"No," the bosun said, "suit yourself."
The first mate sent a shaving skittering with his knife blade.
"Shucks," he said, "there hain't really no hurry."
The bosun raised his head from his chest and shook the hair out of his
face. "Not really, when you consider it," he said.
"Yep, that's right." The first mate began to work on the point of the
stick; he sharpened it down to needle fineness, and then he carefully
cut in the barb. "Hain't very strong wood; them barbs are cut against
the grain, an' they're liable ta split off when I try ta pull 'em out."
"I hope not," the bosun said.
The first mate said, "Yep, I'm shore afraid they're a-gonna do jest
that little trick."
"Look," said the bosun, "this hair's gettin' in my eyes. I wunder if
you'd mind kinda snippin' it off?"
"Not a-tall," the first mate said.
He walked over to the bosun, grabbed a handful of hair and sawed it off
with the penknife.
"That better?"
"It shore is. Thanks."
"Not a-tall."
The first mate threw down the stick on the table. "Really should uv cut
that before."
"I suppose so," the bosun said.
"'Course I warn't hable to see what uz in th' priest's mind."
"No, that's true," the bosun agreed.
The first mate walked over and picked up the typewritten instructions.
"You're a-gonna get a fine Castin' Off," he said.
"I should," the bosun said. "It ain't everybody can be th' Sole
Survivor."
"That's true," the first mate said. "Well," he said after a minute, "I
jest guess I know them there instructions fine as anything. I suspect
we may as well start, iffen hits agreeable ta you."
"I'm ready," the bosun said.
The first mate took his penknife and tested the edge with his thumb.
"Shore is sharp," he said. "Ought ta be. I jest got done a-honin' hit."
* * * * *
He walked over to where the bosun was hanging.
"Well," he said. "No time like the present."
He raised the knife.
"Jest a minute," he said. "I think I'll get me some music on the radio.
You don't mind?"
"No," said the bosun. "Not a bit."
The first mate walked to the hyperspace radio and flicked on the dial.
After fiddling with it for some time, he picked up a symphony being
broadcast from Kque. "There," he said, "that's th' kind uv music I
shore do like ta hear."
The music welled out and filled the room with sound.
"Shore is purty," the bosun said.
The first mate walked back to him.
"Guess I'll start on your back," he said. He reached up and ripped the
bosun's shirt off.
Then, when the back was laid bare, he made a very shallow cut running
the length of the shoulders from armpit to armpit.
"Be kinda hard ta get started," he said.
He put the penknife in the incision and began to pry the skin loose.
"Gonna take me a long time ta get a hand holt," he said. "Course onct I
do, hit'll be as easy as skinnin' a skunk."
"Take yer time," the bosun said.
"Aim to."
The music turned quiet and sounded of the rippling brooks on far
Corazon; it reflected the vast meadows of Nid and the giant,
silver-capped mountains of Muri. A cello picked up the theme and ran
it, in rich notes, over the whole surface of the dead world, Astolath.
A whining oboe piped of the sweet winds from Zoltah; and the brass beat
out the finny rhythm of the water world of Du.
"'Scuse me," the first mate said. He laid down the penknife and walked
to the radio. With a flick of his wrist, he cut it off.
"What uz th' matter with hit?" the bosun asked.
"Didn't ja notice?" said the first mate. "Th' third fiddle was sour."
"Guess I wasn't listenin' close enough," said the bosun.
The first mate returned to his work. "May as well get on with it," he
said.
He raised the penknife again.
* * * * *
Martha threw the door open. "Here!" she said. She swung Joey around in
front of her by the left ear. "I'm going to have to leave him in here
with you, where he won't get into trouble."
The first mate laid aside the penknife.
"Martha," he said, "I jest plain don't like kids."
"I'm sorry," she said, "But I just can't keep him with the rest of the
children. I just can't."
"Whatud he do?" the bosun asked.
"Do? Let me tell you," Martha said. "First, he...."
"I didn't," Joey said.
"I haint got no all day ta listen ta ya, woman," the first mate said.
"Well. The worst of it was with little Jane. Do you know what he tried
to do to her?"
"No, and I shore don't care," said the first mate testily.
"Well, first he got her down under the table; and then he sat on her;
and if I hadn't stopped him, he would have pounded her brains out
against the deck."
"My, my," said the bosun.
"That hain't a-tall nice."
"Grownups do it," Joey said.
"That's entirely different," the bosun said.
"No, it ain't. You just don't like me, that's all."
"Little Jane wasn't ready," Martha said. "She hasn't had a chance to do
her duty."
"It don't matter," Joey said.
"Little boy," said the bosun, "do you know where people go who talk
that way?"
"I don't care," Joey said.
"You see? I'll simply have to leave him in here with you."
"All right," the first mate agreed reluctantly. "Now, little boy," he
said, "you hain't a-gonna bother me, hear? I'm very busy. You jest go
over there and watch."
"Yes," said the bosun.