From the short story Rough Boys and Treasure Island-- Johnny looked at the balloon. Three seconds earlier he would have never considered sitting in the deck chair. Three seconds later he couldn’t imagine having sat anywhere else. They cut the ground lines and he was off. It may be noted by fans of Stevenson that this was the first time the Hispaniola, carrying Long John Silver and Captain Flint, set sail since her first voyage in 1883. It only confirms my suspicion that such risky occupations such as treasure seeking are not exclusive to any age, be it of man or boy. As the ship with balloon sails ascended, Long John looked down. Two sheriffs were approaching the lift off point and the two remaining rough boys. He shouted down, “Did any of you gentlemen want to have it out with me?” But he never heard their answer. The men, the boys, even massive Spiderman were getting too small now. He could see the whole block, then two blocks, then more. Soon he could see from Alondra to Compton Boulevard. At first he was scared, being up so high. But now everything appeared like a model train set. Look, tiny cars were there. Then there were tiny trees. And look, there was a train too. Everyone knows Compton was on the other side of the tracks, the wrong side. He could see it quite clearly. The only problem was, how could he steer a course for Treasure Island? But not to worry, the wind would see to that. You’d think Treasure Island was out at sea next to Catalina. It wasn’t. It must be inland somewhere, as that’s where the wind was carrying him. It took him up near some big smog-congested people-packed city, then over green hills. That’s when he caught his first glimpse of the island. Yes, that must be it, because couldn’t he see birds? It definitely looked like large pink birds. He turned to Flint, who was still on his shoulder and said, “Ah, “says he, “this here is a sweet spot, this island- a sweet spot for a lad to get ashore on. It’s a pleasant thing to be young, and have ten toes, and you may lay to that.” He took the gun out of his belt, and shot one balloon. He descended slowly, just a bit at a time. Yes, they were tropical birds! They were flamingoes. And there were trees. Certainly trees like that never grew in Compton! And there were other animals too he’d never seen before. It was surrounded by water as any island should be. And there was an open area where he could land. He made another shot as he drifted over it. He came down same as before, and landed with a gentle thump. Now he’d unbuckle the seatbelt and disembark. But he had one problem. His seatbelt was stuck. He thought he had all the time in the world to get it loose but he didn’t, because behind the log right in front of him, just catching his scent, was a full grown male Bengal tiger. What was he doing on an island? Nothing. He wasn’t on an island. He was right in his home in the L.A. Zoo. Mr. Tiger got up to investigate. You can imagine how shocked he was to find a young tender pirate there on his island surrounded by its moat! Mr. Tiger wondered how he’d got there. He wondered again just what was it about this young tender pirate that smelled so good. He decided to find out. Long John saw the tiger. He was too terrible, too big, and much too close for his liking. Right now you probably think the Juan in him was trembling. It wasn’t. The Long John in him wouldn’t let it. He was as cool as a sea cucumber. The tiger got within two feet. His whiskers were as thick as pencils. His eyes glowed like flaming coals. Before John could duck, the tiger let out a terrible roar, and swiped his paw by Long John’s face, knocking Captain Flint off his shoulder. His needle-claws left five marks on his cheek. The boy refused to take any more. He was a Rough Boy. He was Long John Silver. When the tiger finished his roar, he said to him, “Put a name on what you’re at; you ain’t dumb I reckon. Him that wants shall get it.” The Tiger stood down and walked over to the already senseless Flint and pawed him a bit. He wasn’t going to fight. Long John finally got the seatbelt unbuckled. He said to the tiger, who was now rubbing his face against Flint in a most affectionate manner, “That’s your sort, is it? Well, you’re a gay lot to look at, anyway. Not much worth to fight you ain’t.” By this time a huge crowd formed outside the moat. People visiting the zoo that day were there, along with helicopters flying overhead, reporters arriving by the score, and dozens of cops including the swat team in their Hummers. They didn’t know what to do. The tiger seemed completely occupied with Flint, rubbing his face on him, pushing him about with his paw. Long John looked up and saw them staring. It irritated him. They seemed obsessed with wanting to get him out but didn’t want to enter the tiger’s lair to do it. Really they had nothing to fear. The answer was simple as stone soup. Captain Flint wasn’t a real parrot, remember? He was a retired cat toy. Being that, he was stuffed with catnip. Right now he was doing a somersault and a few cute flips in the back of the enclosure. Someone found a long ladder and persuaded Johnny to crawl over the moat. He did, but at the last moment they wouldn’t give him a hand up. “Who’ll give me a hand up?” he roared. He had to shinny over the cement wall, and doing so he skinned his knee. That pissed him off. He stood on the top of the wall and looked at the crowd severely. Being a Rough Boy, and being Long John Silver, he spit in front of them all, right on their precious cement. “There!” he cried, “that’s what I think of ye.” He looked at the swat team’s Hummers. “Before an hour’s out I’ll stove in your blockhouse like a rum puncheon.” They’d never heard a boy talk like this before. They started laughing, all of them, the whole bunch. “Laugh, by thunder, laugh! Before an hour’s out, you’ll laugh upon the other side. Them that die’ll be the lucky ones.” They considered what he said. They considered how he said it. They considered that he’d tamed the tiger and fell silent and respectful. A cop approached him with a blanket, bundled him off the wall, and stuck him into an ambulance thinking he’d gone quite mad. Now you’re probably thinking there was no treasure in this story but there was. It started with the money they got from interviews with CNN. There were the interviews first, for all three of them. That was followed by their appearances on the Tonight Show and Saturday Night live. Then there were numerous book deals, followed by the movie, and finally the television series. All three cashed in on the treasure and shared it equally. And why not? They’d signed articles. In short, the three poor boys from Rancho Domingues became rich. I can’t tell you everything they spent it on but I’ll tell you about one thing in particular. Long John, who was back to Juan now he’d finished the book, bought a wonderfully smart African Grey which he named Captain Flint. He taught it to talk. He gave me a present of a Moroccan bound first edition of Treasure Island he bought at Christies in London. Why me? Because I’m his Gramps of course. I’m older now than I was then and I was ancient even then. I have trouble sleeping at night and have dreams of the whole affair. “And the worst dreams that ever I have are when I hear the surf booming about its coasts, or start upright in bed, with the sharp voice of Captain Flint still ringing in my ears; Pieces of eight! Pieces of eight!” Damn bird. Author’s note: If any of this seems a bit familiar it’s probably because all of Juan’s dialogue is pirated word for word from Long John Silver’s statements in Stevenson’s classic book Treasure Island. I had to admit it now lads and lassies because didn’t Long John once say, “Dooty is dooty, to be sure.”? Sorry R.L.S., but don’t you agree? A pirate ‘tis a pirate, even if he’s a literary one, and you may lay to that. ©Steven Hunley 2011 youtu.be/g6QcgiHmfew Rough Boys Pete Townsend
Posted on: Sat, 29 Nov 2014 06:06:17 +0000
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