Oysthers!

ATRICK O’FLYNN DELANEY had red hair and his whiskers were red; but when I came to know him better I found that one eye was often blacker than the other. He was a sailorman, and had the immemorial gift of speech that the sea bestows upon her sons so that they tell tales of the strange things they have seen and done. His gift in this respect was blurred somewhat by a brogue that was thick as the San Francisco fog on the night we met across a table in the Harpoon Oyster House.

Our spoons had rattled in the emptied bowls at almost the same instant.

I said—

“Shall we have another?”

“Shure,” said he. “An’ we’ll be afther tossin’ up to see who pays for it.”

I tossed a dime. He called heads, and heads it came.

“Lucky thing for you that Oi win, because Oi haven’t the money to pay for two more bowls of oysther soup. An’ shure as Oi’m here, ’t was less than six month ago that Oi was one of the richest men in the whole South Seas—f’r ten minutes, but no longer. Aye, wealth flies. Me an’ Buck O’Malley, we were both rich as nabobs. ’T was oysthers as did it.

T’S not necessary (he continued) t0 explain as how me an’ Buck O’Malley come to be there on that little island of Rigoro, where was only a Dutch trader an’ lots of naygurs; for that’s a story of itself that Oi’ll keep to meself till Oi know you better.

But Buck O’Malley he borrow’d the Dutchman’s schooner widout asking for it. And though he had one of his own, he borrow’d the Dutchman’s naygur wife the same way. Oh, Buck O’Malley had a way wid womin! “” Him bein’ no sailorman Oi went along to show him how to run the thing, ’r else he’d av gone an’ drowned hisself, which Oi wish to Hivin he had done in his cradle. Yis, many’s the time Oi av wisht O’Malley ten fathoms deep in for ever bein’ born. An’ he’s there now, praise Hivin; for if it hadn’t been him that went, ’t would av been me. One of us had to go. An’ it’s always better for the worst man to go first, f’r don’t he av to roast longer than a good one? Shure he do.

Well, we got to where we was goin’, and O’Malley ’d propppd hisself up agin the deckhouse, pipe in hand, an’ watched for the oysthers the womin ’d bring up out of the lagoon.

Me—Oi couldn’t endure the sight of such laziness in a full-growed man, so Oi’d go sleep up in the bows till it was time to ate.

Both of them womin was in love wid O’Malley for his teeth was filled wid chips of the blarney stone. An’ they work like Trojans, each a-thinkin’ to get a little more of his love than th’ other by pullin’ up the oysthers. There was sharks big as th’ divils ye can’t see but are afraid of when you are knee-high to a grasshopper an’ some old grandmother scares the stuffin’ out of you wid witch-tales. But them sharks didn’t trouble O’Malley f’r he couldn’t swim.

Now Oi’m a Christian, an Oi don’t love naygur womin. They’re too handy wid knives an’ ugly in other ways.

An’ when Oi wasn’t sleepin’ Oi cursed meself for bein’ the fool to help a man steal a boat an’ go off wid a pair of wives, neither of which was mine, thank Hivin.

Oi’m afther telling you it was hot there in that eddy of wid nothin’ to do but to wisht Oi hadn’t done it; an’ Oi told O’Malley he was more of a fool than meself for he expected to get rich.

Them oysthers was the biggest oysthers that ever growed on an oysther-tree down in the Divil’s garden. Sometimes it ’ud take O’Malley and his two womin to lift one from the water afther it was brought up.

One of these womin he was callin’ Kate, and the other were Betsy. And he always was a-tellin’ of Kate on the quiet that she were his true love; an’ bless you, but ever chanct he got he was a-tellin’ of the same thing to Betsy. And a swearin’ to each that he loved her dearer than his own soul, which were ondoubtedly true for he didn’t care any more about his soul than Oi do for an empthy bottle of whisky.

Oi knew no good ’ud come of it and told him so, for it’s bad luck to love one womin, an’ O’Malley were busy wid two. He said they were sweet little things wid no harm in ’em.

“Childers of nathure,” he called ’em.

Says Oi, “Look at their skins and ye can see who their father is. They’ve got coaldust on ’em and smell of sulfur.”

“That’s coconuts-oil,” says he.

“But the coal-dust, O’Malley?”

“Kisses from the sun,” says he.

“Oi like ’em the color that shows when they’ve took a bath,” says Oi.

“An’ don’t you know,” says he, “all womin look alike in the dark?”

“You’re a liar, O’Malley,” says Oi.

“Oi wouldn’t be gettin’ on wid the ladies if Oi wasn’t,” says he.

“The heat in this blasted place makes me meditative,” says Oi. “An’ we been here six weeks a-ready, an’ me reshpect for Eternithy is increasin’ wid each day.”

“The last bottle of whisky is gone, and it’s hard to kill time on an empthy stomick. That’s what’s the matter wid ye,” says Buck O’Malley.

And maybe it was.

