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Chapter 3

Angel

I'm at Cauleen's helm as she slowly trundles forward.

Black clouds streak across a scarlet-painted sky.

I feel welcomed by this.

I'm in a situation I know, facing something I have an idea of. No disgusting hagfish-like meals or arrogant goat-folk.

Just a red sky.

A cumulus or nimbus or whatever strides over another lesser cloud and gobbles it up, morphing into a larger and wider puffball.

But then again, as the big man's son said, “Pink sky in morn, sailors forlorn."

I keep the ships course, and watch the sun to see if its rising or falling. But its doing neither, half over the horizon half under.

Then it strikes me,

I can look at the sun without burning my eyes!

Then I realize the sun isn't yellow.

Its blue.

Nothing to panic over. Just some heliological (I think thats a word) phenomena I havent come across in the magazine's s'all. Sky is still red, clouds are still dark. Storm is only a possibility if its morning. I could get an idea of my bearings if I knew the motion. West, southwest or northwest if its setting. East, southeast or northeast if its rising. Not even worth panicking if its in the west. I've been through worse.

I look to the left of the campanionway, where the compass usually is, and see a hole. Machined. Cut with a proper tool. Exact size for caulleen's uncharacteristically missing compass.

Then I notice that the deck is completely clear. No ropes, cushions, carpets, or friction pads. The wood looks brand new. The bronze cleats usual oxidized green scratches are missing, as if they were just out of the factory. And the pushpit's severely lacking a dent from smacking against an ethiopian.

The sails catch my eye as they bellow in the wind. Where are her numbers? 4278 should be written in her canvas yet the sail is white as ever. Where are the rag-tag repairs I made on it? The stains from decades of use, from even before my time?

I feel drunk.

And then mad.

Has someone been fucking with my ship?

I should know instantly every little change that occurs to my ship. A seasoned sailor like me could spot a gnat shitting on the bow gunwale of a sixty foot day sailor while manning the helm. Have I forgotten all my experience? Is this just me waking up from an alcohol-induced coma? Even then I should naturally notice how things change. And I would naturally remember how things were.

Yet the only thing that feels natural is my grip on the wheel.

The sun glimmers to my port.

I turn the wheel towards the sun. As its gleam surrounds the pulpit it shifts in color from turquoise back to the orange I know. It even returns to being so bright I have to cover my eyes.

But the wind dies, and Cauleen stops.

The sun rises and hides behind that growing black cloud, eating more and more little clouds.

Then the winds pick up, and my ears are filled with its blood curtling howl. I'm forced to make a tack as the entire sky is engulfed in a gray sheet. Rain drips down my back, then pelts it as Cauleen rises over a wave.

I try to maintain my grip but the pegs of the wheel snap off. The wheel turns freely as I fall back. She comes at a wave in a wrong angle. I'm thrown aftmost as Cauleen capsizes into the icy cold.

I'm swamped by water thats neither salty nor fresh, but cold. So freezing i'm rendered immobile with the first touch.

Under the waves I sink, vision darkened in seconds in that icey water.

Why.

And then I wake up.

I'm greeted by the silk folds of a misquito net brushing my face to a cold breeze. I cough and brush it aside as I get up in the bed. Its not mine, at least, not my Boston apartment's. In my ethiopian holding cell there was a net but that was plastic. This one was like silk, so soft and delicate it almost moved without my touch.

Maybe I can pocket it in my carry on before I leave.

A strange taste fills my mouth.

It was like vinnegar and and cinnamon wedged between my teeth, but parsley and vanilla on the roof of my mouth and my gums.

Smacking my lips, I let my vision adjust with the crawling memories of that dream I had.

The one before the storm.

That fucking goatman. The smug grin on him. Pestering me.

In that saloon in front of that nice lady.

Well, the nicest sheep lady I've met.

She was persistent in dragging me along like my mother in kindgarten days.

Maybe I'm lucky.

She'd probably end up hitting me on the ear with a wooden spoon if I hadnt woken up.

Maybe that wouldn't be a bad thing. I haven't had a woman in years. She could hit almost any part of my body with a wooden spoon so long as she followed it up with a kiss.

Almost. I'm a sailor not a masochist.

I kick off pink satin blanket and let my feet cool off in the breeze. On it carries the delicious smell of hot tea. In search of a glass I look around the room.

The bed wasn't a twin but a california king, cornered by twisting poles holding the misquito net overhead.

The cieling's not bare timber skeleton like mine back home. Its khaki colored, with golden fleur de lis highlights, like something i saw before I got kicked out of the museum in Verseilles.

