The Mail buoy

Standing on the catwalk of the aircraft carrier, Finch stained his eyes looking at a menacing North Atlantic... Even dressed in foul weather gear the icy salt spray scratched at his face and chilled him to the bone. He was rigidly alert searching the dark waters for the mail buoy.

Chief Martin had explained this job to him in great detail. If he missed the buoy there would be ‘Hell to pay’. Finch held the long heavy boat hook in his hands as the dark water undulated just a few feet below his feet.

As he watched the churning water, his mind began to wander. The cold wind tossed his thoughts back to his years on the farm. His world was much smaller then and each day was clear and uncomplicated. Mark was not dense or stupid. Farm life allowed little time to consider the great questions of the universe. Cows made milk, crap, and more cows and every day he had to deal with all of that and the crops. Great thoughts were for those with time to spare. He had none.

Then he got his draft letter and everything changed. No longer was he a human beast of burden now he was – he didn’t know what. But he had made up his mind to face whatever came his way.

Boot camp flashed through his mind and he remembered the shame of his ridicule there, His new nickname “Spud” because he was from Idaho, and the constant taunting. But he made it through all that and now he was Chief Martin’s toy.

He knew the chief hated him but couldn’t figure out why.

Every day was an opportunity for him to make several unforgivable mistakes and Chief Martin made sure he knew it.

What did I do? thought Finch. But he had no answer.

Not being stupid, Finch suspected there was no mail buoy and that this was a prank played on new sailors. But standing on a catwalk in the winter in the North Atlantic for four hours seemed a bit much.

Suddenly a commanding voice said, “Sailor, what are you doing out here?”

He turned to see the ship’s captain standing there looking intently at him.

Nearly dropping the boat hook, Mark came to attention and reported, “Sir, I have the mail buoy watch, Sir.”

“I see.” said the captain. “How long have you been out here on this watch?”

“Sir, I have been on this post for four hours. Sir”

“Who put you on this watch?” asked the captain.

“Sir Chief Martin assigned me this duty.”

“Well, I think you have watched long enough. Give me that boat hook.”

“Sailor, I’ll wait here while you go and tell Chief Martin that I want him to suit up in foul weather gear and join me here right now. Don’t worry about the Mail Buoy. Get going!”

“Aye, Aye Captain,” Martin exclaimed as he left.

Chief Martin had just climbed into his rack. He lay there wondering how Finch was doing. He was chuckling to himself about it when Mark knocked and entered the chief’s space.

“What is it, Finch? Why aren’t you on your watch? I didn’t relive you.”

"Chief, the Captain sent me to get you. He wants you to put on foul weather gear and join him on the catwalk.” Mark said carefully.

“What?” shouted the chief.

“He said right now, chief” Mark said.

The chief got out of his rack and said as he left, “This is not going to be good for you Finch.”

This statement by Chief Martin didn’t surprise Mark. He knew it was never going to be good for him. But he also had learned that when he wasn’t in trouble at that moment he should sleep so he went to bed.

It was four hours later when Chief Martin woke up Martin by screaming in his ear.

“You have gotten me on the captain’s list and I am not happy!”

“But chief the captain came to me I didn’t look for him. I only answered his questions.”

“I don’t care about the details. You got me on the captain’s list and now you are on my list forever. Right at the top.”
Mark knew there was never to be peace between him and the chief. He also knew that the chief owned him and controlled every minute of his life.

Chief Martin was very careful. Every nasty job that he could find he gave to Mark but did it quietly. Strangely, when there was liberty in port Mark always had the duty and didn’t get the time off. But this harassment was done so carefully that no one said a word in Mark’s defense or even noticed that it was happening.

Mark got no rest. He didn’t sleep well even when left alone and didn’t eat much either. He had no friends because no one would cross chief martin by being his friend.

When he was alone Mark sat and stared off into space. If not interfered with he didn’t move. He had taken up residence in a world of daydreams which after a time became the real world to him. In that world, there was no chief Martin. He followed orders without interest or complaint. The waking world was the dream and he slept through it.

But the chief was relentless and couldn’t pass up any opportunity to push on Mark, and when he got no response but compliance from Mark, he pushed even harder.

Weeks went by with little change.

One night when Mark was carrying trash to the fantail with Chief Martin chewing on his ear, He started laughing softly.

“What the hell are you laughing at, you moron!” screamed the chief.

Mark stopped in his tracks and said, “I was remembering that I dreamed you died last night. But don’t worry, I'm very fond of you and would never want to see you harmed in any way.”

“What!?” yelled the chief, “If you are so fond of me why are you laughing about me dying in your dreams?”

With a glazed look on his face and a vacant smile on his face, Mark just shrugged his shoulders and kept walking.

“You stop right there Finch and explain yourself?” yelled the chief.

Mark stopped and turning toward the chief said in a monotone, “I can’t explain my dreams, chief. They just happen and I just wonder. But for some reason this dream made me laugh. I don’t know why.”

“Laughing at a dream where I die. It sounds to me like you hate me.” Growled the chief.

“No, chief. How could I hate you? You hover over me like an angel.” Said Mark trying to suppress a giggle without success.

“There you go laughing again about me dying.” The chief pointed out.

“I wasn’t laughing about you dying I was thinking about what kind of angel you were.” Said Mark in that same monotone.

“And what kind of angel would that be?” demanded the chief.

“Why, the Angel of Death, of course.” snickered Mark.

Hearing this the chief jumped on Mark and began punching him in the face screaming, “You no good hick farm boy, I’ve had all I can take. You’re going to get the beating of your life.”

Mark was on the catwalk and with the winds blowing and the ice cutting his flesh, He saw the mail buoy bobbing just out of reach. The boat hook was just inches from grabbing it. He stretched with all his might feeling the pain of the effort over his whole body. With one last ditch attempt, he snagged it and pulled it to him. As he got it closer he saw Chief Martin's face on the end of the hook. He fell into a dark place - seeing nothing.

Stiring, Mark found himself standing over the chief’s body with a dogging wrench in his shaking hand. He didn’t know what happened. One moment the chief was standing there screaming and punching him then he was a bloody-headed dead mass of flesh.

It was late and no one was in the area at that moment.

Mark threw the wrench over the side of the ship and dragged the chief to the fantail railing. There was no plan in these actions he just did them. His only thought was the chief’s body was just more trash to throw overboard. As the chief’s body fell into the sea Mark chuckled and said, “There will be hell to pay if you miss the mail buoy, chief.”

Then falling on his knees Mark wept.

After an hour or so, he got up and went to his berthing space, and crawled into his rack. A deep sleep wrapped around him.

What seemed to be a short time later he was shaken awake by Jim who had the rack below him.

“Mark, the chief is gone. No one can find him anywhere.”

Suddenly, Mark was wide awake. The sleep he had awakened from made things that had happened the night before seem more like dreams than reality. He could not believe the chief was gone but deep down he knew it was true.

At first, a smile came to his lips, and then the realization of what he had done slapped it away. He wept again, not for the chief but for the farm boy that had also died that night.

Sitting in the day hall in the VA hospital, Mark rocked back and forth on the chair. He had been on the long-term ward for many years. He followed orders but never said much except mumbling over and over with a mirthless smile “There'll be hell to pay.”