Animal Kingdom: Circa 2011

8/11/11

Animal Kingdom

on a journey to Nippon,

they don’t get seasick.

John knew the ship’s fare was too cheap to be true, and now he was lying still in a cold bunk, listening to smugglers mutter in Japanese. He had been warned by the South Africans not to go below decks into the cargo hold, but he wasn’t a man to do what he was told. He took out a small piece of smooth ivory he had filched from the hold from his pocket and twisted it around, feeling the cool hardness of it. He imagined the dull, inevitable rumble of elephant feet in the African plain. Across the cramped room John noticed one of the Japanese smugglers looking curiously in his direction from his bed. He closed his hand around the ivory and stared innocently up at the iron slats in the bunk above him. John glanced over to see the man still looking over at him while talking quietly to his friend in Japanese. He boldly met the man’s gaze, waiting to see what would come. The man silenced his friend with a waving gesture. “You fought in the war, yes?” he said in broken English.

“I did, how do you know?” John asked.

“Your hair. Cut like American soldier. Even five years after. Also your pack. Army patch on it.” He glanced at John’s old backpack. Olive drab with the Army Rangers insignia on a front flap. It shifted gently as the ship rocked.

“Ah, you have a good eye.” John said. He pulled out a relic from under his shirt and dangled it for the other man to see. “Army Rangers.”

“Did you kill Japanese soldiers?”

“I fought in Europe against the Germans.” John said, placing the dangling metal back in his shirt. “Your English is good.”

“You learn fast at prisoner of war camp. My patrol was surrendered. Shameful.” He lifted up part of his baggy shirt and revealed a long scar meandering down his side. “Treated like shit.” He abruptly turned and resumed talking to his friend, as if some truce had been reached. John slipped his elephant treasure back into his pocket and sighed. His eyes wandered around the room. In the middle of the tiny room between the two bunk beds was a small table where the men had placed their belongings. Above it was a faded and torn poster. American propaganda. Handsome faces, sturdy ships and encouraging text mingled in a relic from a bygone era. John surmised that this had been a Liberty ship, bought for cheap by whatever organization was now using it to transport contraband between Africa and Japan. John knew that if the smugglers found out he was on to their operation, he would be killed. No one would notice a wandering veteran was lost at sea in the Indian Ocean. that seemed to have a strange poetry. He thought the haiku, a window into the nature of obscurity.

Liberties'  sails close

A prophet thrown to the seas,

off an iron hulk

The Japanese veteran eyed John. John noticed he was counting syllables on his fingers, flipping them out in concentration. He placed his hands gently on this stomach and laid back in his unyielding bunk.

A tall Afrikaner man ducked into the tiny room. He scrutinized the Japanese smugglers and John, his eyes narrowed. He held up a deck of cards in his bony hand. “Card game below decks. Plenty of money to win.” His accent was heavy with a Germanic lilt. “They’re shooting craps too.” Both of the smugglers got up after conferring amongst themselves. John lay stubbornly in his bed. The veteran turned to him and said,

“Come down for the game. Maybe you win something.” He looked uncomfortable.

“I’m bad with money. Don’t want to lose more of it.”

“Do what you want.” The smugglers left the room after the Afrikaner. John stared at the poster, and felt an odd sensation in his chest. Maybe he’d go win something for America down there. He crawled out of his bunk, slipped on his worn shoes and walked out the door. The other men were descending a staircase down into the lower deck, and John loped after them. He could hear their footsteps reverberate in the hollowness of the ladder-like stairs. The noise sent sonar-pangs through the hallway, and made John acutely aware of the starkness of the old liberty ship.

New feet tread these halls

The vessel empties herself

of her former loves

After two flights of stairs John was down in the cargo hold. It was dimly lit, and filled with the undulating noise of men winning and losing their possessions. Rising and falling passion and calm drifted from behind a large row of wooden crates. John had been here earlier, and had seen things he should not have seen. Crates left open with behemoth tusks reposing within. Cages filled with monkeys wallowing quietly in their own filth. Gutted exotic animals destined for silent lives in Chinese medicine jars. John walked around the wall of crates and into a large clearing. Three groups of smugglers huddled around crates made into make shift gambling tables. Each table had a gas lantern in the middle, tied down with rope to keep them from falling in the rocking of the ship. A cloud of blue cigarette smoke hung above the smuggler’s heads.  The groups of men swayed gently in the wave action, moving like seaweed. John walked up to the group playing cards and asked to be dealt in. A dark South African with a snake wound around his forearm gave him a hand of cards. John played with gusto. He spent countless hours doing cards in the army, and playing came naturally to him. 