We were moored in mongst a patch-work of reefs wid some palms an’ bushes hanging for dear life to the rocks, an’ the tide come in through the channel like the winds of a-wafting sinners south’ard. But them womin ’ud slip down, each wid a knife in her hand an’ a net on her back, and sometimes Oi ’d watch ’em wid the water-glass, an’ see one of them slidin’ gentle-like down mongst the coral an’ wavy weeds—a heavin’ over oysthers for the love of Buck O’Malley.

And one day it happens. Buck splits into an oysther shell half as big as the main hatch, and there’s the big lump of a wart wrinkled over wid mother-of-pearl the size of my fist. ’Tis true as Oi’m telling you!

“Give me a chisel an’ a hammer,” says Buck O’Malley. “Oi’m goin’ to av a look.”

“Ye ’ll be spoilin’ a fine blisther,” says Oi.

“Go to ,” says he.

“Oi ’ll do that some day. Shure. But the same brand’s on both of us so when the ’s looking f’r one he’ll be sathisfied to find the other one.”

“Then fetch th’ chisel,” says he.

“You av laigs as long as mine,” says Oi. “Besides, Oi don’t want my share in that blisther spoiled.”

Truth to tell, Oi was curiouser than him to see what might be under the wrinkle of that blisther, but ’t wouldn’t av done to agree wid him in anything.

Them naygur womin was watchin’, an’ ugly Betsy in particular f’r it was her that had brought it up.

An’ Buck, carefuller than if he’d been afther opening of a bottle wid Solomon’s seal on it, cut round that blisther an’ pries it off—an’ Hivin hear me! Out comes a pearl wid the shape of a hen’s egg an’ as big. And widout a spot or wrinkle on it!

Oi couldn’t speak. Me knees got quivery an’ me mouth was like somebody ’d filled it full of brick-dust.

Buck O’Malley he stood there wid the thing in his two hands and his nose a-touching of it, mutthering over an’ over—

“We ’re rich—we ’re rich—we ’re rich!”

“It means ye’ll be goin’ back to the white-white lan?” says that bushy-head Kate who had been the Dutchman’s wife. Her black eyes were on Buck O’Malley’s face, and he seen the look too.

“No, no,” says O’Malley. “Oh never ’ud I leave you, Kitty darlint.”

“How about me?” says Betsy.

She had a face like somebody that didn’t know how very well had made one out of mud and give it to her; but it was a better face than Kate’s at that.

“How about me?” says Betsy, a-pushin’ of the other woman aside.

O’Malley he looks up, a-thinkin’ of something to say that ’ud smooth out the fool slip he’s made when Kate puts her knife clear into the naked breasth of the naygur girl. “That for you, pig-woman,” she says.

“Ow-ow,” says Betsy, and sets down on the deck, a-bending over like she had the cramps. “Ow-ow-ow,” she says. Then dies.

“Husband of mine,” says Kate to O’Malley, wid the red-drippin’ knife in her hand, “have Oi not done well?”

“Yis,” says O’Malley, eying that knife. “Yis, sweetheart.”

“Then throw that pig-born to the sharks,” says Kate. And Oi understood why maybe the Dutchman was glad to lose his ship since we had took his wife away wid it.

“Pat,” says he, “Pat, give me a hand wid this corpse.”

“ a hand, Buck O’Malley, will Oi ever touch to that poor haythen.”

And looking over the side Oi see a dozen sharks wid their noses right up agin the bilge as if the word had been passed to stan’ by. Queer how they know, them sharks. But know they do. Ax any man that’s followed the sea.

“Here then, hold this,” says he, putting out the pearl to me, big as the great eye of God, and all shiny-bright like an angel’s cheek.

“Nay, Buck O’Malley. Oi’d rather be a poor man like Oi been than mix wid the curse that’s come upon us. Oi’ll have no share in this thing!”

“So much the better f’r me then,” says Buck O’Malley wid a laugh that made the flesh of me shrivel up wid chills, and Oi that minute wisht good Father O’Flynn, afther who Oi was named, had thrashed me harder than ever he did for bein’ the worst boy in the parish.

“Hold it, Kitty sweet,” says O’Malley.

He was that afraid to put it down any place for there never was a pearl half so big as the size of this one; and it were alive as if asleep an’ breathin’.

Oi couldn’t keep me eyes off of it as it lay there in the black hand of that naygrus—that pearl white and alive as the heart of a saint.

Says she to me—

“This buy much-much gin, tembac, calico, an’ womin in your land?”

“Hivin yis!” says Oi. “It ’ud buy a crown off a king’s head!”

“Heave-oh!” says O’Malley, him drunker wid pearl madness than ever he’d been on whisky, as he pushed that poor haythen girl head first over the side where the sharks was a-waitin’ all in a row, grinnin’. It was her that had fetched up the shell wid the blisther that had the pearl, which made the other woman jealous and knife her. “Heave-oh,” said O’Malley to the poor corpse. “It was Kate that I love best anyhow.”

Oi cross meself three times, and Oi says—

“Buck O’Malley, that naygur girl will be standin’ right there where God A’mighty can hear her on Judgment Morn!”

