ALLSORTS
Short Stories
By Robert Bennett
Copyright 2014 by Robert Bennett
Table of Contents
Castaway on a model ship
A fish called Rhonda
The Computer Glitch
The Fast Food Addict
The Scapegoat
Haunted by clichés
The Auction
The Shower Guest
Connect with the author
Castaway on a model ship
The bottom of a green wine bottle is a strange place to be. More so if you are the one who emptied that bottle. But it is even stranger when you find yourself occupying the confined space on board a model of the famous clipper, ‘Cutty Sark’. The fact that the model is perfect in every detail is no consolation.
The personal living space on a full-sized trading ship is very limited. It is no different on a model. The cargo always comes first. By and large the crew can make their own arrangements. Nathan Dudd remembered that on most ships, there used to be frequent fights between members of the crew over the better hammocks. But recently, all aspects of shipboard life had changed for Nathan. There was nobody left to argue with, let alone talk to. Now, Nathan could choose whatever hammock he liked. His shipmates had all vanished, along with the captain. Nathan felt very much alone. His former cheerful outlook was becoming gloomy. Lately, he had even been a little short tempered with himself.
Nathan raised his head to look around. The flickering candlelight was just adequate. There was enough soft yellow light to see the outlines of objects in the hold but no warmth to combat the cold, foreboding atmosphere. He felt that he was just part of the cargo, encased within the damp, dark, creaking wood of the ship’s hull. At times the noise sounded like the ship was moaning in pain. Perhaps it also longed to be free of the bottle?
‘How do they get ships to fit inside a bottle like this one?’ wondered Nathan, not for the first time, as the bottle rode higher on a moderate swell.
As yet, Able Seaman Dudd had not panicked. He had ample food and water. However, a full-blown panic attack was probably only a matter of time. Nathan calculated that he had been drifting in the bottle for about two weeks. How he had come to be alone was still a mystery. If his shipmates were responsible then they were a lot smarter than he had previously thought. If it had not been the crew, then who? The Captain? No, Captain Kidney was an honourable man. Firm but fair. Nathan had simply gone to sleep one night and woken up in time for his appointed spell on the wheel. It was around dawn. He went up on deck and found that he was no longer aboard the ‘Racy Lady’. He was on a much smaller ship. A ship inside a bottle.
Nathan dismissed these thoughts and went up on deck. It was a fine day. Nathan began to expend a considerable amount of his remaining patience as he tried to focus his telescope. Meanwhile the bottle plummeted relentlessly from the crest of the wave to the deepest part of the trough. Wave after wave. Trough after trough. Sky, horizon, sky, horizon; it was getting monotonous and frustrating. Hour after hour, day after day, until regular time had ceased to have any real significance. Shipboard routines and duties were always dictated by time. That was no longer the case. As a result, Nathan felt lost in an unstable, irregular world of light blue sky and dark blue water. Clouds provided occasional contrasts but it took an exceptional cloud to break the monotony.
Suddenly, Nathan caught a glimpse of a hump on the horizon. Was it land, a sea serpent or something worse? Two or three sets of waves later, he felt certain that the hump was land. For one thing it did not move. The bottle pitched and rolled ever closer until he could make out some palm trees and a long, golden beach. Nathan crossed himself and prayed that the bottle would hold its course. His prayers did not go unanswered. Soon, the bottle was scraping over a coral reef and it ended up in a tranquil lagoon of transparent turquoise. Nathan could see all kinds of fish swimming below him as the bottle continued to be pushed towards the shore. He watched as the small waves ran away rippling and foaming before spending their energy on the beach. Meanwhile, the bottle was caught up and tossed about as though it was a toy for the waves’ amusement.
Wave after wave carried the bottle forward until it momentarily lay still when the shore wash retreated. Then another wave dashed itself on the beach and the flow of foamy water took Nathan’s bottle further up the sand, to safety.
