Brag
11-11-09, 09:47 AM
Note:
In an earlier Balz chapter, we saw that the mating between Dowley, the Finnish mad monk, and Heidi, the Alpine Shepherdess produced an offspring. Shortly after, the matron of an orphanage in Bavaria found a basket and a baby on the front door. A note was pinned to the baby’s blanket. It simply said—Bernard.
Twelve years later.
In the pre-dawn darkness, Herr Helmut Stolz surveyed the smoldering ruins of the orphanage. He took a deep breath and shouted, “Bernaaaard.”
“Jawhol, Herr Direktor,” The Oliver Twist-like orphan responded and stood at attention.
“Kom hier.”
“Jawhol, Herr Director.” The orphan marched up to the director and clicked the heels of his worn out shoes.
“Did you set fire to the orphanage?”
“Oh no, Herr Direktor.”
“Then, who did it, you miserable wretch?” The cane in the director’s hand shook.
“Frau Gruber—“
“What?”
“If it wasn’t for Frau Gruber, the place would have not burned.”
“You better start from the beginning, And, don’t lie to me.”
“Yes, Herr Direktor. It was very cold inside and the orphans shivered in their beds and their teeth chattered. I went to put more coal in the stove, but the coal was finished. I took my mattress and tried to stuff it into the stove. It wouldn’t fit.”
“It wouldn’t fit.” The director tapped the cane on the frozen ground.
Bernard continued. “Frau Gruber came into the dormitory and yelled, ‘Bernaaard, are you smoking again?’
‘On, no, Frau Guber, I said.’
‘You lying scoundrel,’ she said. ‘what’s all the smoke doing here? You are smoking.’
I showed her my empty hands. “See, no cigarette.”
“I can’t see anything in this smoke.”
“As flames erupted, the orphans’ teeth stopped chattering. They were all out of bed and crashed into Frau Gruber and me. Meanwhile, the mattress set fire to the dormitory and the dormitory set fire to the bathroom and the bathroom set fire to the dining hall, which set fire to the kitchen and the kitchen set fire to the class rooms—I wasn’t smoking, I swear.”
The director smiled benignly. “I have good news for you.”
“Really?”
“Yes, you are going on a cruise. The captain of the steamer Maldemer, pride of the Haitian merchant fleet, has agreed to take you as cabin boy. Tropical sunsets, cerulean seas, exotic ports await you. Here’s a ticket to Cuxhaven.” The director dug into his pocket. “And here I have one sausage for your journey. Now, hurry, you don’t want to miss your train!”
* * *
Balz stood on the dock and admired his ship. Now, fully rigged with two masts, it was a beauty beckoning him to put out to sea and answer the call to adventure. He had spent all his hard earned gold on the vessel. He even had silk sails for light airs. With them, in the slightest hint of wind, the sambuk would move at a reasonable clip.
Hidden under the aft hold, he had a powerful 200 hp Mann diesel with which he could achieve nine knots in calm seas. Inside the engine room, hidden compartments held four Maxim water-cooled machine guns, six Lewis light machine guns and 60 Lee Enfield rifles, good armament as long as the Royal Navy was not chasing him.
He climbed aboard and went into his spacious cabin adorned with bright colored satin cushions that complimented his silk Smoking jacket. An organ was bolted to the port bulkhead so he could play Bach’s fugues and compose hoochie-woochies. This is the life, he told himself.
At four o’clock, sharp, he blew his whistle.
Drums sounded in town. A few minutes later, the forty thieves marched onto the dock. They were followed by belly dancers rattling tambourines. Seven old men came in last. Everyone climbed aboard and shouted, “Viva Balz.”
The citizens of Sur, with camels, donkeys and goats, gathered on the dock to watch the departure of the hero of The Battle Over Nothing.
Like a traditional nahoda, Balz sat cross legged on a carpet on the poop deck and smoked a hookah pipe. “One more time!” Balz ordered.
“Viva Balz,” The thieves and the seven old men shouted.
“Raise the sails.”
The belly dancers raised the fore and mizzen sails.
“Back the foresail and let go forrad. Full starboard rudder”
The foresail filled in the afternoon wind and the bow turned toward the middle of the channel’
“Let go aft—trim fore and mizzen.”
Singing the Great Balz hoochie woochie, the belly dancers wiggled and trimmed the sails. Close hauled, the ship gathered speed.
