 'em open.
I'll confess. The piece is largely reportage. That's what the man told me,
and like most of us, I listen for the meaning and largely ignore the
details. It's like the old trick question about a plane going down on the
border between Canada and the US. Where do they bury the survivors? Most
of us filter out the word "survivors" and try to concentrate on what we
think the teller is asking. Good thing, too, since no one speaks in
carefully edited prose save actors.
>
> Actually and factually, on transports --I crewed on one, as an assault
> boat coxswain, for a little better than four years-- the grunts had
> their own chow line, ate the same food as us squids.
>
> And C Rations had a can of Sterno in each package, specifically to heat
> the canned food, _if_ you had opportunity and time. Boiling cans would
> cause them to explode.
Thanks. I served at a later time, (Army) and never heard of that. But it's
Cap's story, not mine.
>
> > One time I was walking by the officer's mess, and there was this big
platter of
> > fresh fruit, and this guy says to me; 'What is that in there? Is that
fresh fruit?'
> > his eyes bugging out. 'I haven't seen fresh fruit in two years!' I got
the whole
> > platter and took it up and said 'hold out your helmets, and dumped the
whole
> > platter into them. 'Don't tell where you got them,' I said. God, I felt
> > sorry for those guys.
>
> An standard enlisted sailor --your young Cap, by virtue of being a boat
> coxswain, is probably a third class boatswain's mate-- would/could never
> do this. Deck apes don't "walk by" the officer's mess. That's in
> "officers' country.," a section of the ship one entered _only_ if you
> had serious business there that couldn't be conducted elsewhere (like
> painting the bulkheads or something).
I have no idea what kind of ship Cap served on, or what the layout or
protocol was.
>
> Officers, in the "old Navy" --up until the late seventies-- were taken
> care of by a class of sailor called a "steward's mate." They cooked,
> cleaned, served meals and did the laundry for officers. During WW II
> almost all of them were black. Afterward, most were Filipino. Now,
> since one thing your Cap seems to regret is never having done anything
> he'd consider heroic, but only observed the heroism of others, you might
> change this to fit, and be realistic as well. Stealing food from the
> officers' mess would be a very serious matter. What if he observed a
> young black --Cap would probably say "colored"-- steward's mate steal
> that platter of fruit and give it to some grunts?
I'm not sure, but I think "Cap" might look the other way and wish he had the
guts to do exactly that himself. (For all I know, that may be exactly what
happened.)
>
> > When I got them to shore one time, we hit coral, and there was still a
ways
> > to go to the beach, and they didn't go straight in, they always fanned
out on
> > each side,
>
> If a boat beached on coral, the boat coxswain, unless he was a rank
> coward, or very stupid, wouldn't off-load his troops. They'd be cut to
> ribbons. Landing craft --LCVPs and the larger LCMs-- had very powerful
> diesel engines quite capable of pulling a boat off a reef. The coxswain
> would just go full throttle reverse, get the boat loose, and then go
> around the reef. (They always briefed us about such things anyway, and
> often a smaller boat would put a red marker buoy over them.)
>
> What _could_ happen is the boat could run aground on a beach that went
> shallow too fast, and the grunts would have to step out into deeper
> water, and some of them could easily be lost to drowning. .
>
> > And I thought why don't I get a line and take it to shore so they'd have
a
> > guide, because I could see that if they just went straight, they
wouldn't have
> > hit so many holes.
>
> The boat wouldn't carry a long enough line.
True, but Cap's memory might get around that somehow. (See below.)
>
> > The boat he has chosen to show me is short, stubby, and decrepit, with a
> > cabin so strangely placed it makes the whole enterprise look
bull-necked.
>
> Nice description. I think I know what that boat looks like.
>
> > After Mae's birthday dinner with their son Sean and his pretty wife
Carrie,
> > (who flirts outrageously with me)
>
> Nice touch. One way a man knows he's getting old is these young pretty
> women flirt with us in a way that clearly mean absolutely nothing...
I know. DON'T I know. (Sigh)
>
> > She asks me about my bypass operation. "How many did they do?"
>
> > "Four," I say, wondering if it's some kind of contest.
>
> 'Nother nice touch.
>
> > "I want to be cremated," Cap says.
>
> Seems like he's the sort who'd have a specific post-cremation request,
> probably to scatter his ashes over some beach the developers got hold of
> forty years ago.
