“Oh hell.“ And the talking comes right back. Dr. Denman did prescribe him something for that, but he had left all his prescriptions in the glove compartment of the Cutlass.
It’s easy for one to learn how to talk to himself. When one walks down a dark alley at night, a blur in the corner of his eyes can make him ask the wind, “who is there.” It is hard for animals to quell the urge to make whatever noise they can in the presence of fear. A child can imagine being stalked by monsters under the bed, and learn the language of talking to stuff animals. For a navy officer, who happens to be well instructed on how to transform human bodies into unrecognizable mystery meat with a precisely delivered 25 mm round, it is not hard to imagine being on the other side of the barrel. If he also happens to think about it harder, he would realize that eventually he would have to be in front of someone else’s barrel. Anthony, although lacking in artistic talent, has a great imagination. This imagination gives him thoughts, thoughts that must be expel into words, thoughts unwelcomed in a brotherhood that requires from all its member display of fearlessness, thoughts he can only speak to himself.
And so he learns to talk to himself when no one else is around. “that sure don’t sounded right.” “he’s not gonna live.” “I hope that’s not a torpedo coming our way.” And so on.
But somehow, he managed to make it through both tours even with his active imagination constantly playing tricks on him. At the end, the voice Anthony used to talk to himself said, “it is ok, the other guys on the other side have smaller caliber rounds.” This thought allowed him to hold on and finish his tours. This also made him appreciate his position in the world so much better, because the voice had enlightened him that one’s geographical location of birth can determine the difference between his life value as a human being with rights, or just some moving, breathing, soon-to-be mystery meats.
But it also forced his over-imaginative mind to think about what kind of thoughts is keeping the guys on the other side from surrendering. The voice usually has answers for every situation, but the voice never answered that question, out loud anyways.
But now the voice is speaking again.
“A baby this size probably would require some kind of nutrient in liquid forms. Noon now, from where I am, I won’t make town until sunset. I can’t give him or her anything, I have nothing to offer.”
“Put him back!”
Initially he tells himself that someone is probably looking for the baby. But his instinct already told him the moment he laid eyes on that baby. Someone who is careful enough to cloth and put this baby into a floatable basket to make sure he didn’t drown or freeze is a sign that that the original handler of the baby’s wished the baby to become someone else’s problem.
“Jesus, I just found Moses. “ Anthony continues with his rambling.
He is not very good with kids, he never was. Even before the shrinks and the pills, he was never good with being around people who have no idea what they are doing, especially ones that cries and shit on themselves all the time. Dogs on the other hand, he is very good with. It is because what dogs want is just so simple and natural.
He supposed he could just put the basket back into the river. He thought about that for a moment, along with all the problems that would surly arise if he decides to hold onto it. And he thought about his newfound “freedom”.
In a haze of uncoordinated body movements, Anthony finds himself lifting the basket up again, and putting it back into the river. He did this with the steadiest motion his body can possibly maintain, hoping that the baby would not make a sound, and everything can go on as if nothing had happened. With his course to nowhere once again in motion, so is his floating infant friend’s would-be short journey to impending doom.
“Well, let see where these waters will take us.” He mutters to himself.
When he gently let go, the baby made no sound, and grey of Mississippi simply float on. The basket, following the ebb of the current, began to drift away from the boat. Anthony watches as the basket floats away. He still didn’t know what to do. But he began to get this sensation that something is clawing at the bottom of his boat. He sprung up like a spooked coyote. There, on that rowboat that almost capsized but a moment ago, he puts all his senses on alert, in an attempt to locate an external enemy he could return fire at. Finding none. He grows disappointed.
Then he turns to look at the direction of the basket. It is still there drifting further away still in an innocuously steady rate.
He then just realized he haven’t even check if it’s a boy or girl.
Then he heard it, a muffled sound coming from underneath the boat. As if some sort of leviathan had just graze its hide against the bow of the boat.
“Shitty hell, Moby Dick found me.”
Incidentally, Tony already had a counter with Moby Dick once before, or at least he believes he had. Sometimes he calls it Jaws, or Loch Ness. Sometimes he meets other creatures too. But Moby Dick was always the most menacing one of them all. Dr. Denman disagreed with him. Denman told him, with that $60 per hour sincere smile on his face, being trapped inside a sinking ship is different from being swallowed by giant sea monster. Joan never liked Dr. Denman. But she would always come pick him up after his visits to Denman’s office. Every time she when she sees him walk out of the Denman’s door, she would hold him tight for a good minute and not say anything at all. That was the only thing he enjoyed about the visits to Dr. Denman, the few minutes when his mind can shed all thoughts other than the momentary comfort of complacency within her arms.
Then, realizing that it would be too dangerous with Moby Dick in the water. He decided that he should moor the boat for now. Slowly he paddles the dinghy with his center of gravity lowered, hoping it would help minimizing the chance of being throwing off by the next attack. Anthony paddles his floating abode towards the shore. When the Tony got closer to the basket again. Anthony thought about the danger of being out here with Moby Dick. At first, he consider the baby would help distract the leviathan’s focus so he could possibly get away unscathed.
For the strangest reason, Anthony thought of the time when his father had to help him put down his sick dog. He can’t remember the dog’s face, how it sound like when it barked, or the smell of his fur. But he remembered wrapping his tiny arms around the uncomfortably large butt of his dad’s old Remington 700. And hearing the phrase uttered with such grave sense of sullen profoundness, “Ways of the world son, ways of the world.”
Then, at that moment, hearing this phrase playback some 20 years later, made something snap inside Anthony. He open up his eyes, all around him the world is still grey and expressionless. But for some reason, the sound of the river suddenly sound so crisp, it is as if the soundtrack of the world had stop for a moment and reset itself.
He opens his mouth to speak, “I don’t…” and he couldn’t recognize his own voice.
So he coughs and hacks and tries to speak again. This time it sounded more familiar. But it is still different, it sounded more curious and hoarse.
“Boy, I wonder if Moses is a girl.”
Joan had always wanted a girl.
“Ok. fine, you are coming with me. But I am calling you Moses even if you are a girl.” with that said, he extends his hand, in one swift motion, into the running greys once again.
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