My Journal
By Harriman Nelson
22
“I don’t think Lee
would mind
you asking him to come home, sir,” Chip told me over supper in
my cabin.
“How did you know about
that?”
“Chief Sharkey, well, he
said that you’d said...”
“No need to go on.
Actually, Chip, it was the president’s idea. Not mine. It’s just...Lee’s in very real danger...I also told
Sharkey that I wouldn’t consider asking
Lee and that he wouldn’t do it anyway.”
“Ah. It kind of got lost in
the translation then. Want to see the latest broadcast? Might be a little on
the grainy side under all this ice...”
“As long as I can see that
Lee is all right, I don’t care how bad the reception is.”
We switched between CNN, Fox News, and
the BBC, which was almost almost to the end of their broadcast when their anchor
began, images behind her.
“Mrs. Piccadilly’s Culinary
Tour arrived in Bordeaux, France after a tour by train of the beautiful
countryside. The most famous members of the group, Captain Nelson-Crane and
Commander Jackson, enjoyed a private two hour walking tour of the city which
lies alongside the Garonne River. They stopped now and then at quaint outdoor
cafés and bistros for refreshments such as what else, French Onion Soup with
toasted Baguettes, that’s the traditional French bread. They also enjoyed some
of the area’s museums, most supplied with audio descriptions of the exhibitions, before rejoining the rest of the
group which was sampling the area’s
famous Foie Gras, wine and cheese. The culinary delights were followed with
Caneles, or what you would call small cakes soaked in rum. Despite the heavy
calories so far incurred on the tour, neither the captain nor commander appear
to have put on any weight, which is surprising as both were seen to have second
and third helpings.
"Tomorrow the tour group
will be traveling to Paris to experience the Louvre and ride up to the top of
the Eiffel Tower. Fine dining is to follow at the Taillevent, considered one of
the finest restaurants in the world. Bon Apetite!”
“Why the frown, sir?” Chip
asked as he turned off the monitor.
“I saw the same man from
Germany at one of the bistros behind Lee. The president showed me a picture.
He’s one of Ozno’s friends. And there’s someone else with him now...”
“So, Lee’s really getting
Ozno
riled.”
“I’m afraid so. Chip, can
you get any more speed out of Seaview?”
“She’s at flank now.”
“Lee can sometimes get her
to move a little faster.”
“I’m not Lee, and she knows
it...”
“Ask her, Chip. Tell her
it’s for him.”
“Right away...and Admiral?
I’m not sure what we can do for him, even when we get to the North
Atlantic...we haven’t exactly been called up by the Navy.”
“No, but we can be close by.
Just in case he needs us...”
“I’ll have the flying sub
at the ready too, and Doc on full alert.”
“By the way,” I sighed and
poked the giant pretzel, “ these are terrible.”
“I’m afraid Cookie just
didn’t get the hang of it. The Wiener Schnitzel either. Sharkey told him he’d
have done a better job.”
“I suppose we’ll have to
finish both just to let Cookie save face.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll be back
shortly. I have to kiss the boat and tell her we need more power, as ordered.”
“It’s for the best, Chip.
And for Lee.”
“That’s the only reason
I'm going to do it.”
And so, a little while
later, after Chip had returned from his errand, Kowalski, drafted to pick up
our plates, arrived and found them empty. I could tell he was
surprised.
“You, um, liked supper
sir?” he asked.
“Delicious!” I lied.
“Yes sir...I’ll let Cookie
know.”
“You weren’t fond of it?”
Chip asked, pretending to look shocked.
“Oh, uh, yeah, yeah, it was
great sir...”Ski pretended, then, "um, sir? They just had a broadcast about the
skipper...what’s Foie Gras?”
“Foie Gras is fatted duck
liver pate’,” Chip said. “Served cold or hot, if hot usually with a duck
sauce.”
“Tastes kind of like chicken livers
then?”
“Somewhat, only 100% better. Quite a delicacy. Very expensive too.”
“You’ve had it then? Cookie
can’t mess it up much?”
“We don’t have any duck
products
in stores, Ski, so it’s a moot point.”
“That’s a relief. I mean,
er...”
“Perhaps he’ll try his hand
at it when we return to Santa Barbara,” I said.
“Uh huh, yeah...only, well,
maybe the Chief ought to show him how...”
“I don’t know if Chief
Sharkey has ever prepared Foie Gras.”
“Well, maybe they got
frozen stuff at the grocers....” And with that he took our plates and left.
“Have you ever tried it,
sir?” Chip asked.
“Oh yes. My parents and
grandparents served it at dinner parties. I wasn’t too partial. As I got older,
I found I liked it. It’s duck itself that I don’t like. ”
“The only time I had duck, sir,
was when
my brother had gone duck hunting and it tasted fishy to me. Of course, the
buckshot in it might have made a little difference too. I’m willing to try it again, if
it’s at a French restaurant and the chefs know what they're doing. How about it? My treat,
for both you and Lee, when we're all back in Santa Barbara?”
“You’re on.”
So,
Lee will be in Paris tomorrow and Seaview should be emerging from under the ice
cap. That is, if she responds to Chip’s kiss and urgings. Somehow I think
she’ll do her damndest. Like she always does, for Lee.