Hahahahah! Dunno, but he's telling "me", not the undertaker.
>
> > Mae goes to bed. "If anything happened to Mae, I don't think I'd marry
> > again," Cap says. "I'd just want to be alone."
> >
> > "Mae! Mae!" his plaintive voice echoes in my mind through a house now
full
> > to the brim with cardboard boxes and defunct machinery, including two
> > incomprehensible aluminum blocks with half inch steel pipes threaded
into
> > them, the whole house now nothing but Cap-shaped tunnels.
>
> Nice ending.
>
> Apart from the nitpicking about the military stuff --but the military is
> something very hard to get right if you haven't actually _been_ there--
> I enjoyed this.
Thank you. As far as Cap's stories go, time tucks up the edges of memory,
snipping off those that don't fit and arranging those that do into more
palatable patterns.
> You oughta be searching for markets, you know that?
Used to, occasionally, but gave it up, partly out of laziness, but mostly
out of reluctance to expose my deeper self, (and sometimes meaner thoughts)
to ridicule. In any case, this seems a relatively safe venue, and perhaps
commands a wider audience than print ever thought of doing.
Migod! Think of that! And immediate feedback, too! What writer ever got
THAT before the internet?
Anyway, thanks for the compliments and the info regarding landing men on
dangerous beaches. Are you sure you're not Tom Clancy in disguise?
Best regards,
Rule
Rule
"Carl Edgar" <say...@aol.comefly> wrote in message
news:20040106225737...@mb-m29.aol.com...
> > and the lighting in the room is such he almost looks
> >like part of it.
>
> how about
>
> "and the roomlight etches him into it"
Neat!
Rule
Ejucaided Redneck
>
> "Ejucaided Redneck" <rls...@mindspring.com> wrote in message
> news:3FFB3C85...@mindspring.com...
> > Rule wrote:
<snippage>
> > > and those guys, even when they were on the ship, got C-rations. They'd
> > > just boil a big pot of water and dump in the cans, and fish 'em out with
> > > tongs and throw 'em to 'em to juggle from hand to hand until they cooled
> > > enough to get 'em open.
>
> I'll confess. The piece is largely reportage. That's what the man told me,
> and like most of us, I listen for the meaning and largely ignore the
> details. It's like the old trick question about a plane going down on the
> border between Canada and the US. Where do they bury the survivors? Most
> of us filter out the word "survivors" and try to concentrate on what we
> think the teller is asking. Good thing, too, since no one speaks in
> carefully edited prose save actors.
Trivia in the event anybody cares: C Rations were a cardboard box
containing a can of sterno, a pack of four cigarettes --usually
unfiltered-- and matches, a can of sterno, a can of something to eat
that had some sort of meat in it, a weird little can opener which had an
official sort of numeric designation which we called a "john wayne," and
a "dessert." They could be --and were-- stored for decades before being
distributed to troops. In 1965 I opened a box wherein the cigarettes
were "Lucky Strike greens," which were last marketed in 1941 or ‘42.
Among the reasons they wouldn't have been fed to troop were C-rations
were designed to um, s l o w w a y d o w n certain bodily
functions. One of the packaged desserts was called "pound cake," and
nobody eating one of those things would bother looking for a latrine for
two or three days.
> I have no idea what kind of ship Cap served on, or what the layout or
> protocol was.
If he was putting troops on a beach during major island landings in the
Pacific, he'd have been on an APA (assault transport) or possibly an AKA
(attack cargo ship).
On _all_ Navy ships officers' country is a place enlisted people don't
go, or walk through.
> > Officers, in the "old Navy" --up until the late seventies-- were taken
> > care of by a class of sailor called a "steward's mate." They cooked,
> > cleaned, served meals and did the laundry for officers. During WW II
> > almost all of them were black. Afterward, most were Filipino. Now,
> > since one thing your Cap seems to regret is never having done anything
> > he'd consider heroic, but only observed the heroism of others, you might
> > change this to fit, and be realistic as well. Stealing food from the
> > officers' mess would be a very serious matter. What if he observed a
> > young black --Cap would probably say "colored"-- steward's mate steal
> > that platter of fruit and give it to some grunts?
>
> I'm not sure, but I think "Cap" might look the other way and wish he had the
> guts to do exactly that himself. (For all I know, that may be exactly what
> happened.)
Sounds right to me.
> > > "I want to be cremated," Cap says.
