A Blank Page
By: James LaJocies
Imagine yourself strolling along the sidewalk, window shopping under a
sunny, clear blue sky. In no hurry, just enjoying what the day offers.
Suddenly out of the corner of your eye, you nearly pass a quaint used
book store with it’s shop window displayed with new and used books. You
stop, you look, your eyes gaze upon mysteries, histories and
biographies. The sign in the window states, “Used, New, First and Rare
Editions”.
A thought comes to your attention, “This could be interesting.” And
with interest in mind, you turn into the entryway, open the door and
enter. Not much unusual, just like many other book stores you have
patronized before. It has the musty odor of dust laden old books that
have sat on the shelves, imprisoned, waiting their turn to be freed. To
catch a buyers eye, to be selected, to be scanned cover to cover, to be
purchased and given a new home. To be brought to life with in a ‘minds
eye’.
Row upon row of wooden shelves, oak, from floor to nearly ceiling
height. Titles that you can barely see. Authors of names you have never
known, stand tall domino like on each side of a main isle. A stairway
at the rear of the store leads upward and splits both right and left to
a loft returning towards the front of the store, same as the main
floor. Foot stools, small ladders and tables with chairs, old school
desks with ink well holes, situated here and about the store for those
of a curious eye, to sit and examine more closely the adventures that
have been selected. Yes, it is a curious place indeed.
Suddenly after examining a dozen or so books, eying front and back
covers, one book stands prominent, dead center at eye level. You look a
little closer, your arm slowly rises, lifting your hand as it reaches
for the title that has captured your eye. Your fingers reach the top of
the book and slowly pulls it on its edge so that it can be grasped and
set free. Holding the book, you exhale forcing air from within
yourself to clear some of the dust that has settled on the top and
edges of the hard cover you hold in your hand. Taking your time you
read the front cover, curiously it has no title. You turn the book over
to the back cover and read about the author, their life and other
works, but he too is nameless, and like the front cover, still no
title. The first thought that spins through your mind is, “Well, that’s
odd. A book with no title.” But strangely, your attracted to it.
Something about a book with no title, must have an interesting story.
Grasping it close to you, you turn and search for the cashier counter.
After returning to the front of the store, to purchase your prize, you
meet up face to face with the stores proprietor. An elderly gentleman
with white curly hair and bushy gray eyebrows. Dark eyes sunken into
there sockets and character lines and folds in his cheeks and forehead,
some running deep as a canyon.
“I would like to purchase this book please.” You state politely to the elder gentleman.
“Yes.” As he picks the book up and examines the front and then the
back. Slowly he lifts his head and asks, “Are you sure that it is this
book you wish to purchase?”, pointing to the front cover.
“Yes. How much is it?” He reexamines the book and answers, “Eight dollars.”
After digging out the purchase price, you pay the proprietor, grasp
your purchase, smile and say, “Thank you.” Turn and leave behind the
curiosity of this book store.
As you enter the sidewalk, turn and walk down the clean sunlit street,
under blue skies, listening to the passing chatter of people going
about the routines of their lives, your thoughts are only of being
inside the mind of another person. A author speaking clearly and
silently inside your head directly to you. Taking you away, sharing an
adventure of a lifetime as you turn each page. Yet curiously and a bit
puzzling, a book with no title, nor an authors name, must be
fascinating. The thought passes through your mind. After concluding
your errands and other chores, you start to settle down and enjoy the
escape you have been anticipating. You pick up your new purchase, comfy
yourself in your favorite lounge and open the front cover. Nothing
unusual, publishers name, copyright year, first edition, but still no
title. You turn the page and read the usual dedications and rendering
of ‘thanks’ to those who made the scribing of this manuscript possible.
Two more blank pages and now you have reached page one, chapter one.
You think, “Okay, now I find out what this is all about.”
You eyes start focusing in on the first paragraph as they scan the
words that will bring about the descriptions and focus of what the
books main theme will be. It’s the early eightieth century New England,
during the late fall. The fall colors have shown themselves with a
parade of many hues. Most of which have finally been laid to rest on
Mother Earth in preparation of the coming winter. The particulate smell
of seasoned oak, aspen and white pine in the cool morning air permeates
your nostrils and gives you a sense that the bite of winter is just
around the corner.
Austin Brightworth is a strong man, reaching six foot six into the sky
and hardened by the life that the ‘New World’ has trusted upon him. One
that he took on himself, motivated from the countless stories of good
rich land, timber and beast of the forest to fill his stomach. As a
young man, these stories were for the most part, the only thing his
ears were tuned too. Every street corner, every pub, every meal house
carried the songs of the riches of the New World Colonies.
