Jack & Cap'n Patch

He was called "Cap'n Patch" in honor of Gary Cooper's character in "The Wreck of the Mary Deare", a story of sabotage and a shipwreck and a man with a secret.  At one time, he'd had Cooper's height and easy good looks but life had been hard and by the time he settled back down on the island, he was gray and worn, his back curved like a horizontal comma and he relied heavily on a hand carved wooden cane, walking with slow, shuffling steps and never without a ruined, old, one eyed tomcat named Jack at his side.  Neither was known for affability - they walked the dirt roads in the late afternoons together but rarely returned a wave or a smile - and they spent their evenings alone on the unpainted front porch of Uncle Len's summer house which had been renovated for an artist couple from New York who discovered, after just one July, that island life wasn't for them.  Stoic, trusting to a self imposed isolation, suspicious and reticent - that summed up Jack and Cap'n Patch.

To keep himself in pipe tobacco and the cat in food - Jack, although an expert mouser and connoisseur of fresh mackerel had developed a liking for canned sardines - he made sculpture from driftwood.  Gulls and seascapes, sailing ships and lighthouses and the like, meticulously detailed and exquisitely painted, and Uncle Len would often take a half dozen pieces with him to sell to the tourists on the mainland.  A ship in a bottle once fetched an astonishing hundred and fifty dollars, a fortune at a time when you could buy cigarettes two for a nickel, but Cap never made a second.

Ain't enough life left in these old hands, he sighed and folded the paper money into his pocket, 'Sides, Jack and me, we got all we need.

He took, instead, to carving checkers and chess sets from the smooth, bleached pieces of driftwood we collected - a dime for every red wagon full, a quarter for the really pretty pieces - it was time consuming and demanding work but the finished sets brought high dollars on the mainland and even more at the one or two gift shops along the Digby Neck where tourists would pay ungodly sums for original art by locals.  Jack and Patch were in what the Arkansas travelers called "high cotton" in no time.

Damn foolishness if you ask me, the old seaman muttered, Ain't nothin' a monkey with a sharp knife couldn't do if'n he had the time.

Inevitably, Aunt Tessa - a dear friend of my grandmother's and a high flying specialty store buyer from California - was to discover Cap'n Patch, insisting against my grandmother's stubborn and solid advice, to meet the man and examine his work.

Stunning! she declared, holding up a black knight against the cloud crowded sky, Absolutely riveting work! 
She gave her feather boa a fling, twirled her bright skirts and settled down on the steps Indian style with her stylishly bare feet and painted toe nails tucked beneath her.  So, she demanded breathlessly, Cap'n Patch. Where have you been all my life?

Patch blinked, shifted in his rocking chair as if willing it to move away from the clearly mad woman who had descended upon him.  Tessa calmly reached one bejeweled and bangled hand toward the scarred up old tomcat and began to scratch his ears - we all drew a quick breath, sure there would be blood on the waters - but rather than withdraw, Jack stretched toward her and began to rumble low in his throat, a contented and surprisingly peaceful sound. 

Damnation, I heard my grandmother say, Didn't know the cat had it in him.

Cap'n Patch hesitated, looking from the cat to Aunt Tessa and back to the cat.  The sun moved from behind the clouds.  In one long, graceful motion - Like pouring syrup, Nana said - Jack stretched to his full length and casually rolled onto his back, all four paws extended.  Tessa stroked his exposed belly absently and Patch, so taken aback that he dropped his lit pipe and sparks flew like tiny firecrackers, hardly noticed.  He started to rock, looking somewhere between thoughtful and amused, and then his mouth curved discreetly at the corners and he began to smile. 


Ain't never been one to argue with the cat, he said amiably, Whatcha have in mind, ma'am.

Sooner or later, I wonder, don't we all find a reason to give up our solitude and let go of our secrets.