> >
> > Seems like he's the sort who'd have a specific post-cremation request,
> > probably to scatter his ashes over some beach the developers got hold of
> > forty years ago.
>
> Hahahahah! Dunno, but he's telling "me", not the undertaker.
What I meant was Cap seems the type to not only ask for something
complicated in the way of a post-cremation request, but would make sure
_everybody_ heard it.
Couple years ago I spent one of the hottest days in the history of
Virginia following --in my unairconditioned pickup truck-- the minivan
carrying my wife's grandfather, her parents, and another couple. Also
aboard were the ashes of Sparky's grandmother. Her ninety-something
grandfather, deep into "age related dementia" (not Altzheimer's) knew
just where he wanted to scatter he beloved wife's ashes. Took all day
to realize we'd been looking for a place that probably ceased to exist
forty, forty five years ago.
Rough, rugged day that one was...
> > You oughta be searching for markets, you know that?
>
> Used to, occasionally, but gave it up, partly out of laziness, but mostly
> out of reluctance to expose my deeper self, (and sometimes meaner thoughts)
> to ridicule. In any case, this seems a relatively safe venue, and perhaps
> commands a wider audience than print ever thought of doing.
> Migod! Think of that! And immediate feedback, too! What writer ever got
> THAT before the internet?
True enough, but you're good enough you could find print publication, if
it appealed to you.
> Anyway, thanks for the compliments and the info regarding landing men on
> dangerous beaches. Are you sure you're not Tom Clancy in disguise?
Nah. Just somebody old enough to have spent his initial Navy hitch with
the amphibious forces, aka "the ‘gator Navy," which had changed little
since WW II. My first ship was built in 1935, taken over by the Navy in
‘37, and was at Iwo, Okinawa, and Saipan.
And I had the curious experience, in 1985 of attending the retirement
ceremony of a grizzled old master chief petty officer who in 1945 was a
seventeen year old LCVP coxswain at Okinawa, aboard the same ship I'd
be aboard two decades later. That guy was probably the last man still
on active duty who'd been there...
--
We lost Davey in the Korean War
Still don't know what for.
Doesn't matter any more.
--- John Prine ("Hello in There")
Anopheles
"Rule" wrote:
> You folks have been so kind I think I'll try another. Actually, I think
it's
> more "sketch" than story, but have at it.
>
> Rule
> ---------------------------
>
> CAP
> by
> Rule
>
> Cap sits on his sofa and I take the chair across from him. Behind him is
> a huge painting, and the lighting in the room is such he almost looks
> like part of it. It is a seascape of steep, muddy, deep-shadowed waves,
with
> a lurking, hazy mountain looming in the distance.
Forgive this intrusion. Can I suggest some change here. I suggest you're
trying too hard to be descriptive and in doing, weaken the images. Let me
play with the words.
Cap sits on his sofa. I take the chair opposite. Behind him is a large
painting, the lighting making it seem like he's part of it. It is a seascape
of steep, deep-shadowed waves, a hazy mountain in the distance.
This is so much shorter. The question is, do you think the message is the
same? Is it stronger?
> I tell him it is beautiful; a sea of my dreams.
I would drop the last phrase. The first says it all.
>
> "You know what mountain that is?" he says, "That's Tamalpias. That's the
> potato patch as I remember it. I never did put my boat in it."
>
> Don't, I think. This way it's like having the sea in your home.
"Don't I think"? Meaning?
You need to break this up in to digestable serves (paras)
This show promise, Rule. Needs some work, but this will develop if you stick
around here.
Anopheles
Anopheles
"Rule" wrote:
> You folks have been so kind I think I'll try another. Actually, I think
it's
> more "sketch" than story, but have at it.
>
> Rule
> ---------------------------
>
> CAP
> by
> Rule
>
> Cap sits on his sofa and I take the chair across from him. Behind him is
> a huge painting, and the lighting in the room is such he almost looks
> like part of it. It is a seascape of steep, muddy, deep-shadowed waves,
with
> a lurking, hazy mountain looming in the distance.
>
> I tell him it is beautiful; a sea of my dreams.
>
> "You know what mountain that is?" he says, "That's Tamalpias. That's the
> potato patch as I remember it. I never did put my boat in it."
You might just want to check the spelling here, too. I've seen it both ways,
but here's an authoritative site.
http://www.parks.ca.gov/default.asp?page_id=471
Anopheles
Rule
"Anopheles" <hi...@nospamcoolcats.net.au> wrote in message
news:3ffc...@news.comindico.com.au...
