7. He gets to know a little about his deck buddy.

As the little tug steamed down the bay, the routine came to a relaxing, slow pace. The two deck hands smoked and rested a little, occasionally checking on the captain to see if he needed a drink or a snack, or even a break from the wheel. They pointed out boats they liked and buildings they recognized. The conversations were fairly idle until the lad finally asked Bobby about his fingers.

“Well?” he started, “You know those cranes in the yard? That’s what done this to me. I was helping the old man do some pick-ups around the deck barges and things was going pretty well. The brakes don’t work so good on the hook cable’s brake and I had my hand on top of a post to keep my balance while I bent down to pick up a strap. The old man saw that I had the strap in hand and let the hook fall to bring it down to me so I could hook that strap up. The hook fell and hit the post that my hand was resting on. When I stood up, I saw that my finger tips were trapped under the pile of big chain links that weight the hook on the end of the cable. Lucky they didn’t pile on my whole hand.”

“Wow. You’re lucky you didn’t lose the fingers. Couldn’t the doctor do anything more for them?” asked the lad.

“Ahh!” Bobby waved the question off. “The old man’s doctors are quacks. He didn’t do a thing for it but clean it up and give me some bandages and ointment. They said I waited too long to come down there and the healing had already started this way. I was only a week late. They could have tried something else. They’re supposed to be doctors, ain’t they?”

The lad had been listening but was thinking about his own matters at the same time. He began to wonder if he were going to be safe here. He knew that a small company might not have the some kind of benefits and services, but he expected to be taken care of if he were hurt. What he really pondered was the character of the characters he would be sailing with. Again, he had some doubts about his career selection.

“I gotta know,” said the lad finally. “Why didn’t you pull your hand out when the chain started piling up on your hand?” He half expected Bobby to come back sharply in defense of his seeming lack of common sense.

“I would have, but I can’t feel ‘em no more.” Bobby wiggled his deformed fingers in the air while he said this. It was like he could show the lad how very little feeling he had in them by waving them around in front of his face.

“Ya see?” he continued, “I was out late one night and the bars closed but before they threw me out the bar maid sold me a bottle of vodka and I didn’t want anyone to see me with booze in the yard so I slid it down into the sleeve of my coat and off I went.”

He breathed, finally. Then he continued.

“I didn’t have no trouble with the locals, you know, because they couldn’t see the bottle. They’d have rolled me again if they knew I had that on me. They know I ain’t got much money that time of the week. Anyway, I got to the fence and it was no problem getting’ over it but when I jumped down, I hit the ground funny and I had to run for a bit to try and keep my balance. Well. That’s when the night went to shit. I fell down and the bottle of booze broke in my sleeve. If that weren’t bad enough, some of the glass went into my arm and I think it cut some nerves or somethin’, because I couldn’t feel my finger tips after that.”

He finished the account in a very ‘matter of factly’ way and then turned to the task of lighting another cigarette with his fingers. His hexed and jinxed fingers.

The lad was amazed. How could a guy let so much happen to him with the apathy he appeared to have for the situation. He injured himself twice. Gravely. Yet he treated it like just another bad day. Get help. Why didn’t he get some help?

Later, he went up to see James. They talked for a few minutes about idle subjects and then the lad was able to bring up the subject of Bobby. He eventually offered and opinion, “I don’t understand why people would let that happen to them. I guess the most disturbing part is how others can stand by while it happens around them.”

James looked at him and could tell that he should say something important. All he could think of was, “Look. I know it seems rough to let these guys tear themselves up like that but it doesn’t do any good to help them out too much when they won’t take the help and try to improve their situations.”

The lad stared back at him for a few seconds saying nothing. James knew he had to elaborate. “Bobby is a nice guy. He’s a good hand and the old man needs good hands. That old man lets him live on the tugs for next to nothing. He practically feeds him and does what he can to keep an eye on the guy. But all Bobby does is drink, smoke that damn crack, and mess with those ol’ black whores from outside the gate. He brings them back to the boats too. We probably lose more food to them than to Bobby.”

He concluded, “Bobby is another of the long line of hands that you’re going to see around these little outfits. They come, they work some, and then they go off to the next place to scrape out a living. You seem pretty straight up and I know you care about the guy, but you may want to keep a little room in your channel around him. Ya know? Help him the best you can, but I think it will be easier if you just keep your own job on course. That’s been my experience.”

The lad looked back at James and he could see that he was probably a pretty responsible guy. He was clean and neat in appearance. He had on good clothes for the job he was doing and for the most part he was very articulate even when speaking with his thick historic accent of the state, his home.

James broke his concentration. “There’s the bigger boat. Go get Bobby and tell him to come up. We have to make a plan for this make-up.” The lad nodded quickly many times and headed down to gather Bobby. It was time for more work in his little tug.