The purser crossed the twenty-first name from his list, and the first mate abandoned the search for the killer when his usual sources came up dry even after he loudly offered a crown and a jug of rum as a reward.For some reason, perhaps the improved aim of the passengers, the rat population seemed to have decreased although they could still be heard scurrying through the hold and bilges during the dawn watches. The pair of ambitious apprentices who had been killing, skinning, cleaning, roasting and selling rats for tuppence closed up their forecastle butcher shop.The ship's standard food, monotonous and salty though it was, got no worse except for the burrowing weevils and stranger-legged vermin in the tinned biscuits. Those who liked to crumble crackers into their watery stew came to look for movement before they ate. Although cloudy and acrid, the water supply remained adequate and still fairly palatable, certainly potable. Most of the men had grown to like the taste of citrus and. So Mel threw away his request for vacation, filled out a sick leave form and gave it to his manager, who stared long and hard at his bruised face, and took off for home. That’s when he heard the song, the old soft rock piece from the 70s singing about the woman who shattered some man’s illusions of love. Yeah, that made sense. Just what Nick always nagged him about, living in a dream, an illusion, rather than the cynical stark reality Nick resided in.At home Mel was careful not to open a bottle of anything stronger than a Miller, sipping slow, pacing back and forth and going through a thousand thoughts about Tracy, and Nick, and of course himself. He was sure Nick would be calling Tracy, unsure of just what their relationship was but absolutely sure it wasn’t platonic. Tracy might find it best to not even come over, to toss Mel aside as a screwball nutcase. But if she did show, what should he do? Shrug and pretend nothing really happened? Go to the beach and propose? Rant and rave.
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