A Pirate's Life

He raised the cardboard tube to his eye, quickly scanned the horizon of trees, and then handed it back to the boy. The tube was only a rough approximation of a cylinder at this point, having steadily degraded once it was liberated from its paper coils. The father kneeled and placed his rough hand on the boy's shoulder.

"I thought we lost 'em, my captain, but it seems they're back on our trail. We best get to scootin' if we want to stay one step ahead of 'em."

The boy reluctantly saw to his bedding and shoved the roll into his sticker encrusted knapsack, muscling it in on top of everything, rather than re-arranging the load. The bedroll stuck almost halfway out and he slid his cardboard telescope in next to it, further pinching the tube. After heaving it all onto his back, it took him a moment to recalibrate his balance. He relieved himself in the bushes (on his first mate's orders) and then returned for his treasure box. With the pack restraining him, it took a few awkward lunges before he was able to retrieve the worn tin. While his father secured his own, much larger, pack, the boy swung the tin box forwards and back, rattling its hidden contents over and over. After securing his last strap, the father started for the trail. Seeing that the boy wasn't following, he gave a quick whistle.

"Ready, lad?"

The boy hesitated, sucked his lip, and shook his head. The father knelt down. The boy shook his head again and his father noticed the black knit cap on the ground behind. He reached past the boy to grab it and brushed the dried leaf crumbs off the skull and crossbones insignia. He pulled the cap down over the boy's head, too far down at first, and then flipped the edge back up. He scrunched his small head with his clawed fingers, teasing a half-smile from both of them.

"Can't forget the captain's hat."

They returned to the trail they were following the night before and resumed their journey. The pair didn't feel much like talking, at first, so they plodded to the steady crunch of dried leaves underfoot. From time to time, the mad dash of a squirrel across the crispy forest floor would get their attention. Coming into a shallow dip in the trail, the father pointed out a fat gray squirrel gnawing a nut on the branch of an even fatter gray tree.

"This part of the jungle is infested with monkeys, sir. We've got to be careful not to anger them, else they might get to throwing coconuts at us."

As if on cue, the squirrel dropped the nut. It bounced off a log, shooting across the trail no more than a dozen feet in front of them. The boy squealed and they burst into a run, putting distance between them and the gray belligerent. Loaded with the packs and jackets, this quickly slowed to a trot and then a quick walk.

"I think we lost him."

They took a moment to rest at a stream further down the trail. The channel's rocky banks were much wider than the small stream that now confronted them. The flow was no more than a few feet wide, but it looked muddy to either side. The boy popped M&Ms while his father examined the stream, peering intently upstream, and then down.

"It looks like they've got us pinned against these rapids, all right. Too dangerous to cross. Hold on. Will you hand me the telescope, captain? I think I see a rope bridge up there."

The boy attempted to restore its cylindrical shape a bit before handing the tube over. The father spied through it up the gradual slope to their left. Then he held it lower at eye level, guiding the boy's head and vision to a fallen tree spanning the channel thirty yards from the trail.

"We're in luck."

They picked their way along the edge of the stream towards the log. The boy slipped once on the unending stones, denting the image of the mohawked and bejeweled black man on his treasure tin. He frowned, double-checked his hat was still on his head and slowed his pace to more skillfully navigate the stones. The footing on the soggy log was a little worse, but the father, staying at ground level, led him across. The boy was hesitant at first but began to giggle once he noted he was actually the taller one now. He laughed even harder when his guide had to take one squelchy step directly into the mud bank while escorting him over. The father feigned indignance and quickly jerked his arm, unbalancing the boy ever so slightly.

"Don't get cocky, kid."

As soon as they were over, the boy wanted to cross back. The father declined and they worked their way back to the trail. As they continued, the pitch gradually steepened and the trees began to thin. The trail wound ever upwards around boulders protruding from the hillside and the footing became a little treacherous.

"We should lose 'em for good once we get to the top. We're the only ones crazy enough to climb a volcano."

Progress was slow. Everything seemed to be heating up: the day, their bodies, and their attitudes. The father confiscated the boy's pack to speed things up. The trail lost tree cover towards the summit of the hill and the first rays of sun began to hit them directly. The father tied both their jackets around their waists and then rolled up the sleeves on the boy's black and white striped shirt, his own neon tank top needing no such customization. He stuffed the captain's hat in his back pocket.