He lost the first three games, giving up what little money he had on him. The smugglers jeered at him. Chance gave and it took away. He thought of his step brother. Killed by German shelling while preparing thanksgiving dinner for his battalion. They said a round landed on the field stove he was using and shredded him. One in a thousand chance of that happening. His step brother was one of many lost on that day, their prayers of thanks lost to the wind and wails of mortar rounds. John’s step mother couldn’t stand the sight of him, somehow she blamed him for her sons death. His father sulked. John couldn’t bear their deep-set misery, and had to travel half way across the world to rid himself of them and the ghost of his step-brother. John won a card game, and another. He thought of friends from his Rangers squad. One stepped on a land mine while distractedly lighting a cigarette. Another hit by sniper fire. More killed by machine guns. Why had John survived? War had no logic to it. Your life played out like a throw of the eternal dice. John won back his money and left the game. He counted syllables on his fingers. 

Men drift in blue clouds

Chance is thrown to the sea now,

dark eyes shine with greed

He met Lawrence Carmine at the craps game. John was intently watching the ivory die cast over and over again, debating whether or not to bet some money. Two of the Japanese smugglers got in a heated debate over a bet, shouting at each other. The noise ignited a round of parrot cries from a row of spindly birdcages at their feet. Their voices echoed and died in the vast cargo hold, strangely metallic sounding. A man walked over from around the low crate table. He stood near John for a few minutes, occasionally placing money on the gambler on his side. After a few losses he swore and turned to John. “Damn sailors lost me fifteen bucks. There ain’t no justice here on this boat.” The man was lanky, with a sunken cheeks and a small beard clinging hesitantly to his face. He had a slouch, and a sweaty tank top hung loosely to him. John noticed dog tags around the mans neck. 

“You could try the cards.” John said, motioning to the cards table with his head. “The players there aren’t too good. They can’t read each others body language. Different cultures.”

“Nah I’m done for the day. I’ll need to save some money for Japan.” The man said. He scratched his beard and squinted down at the craps game.

“You were in the military.” 

“Yeah for a while. I served in the pacific. I did Guadalcanal and Iwo Jima. You a military guy yourself?” He said, glancing over at John.

“Army Rangers. I fought the Germans.” John heard laughter from the cards table.

“Gung ho and all that? What are you doing all the way out here?” 

“I can’t really say for sure. I wound up in South Africa after traveling in the North for a while. I just go wherever sounds interesting.”

“Huh. Say, let’s get out of here. The tobacco and sweat are invading my sinuses.”   The man said, scrunching his face up in distaste. “I’m Lawrence by the way. Former Sergeant Lawrence Carmine.”

“I’m John.” They walked off into the hold. 

They walked in silence, their slim connection only being the shared bond of experience in the military, and vague memories of home. John showed Lawrence the elephant tusks. He didn’t know why.

“This is a smuggling ship. If we let on we know we’ll thrown overboard.” John said. He toyed with the ivory bit in his pocket.

“Holy shit! And they just let us wander back here where all their loot is? Why did you have to show me this? I was better off not knowing.” Lawrence said. John shrugged. They walked between high crates, some with slats far enough apart to see animal parts. John suspected there were diamonds here too. Hiding just out of sight. He thought he saw a lion head staring glassy eyed, high up on a stack of crates. Strange padding noises wafted from behind them. John had the distinct feeling he was being stalked.

“Why do you want to go to Japan? Don’t you hate them?” John asked. Lawrence was quiet. He stuck out his lower lip and stuck his hands in his pockets. They walked to the far end of the cargo hold, careful not to alert any smugglers of their presence.