>
> "Rule" wrote:
>
> > You folks have been so kind I think I'll try another. Actually, I think
> it's
> > more "sketch" than story, but have at it.
> >
> > Rule
> > ---------------------------
> >
> > CAP
> > by
> > Rule
> >
> > Cap sits on his sofa and I take the chair across from him. Behind him is
> > a huge painting, and the lighting in the room is such he almost looks
> > like part of it. It is a seascape of steep, muddy, deep-shadowed waves,
> with
> > a lurking, hazy mountain looming in the distance.
>
> Forgive this intrusion. Can I suggest some change here. I suggest you're
> trying too hard to be descriptive and in doing, weaken the images. Let me
> play with the words.
>
> Cap sits on his sofa. I take the chair opposite. Behind him is a large
> painting, the lighting making it seem like he's part of it. It is a
seascape
> of steep, deep-shadowed waves, a hazy mountain in the distance.
>
> This is so much shorter. The question is, do you think the message is the
> same? Is it stronger?
I don't know. No kidding, I really don't. The "flow" in mine seemed right
to me for the narrator. I would though, leave out "muddy", as was
suggessted.
>
> > I tell him it is beautiful; a sea of my dreams.
>
> I would drop the last phrase. The first says it all.
Myself, I like it there.
>
> >
> > "You know what mountain that is?" he says, "That's Tamalpias. That's the
> > potato patch as I remember it. I never did put my boat in it."
> >
> > Don't, I think. This way it's like having the sea in your home.
>
> "Don't I think"? Meaning?
My narrator's meaning was "Don't clutter it up by painting your boat into
it."
Right. Maybe two as above.
Thank you, Anopheles.
Best,
Rule
Rule
> >
> > "You know what mountain that is?" he says, "That's Tamalpias. That's the
> > potato patch as I remember it. I never did put my boat in it."
>
> You might just want to check the spelling here, too. I've seen it both
ways,
> but here's an authoritative site.
>
> http://www.parks.ca.gov/default.asp?page_id=471
>
> Anopheles
Durn! You're right! Who woulda thunk?
Rule
>
>
>
R. Westermeyer
wrote:
>CAP
>by
>Rule
>
>platter into them. 'Don't tell where you got them,' I said. God, I felt
>sorry for those guys. When I got them to shore one time, we hit coral, and
>there was still a ways to go to the beach, and they didn't go straight in,
>they always fanned out on each side, and they were going bloop! Bloop! Some
>of 'em shot, but others falling into holes between the coral and not coming
haven't a clue what's happening here.
>up because they had so much equipment on. And I thought why don't I get a
snip
>Three feet under the surface of the gray water the rudder can be seen as
>through thick glass. It sticks out obscenely from under the boat's transom,
>packed solid with fantasy mushrooms and crabs and anemones and star fish and
>snails and other icky stuff,
"icky stuff" destroys what is aside from that a very nice description.
snip
>all layered into a fat spongy sleeve of weeds.
>
>
>After Mae's birthday dinner with their son Sean and his pretty wife Carrie,
>(who flirts outrageously with me) and their daughter Erin, who doesn't,
What's in the parentheses should not be what is expanded on.
>since she's eleven and already past that self confident world-is-my-oyster
>
>His latest painting is on the easel; an Indian on horseback,
the easel is an indian on horseback? (his latest painting, an indian
on horseback, is on the easel)
>the horse
>splashing through a stream, the Indian twisting backward to check on
>snip
>- end -
>
I may have missed it, as I read this in three sittings, but I assumed
the narrator is female, Cap's spouse? Put then he/she is flirted with.
Is the gender and relationship pointed out?
You write quite well. structure and substance both, this story with
its meandering circumstantiality. Original, your style.
Thanks.
Bob
Rule
"R. Westermeyer" <rweste...@earthlink.net> wrote in message
news:cuf00050qk4j4v290...@4ax.com...
> On Tue, 06 Jan 2004 09:43:22 GMT, "Rule" <ruler...@comcast.net>
> wrote:
>
>
> >CAP
> >by
> >Rule
> >
>
> >platter into them. 'Don't tell where you got them,' I said. God, I felt
> >sorry for those guys. When I got them to shore one time, we hit coral,
and
> >there was still a ways to go to the beach, and they didn't go straight
in,
> >they always fanned out on each side, and they were going bloop! Bloop!