“If I could save enough to book passage, purchase some harden quality
tools, an oxen, a couple of pigs, a milk cow, I could make a good life
for myself. I could leave Liverpool and be something more then a
commoner. A land owner and raise a large family. Be respected with in
the community. Leave an epitaph for generations to know.” Austin would
tell others and convince himself. Austin had tall dreams, yet Austin
was determined. In the early days of his youth he worked day and night,
scrimping and saving, sleeping only when needed. He couldn’t waste a
moment, “I need the money.” He would tell himself. Feverishly he would
look for work with the longshore merchants of Liverpool or apprentice
to ship carpenters in the repair yards. Anything that would fill his
coin purse or bill fold. He would refuse himself pleasantries, the
comfort of women, a cup of rum, a bed to sleep. Risking safety, he
sought solitude in the darken allies for dream weaving. Only one thing
mattered to Austin, passage to the New World Colonies.
Good, the story moves quickly, as your finger reaches to the corner of
the page, captures it and pulls it to the other side. Eyes ready to
continue, you notice that the page is blank. “That’s odd.” As a
puzzling thought passes your mind. “A blank page. It must be an error
from the publisher.” But not to be detoured, your eyes shift to page
three.
“But Captain, I need this passage. You’re the only vessel sailing to
the New World Colonies. There are five slavers sailing soon, three to
the West Coast of Africa and two to Jamaica. The word is, that there
are no other vessels sailing to the Colonies for eight to nine months
to come. I need to go. I’ve worked hard for this passage.” Austin
pleaded his case to Captain Berkshire, master of the Dutch Princess. A
large two masted Brigantine merchant sailing vessel. Much adorn for its
day.
“I understand your concerns Mr. Brightworth, but as you have shown me,
your coin purse is much lacking to book passage to the colonies.” The
Captain replied. It really wasn’t. Austin couldn’t afford to even a
hint of the wealth this working man had acquired.
“But, you have paid passage for your four steamer trunks and all of
your building materials. I will be more then happy to stow them away in
the hold. But, if you have no one to lay claim to your belongings when
we tie up in Virginia, I am certain that your goods will disappear in
the fog of night. If you can’t make passage Mr. Brightworth, best you
and your belongings remain seated on the docks at the time of our
sail.” Captain Berkshire was leaving Austin no hope of charity.
During this time the ships carpenter, Olson Smith was repairing some
of the ships railing on the starboard side of the quarter deck and was
able to overhear some of the conversation between Austin and Captain
Berkshire. “Captain.”, he called. “May I have a private word with you,
Sir?”
“What would you want carpenter?” The Captain responded.
“Please Sir, just a moment of your time.” With an expression that indicated something of importance.
“Would you please excuse me for a moment Mr. Brightworth, while I tend
to my carpenter?” As he moved slowly to the starboard side of the
quarter deck.
Meanwhile Austin, stunned and disappointed stood silently while
pondering what to do with his goods, while he waited for another vessel
that could offer him passage.
“Captain Sir. Did you address that man as Brightworth?” Ships carpenter
Smith inquired. “Yes carpenter, what of it?” The Captain responded
somewhat impatient.
“Well I don’t know the man, but there is strong talk of a fellow named
Brightworth. A big fellow like him who can do the work of two. Never
complains and works long days. The scuttlebutt has it that he
apprenticed for some ship carpenters in the repair yards and worked for
the dock merchants along this port. Sir, if he is indeed the same man,
it could be profitable to bring him onboard and he could apprentice for
me.” Olson Smith suggested.
“Carpenter Smith, we already have a full crew. I am not booking any
more hands. Is that clear?” The Captain replied sternly, wondering why
he is wasting his time with this?
“But Captain Sir, I beg your pardon, if you were to get rid of those
two lazy deck hands you signed on last, you could bring on board Mr.
Brightworth and have him work the passage of the two. I’m certain this
is the same guy Captain. You can save their wages in profit leaving
those scallywags ashore.” And with a big smile, Orson felt like he was
in on a grand scheme.
“How many voyages have we sailed together Carpenter Smith? The Captain
inquired. “Three Sir.” “After all this time, I didn’t realize that your
were such a schemer.” The Captain said and with a wink he returned to
Austin Brightworth, whom was just turning to leave the quarterdeck and
return to the docks.
The Captain shouted out to him, “One moment Mr. Brightworth, if you
would be so kind.” Austin turned and stepped closer to the Captain.
“You have experience in carpentry and the handling of ships, materials,
goods and cargo?” The Captain asked, more as a command then a question.
