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A short story by David J Delaney

Feeling excited about my involvement in the redroom company’s ‘seafaring duffle bag of poetry’, which started its journey in Tasmania stopping at different ports along the way until reaching its final port of call at Thursday Island, before being transported to Sydney for a gala exhibition, and, while on its travels collecting poems and different ‘goodies’ related to anything to do with the ocean, I agreed to ‘pick up’ the said Duffle bag when it docked at Cairns wharf.

My wife Bev and I arrived at the wharf area in Cairns where the huge tanker ‘Alexander Spirit’ was berthed and had the bag on board.

Continuing to the security guards ‘hut’ where I excitedly and cheerfully greeted the guard, who appeared to have the humour of a bear emerging from hibernation, he then proceeded to seize my phone, camera, keys, wife, “wife!”, apparently Bev’s name was not on his “list” of those allowed on board (I’m glad she left the rocket launcher at home) though with Bev not being allowed entry turned out to be a blessing in disguise, for her.

Leaving Bev with dwarf “Grumpy” I was concerned she might have to perform a medical miracle in putting his face back together if he tried to smile, I thought, while continuing my walk to the gangplank, did I say “gangplank” this incline was no less than the east face of Mt. Everest and I’m sure the top was obscured by cloud cover.

About a half hour later, and, by myself for my trusty “Sherpa’s” had abandoned me, I reached the summit, where in the misty confines I noticed the couple of crew members on deck were wearing hard hats, blinding bright safety vests and huge mother steel cap boots, so, there’s me, frozen, Akubra hat, striped T-shirt & SANDALS, left leg partially outstretched suspended in mid air not wanting to place even my big toe on that deck and risk creating a national incident or hear that infamous cry “it’s out brothers out” and be responsible for the duffle bag never again seeing the light of day, let alone make Thursday Island, I dared not place one fibre of my body on that deck.

The two mentioned crew came over and said it was OK to come on board, so, after they prized my hands free from the gangplank rails one escorted me to where the 1st mate was waiting then with introductions over he said he would take me up to the Captain,

UP!! I thought,

I’ve just bloody climbed Mt. Everest and your saying UP!

Now I’ll never know why the ships crew walk so fast, and, took almost all my strength to stay with him when suddenly he turned right and then I saw them, you have to be kidding!! these stairs were almost VERTICAL and here is this bloke ‘jogging’ up them, reaching the 5th step I thought “I’m going to die here”, matey is already three flights up then, humorously asks if I’m “OK”,

If I had the strength I would have given him OK!

Crawling onto which ever deck level it was and not thinking properly because of altitude sickness, then, using the walls as support I finally made it to the Captains quarters, where, the Captain, upon shaking my hand dislodged every joint from my shoulder to my wrist, then handed me the duffle bag, now, normally this bag would have seemed quite light but in my deteriorating condition, both bag and I sunk to the floor quicker than an anchor being dropped into the bay.

Regaining some resemblance of composure, and, being the little media tart I can be, I then made the mistake of asking Captain ‘Kidd’ for a photo of the bag handover, explaining that my camera was seized on arrival. He said, “sure, lets go up to the bridge,”

Oh no! there’s that word “UP” again.

When finally returning to my wife (walking like a marathon runner with jelly legs) and bidding farewell to the “laughing assassin”, we returned home with the duffle bag safely secured, where, I proceeded to recoup with a coldie, or two, or five…

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