In honor of International Talk Like A Pirate Day, my hearties, I offer ye a wee story for all ages from the story pirate...
Once
upon a time, there were these two pirates name of Calico Caesar and Barnacle
Betty, and their parrots Flag and Sail. It was actually the parrots, which the
pirates carried for good luck, who introduced these two pirates to one another.
Because one day in Cayo Hueso, sitting on the beach weaving raffia hats while
waiting for another ship to come in to try and sign onto the registry, Flag
recognized Sail.
Flag
flapped around, “Sail! Sail, ahoy! It’s so good to see ya, again, ye old salt!”
Sail
flogged in response (because every sailor knows: flags flap; sails making the
same movement flog), “Why, Flag, my hearty! Gotta cracker, for a dear polly?”
“No,
no,” Flag said, “I hain’t a cracker, but I hear thar’s …’ Squawk!
“That’s
enough of them bad manners, Flag,” said Barnacle Betty. “Watch yer tongue and be a good rogue.
I do apologize, Brother, fer my parrot here.”
Calico
Caesar turned toward Barnacle Betty and laughed, “No worries, Sister, my sweet
Sail as seekin’ treasure that warn’t hers.”
And
all four of them, two pirates and two parrots said at once, “Law of the sea:
finders, keepers, losers, weepers,” and burst out laughing.
So
Barnacle Betty and Calico Caesar got to jawing, and weaving, and soon as you
could say “pickled pete poured out his boots of brine” ten times fast, they
were known throughout the whole port to be thick as thieves, which is really
saying something when you remember this Cayo Hueso was full of pirates.
Then
one day, trouble struck. The thunder and lightning and capsizing winds of the
bayamo, feared storm around Cuba’s shores, had nothing on how the air sizzled
and the features of these two pirates in North Havana turned ugly. All the
other well-meaning pirates backed away, until these two with their parrots on
their shoulders, turned in slow circles in the center of a big circle, where
the other pirates were busy takin’ bets and the other parrots stealin’ swills
of the pirate grog as the fight escalated.
“I’m
tellin’ you, chocolate be the best and true flavour of pie on the pirate ship,”
announced Barnacle Betty, and Flag bounced up and down on her shoulder,
“chaw-klet, chaw-klet, bon-bons, can-dee, truff-les,
chaw-klet!”
Calico
Ceasar wiped his brow and shook his head, “No, No, Barnacle Betty, you’re
wrong. Strawberry is the best and true flavour of pie on the pirate ship,” and
Sail bounced up and down on his shoulder, “Ber-ry nice! Ber-ry nice! Ber-ry bad
and bur-ied twice! Ber-ry nice!”
The
other pirates elbows each other, and bellowed out hoots and laughter. “You tell
‘im, Betty!” or “You’re both wrong, it’s the pumpkin pie that’s best!” or “Gee,
I could really use some pie right about now!”
But
Barnacle Betty stepped in very close to Calico Ceasar, and looked him dead in
the eye, “You dare to call yourself a pie-rat. You know nothing about pie! The
problem with strawberry, and the reason it never can be the true flavour of pie
on a pie-rat ship, is the crust! It gets all soggy, and who ever heard of
pie-rat pie that needed a bilge pump!”
Sail
bounced up and down on Calico Caesar’s shoulder and shouted, much to his
dismay, “A hit, a very palpable hit!” Flag flew around both pirates feeling
victory under her wing. But Calico Caesar hadn’t survived marooning and mutiny
and serving under a captain sharp for nothing. He leaned closer to Barnacle
Betty and growled, “You landlubbin’ pop-tart sneakin’ fizzy tizzy! You’re
mockin’ the name of Pirate! You don’t know the first thing about pie, let alone
the kind of pie a true pie-rat seeks, after weeks of nothin’ but salt beef and
salt cod and salt mystery meat, a true pie-rat wants strawberry pie – and if
that isn’t possible, a true pirate like a bit of rhubarb-strawberry pie with a
flaky crust, and steam just rising from the lattice work.”