“Yes I have, Sir. I have worked many months in these matters you have
mentioned. I have a good reputation Captain, just ask any one who knows
of me and my abilities, Captain Sir.” Austin replied with convection of
truth.
“Alright Mr Brightworth I will offer you the opportunity to work for
your passage to the Colonies, but you will not dally about Mr.
Brightworth. You will work sunrise to well beyond sunset. You will
perform every task that the officers of this command set forth to
charge you with. If your abilities fall short of your reputation you
will be brought to task before the authorities in Virginia or made to
work them off on the return voyage to Liverpool. Have I made my self
clear Mr. Austin Brightworth?” The Captain stated in a stern commanding
voice, with a full expression of seriousness. “I give you my word
Captain and thank you.” Austin replied.
“First Officer Johnson, bring me the ‘Articles of Agreement’ for Mr.
Brightworth to sign.” “Yes Sir.” The First Officer replied. From across
the quarterdeck, the Captain yelled out, “Ships Carpenter, he is your
task. Take him below and assign him a berthing hammock. Boatswain Mate,
store this gear in the hold and toss those two scallywags ashore.
You’ll find them working in the bilges. Welcome aboard Mr. Austin
Brightworth. We sail with the tide, before dawn.” And with that the
Captain returned to his own cabin.
Your head and eyes turn to continue onto page four, but page four is
blank. Not a scribble, not a dot. “Not again.” You wonder, another
blank page. “Wow, the printer must have really dropped the ball on this
book.” But not being deterred, your hand and fingers reach for the
corner of page five to expose the continuing saga.
“I have repaired the leak in the bilges.” Austin informed the ships
carpenter. “All right Brightworth, join the other hands scrubbing the
deck on the forecastle. You’ll find bucket and brush up forward on the
deck. The rest of the day you belong to the Boatswain Mate.” As Olson
Smith returned to building benches for the helms deck.
As Austin swaggered forward towards the ships bow, his tall frame
holding the appearance of a land loving seaman. His stomach constantly
reminded him of the uneasiness of the sea and his sudden desire for
terra firma. Last of which he seen, were the dimming lights of
Liverpool on a fading horizon.
He had heard of such a thing called ‘Sea Legs’, but Austin hadn’t found
his yet. ‘The love of the sea’ that others had spoken fondly of,
certainly wasn’t one that he could relate too. All Austin could feel
was the sickness always present at the bottom of his throat, ready to
explode. He would hold on strong, he would force it back. Austin did
not want to look weak in front of the rest of the
crew.
Suddenly you stop reading and notice that there is really something
wrong, the story is not cohesive, but fragmented. It’s as if sections
are missing. Topics that keep your focus and the main theme together.
Puzzling, “What is it with this book?” You wonder.
You flip back to page one and scan the story again. Austin is in New
World Colonies, then theirs his early life’s dream of acquiring work
and saving enough money for passage to the colonies. On page three
Austin is already bargaining for passage on a vessel soon to depart to
Virginia. But, on page five he is already on board the Dutch Princess,
underway, and working the tasks that have been assigned to him.
Nothing is mentioned about the experiences of the work he acquired
along the docks and ship yards or the temptations he had to fight to
keep hold of his dream. Suddenly Austin finds a merchant ship readying
herself for passage to the Virginia Colony, a Brigantine. But how? Nor
any mention of how Austin acquired the harden tools he so needed and
his building materials. On page five he is already at sea and not
particularly enjoying it. But how long has it been since his memory of
the fading lights of Liverpool disappearing on the horizon?
“I don’t understand this.” You say to yourself. “What was the author
thinking?” But not allowing the peculiarities of the first few pages to
detour you from continuing, you decide to flip through the book some
more. Your finger tip flips the page corners until you reach page nine.
“It is the verdict of this judiciary mast that you have been found
guilty of the charges brought against you, the charge of theft of the
ships provisions. Do you have any statements to add before I render
judgement?” Captain Berkshire asked with a stern expression.
“No Sir, except I don’t know what got over me. Since you put the crew
on limited rations, I was over powered with an unquenchable desire to
store away food provisions for my self. I feared the pain of
starvation, Captain.” Was the only exclamation Seaman Apprentice
Dockshire could muster up. Standing at attention before Captain
Berkshire, with his thin body shaking in his presence, Stanley
Dockshire waited for his judgement.
“It is the judgement of this judiciary mast that you bare the bite of
the ‘cat of nine tails’ for ten repetitions. After which, you will be
secured in the hold for no more then ten days, with provisions of bread
and water only. Boatswain Mate, secure this thief to the main mast.”
“Aye, aye Captain.” The Boatswain Mate replied and sternly grab Seamen
Dockshire by the arms, legs shaking beneath him, and pulled him over to
the main mast.
