FlOoD-Part Twenty-Eight

The Wild Justice

TwEnTy-EiGhT

 With the small craft speeding along, now in the darkness and now in milky moonlight, depending on the clouds racing through the sky, Johnson finds himself concerned about the degree of tension gripping his fellow passengers, and the resultant violence. Since music hath charms to soothe the savage breast, he feels it devolves upon himself to bring the disparate members of this small maritime community into some semblance of harmony. To this end, he makes a quick analysis of the varied components he must assemble to create an aquatic Utopia. The man with the urn, which happens to be currently sporting a top hat, seems relatively benign. He's chatting away amiably enough to (or with) his urn. In the center of the boat are assembled a group of people, four to be exact. Two of these seem to be unconscious or asleep. The boy is resting upon the Irishman, who seems to be functioning as a not-uncomfortable divan. The man with the brick is sitting near them. His eyes are open but he appears to be in a stupor. The brick rests on the seat above him but in a precarious state. Someone should do something about it. Johnson is about to gesture and get Wilkerson's attention, when the moon disappears behind a cloud and darkness reclaims the night. As things seem pretty peaceful, Johnson keeps his music carefully neutral until he can complete his observations. Three motionless in the bottom of the boat and one sitting nearby in quiet tete-a-tete with his urn. Besides himself, that leaves three others for examination before commencing his ode to serenity. As the moon reappears, he glances at the brick-man to find his head bowed in slumber and the brick reposing in his lap. The other man in the bottom of the boat seemed to be taking an inventory of the varied objects scattered about him, moving them here and there as though arranging a store display. Whenever he comes across a shard of the broken pot, he calmly tosses it over his shoulder and it enters the water with a plop or a slup. Johnson wonders if the bottom of the boat shouldn't be made rid of all those broken bits so there would be no danger of the sleepers being awakened by a splinter. He figures he can attempt the job without ceasing his musical accomplishments. He quickly lays over the seat in front of him and, while scavenging what fragments he can find in the moonlight, he lets his feet roam over the anvil, producing unusual, but not unpleasant, tones. Wilkerson, taking note of Johnson's task, comes to his assistance and together they make the boat safe for the sojourners of Dreamland. Once Johnson is back at his station, he smiles his thanks to Wilkerson, who returns to trying to find an appropriate place in his arrangement for Jones' gun. Johnson carefully observes the man who became a statue and decides the longer he remains immobile the more peaceable the seagoing community. The man at the prow is his last subject and here he comes upon a mystery. Though not completely motionless like the gunman, this man has stayed in his position, watching the sky and the moon and the water, and aloof from the happenings in the boat.