“Rudder midships.”
The crowd at the dock shouted, “Viva Balz, viva Balz.”
The ship tacked out of the ancient port. The cheering ashore grew dim and was replaced by the soothing whoosh of the bow slicing through the light swell. To Balz it was the song of the sea.
The following morning, a yellow sky told Balz a Shamal was building up to the west. Good training for his sailing belly dancers, he thought.
“Smoke off the starboard bow,” Birdnard skwacked from the top of the foremast.
Balz scanned the horizon. “Is it a big ship or small ship?”
“It’s smoke.”
“You lazy bird. Fly over and take a look.”
Birdnard flew off. Ten minutes later, the albatross settled back on the mast. “Lots of smoke,” he reported.
“It’s a big ship?” Balz could now see a billowing cloud about ten miles away.
“It’s lots of smoke.”
Balz controlled his anger. “What is causing the smoke?”
“Fires cause smoke.”
“What’s burning, you idiot bird?”
“Some oil, some paint, some wood, some dirty underwear, a can of turpentine and some latakia tobacco.”
It sounds like a ship on fire, Balz thought. He wasn’t going to ask anything else from the stupid bird. Balz ordered a course change. He could assist the crew in abandoning ship and loot the safe.
When still a thousand meters away, an explosion ripped aboard the rusty tramp steamer and set its funnel flying high. Two lifeboats were in the water. The tramp began to sink by the stern.
“Thieves on deck,” Balz ordered.
“Viva Balz,” The thieves armed with scimitars and rifles manned the rails.
Balz guided his ship to the nearest lifeboat. He smiled and waved at the shipwrecked sailors. “Good morning gentlemen, your wallets please.”
The captain of the Maldemer was in the second lifeboat. After handing over his wallet, he grabbed a scruffy, thin sailor and tossed him into the dhow. “You can have him!” Having said this, he bellowed at his crew, “Pull!”
The oarsmen on the lifeboat rowed away with great energy, as if they were on the Henley Regatta.
“Good bye, Bernard,” the captain of the Maldemer shouted and broke into hysterical laughter.
http://img87.imageshack.us/img87/9053/dancewithpiratevi9.gif
In an earlier Balz chapter, we saw that the mating between Dowley, the Finnish mad monk, and Heidi, the Alpine Shepherdess produced an offspring. Shortly after, the matron of an orphanage in Bavaria found a basket and a baby on the front door. A note was pinned to the baby’s blanket. It simply said—Bernard.
Twelve years later.
In the pre-dawn darkness, Herr Helmut Stolz surveyed the smoldering ruins of the orphanage. He took a deep breath and shouted, “Bernaaaard.”
“Jawhol, Herr Direktor,” The Oliver Twist-like orphan responded and stood at attention.
“Kom hier.”
“Jawhol, Herr Director.” The orphan marched up to the director and clicked the heels of his worn out shoes.
“Did you set fire to the orphanage?”
“Oh no, Herr Direktor.”
“Then, who did it, you miserable wretch?” The cane in the director’s hand shook.
“Frau Gruber—“
“What?”
“If it wasn’t for Frau Gruber, the place would have not burned.”
“You better start from the beginning, And, don’t lie to me.”
“Yes, Herr Direktor. It was very cold inside and the orphans shivered in their beds and their teeth chattered. I went to put more coal in the stove, but the coal was finished. I took my mattress and tried to stuff it into the stove. It wouldn’t fit.”
“It wouldn’t fit.” The director tapped the cane on the frozen ground.
Bernard continued. “Frau Gruber came into the dormitory and yelled, ‘Bernaaard, are you smoking again?’
‘On, no, Frau Guber, I said.’
‘You lying scoundrel,’ she said. ‘what’s all the smoke doing here? You are smoking.’
I showed her my empty hands. “See, no cigarette.”
“I can’t see anything in this smoke.”
“As flames erupted, the orphans’ teeth stopped chattering. They were all out of bed and crashed into Frau Gruber and me. Meanwhile, the mattress set fire to the dormitory and the dormitory set fire to the bathroom and the bathroom set fire to the dining hall, which set fire to the kitchen and the kitchen set fire to the class rooms—I wasn’t smoking, I swear.”
The director smiled benignly. “I have good news for you.”
“Really?”