“First Officer Johnson, you will render the punishment as prescribed.”
The Captain ordered. As the First Officer retrieved the ‘cat of nine’,
the ships crew remained at attention along side the quarter deck, which
surrounded the main mast, to witness the summery judgement against
Seamen Stanley Dockshire.
You reach up again to the page corners and flip through the pages until
you settle on page fifteen. You set the book on your lap and ponder,
“How did the thief become known? No mention of a shortage of the food
provisions. Nor any exclamation of how Seaman Dockshire was caught. All
of a sudden, the Captain is rendering his sentence.” With a sigh, you
again pick up the novel and continue.
In the early morning after chow had been served, and after Austin had
finished scrubbing all the pots and pans that had rendered up the gruel
that the crew hastily funneled into there stomachs, the ships cook
reassigned him to the Ships Carpenter, who was working in the crews
quarters.
“I’ve been assigned you to this morning.” Austin greeted Carpenter
Olson Smith with a certain pleasantness in his voice. “Glad to be out
of galley duty.” As most of any of the crew would be. “Good.” Replied
Carpenter Smith. “Hand me that two by six laying up against the
bulkhead and lay it across the two horses.” With Carpenter Smith, it
was always business first.
Austin grab the plank and set them atop the two saw horses. Carpenter
Smith grab a jack plane and stated, “Now you watch me Brightworth, I’m
only going to show you this once. So pay your mind here.” Olson Smith
barked out his command. “You take the jack plane and shave these planks
like this.” With two hands, Carpenter Smith grab the plane with one
hand on the forward knob and the other on the rear handle and pushed
the jack plane forward until a thin shaving of wood curled up and over
the knife edge of the blade.
Continuing the Carpenter would draw the plane back to take another cut
of wood off the surface of the rough, splintered plank on top of the
saw horses. With each push, a ribbon of curled wood rolled its self off
the top of the knife edge. “Okay, do you get the idea Brightworth?”
“Yes Carpenter Smith.” Austin replied. “You make smooth all those
planks leaning up against the bulkhead, Brightworth. One side only and
they don’t have to be perfect.” Olson Smith again barked out his
command. Austin set forth with his task and with each finished plank,
he would set them aside so that Carpenter Smith could continue laying
in storage shelving above the crews birthing hammocks.
Leaning forward and pushing the jack plane along the rough surface of
the two by six plank, Austin noticed that the Boatswain Mate was
releasing Seamen Dockshire from his confinement. Dockshire look worst
from the ware he had taken. His eyes were sunken into their sockets and
his skin was ashen pale. Weak from just bread and water rations, the
Boatswain Mate held him around the midriff, steading Dockshire
has he lead him up the ladder and out of the crews quarters. Austin
couldn’t help but feel sorry for him.
“I think his punishment was harsh for his crime. The Captain should not
have been so severe.” Austin commented aloud with out realizing it.
Carpenter Smith stood up and was about to speak when interrupted by a
loud bellowing voice which harshly stated, “So you think I was to
lenient on Seaman Dockshire, do you Austin Brightworth?”
Surprised by Captains appearance, both Carpenter Smith and Austin were
thunderstruck by the interruption, as they both snapped around to meet
the commanding figure who poised statuette like on the bottom step of
the stairwell to the crews quarters. “Well Brightworth, speak up!”
Commanded the Captain. But Austin was too shaken to find words. He only
found fear.
“I always thought you an intelligent man Brightworth and I still do. So
I am going to give you a lesson of command responsibility on the high
seas. I am the Captain of this Brigantine to you and all who serve her.
I and I alone am your commanding ‘God Like’ figure of leadership while
you serve the Dutch Princess in port or at sea. I Mr.
Brightworth, am the law of the sea.” The Captain spoke as to insure is
place of authority.
“Yes sir, I didn’t mean”; “Don’t interrupt Mr. Brightworth.” The
Captain pointed to Austin, arm and finger extended straight as to warn
him about testing his tolerance. “You see Mr. Brightworth, when Seaman
Dockshire pillaged the ships stores, he was stealing from you, me and
all of the ships company. Had we been put on full rations, we all would
have suffered because of the greediest gluttony of Seaman Dockshire.
The punishment for his crime was not only just, it was needed to remind
the crew that such crimes will not be tolerated and will be dealt with
a moderate degree of harshness as necessary to insure that command
structure remains in tack.” The Captain took a deep breath as if to
relax and then added,
“Do you clearly understand this Mr. Austin Brightworth?”
Then suddenly, a voice rang out sharply from above, “Land! - Land ho!
Two points off the starboard bow. I say land, two points to starboard!”