Gawdy for my taste, but the wallpapers' a calming blue.

At least, where there is wallpaper visible. To my left there's a door, ahead of me a desk, and to my right an open window.

Then I see that sheep lady from my dreams next to the window, staring intently at the door to my left. Strange how malleable their faces are. The bags under her eyes almost made her look like she was exhausted. Or annoyed.

She looks cute.

I raise an arm, knowing I can't speak her language but a universal 'hello' is the polite course of action.

She sips her tea.

What was her name? Gwen?

Well I hope she's not annoyed with how I was last night. I couldn't help chowing down on that pickled mucus like how I did. You work on a boat for hours, huffing varnish and inhaling splinters, God forbid you want something edible in your mouth.

Though ill admit I didn't feel myself eating whatever was in that jar.

I give her a sheepish grin (heh) and chuckle out “Hello Gwen. Nice to see you."

She takes a deep breath before lifting a cup from an ornate saucer to her lips. Her eyes wondered over to me, as if to say “yes, I acknowledge that you're still here." Back of my head makes the funny thought about my mother giving the same look many times before.

“You cant understand me but thats alright. I'm sure theres a reason why you look annoyed. I'm going to assume its something to do with last night, or maybe you don't like having to bed me." I say, hoping my tone can be understood and perceived is kind and not condescending.

Her face doesn't change. I scratch an itch on my neck and look away, towards the door.

“Well I'm greatful for your hospitality." I Flash a grin.

I swing my legs out from under the covers and raise to my feet. She had taken off all my clothes it seems, except for my boxers. Funny, I think her current green dress is different from the brown one she war last night. “I'm sure I can make up for whatever food and bed cost once I get a telephone. And some breakfast."

She sets the saucer and cup down on the ground straightens her back. She doesn't have a new look. Her anger has just intensified to a crinkling of her muzzle between her eyes. An adorable look for the only woman I met with hair on her lip who wasn't from Brockton.

I take a step towards her with some semblance of swagger, and speak like Hayden Sterling.

“Maybe you can shed some light on why I dont remember getting in bed without any clothes on."

“Shed your obscene arrogance you lust minded feign."

Her voice chimed like a slap across the face. It sounded the same as when she chided me back at the salloon, but wholly different affect actually understanding the lady.

I coughed and sat on the bed. “oh. I thought neither of us could -"

“Understand one another?" Her hair puffed as she spoke, the china by her feet rattling with the shuffle of her skirt covered hooves. “That problem is no more; what you ate allows us to understand one another. Of course, you would know that unless..."

“What?"

The sheep lass slumped in her chair, not caring as the dishes beneath rolled and slid under the bed. Her hands clutched her face and for a moment she rubbed her eyes with her palms. Her tongue lulled out with a yawn. I must've done something bad if she's been up all night annoyed.

“Listen Gwen I-"

“My name is not gwen."

Its never good come off as a douchebag when you wake in someone elses bed.

A hot wind must be blowing into the room because I can feel my balls retracting into my body.

“lady, what did I do?" I speak.

Her hands smack against the arms of the chair and she resumes her pouting at me. “You did a very bad thing, and thats why you're here."

She crosses her arms. Bad thing? “I was mugged and murdured" I croak.

This must be hell. Explains why the folk are part sheep or goat.

The ewe shakes her head. Her eyes, a nice shade of green like her dress, wander about thinking. About what? Well, singing I guess. Because that's what she did.

“Twas on the Glen

"By the eastern moor

"Born two holy men

"Who grew to bear

The earth on yoke

As life was rare

And kind was folk

Who were born there."

"Then evil came in

On a crimson tide

The twins enjoyed sin

Only through his death

One saw his err

And held his breath

Becoming he who care

O'er the village Beth

And when he slayed

His brother and kin

Cleansed he wasn't made

For evil is a coin

The good twin bade

A life be purloin

Or death be aide

That evil did join

And so to repay

For his exact evils

The good twin say

To his hairless disciples

"You are from clay

And without mortal upheavals

To Beth go way

Separate wheat from weevils

And when those few

Born of his brother

Asked a life anew

He pointed to earth

"Help the foggy ewe"

"Assist those without worth"

"Support the unlucky few"

"And make jovial births."

Her voice was beautiful. Tranquil. Like the slow splash of the waves against a beach. And it seemed like she wasn't tired at all as she sang.

The last note transitions into a yawn that vibrates her whole body. She slouches over the side to rest her chin on her hand. Now she looked bored.

I guess based on that song this place is a second chance of sorts.