"We can really feel the heat of the lava now, this close to the top."

The trail crossed a very overgrown service road near the old granite quarry. They could continue on their current path, skirting around the quarry, and up and over of the hill, or switch to the road.

"Over the rim, we go."

They switched to the road, trekking out of the trees and into the quarry proper. The sun seemed directly overhead, cooking the exposed stone bowl. Parts of the quarry were sheer vertical gray and red cliff, seventy-five or a hundred feet or more. It would have been quite majestic if not for the spray-painted cuss words and lude drawings sprinkled along its surface. The opposite side of the quarry resembled more of an actual bowl, a natural hillside occasionally missing a rectangular chunk. A dirty, shallow pool formed in the depression of the solid rock floor.

"The lava's a little low this time of year."

They picked their way across to the pool and circled it once. The father skipped a few stones across while the boy thumped them directly in. The pool wasn't particularly wide, so one perfectly skipped stone actually cleared the pool on the third bounce. The sharp follow-up cracks echoed off the walls, bringing a huge grin to the boy's face. Under the direct noon sun, they couldn't stay long, though. The father wiped beads of sweat from the back of his neck, where his brown hair was a little longer and pointed to where a dirt path led up out of the bowl.

"I bet we can find the perfect spot to bury our treasure up there."

They trooped across the baked stone floor and slowly worked their way up the steep slope in tandem. There was a moment of panic when a scraggly, tiny pine tree the father was using for leverage burst from the earth, but the roots held long enough for him to find a new hold. They were on all fours after that but eventually, they cracked the crest of the hill. They were high enough now to survey the quarry and the greater valley extended below them. The father hauled the boy up on to his shoulders to get him even higher. In the distance, they could see the little dots of color that were the houses on the far side of the valley.

"Say goodbye to Port Royal, my boy. We're leaving that scum behind."

They rested on a conveniently clean and flat rock while they split a juice box and the remaining candy cigarettes. They didn't pretend to smoke, just nibbled on the sugar sticks silently. After the snack, they searched for the best digging spot. They both felt it should be close to the crest. Mulling it over, they finally chose a spot between a large rock and a mature tree that didn't look like it was going anywhere. He handed the boy a sturdy stick.

"Go ahead and get to digging, my captain. I'll make sure no monkeys are watching us."

While the boy scraped away at his trench, the father squatted out of sight behind a boulder and defecated into a shallow trench of his own. The unfolded, tabbed rectangle of the candy cigarette box was added to the hole, and then, reluctantly, a sock. He kicked dirt over the whole mess, stopping only when the white of his sock was no longer visible. He returned to the boy, who was still digging.

"Nearly there."

While he waited, he pulled out the contents of the boy's pack. He unfurled the thin sleeping bag and rolled it up again, much tighter. He set aside the makeshift telescope, a plastic cutlass, hook hand, eye patch, and a plain blue shirt. He put the rest of the clothes back into the sack, arranging the bedroll with care so he was able to close it properly. When the boy was done digging, he traded shirts and the black and white striped one joined the pirate pile. The boy transferred the items one by one into the hole, finally topping them with the tin lunch box. The father draped the skull and crossbones hat on top of the box. The boy instinctively reached for it, placing it on his head, despite the warmth. The father didn't stop him.

"Captain needs a hat."

After filling the hole, they artfully disguised their work with rocks, leaves, and twigs. The father handed over his pocketknife, and the boy carved a tiny x into the nearby rock with great glee. Their task complete, they worked their way down the hill. Finding their original trail as it skirted the quarry, they followed it all the way down. It was similarly rocky and slow going, but the way down seemed to work different muscles than the climb up, so it wasn't so bad. Near the bottom, the trail ended at a gravel road running perpendicular to it. They could see a low lime-colored house down the stretch. They had taken

a few steps down the road in that direction when a woman stood up from a tangle of decorative bushes to gaze at them. Her expression was indiscernible under the big wide-brimmed hat at this distance. The father tugged on the boy's pack.

"No, this way"

They crossed the road, instead, and continued into the forest beyond.