Says he:

“If ye knowed womin as well as me, you ’ud know they’ll lie for you on Judgment as well as any other morn if ye give ’em the twitch of an eye an’ a bit of a smile. Ain’t it so, Kitten darlint?”

“Keep off,” says Kitten darlint, pointin’ the end of that knife at him. “Keep off till Oi ’ve had a word wid you.”

“Ye black haythen,” says O’Malley. “Oi ’ll beat your head off! What ye mean— Ow Kitten darlint, what ye mean pullin’ a glint of steel on yez own Buckie-boy?”

“Me own father was a white man,” says the girl, though she didn’t look it. “And are ye ever going to be a-leaving me an’ going back to your own land?”

“Never, darlint! Never!”

“An’ will ye ever be gettin’ of another woman to crowd me off my bed?”

“Never, Kitten girl. Never! How could you be askin’ of such!”

“Ye ’ll be happy to stay right wid me, here on this island?” says she.

“Oi ’ll stay anywhere wid ye, Katey sweet—forever! Now be lettin’ me av the pearl again an’”

“Ye haven’t been telling of a lie to me?”

“Never!”

“Ye ’ll stay right here wid me? Ye promise that?”

“Oi’d stay in wid you, sweet. Now be a-givin’”

Then says that black girl who had heard from her mother the ways of a white man—

“You’ll not be needin’ of this then, to tempth yez away from me!”

And wid a swing of her arm— Ow! Oi saw a twinkle of white shimmer through the sun, then the soft splash where it hit; an’ we was poor again as old Satan afther Gabriel had pulled out all his tail-feathers an’ kicked him down the stairs.

O’Malley he stood there gaspin’ for air; then wid a yell he jumps, an’ the fist of him took her in the jaw an’ she fell over the skylight and her laigs quivered like a frog’s that’s dyin’.

“Ye black dirt, into the water wid yez an’ find that pearl— Oi ’ll kill ye! Don’t ye come up widout it!”

He was grabbin’ her by the hair when Oi says—

“Buck O’Malley, do you be thinkin’ the dead girl that’s in there ’ud be givin’ up that pearl?”

But he’s clear crazy wid deaf ears. “Over ye go,” says he to her, dragging her over the deck by the hair.

She’s no more than half-alive, but is whisperin’—

“Sharks—there be sharks!”

“Buck O’Malley,” says Oi, “’twould be murther, an’ a-ready there’s been one dead woman this ’s day!”

“Ye put her up to it!” says he, wid the mad look in his eyes. “’Twill be murther, an’ yez are it!”

Wid that he leaped at me, an’ Oi throwed him aside for there was no blood-thirst in me that black day. He was as big a man as Oi, wid madness in his heart.

Says Oi—

“Oi told her nothin’—’twas the wise woman of a mother as told her everythin’”

And we come together an’ by the heat of his mouth on me face Oi knew it was one of us had to die; and Oi says to myself—

“The takes the one he wants most!”

Then from wheel to knightshead we fought, rakin’ me shoulder on the mainmast as we passed, an’ jammin’ of his head agin the foremast fife rail as Oi snatched f’r a pin an’ missed. From capstan to skylight we fought back again, reelin’ like drunk men, wid his arm around me neck, and me teeth in his wrist. An’ of a sudden somethin’ sharp takes me in the back, an’ gives me such fear-strength Oi up an’ heaves, so O’Malley stumbles backward an’ the two of us pitch over the rail wid nothin’ in me ears but the screech of the black girl as had knifed me!

’Twas a fair show for us both, an’ the took his choice, or maybe as Oi sometimes think, ’t was the black Betsy girl, for something I couldn’t see tore O’Malley loose from around me, an’ Oi climbed in over the mizzen chains wid nary a scratch but the drippin’ gash of a knife.

An’ there was that Black Kate bendin’ over the rail an’ starin’ down like she was watchin’ of her own heart bein’ tore to pieces.

When she looks up and sees me, she gives a yell an’ falls down like Oi’d bashed her wid an ax—but never a hand did Oi touch to her, not the whole three weeks Oi was beatin’ back wid her an’ the schooner to where her husband was, for Oi was wanting to clean my hands as much as Oi could.

An’ then what does she tell to that village an’ her Dutch husband but that the other woman died of fever, an’ that in a quarrel over herself Oi took O’Malley in the back wid an ax; an’ that she keep me off from touchin’ her wid a knife, an’ got me to come back by swearin’ she ’d fix it all up fine f’r me if Oi ’d only bring her home.

Yis, she fix it up fine, that sweet child of nathure!

But Dutchy was so glad to av his schooner again that he hid me away in his own storeroom till a trader come off-shore; then he sneaked me o’ board—an’ here Oi am—an’ here Oi am, a tellin’ of shameful deeds on me head to pay for a bowl of oysther soup.

Some day we’ll have a real dinner, wid radishes an’ beer, an’ then Oi ’ll tell ye a story worth two of this an’ ivery bit as true!