I feel anger. I didnt do crap! I was robbed at gunpoint in an ally! Most I ever did was drink and cross international lines without proper paper work!

What did i do to be sent here?

I sit on the bed, and cover my face. Its slick with sweat. It takes a lot to stress me out, but I'm not the best at handling it.

Gwen takes a deep breath but says nothing, yawning again instead. I'm a little annoyed.

This place is judy some extra dimension that can be explained by song. It Wasnt a song, but wasnt there a poem about some guy going to hell and then coming back? Perseus?

Ill play along. Get on her good side. Get the information on how to leave and then I can return to the world I knew.

Get back on Caulleen before she ends up in a worse state.

Caulleen.

"Hey sh- excuse me lady?"

Gwen's eyes perked as I got her attention. “yes?"

“Whatever bad thing I did, I will try to redeem myself for." Of course I raised to stand at attention. Copy the pose just like those krauts from the Battle of the bulge. Stoic face n all, hopefully convincing her how serious I was. “I swear on my par- er the twins, I will do whatever it takes."

“Really?" Her hands fall onto her lap. No longer are the bags beneath her eyes scrunched in annoyance but instead sagging with relief. A jovial smile on that muzzle was all I had to see for me to stop being annoyed with her.

I think I could've been granted a worse person to help. Err, sheep ewe creature.

I kneel in front of her and place a hand on her shoulder. She winces, as if in pain, but the tired grin returns to her face. “Really."

She leaps forward and her muzzle rests on my shoulder. I'm wrapped in her thin arms. They're soft. Must be a thin layer of wool or velvet covering them.

I hear her whisper 'thank you' but I dont think it was to me. Some sort of prayer concerning the twins and redemption dribbles out of her mouth. I don't catch it.

Instead I feel myself trip, and i end up swinging the lady so her back is to the bed, and fall onto her.

Her dress bellows and i get a brief look at her knickers as well as her started eyes before she lands. “Hey!"

“Sorry! I lost my footing! Didn't get enough sleep!" I say.

I feel her hot breath on me as she snorts.

“Sleep?" Her chiton tipped fingers grasp the covers. “Oh twins! Its morning! Get your pants on! Shit I havent even introduced you to-

"GOUENTINE" howled a hazy old lady somewhere in the house.

"COMING MOTHER" Up and off the bead ran the sheep lassy. She swayed a little left and right as she did so. Probably light headed from all the singing.

I stretched out my hand and helped her off the bed. Need to be polite.

"Where are my clothes?"

"Check under your bed." Gwen's, (I mean Gouentine. Of course I remember her real name when her mom calls it out.) dress waved and shimmied as she ran towards the exit. She propped herself against the door way and looked at me no longer angry but invigorated and smiling. "Make yourself look handsome as possible angel! And meet me at the front door,!"

Angel? I could get used to that even if it's a little cringy.

The sheep lass disappears. I get my clothes on.

My coat seemed to be a little wet, probably from last nights rain. Belts buckle was dull and some paste (I'm guessing sheep food) was lodged inside the first eye. I must've been a little sloppy eating last night. Couldnt have been too sloppy. A lady like her would've corrected me.

Something crinkles in my pocket.

That note from that goat I didnt beat. I swore i threw this out... must've snuck it in my pocket when I wasn't looking or something. Scummy. If every guy here is either slimy or a theif I'm a paragon of virtue.

The papers old, yellowish like books in my parents library. Crinkly and smells the same. I can finally read the damn strange script.

"Charlie Boyes, Patriarch of Boyes enterprises, 234 endover lane."

Patriarch? That couldn't have been more than a boy who handed me this. What did he want? Me to help? Being an angel must be a pretty big thing around here after all.

I have promised to do whatever it takes to uh make up for my sins in my past life to Gouentine.

I have made a commitment.

Commitment.

Committed.

Yeah i must be fucking committed.

To the insane asylum.

I just gave my freedom away to that sheep girl. If I change my mind who knows what she'll do. Its not like 1900s ireland had an 8th amendment! Or if amendments applied to (un)holy beings like I'm supposed to be! Who knows how they torture people here, never mind angels.

I am no longer the captain of my own ship.

I sit on the desk, rump wet from landing on my damp coattails.

The wind blows through the window and the curtians wave.

Outside come voices. Deep low voices, men I think or giant women. Dread the thought, I piss off Gouentine I'll have to deal with bigger bitches.

Their feet clop and in greater numbers, and it becomes apparent what they;'ve come for as I hear the loud squeek of a door opening and Gouentine's greeting.

“I have the angel!"