My Journal

By Harriman Nelson

35

“What do you suppose the skip’s doing now?” Ski asked as he and his companions were relieved from the late afternoon watch, unaware that I was just outside the aft hatch.

“How the heck should I know,” Pat replied, handing his headphones to his relief. “Probably ordering something from room service to avoid getting stared at.’

“What d’you suppose he did today?” Riley, stretching, asked wistfully.

“There’s a zillion things to see in Venice,” Pat said. “The Piazza San Marco’s a given. Then there’s the Grand Canal, Rialto Bridge, the Palazzo Contrairni Del Bovolo, the Palazzo Santa Sofia and even the Isle of the Mad. Used to be an insane asylum. On its own mini island. Not sure the skip would have wanted to visit that little place.”

“How do you know all this stuff?” Kowalski asked.

“I looked up the best places to see in Venice. Doesn’t mean any of them are on the tour’s itinerary.”

“The big question,” Riley said, “is like, what’s on the menu tonight, once they're not in Venice anymore.”

“Well, gentlemen,” I said, revealing my presence as I walked in, “I don’t know either, but it’s sure to be Italian.”

While the men headed out past me, I took a couple of steps toward radio shack where the duty Sparks had just taken over. “Make sure you pipe in any call from the captain to the Observation Nose.”

“Aye sir.”

“And have the mess specialists serve me dinner there. Ask Mr. Morton to join me.”

Dinner was Spaghetti & Meatballs a la Sharkey, who had requested he be allowed to show Cookie just how Lee liked it. 

“You seem a little distracted,” Chip said as I sipped my red wine, a treat I didn’t indulge in often. But it went with the meal so well, I couldn’t resist.

“I can’t help thinking how Lee might have been hounded by the press all over Venice.”

“Me too. Knowing Lee, if he was, he probably bugged out of going with the group anywhere to save them the aggravation.”

“Chip,” I pursed my lips. “Tell me something. Were you serious about not wanting command, or do you just want to spare Lee any guilt trip he might feel if he resumed the conn.”

“Admiral. Don’t get me wrong. I enjoy command. But I’m not consumed by her. Not possessed by her like Lee is. That’s what makes him the best man for the job. And in all truth, I enjoy an exec’s duties far more than a captain’s. That’s the honest truth, sir.”

“I’m not sure I quite believe you, but...”

“I’ll take a lie detector test if you want.”

“Never mind. We’ll drop the subject for now.”

“Broadcast, sir,” the duty Sparks called out on the PA, remotely turning on all monitors.

“We are waiting,” the reporter said, “for the ferry, or boat bus as it’s called, to return from Poveglia, or the Isle of the Mad, a former insane asylum, long closed and restricted unless by governmental invitation. Why Mrs. Piccadilly’s culinary tour was invited is anyone’s guess. Perhaps officials wanted to see if Captain Nelson-Crane would get any vibes from its former inhabitants...ah here the vessel comes now. It only remains for the tour group to catch a train to Bologna, where they’re scheduled to have dinner at the I Portici Hotel Restaurant, the number one eatery in the city....Captain, did you see any ghosts?” she added as Lee set foot on the dock.

“No,” he said as he helped Mrs. Piccadilly and some of the other matronly ladies off the boat bus, “I didn’t see any ghosts. But I did sense a lot of tears and  wailing in my mind. Thankfully psychiatry’s come a long way since  then when people were simply disposed of like trash because they were different or mentally challenged. So, I guess you could say the place is haunted in a way....”

“Just why was your tour group invited to the place, Mrs. Piccadilly? Because of the captain?”

“I invited Mrs. Piccadilly’s tour group,” the mayor said, emerging from the boat bus, "because I thought the history of Venice would be incomplete without a lesson in what wasn’t so great. No city or nation should get too big for their britches, as our cowboy captain has been known to say about his own land.”

“What do you think about his night in jail, Mr. Mayor?”

“I think the entire episode was a travesty of justice, and I’m deeply ashamed that one known criminal could have done such a thing to our honored guests.”

“What was your favorite thing to see in Venice, Captain?”

“The Palazzo Santa Sofia, better known as Ca’d’ Oro. Spectacular architecture. There was a time I was interested in becoming an architect, even designed a birdhouse for my mother...I think I was about 8, had only been a Crane for a short time.”

“There’s a rumor that you might be leaving the group in Bologna to do a little sightseeing on your own.”

“Yes, actually, for most of tomorrow. I plan to visit one of the Ferrari Lamborghini factories and museum. Even test drive a few models if I can. They have a special track for test drives.”

“Then, you’re considering purchasing a new car?”

“Let’s just say I’m open to any options. I already have a good car, a classic. She’s  in tip top condition, but it’s getting hard to find parts when she has her little tantrums. If the price is right, I might consider a new vehicle for everyday and keep her for special events. No way I’m getting rid of her.”

“You consider a Ferrari or Lamborghini everyday cars?”

“Well,” Lee said, grinning, his head to one side, looking a bit like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, “if I use it every day, when I’m ashore that is, it would be.”

“Then you’re considering returning to Seaview and not just your desk at NIMR?”

“I didn’t mean it that way,” he said quickly, as if he'd put his foot in his mouth.

 I was sure Chip’s heart fell at that. I know mine did.

“Let’s just say now that I can drive again, I can’t think of a better opportunity to look at the modern Italian icons of automotive engineering.”

“But surely an American vehicle would be more convenient. Parts, recalls, things like that.”

“Yes, that’s true, but...Ferraris and Lamborghini’s have more...I guess you’d say, style.”

“If you’ll excuse us,” Mrs. Piccadilly interrupted, “we really need to get back to the hotel to pack. We have a train to catch, you know.”

“Yes, of course, Mrs. P.,” Lee said, “sorry...”

And with that he took her arm and escorted her to the waiting tour bus and disappeared.

“Well, he almost said it,” Chip said as he turned off the monitor. “Maybe he really did consider retaking command, at least for a moment.”

“Freudian slip,” I mused. “There’s still hope, Chip. Let’s see, if the train’s on time, he should be in Bologna in a few hours...I’m expecting him to call.”

“You really think he will?”

“I think it’s a safe bet. Unlike  your culinary ones.”

And so, here I am, in my cabin, waiting for Lee's call. Should I broach the subject with him again? Or just thank him for letting me know he got to Bologna safely. He’s bound to know we saw the latest broadcast. Not much to tell me, aside from the ghostly cries he sensed.

We’ll see.