“Yes, you are going on a cruise. The captain of the steamer Maldemer, pride of the Haitian merchant fleet, has agreed to take you as cabin boy. Tropical sunsets, cerulean seas, exotic ports await you. Here’s a ticket to Cuxhaven.” The director dug into his pocket. “And here I have one sausage for your journey. Now, hurry, you don’t want to miss your train!”
* * *
Balz stood on the dock and admired his ship. Now, fully rigged with two masts, it was a beauty beckoning him to put out to sea and answer the call to adventure. He had spent all his hard earned gold on the vessel. He even had silk sails for light airs. With them, in the slightest hint of wind, the sambuk would move at a reasonable clip.
Hidden under the aft hold, he had a powerful 200 hp Mann diesel with which he could achieve nine knots in calm seas. Inside the engine room, hidden compartments held four Maxim water-cooled machine guns, six Lewis light machine guns and 60 Lee Enfield rifles, good armament as long as the Royal Navy was not chasing him.
He climbed aboard and went into his spacious cabin adorned with bright colored satin cushions that complimented his silk Smoking jacket. An organ was bolted to the port bulkhead so he could play Bach’s fugues and compose hoochie-woochies. This is the life, he told himself.
At four o’clock, sharp, he blew his whistle.
Drums sounded in town. A few minutes later, the forty thieves marched onto the dock. They were followed by belly dancers rattling tambourines. Seven old men came in last. Everyone climbed aboard and shouted, “Viva Balz.”
The citizens of Sur, with camels, donkeys and goats, gathered on the dock to watch the departure of the hero of The Battle Over Nothing.
Like a traditional nahoda, Balz sat cross legged on a carpet on the poop deck and smoked a hookah pipe. “One more time!” Balz ordered.
“Viva Balz,” The thieves and the seven old men shouted.
“Raise the sails.”
The belly dancers raised the fore and mizzen sails.
“Back the foresail and let go forrad. Full starboard rudder”
The foresail filled in the afternoon wind and the bow turned toward the middle of the channel’
“Let go aft—trim fore and mizzen.”
Singing the Great Balz hoochie woochie, the belly dancers wiggled and trimmed the sails. Close hauled, the ship gathered speed.
“Rudder midships.”
The crowd at the dock shouted, “Viva Balz, viva Balz.”
The ship tacked out of the ancient port. The cheering ashore grew dim and was replaced by the soothing whoosh of the bow slicing through the light swell. To Balz it was the song of the sea.
The following morning, a yellow sky told Balz a Shamal was building up to the west. Good training for his sailing belly dancers, he thought.
“Smoke off the starboard bow,” Birdnard skwacked from the top of the foremast.
Balz scanned the horizon. “Is it a big ship or small ship?”
“It’s smoke.”
“You lazy bird. Fly over and take a look.”
Birdnard flew off. Ten minutes later, the albatross settled back on the mast. “Lots of smoke,” he reported.
“It’s a big ship?” Balz could now see a billowing cloud about ten miles away.
“It’s lots of smoke.”
Balz controlled his anger. “What is causing the smoke?”
“Fires cause smoke.”
“What’s burning, you idiot bird?”
“Some oil, some paint, some wood, some dirty underwear, a can of turpentine and some latakia tobacco.”
It sounds like a ship on fire, Balz thought. He wasn’t going to ask anything else from the stupid bird. Balz ordered a course change. He could assist the crew in abandoning ship and loot the safe.
When still a thousand meters away, an explosion ripped aboard the rusty tramp steamer and set its funnel flying high. Two lifeboats were in the water. The tramp began to sink by the stern.
“Thieves on deck,” Balz ordered.
“Viva Balz,” The thieves armed with scimitars and rifles manned the rails.
Balz guided his ship to the nearest lifeboat. He smiled and waved at the shipwrecked sailors. “Good morning gentlemen, your wallets please.”
The captain of the Maldemer was in the second lifeboat. After handing over his wallet, he grabbed a scruffy, thin sailor and tossed him into the dhow. “You can have him!” Having said this, he bellowed at his crew, “Pull!”
The oarsmen on the lifeboat rowed away with great energy, as if they were on the Henley Regatta.
“Good bye, Bernard,” the captain of the Maldemer shouted and broke into hysterical laughter.
http://img87.imageshack.us/img87/9053/dancewithpiratevi9.gif