Some
> >of 'em shot, but others falling into holes between the coral and not
coming
>
> haven't a clue what's happening here.
Hmmm. Thought the earlier refences to WWII, and his time in the Pacific was
enough. Maybe not.
>
> >up because they had so much equipment on. And I thought why don't I get a
>
> snip
> >Three feet under the surface of the gray water the rudder can be seen as
> >through thick glass. It sticks out obscenely from under the boat's
transom,
> >packed solid with fantasy mushrooms and crabs and anemones and star fish
and
> >snails and other icky stuff,
>
> "icky stuff" destroys what is aside from that a very nice description.
>
> snip
> >all layered into a fat spongy sleeve of weeds.
> >
> >
> >After Mae's birthday dinner with their son Sean and his pretty wife
Carrie,
> >(who flirts outrageously with me) and their daughter Erin, who doesn't,
>
>
> What's in the parentheses should not be what is expanded on.
Run that by me again, okay? I don't know what you're getting at.
>
>
> >since she's eleven and already past that self confident
world-is-my-oyster
>
> >
> >His latest painting is on the easel; an Indian on horseback,
>
> the easel is an indian on horseback? (his latest painting, an indian
> on horseback, is on the easel)
Okay.
>
>
> >the horse
> >splashing through a stream, the Indian twisting backward to check on
> >snip
> >- end -
> >
>
> I may have missed it, as I read this in three sittings, but I assumed
> the narrator is female, Cap's spouse? Put then he/she is flirted with.
> Is the gender and relationship pointed out?
That's very interesting. How did you come to assume the narrator was
female?
>
> You write quite well. structure and substance both, this story with
> its meandering circumstantiality. Original, your style.
>
> Thanks.
>
> Bob
Thank you too.
Rule
Miki Kocic
Rule wrote:
>>>(who flirts outrageously with me) and their daughter Erin, who doesn't,
>>
>>What's in the parentheses should not be what is expanded on.
>
> Run that by me again, okay? I don't know what you're getting at.
I think I know what he means. The phrase "who flirts outrageously with
me" is in parentheses. Then later, "who doesn't" is outside
parentheses, even though it seems to expand on the former phrase. I
would just have put "who doesn't" in parentheses as well for the sake of
the parallelism.
Miki
Mick
[...]
> > >After Mae's birthday dinner with their son Sean and his pretty wife
> Carrie,
> > >(who flirts outrageously with me) and their daughter Erin, who doesn't,
> >
> >
> > What's in the parentheses should not be what is expanded on.
>
> Run that by me again, okay? I don't know what you're getting at.
Pardon my butting in, but... basically, although I don't know if the grammar
bibles say this or not, a parenthetical statement is like another 'voice',
unknown to the original 'voice'. It provides an aside only audible to itself
and the reader. So, what is said inside the parentheses should not be referred
to outside the parentheses unless it's within more parentheses. In your
sentence above, it would conform to this if you had written -
"After Mae's birthday dinner with their son Sean and his pretty wife Carrie,
who flirts outrageously with me, and their daughter Erin, who doesn't..."
or
"After Mae's birthday dinner with their son Sean and his pretty wife Carrie
(who flirts outrageously with me), and their daughter Erin (who doesn't)..."
BTW, howdy Rule. Sorry for no crit, I'm just scanning at the moment and seeing
if I can contribute anything which takes little or no energy. I can say that I
read CAP a few days ago and simply enjoyed it. Not much 'story', but then I
often enjoy pieces without much story.
Mick.
--
"You are the music while the music lasts" - Antonio Damasio (after TS Eliot).
nativelaw
"Rule" <ruler...@comcast.net> wrote in message
news:_qvKb.298566$_M.1705670@attbi_s54...
The parenthetic there I don't think goes well -- fits well unparenthetized
> since she's eleven and already past that self confident world-is-my-oyster
> place of seven or eight and is now well into the confusion of growing up a
> bit,
he wouldn't expect an eleven year old to flirt with him, really?
we say our good-byes and drive home from the restaurant, Mae
> backseating it from the front. Mae and I get out while Cap opens the
garage
> door and threads his way past pipes and rods and boards a foot high
> in the center of the floor. When the light comes on I see at least forty
> ropes silhouetted there, holding fan belts and picture frames and
T-squares,
> all hanging from the overhead crossbeams like stalactites. It is as if
he'd
> driven his car into custard, which hardened, and now he's got to fit it
> carefully into a space like the outline of things thrown through walls in
> animated cartoons, and just far enough and no farther, lest he be trapped
> inside. (Cap's body wedged between car and a rust-crusted drill press
> while ambulance guys wonder how to get him out for the funeral, and
> Mae saying chirpily while batting her eyelashes at them; "I knew it would
> come to this.")
