Stuck on Chaos
Chapter 9

Copyright© 2018 by Old Man with a Pen

Except it wasn’t Japan. Not the part I wanted to visit. Japan is an island nation that is about 1900 miles long ... unless you include the southern island chain. The southern most Ryukyu Chain island nearly reaches 20 degrees south. But it is safe to say that the nation of Japan stretches from about 45 degrees north to almost 30 degrees south. And I wanted the part that has decent seasons. North of Tokyo to south of Sendai That area. (You know... Shogun the book.)

Instead I got the hot sticky parts. My parts are hot and sticky enough ... I don’t need the weather to make it worse. I’ve been here over three years. I ran out of the tiny blue pill after the first month. Prime ... perfectly fertile. No wonder I’m such a bitch. I’ve been protecting my delicate parts.

And I’m at that period in my life that screams BREED!

Preserve the species ... it’s what you’re supposed to do. David is the only decent choice ... and that’s indecent!

So ... we were following a Japanese fishing/trading ship to points unknown.

“David?” I was tugging at his sleeve, “Are you sure we want to do this?”

And David replied in a manner that was truly David. “Of course. He speaks the King’s English. What could go wrong?”

Clueless ... absolutely clueless.

Through the fog the coast neared. A gap appeared. Our guide sailed fearlessly into the gap.

One couldn’t call it a bay. It was a creek but narrow and deep. Around three bends and it widened into a lake ... but one has to squint and hold ones mouth just right to see it. On the port side there was a smattering of stilt houses with an assortment of houses above the beach. Looming overall was a positive castle on the hill. Starboard side were ... not necessarily cliffs ... but rather abrupt hills. The fog was whisping away.

On the sand beach were several boats identical to the one we were following. A group of chattering women were washing garments in the river water. That they had been occupied there for quite some time was indicated by the clean clothes spread on a few of the hulls scattered in an orderly fashion along the strand. There seems to have been a designated washing boulder because the women were vigorously bashing the garments against just one.

Altogether a storybook setting ... Or would have been if it weren’t for a group of stalwarts militarily lined up on the cyprus wharf. Our guide boat was being snubbed to dockside pylons. Ropes were led out to haul the flat-bottomed craft ashore.

“Grace!” David demanded my attention. I gave it.

“No precipitate action. I mean it! Honorable. We’re honorable.”

DRAT! ... self-defense only.

The English speaker directed us to the port side of the wharf. We loosely tied our Knarr to the bollards and prepared to disembark.

Chaos has no moon. Chaos has no tide. This far up river from the ocean the river is freshwater. After all is said and done rivers flow to the sea. To the sea ... to the open arms of the sea.

There’s a reason for saying that. The trader we followed in from the sea? His hull was clean. We could see the barnacles dropping off as the ship was hauled ashore ... freshwater killed. Too bad we didn’t have a flat bottom ... and no cracks about my bottom. Hey! No cracks about that either!

 
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