Sometimes Suddenly 2

Then before he knew it, Fred jumps aboard the old aluminum ketch. Put to work in a hurry, monkeying with bilge pumps and throwing out junk. Covered in soot and dust bunnies, Fred is squeegeeing a porthole. When his nose wrenches control from his other appendages. Blowing neon green snot all over the freshly cleaned glass in one neck snapping hell of a sneeze. Fred was very upset with his nose that afternoon. Usually considering it to be his ally, arguably his best feature. Large and well formed, with tremendous nostrils perfect for sucking up oxygen and sniffing out scenes with shocking precision. Fred was pissed because neon green snot means one thing. His nose has been secretly harboring a flu virus for days. Now the virus has Fred in a phlegmatic stranglehold. Fred is a ticking time bomb, scurrying to the mart for supplies. Bracing for impact.  

Fred awoke at three, after midnight that is. Shaking and sweating bullets in the muggy Turkish heat. The little forward cabin doubling as a crucible for the young protagonist. Thoroughly cooking Fred into a pile of snot. Fred creaks and groans then finally sloshes to his feet, feebly hobbling for the head. Shivering uncontrollably as he curls up on the half size boat toilet. Spinning around rapidly and barfing up diabolical olive green. Spinning again as the virus insists upon further exodus via Fred’s rump. Back and forth like a sickly sea saw. Until finally Fred wrangles back control of his gastro system. Laying splayed out in the cramped little restroom. He flicks on the shower. Turning up the heat until the handle is cherry red. Piping hot water landing on his shoulders. Sweet relief. Fred’s mind floats off in the steam, as his frame crawls back to his bunk.

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Swirling back into focus laying on hot marble. Wearing a little pair of plaid shorts and talking in a hushed voice to Snizzy. Listening to the roar of a fire beneath the marble floors and a consistent Drip. Drip. Drip. Echoing in the airy stone chamber. Ancient glass skylights filling the chamber with crisp morning light. Hearing the squeak of rubberized sandals enter the bathhouse through a trap door. Two Turks wearing plaid sarongs nod and lead Fred and Snizzy to a marble alcove. Directing in their native tongue for our lovely couple to lay on marble benches. The Turks fill up their buckets from a medieval spigot and stir chunks of soap until the mix is good and bubbly. Reaching into a marble pool, pulling out a little plastic shovel and scooping up spoonsful of water to dump on themselves. The larger of the two Turks dunks a brush into their bucket of suds and heads for Fred.

“Tamam? Ok?” Asks the Turk.

The Turks scrub their horsehair brushes. Soot and gump stripped away as the young couple lays on the marble benches. Buzzing on a heat induced trip, in this far off city of Istanbul. 

The Turks slap cupped hands in unison, echoes bouncing sideways and wideways around the vaulted ceiling. Nodding with grins full of gold teeth. Leading Fred and Snizzy into the main chamber before squeaking back through the trap door.