“When I fought the Japanese, I was fighting Japanese soldiers.” Lawrence said slowly. He scratched his beard uncomfortably. “I didn’t see Japanese men. Real men. Or women, or children.” He walked for a while with John. They passed a cage with sleeping baboons. “We had to think of the Japanese as ‘them’. Faceless enemies. It made it easier to shoot them. I probably killed the brother of one of these guys here on the ship. Who knows.”

“An idea is easy to kill.” John said, eyes downcast. He had done the same with the Germans. Traveling through post-war Germany was painful. They were individuals there, with hopes and lovers and odd habits. He didn’t stay there long. 

“Yeah exactly. Now I have to see without soldier eyes. I heard Japan is beautiful too. I’ve seen postcards. Pagodas, bridges, temples and all that.” John nodded. He wouldn’t stay in Japan long, but he longed to see Kyoto and its temples. 

Red gates stand humbly

prayer beads dangle down low,

one hundred stone steps

“What are you doing, John?” Lawrence asked, looking at John strangely. John looked down at his hands, fingers splayed and twitching out syllables. He stretched them and put them at his sides.

“It’s an old habit.” John said. Far up in the crates John heard a low animal growl, menacing and throaty.

“What the hell was that?” Lawrence asked, grabbing at his hip as if reaching for a weapon. He looked down and saw he had none. They heard the faint growl again, behind them. John turned around and thought he saw predator eyes flashing in the dark recesses of the crates. He felt itchy all over, a familiar sense of dread and aggression washing over him. He acutely felt the old combat knife hidden in his pocket. They stood for a long moment, then turned and continued down the row of crates.

“So what were you doing in South Africa? It’s an odd route to Japan.”

“You’re a nosy one.” Lawrence said, chuckling. He glanced over his shoulder and his gun hand twitched. “I have relatives down there. They let me stay on their ranch as a hired hand for a while. I’ll tell you, it’s a strange place. It reminds me a bit of the American southwest, but instead of Indians they have blacks.” Lawrence stopped suddenly and bent down to remove an old whiskey flask from his sock. He took a long swig, then offered it to John. John shook his head, and Lawrence awkwardly placed the flask back in his sock. “Don’t want the smugglers begging me for a drink.”

“So you have a girl back home or anything like that?” John asked. They rounded a corner and noticed a sleeping smuggler leaning against a tall metal crate directly in front of them. A wire cage full of brightly colored snakes lay at his feet. They writhed slowly in the dim light. John stuck his arm out to stop Lawrence, who sucked in his breath quietly. They walked slowly around the guard, placing their feet lightly on the metal deck. The snakes hissed. The guard stirred and muttered something in his sleep. Once the guard was out of sight they walked quickly back towards the undulating voices of the gambling smugglers. John thought of how defenseless the guard was against whatever force was stalking them.

“Reminds me of army days. Sneaking around and shit.” Lawrence said, smirking.

“We should slip back into the big group towards aft. We’ll get noticed back here.” John said quietly. He thought he heard paws padding softly on the deck behind him. “And you didn’t answer my question.”

“Oh that, god. Well I had a fiance but we broke up. She found some other guy, a salesman. Can you believe that? A door-to -door salesman with the stupid hat and suitcase,” Lawrence spat on the deck. “Real by the book guy. I punched his fucking 1lights out first time I met him. You have a girl back home then John?”

“No. I’ve had a few women in Europe during my travels there. Nothing that lasted. All I have back home is my family, and the specters of my Rangers unit.” His family who drove him to wander, to seek solace by randomly choosing new lands to travel in. His friends whose ghosts still haunted him, whose remains he still dragged around the world. They arrived back at the card games. No one noticed them return. John looked back into the darkness of the cargo bay that they left. He stared into the gloom but saw no eyes flashing back at him. Lawrence saluted John, tipsy from another swig of his flask.

“I’m going back into the fray.” Lawrence said, looking over at a rowdy card game. The parrots called out human curses in myriad languages. “I could use a little more money for Japan. Just a little more to get some Sake with or something. Will I be seeing you in Japan, John?” 

“Maybe. I won’t be there long. I’ve got other places to see.” He twisted the ivory talisman in his pocket. Elephant visions floated in front of him.

“Like where?” Lawrence asked, nose twitching in the cloud of cigarette smoke.

“I have no idea.”

A card flipped mourns death

secrets of the orient

Confucius says: “see”.