My
Journal
By
Harriman Nelson
89
And so
Lee was back in saddle, so to speak, and duty delayed our talk, at least in
private.
Instead
of Chip’s Tuna Surprise and Joe’s Green Bean Casserole for supper, we were all
treated to Thanksgiving Dinner. Not that it was anywhere near Thanksgiving. But
it felt right. And indeed I’d heard several crewmen saying they were thankful
for their skipper being right back where he belonged.
It
didn’t matter to anyone,(at least I didn’t hear anyone complain),that several
of the items on the menu weren’t from scratch. From the dried processed turkey
meat to the packaged stuffing and gravy mixes, Cranberry Sauce, (the kind that
stands upright from the can), nobody cared. This was a celebration. Pumpkin Pie
and whipped cream completed the meal. And they too, had been created from
processed products. (Hey, we’re aboard a submarine; can’t very well store
weighty pumpkins aboard.)
Finally
the meal was over and Lee and I headed to his cabin. Not the one with the paper sign. The real cabin that Chip had
ordered left vacant and waiting for Lee's hoped for return.
“I’m
surprised everyone cared so much,” he said, rather humbled by his reception, as he sat on
his bunk.
“And
why not,” I said. “You’re the heart and soul of this boat, you know.”
“Harry…”
“It’s
true.”
“God,
Harry,” he said as he ran his hand over the bulkhead, “just to feel her…soak
her in. I’ve missed her so much. You know, I feel…a bit drunk with her,” he
laughed quietly, then looked up at me. “I’m sorry for all I put you through. After I
got my vision back, I was just so confused about everything. I should have
listened to you all along. Just think of the time and trouble it would have
saved. Though, I would have finished out Mrs. P.’s tour except for the damn
press hounding me all the time.”
“Anything
I should know about your chat with the White House?”
“Only
that I was invited to a state dinner. Turned it down.”
“Lee…”
“Wasn’t
an official request.”
“There’s more, isn’t
there?”
Lee
looked uneasy and began to pace around the cabin.
“He
wants to give me a medal.”
“Well,”
I slapped him on the shoulder, “you deserve one! From your own country at
least.”
“That’s
what he said. But…Harry, I can’t accept it. It was a joint
operation to bring Ozno down. Besides, I can’t be awarded a medal. I
wasn’t in the Navy or the Reserves at the time. Case closed.”
“Well,
there is that technicality…but you do deserve it. And no amount of whining
about it is going to change that. Now,” I said, giving him a hug, “I didn’t
have a chance to say it before, but welcome home, son. This is where you
belong, and don’t you ever think otherwise.”
“Yeah,”
he said, sheepishly, “I guess I was pretty stupid.”
“No
doubt about it,” I laughed.
“Join
me for a nightcap later, after I make my rounds?” he asked, “Hot chocolate with
marshmallows? Even if it is that instant stuff.”
“Fine.
2300 in the Observation Nose?”
“Great.
Now, if I can only remember my way around….”he teased as he headed aft to ‘walk
the boat’.
When I
reported to the Observation Nose as agreed, there was just one problem. Oh, the
mugs were on the table. Two instant cocoa mixes lay along with spoons, and a
bag of mini marshmallows with a carafe of hot water standing by. But Lee was sound asleep.
I was
also surprised to see Maleficent on his lap, but then saw cat treat crumbs on
his shirt, crumbs that hadn’t joined the ones on the deck. So, Maleficent had
found another patsy in Seaview’s captain.
.
Also
on the table were the scrapbooks that
the crew had compiled out of all their clippings, screen caps, etc. The latest
was of Lee, the skeleton’s hands in his hair.
Just
then Chip and Joe joined me.
“Joseph!”
I hissed and pointed to the picture.
“What?”
Chip asked. “You took this picture, Joe? Kowalski found it online! I thought
belonged to the press.”
“I
only shared it with a friend I swore to secrecy,” Joe said. “ How was I to know
it would go viral.”
“He’ll
never live this down,” Chip said sadly, looking at our sleeping skipper fondly.
“Oh
yes he will,” I said. “Might be embarrassed awhile, but he’ll get over it.”
Then I poured the hot water into my mug, added one of the packaged cocoa mixes,
stirred it a bit, added a few marshmallows and raised it in tribute. “To
Lee Beauregard Nelson-Crane,
lady killer. Even of the dead ones.”
We
couldn’t help laughing.
“He
really must be exhausted,” Joe said as Lee hadn’t stirred.
“A
shame to wake him up to tell him to go to bed. How about we let him bunk here?” Chip asked.
“Don’t
you think that might be a bit distracting to the crew?” I asked, nodding toward
the men at the their stations casting sideways, ( and affectionate) glances
toward him.
“Not a
problem,” Chip said.
“Yeah,”
Joe said, “Lee told me about your tongue. No one aboard would risk it.”
“Part
of my job as XO. Finally," Chip sighed in relief.
“Will the
cat be okay in here with him?” I asked," shouldn't she be back with the
kittens?”
“Oh,
she’ll saunter on back to them when she
knows it’s time. Instinct, you know.”
“I’m
not sure,” Joe said, “she seems to have found another sucker for her feline
affections.”
“The
cat treats are called ‘Temptations’. Lee must have purchased them in Ireland
before he talked the Coast Guard into the carting him to us. I’m sure Mallie
still thinks I’m number one in her life.”
As if
she’d heard him, Maleficent yawned and
after deciding that there were no more treats on Lee’s person, happily jumped
off Lee and looked up at Chip with an inquiring meow.
“Well,
I’ll give O’Brien the conn while I take her back to her brood, if she’ll let
me.”
“You
know,” Joe said as we watched, just watched, Lee sleep, “he’s going to be
embarrassed he bunked out here.”
“Somehow,”
I said, “I think he’ll feel just fine about it. He’s come home.”
“Yeah,”
he said “‘Leave them alone, and they’ll come home, wagging their tails behind
them’. Little Bo Peep must have been a shrink. Well, goodnight sir. Want me to
close the pleats?” he asked as he headed toward the spiral ladder.
“No,
I’ll do it,” I said, leaned over, and kissed Lee on the forehead before I returned
to the Control Room and pressed the button to close the pleats to close off
the Observation Nose.
If I’d
expected the crew to smirk at my paternal display, I’m glad to say no one did.
In fact, as I headed aft, I received several heartfelt ‘goodnight sir’s.’ Not a
sneer on any of their faces.