Not sure the last line works -- or the parentheses again as a separate
sentence; i do a lot of this digressive stuff too so i like meandering but
it sticks out oddly here due to the lack of narrator's transition saying
its' one of his thoughts or something.
You've got some interesting characters here and interesting storylines, and
I'd love to see it finished. Cap's got a story, your narrator's got a story
that comes out towards the end, there's lots going here but not yet to
fruition. I love character-driven stories and this is an interesting crew,
and I could listen to writing like this for hours because I like digressive
writing, it's always got that real orality to it, but I do agree with you
this isn't finished. Keep on with it, though, I'd be glad to read more.
Andrea
Andrea
Patrick Null
it's
> more "sketch" than story, but have at it.
>
> Rule
> ---------------------------
>
> CAP
> by
> Rule
Hi, Rule! I don't think I have critted your struff before, so this is a
pleasure. Welcome to AFO.
Commenting as I read.
>
> Cap sits on his sofa and I take the chair across >from him.
Comma after "sofa"
>Behind him is
> a huge painting, and the lighting in the room is >such he almost looks
> like part of it. It is a seascape of steep, muddy, >deep-shadowed waves,
with
> a lurking, hazy mountain looming in the distance.
>
> I tell him it is beautiful; a sea of my dreams.
Misuse of the semi-colon. An "it's" before "a" would fix that.
> "I don't know anything about color," Cap says, >"and you'd think I would
have
> just gone down and taken a class in it wouldn't >you? But no, I just go
on
> painting as if I knew how. I couldn't tell you what >indigo blue is if I
saw
> it."
Heh. Good dialogue, an excellent character that I can see so far in Cap.
>And in his dream, he is still nineteen, not
> seventy-nine, and the wind is a crisp hard blue >and so is the sea.
I didn't know wind had a color. <G> You mean the sky? The wind is
colorless, m'man.
>
> We talk of heroes, and I comment that although >men may do brave things
> sometimes, to be a hero the right guy has to be >watching -- a politician
who
> needs a hero at the time.
The first half is a little awkward to my ears. "We talk of heroes, and I
comment that although men may do brave things sometimes, one can only truly
be a hero if the right guy is watching--"
>got the whole
> platter and took it up and said 'hold out your >helmets, and dumped the
whole
> platter into them.
Shouldn't "them" be "'em?" If you're going for a certain flavor in your
dialogue, try to be consistent.
> 'Don't tell where you got them,' I said.
Last time I will mention it. Them='em. Go through and change all the thems
in Caps dialogue to 'ems.
>and they didn't go straight in,
> they always fanned out on each side, and they >were going bloop! Bloop!
Decapitalize bloop.
>We go to get our coats
> and Cap calls out "We're leaving now," and >doesn't get an answer. He
calls
> "Mae? Mae?" until he does.
Brilliant character touch. I like it very much.
This last paragraph is vivd, but I can't help but get the feeling that I
would read this type of story in a boat magazine lol. There's so much
detailed, technical stuff(at least for my taste) that I can't help but get
that impression.
> He opens his garage door. His Ford sedan
Ford Sedan
> After Mae's birthday dinner with their son
Comma
>Sean and his pretty wife Carrie,
> (who flirts outrageously with me) and their >daughter Erin, who doesn't,
> since she's eleven and already past that self >confident
world-is-my-oyster
> place of seven or eight and is now well into the >confusion of growing up
a
> bit,
LOL, very nice.
>When the light comes on
Comma
> "You wouldn't believe it looking at it," Cap says, >"But
> everything in here is very well organized."
Decapitalize "but"
> She asks me about my bypass operation. "How >many did they do?"
>
> "Four," I say, wondering if it's some kind of >contest.
LOL, funny
> "Mae! Mae!" his plaintive voice echoes in my >mind through a house now
full
> to the brim with cardboard boxes and defunct >machinery, including two
> incomprehensible aluminum blocks with half inch >steel pipes threaded into
> them, the whole house now nothing but Cap->shaped tunnels.