Barnacle
Betty nudged Calico Caesar and crowed with laughter. “Show me proof of such
pie. I can whip up chocolate pie in a pan, off the main mast, and wi’ yer
mama’s approval. But I don’t believe,
have never seen, let alone smelled, tasted, or heard tale of such pastry of
which you speak!”
All
the other pirates gasped or laughed. Now this fight was a matter not of taste,
but of belief, and the accusation of
a lie had whipped through the air, the cat out of the bag indeed, and you could
smell the tension in the air just like you can smell the ozone in the air just
before a lightning strike.
When
all of a sudden, a funny creature wearing a rusty black coat and some worn
stocks, and clutching a copy of the Dread Pirate Robert’s Rules of Order to her
breast, broke through the edge of the crowd. “Wait, wait, my brother, my
sister!” she called in the querulous voice of the preachin’ pirate, “My sister,
my brother, we’re all Jamaica Disciples here, all signers of the great
universal pie-rat code, all of us pie-rat-ists!”
“Aye,
aye,” murmured the general assembly round
Calico Caesar and Barnacle Betty. “Aye, aye,” squawked Sail, and “eye
for eye, tooth for tooth” squawked Flag, until Sail gave him the evil parrot
eye and sent him along with the rest, “Aye, aye, all of us pie-rat-ists!”
“What
does the code say, Sister?” asked Barnacle Betty, never letting her eye off
Calico Caesar.
“What
does the code say, Sister?” asked Calico Caesar, never letter his eye off
Barnacle Betty.
“We
turn,” announced the preaching pirate, “to the portion of the code what deals
with wittles.” And all the pirates all around got really quiet, because if
there’s something pirates have respect for, it is the Pirate Code, elsewise
they wouldn’t be called Jamaica Disciples, where that Code was first worked out
and published.
The
quiet went on a long time, as the preaching pirate turned page after page.
“Maybe it’s here,” she muttered, “oh where did that dogsbody get off to!” and
so on as she turned page after page, coming to the end of the book and shaking
it, and then an idea hit her
upside the head like an oar springing out of an iron sick oarlop.
She
turned to page one of the code.
“Principle
five,” she intoned, “observes what we do things not this way, but with
democratic practice! And what wins shall be how all follow no matter how any
voted!”
“Election!
Election!” intoned the parrots of every pirate, creating quite a cacocophony.
“You
have heard in favour of chocolate and in favour of strawberry already. Are
there any other candidates to be
named from the floor?”
And
a whole host of pie-loving pie-rats lined up to speechify about their favourite
flavours of pie. Tears were shed as tales of tender crust were told, and teeth
gnashed about salt mistakenly substituted for sugar and broken custards, and
weevily pie. Finally the time came for voting, as the parrots chanted “ber-ry
nice!” and “chawk-let” and a few mentioned “pump-kin” and one parrot shouted
“quince,” but he did always have to be different.
The
preaching pirate counted out the tallies and stepped into the center. “My
brothers and sisters, we are indeed pie-rat-ists, for we care very deeply about
our pies – no offense intended to hand pies or shallow tarts, of course. We
are, universal pie-rat-ists, and the winner is…..the winner is….”
And
then the preaching pirate looked round the circle, “Actually, all this
practicing democracy has made me very hungry. Anyone else feelin’ a bit peckish?”
The
pirates all cheered aloud, for many had discovered the rumbly tummy, and they
left the field of battle, clapping each other on the back, trading pie recipes.
Barnacle Betty clapped Calico Caesar on the back too, nearly knocking Sail off
his shoulder in the process, and said, “Can we agree to disagree on the matter
of pie, friend, and seek the happier subject of chowder?”
“Aye,
Barnacle Betty, we can disagree in love for chowder’s sake, if I can have yer
little packet of crackers at lunch.”
“Fair
enough, friend,” she agreed, and they traded the secret chalice handshake of
the universal pie-rat-ists, and went to lunch.
Just remember, all you pie-rats: what yer flavour of pie matters less than whether we make enough for pie for everyone.