The voice rang out from the look out atop the main mast. A flurry of
excitement rang about as the crew with in ear shout of the look out
scurried about the main deck and forecastle to gaze upon terra firma
that had not been seen for some time. Suddenly you exhale a deep breath
and lay the book down on your lap. Nothing is binding this story
together, the thought registers in your mind. After reading five pages
and flipping through at least as many blank pages, there are still more
questions then there will ever be answers.
There is no descriptive topic of Seamen Dockshire punishment. How did
the crew react? What were some of their thoughts? Only that Seaman
Dockshire was sentence to a shipboard punishment. Nothing about how the
Seaman manages to hold on, to survive, bound up in the hold, with only
bread and water rations.
We don’t even know how long the Dutch Princess has been out to sea.
Except with a reference to the ten days that Dockshire was held in
confinement. But, it takes much longer to cross the Atlantic in a
Brigantine, even under favorable sea and weather conditions. But, no
mention about the sea state during the Atlantic passage. Suddenly, land
has been sighted. “Gee, what a quick voyage.” Shaking your head,
“Interesting story, with a lot of empty space.” passes through your
mind.
Not satisfied and feeling somewhat cheated, you decide to take your
concerns, if not complaints to the proprietor of the used book store
where you purchased the hope of an adventurous escape. “First thing in
the morning I’m going to give him a piece of my mind.” But for now,
dreams will have to be your only escape.
During the mid morning, with book clutched in hand, you briskly walk
down the tree lined street making a beeline to the Used Book Store that
you first thought was interesting and quaint. There is a slight breeze
in the air as the temperature starts to warm up, giving a slight hint
of a early summer just around the corner. Suddenly your feet grind to a
halt in response to your eyes recognizing the book store that you
nearly passed.
Turning sharply and almost around, you grab hold of the door knob,
twist the handle and push open the door. A little bell rings above you
giving warning of potential customers. As you proceed through the
threshold, your eyes dart about first at the cashier counter and then
the front of the store, searching for the elder gentleman that served
your needs before. No one is present. Then you notice the proprietor
walking from the rear, to the front of the store, towards you. “Good
morning. How may I serve you?” He pleasantly greets you. He shuffles
forward with a slight limp in his right leg. As if there were a pebble
in his shoe or that one leg was slightly shorter then the other.
Finally after reaching the front counter, he maneuvers his frail self
behind it. “How may I help you?” He asks with a slight smile on his
face.
You state, “Yesterday I purchased this book.” Handing him the book so
that he may examine it. “Yes.”, he replies. Bowing his head looking at
the front cover. “What exactly is your concern?” He inquires.
“Well the story is half missing.” You respond with a certain quickness.
“Every other page is blank, through out the whole book. Who in their
right mind writes like that?” Asking with a puzzled seriousness. “I
don’t want this book and would like a refund of my purchase.” You
state, more as a command then a request.
The elder gentleman responds, “This book?” Tapping the front cover.
“Yes, that book.” You reply. “I’m sorry, but there are no refunds,
exchanges or credits.” As he points to a sign above his right shoulder
stating the same.
“But, I feel that I have been cheated.” You reply with an air of disappointment.
“I’m sorry you feel that way, but no one here has cheated you.” The
elder man responds. “But just out of curiosity, what made you purchase
this book anyway?” Seeming some what puzzled himself.
“I didn’t think to much of it at first. I just thought it was a
publishing error.” You respond. “You seem like a intelligent person to
me.” The elder man observes and continues. “And as an intelligent
person you would know that there are two sides to every story. Would
you agree?” He asks.
“Well yes of course. But what does that have to do with this book?” You ask.
“Well you simply purchased one side of the story. Or otherwise, you
bought into a one sided story, this story. And as the intelligent
person that you are, you know that there are two sides to every story.
You simply did not examine it close enough to determine what the story
is all about.” He explains to you all the while tapping on the face of
the book.
He continues, “Not examining the novel, you failed to see that every
other page is blank, that the book contains no title, nor an author to
give credit. You see, it’s like gossip, rumor or innuendo being spread
by one person, but paid attention too by many others. All of whom know
that it’s only half the story. But most and nearly all, won’t care
about that. The half story that is being rendered is all that will be
remembered.”
He sets the book down on the counter and pushes it back towards you.
Standing there you stare back into his deep gray eyes feeling somewhat
insulted and yet speechless. “I don’t gossip.” You tell yourself. Yet,
I bought into this story. Picking up the book, you sharply turn and
head for the door, grabbing its handle, pulling the door open and
disappearing into the busy tree lined street.
Copy Right: 2009 (Pending)