Nice ending, as he remembers the friend he once had.
There's a lot of good stuff in here, deft writing, excellent
characterization. But there's not much of a story. Sadly, I get a "here
are two old buddies as they live their life" type of thing, and that by
itself doesn't carry very far. For one thing, there's no conflict, no goal
for the protagonist to work toward, no complications to keep us on the edge
of our seat.
It was good, for what it was, and I definitely like the character of Cap,
but this type of character needs to be put in a story environment and let's
see how he reacts to problems.
I hope this helps.
Take care, and again, welcome.
Rule
"Miki Kocic" <viathna...@sympatico.ca> wrote in message
news:VQbMb.829$881....@news20.bellglobal.com...
Thanks Miki. I know very little of the textbook stuff, and appreciate your
input.
Regards,
Rule
>
Rule
"Mick" <mic...@hotmail.comNOSPAM> wrote in message
news:40015F94...@hotmail.comNOSPAM...
I see what you mean, and like that second parenthesis a lot. Thank you.
Man! You guys are tough! But that's one reason I came here.
Best,
Rule
Rule
"nativelaw" <REMOVEn...@hotmail.com> wrote in message
news:bts56s$an90b$1...@ID-198738.news.uni-berlin.de...
Too broad a generalization? Maybe, but from what I've observed watching my
grandkids grow up, right about that age is when they start realizing the
world is a bit more complicated than they'd thought and pull back for a
better perspective.
Good thing, I expect.
No story here to develop that I can see. It's more a character sketch than
anything else. But I'm glad you enjoyed it.
Warm regards,
Rule
nativelaw
"Rule" <ruler...@comcast.net> wrote in message
news:D%DMb.35177$na.26399@attbi_s04...
>
> "nativelaw" <REMOVEn...@hotmail.com> wrote in message
> news:bts56s$an90b$1...@ID-198738.news.uni-berlin.de...
> >
> >
> > "Rule" <ruler...@comcast.net> wrote in message
> > news:_qvKb.298566$_M.1705670@attbi_s54...
Hi Rule,
> >
> > > since she's eleven and already past that self confident
> world-is-my-oyster
> > > place of seven or eight and is now well into the confusion of growing
up
> a
> > > bit,
> >
> > he wouldn't expect an eleven year old to flirt with him, really?
>
> Too broad a generalization? Maybe, but from what I've observed watching
my
> grandkids grow up, right about that age is when they start realizing the
> world is a bit more complicated than they'd thought and pull back for a
> better perspective.
>
> Good thing, I expect.
I guess I just wouldn't characterized what real young girls do with older
men like your narrator sounds to be, as flirting, so it just sounded funny.
Precociousness I don't equate with flirting. so the "since.... " sounds
like an unnecessary explanation and kind of odd of an observation, since it
isn't something the audience would anticipate. I could see if they were two
women, so and so who flirted with him and so and so who didn't, but this
way -- well, maybe it's just me!
> >
> > You've got some interesting characters here and interesting storylines,
> and
> > I'd love to see it finished. Cap's got a story, your narrator's got a
> story
> > that comes out towards the end, there's lots going here but not yet to
> > fruition. I love character-driven stories and this is an interesting
> crew,
> > and I could listen to writing like this for hours because I like
> digressive
> > writing, it's always got that real orality to it, but I do agree with
you
> > this isn't finished. Keep on with it, though, I'd be glad to read more.
>
> No story here to develop that I can see. It's more a character sketch
than
> anything else. But I'm glad you enjoyed it.
That's a shame! I mean, it's complete as a character sketch but I think you
could do so much more with these characters! They're too good to waste.
(Though I'm not saying this is a waste! -- oh, you know what i mean <g>)
Enjoyed it lots.
Andrea
Rule
"Patrick Null" <pat...@earthlink.net> wrote in message
news:btt50j$b2pev$1...@ID-173005.news.uni-berlin.de...
Thanks. I agree with much of what you've said -- especially the "thems" vs.
"'ems". I'll try to watch that in the future. (Semi-colons are a bitch,
aren't they?.)
And thanks for spotting that wrongly capitalized "B".
Posting here is quite an experience. Few critiques the same, and if I took
them ALL to heart, there'd be nothing left but the title!
Thanks again for YOUR comments, Patrick.
Rule
>
>
>