The Bent Page

I keep a collection of short stories titled, A Rusting Sea. These were born (many years back) out of my frustration with not finishing a novel. I thought I would be satisfied creatively by completing a shorter work, sitting back, and thinking, “Well, there it is, the whole thing.” This worked for about six months, during which time I wrote eight stories varying in length from about 10 to 80 pages. Strangely enough, the ending of each story came to me first. I had the end in mind, then tripped back to the beginning and plotted a course to that destination.

Thus, Captain Quincy’s Near Death Experience (which was the second one I wrote) comes to mind just now because I’m here on the island of Aruba. Captain Quincy, a lifelong mariner, decides he’s had enough of retirement and wants to depart this earth before he becomes a decrepit old codger. He spends a couple of days doling out his considerable wealth and through this convention you learn the history of his life. Of course, his cat distracts him throughout this process, ultimately causing Quincy to head back to sea one more time. And here’s how the story ends…

…So Captain Quincy and his cat, Gimlet, hustled down the track on their way to the port.

Attorney Mickleson, that is the son of the Mickleson who defended Quincy in the Turkish courts, found Captain Quincy’s letters and log books on the desk where they had been left. This was some months later, after Mickleson tried more than thirty different times to reach the captain. He went to the house with a police escort to open the door. The door was not locked, and nothing in the house was disturbed. Nothing indicated foul play. The police determined Captain Quincy had gone missing of his own accord despite the odd circumstances. Mickleson sent the letters off to their intended recipients and used the remaining money to maintain Quincy’s home in the off chance he returned.

No one heard from Quincy again. No one claims to know what happened to him. Mickleson ultimately settled the estate, took a reasonable fee, and contributed the balance to a range of charities.

However, on the island of Aruba, in the village of Saveneta, fitted tightly in the dirt beneath a Divi tree, stands a small headstone. The stone reads, “Gimlet,” and beneath the name, “A small world, big enough for me.”

END.

IT WAS that last paragraph that came to me one day while I was looking out the window of a rental bungalow here in Aruba. The rest of the story came later. Would you like to read the rest? Let me know.