By now the sun was very hot, so Nathan crept around to the shady side of the ship. Technically I am not shipwrecked, thought Nathan but perhaps I am marooned? It was not the first time Nathan had been abandoned. Once, he had been stranded on an island where he lived all alone for 14 years. Then one evening, a canoe filled with fierce tribesmen arrived. They had a prisoner who they dragged deep into the jungle. Nathan stayed hidden. Several hours later the tribesmen returned, without their prisoner. Some of them belched loudly and the others just laughed as they put to sea.
A few days later, Nathan found footprints on the beach, which were much bigger than his own. Then he remembered that according to the unwritten lore of castaways, a footprint on the beach meant that it was Friday. It had felt good to have a weekend coming up. Soon afterwards he had been rescued by a passing whaler.
Now, as he sat in his bottle wondering how to escape, Nathan thought of writing a note and putting it into another bottle. He could then throw the bottle into the sea where it might be found by a passing ship. But the flaws in this plan soon became obvious and Nathan cursed his stupidity. Besides he had no empty bottles at the ready, aside from the one he and the ship were occupying.
What do I do? What can I do? The questions turned over and over in his mind. Then a solution hit him like a slap in the face. If he could raise the sails, a favourable wind would propel the ship up through the neck of the bottle and dislodge the cork in the process. He would be free! Nathan headed for the poop deck with renewed optimism.
Fortunately a strong wind was blowing from the stern and Nathan spun the wheel hard to take advantage. The ship came about willingly. Within minutes the mighty sails billowed and the ‘Cutty Sark’ moved forward. The pressure in the bottle built up; the rapidly expanding air filled the neck. Then there was an extremely loud pop and the cork was displaced. Very soon, Nathan and the ship were bobbing about in shallow water. Cold spray splashed over his face and Nathan started to grow back to his normal size. The ship was crushed beneath his feet. Nathan was momentarily shocked but the salty tang of the water was refreshing after such a long confinement. Then Nathan woke up. He was sitting, soaking in his favourite deckchair on the sand. A couple of laughing children ran away with their empty pails, they were his own children. As he dried his face and hair, Nathan noticed large footprints nearby. It must be Friday, again. Thank god for the weekend.
A fish called Rhonda
The city teams with life. It is like a great ocean. Within its undulating vastness, the buildings and shopping malls are continents. The parks and open spaces are islands. The movement of people, bicycles and vehicles generates currents that swirl relentlessly around the islands and continents. But there are small havens that defy the buffeting of even the fiercest currents. These are the places where the ocean’s denizens come to feed. They are the city’s reefs.
One such haven is ‘The Grotto’. Pictures of old sailing ships, large colourful shells, fishing nets, green glass floats and other marine paraphernalia make for a sixties era décor that is incongruous with the modern CBD. But loyal regulars love it, and passers-by are attracted by its quirkiness. All of them are hooked by the delicious smells that float out of the café, to linger enticingly in the air.
‘The Grotto’ is not just another brick and mortar coffee bar fitted out in chrome, glass and wood veneer. The myriad layers of this reef have been built upon other things. In
tangible things; like the aroma of good coffee and toasted bagels, the gush and gurgle of steaming hot water, bright, noisy gossip, the low tones of serious conversations, peals of laughter, tears of joy and sorrow, the unspoken eloquence of gestures, scattered crumbs that pay silent witness to meals partaken, the warmth of handshakes, hugs and kisses; given and received. Romances and some instances of deception, or even betrayal, have also added to the strata. Every life’s experience and event has made a contribution. The reef in turn nourishes its patrons; good and bad.
Rocko and his wife, Maria are the popular proprietors. Maria takes care of the smooth running of the business, while Rocko basks in the celebrity of barista extraordinaire. The casual waitresses are all female students; colourful anemones that undulate enticingly in the gentle currents; handpicked to lure customers. Franco is the thirty-year-old son of Rocko and Maria. He is handsome, cheeky and direct, with a mischievous smile. Franco is the clownfish that all the women love to look at. He plays up to their expectations. He makes a quip here, raises an eyebrow there or fakes an exaggerated frown. All of it done effortlessly. All of it calculated to appeal. Sometimes, he utters a sweet word or two for his own amusement, or to