On the Excessive Maritime Presence of Virulent Reptiles, a Most Curious Aversion of Citrus and the Unique Properties of Rotten Eggs
"Are you certain it will hold, Amram?" said Zelikman wearily. Fatigue showed in his baggy eyes, for he was a clear victim of seasickness and the turbulent waters were not helping matters.
Amram gave it a solid push. Despite the rocking of the ship, it held. He smiled.
"I do suppose it will!"
The Pungi flute rang and in cue to its reptile-charming melody, the door slammed, nearly tossing aside the piles of furniture and crates Amram and Zelikman had placed as a makeshift blockade.
Outside, the many rude and unwelcome visitors of the passenger compartment - hundreds and hundreds of vicious vipers - slithered and pushed on the door, eager to break in and to sink their venomous fangs on the two humans (besides their musically adept master) that remained alive aboard the adrift vessel.
"A fine detour in the Mediterranean you got us in, Amram!" Zelikman screamed as he pushed against the wall of furniture and spice crates.
Amram grunted and pushed as well. "Pray tell, Zelikman, how was I supposed to foretell such unfortunate chain of events?"
Indeed, how were you supposed to do so, Amram? Zelikman thought mockingly.
The loud and troublesome discussion between the pompous (and now dead) merchant - who had hired them both at a mediocre wage as part of a small mercenary force as protection against maritime thievery (of which only now they remained) - and his vile-looking rival, was not eyebrow-raising at all.
Neither was the presence of shifty-eyed cloaked men (spread all about the merchant district of the Serbian port) particularly noteworthy nor the fact that soon after said argument the rival merchant faded into the shadows of the alleyways, followed by a considerable retinue of the incognitos.
Oh, and who could forget? The last-minute additions to the ship's cargo. A couple of tightly shut spice crates that if one were to ignore the constant bustling of the port (and the foul smell of rotten eggs from one of the nearby boat merchants), would be able to hear the slightest sound of slithering and the very occasional hiss coming from inside the wooden boxes.
Naturally, no one else had questioned the latest additions to the merchant's inventory. Not the coin hungry merchant, not the apathetic, underpaid crew, or the greenhorn mercenaries, one of which appeared far more secretive than the rest - his cloaked figure notwithstanding - and who held the newly arrived crates in high regard (and was now controlled the army of vipers through musical expertise), and especially not Amram.
It came to no surprise that the Abyssinian cared little for all the signs of bad omen (subtlety be damned). After all, it was his fault that they found themselves in the need of desperate employment and as long as expenses were covered, he could have cared less.
Indeed, Amram, how could you have known? Foolish of me to put faith into the foresight of a man who wages all our riches while drunkard, on a few games of Shatranj-
"Zelikman! Now is not the time for daydreaming!"
Zelikman snapped out of his seasickness-induced daze and slammed on the barricade. "Fine words coming from the man who put us in this situation in the first place!"
"Goodness gracious, Zelikman! I already told you, how could I have foretold our plight?" Amram grunted as the wall of crates and furniture creaked, rattled by the strength of the viper horde.
Zelikman glared daggers at his companion. "Precisely! Foresight truly is an impossibility for the likes of you, Amram. A far too kind benefit of the doubt, drunken or otherwise!" his face turned beet red, from both the effort of keeping the vipers at bay and shouting a mouthful while doing so.
Amram managed a strained smile. "Live life at the moment, my dear friend! Remember that!"
Right when Zelikman was about to respond in kind to his companion, the tune of the Pungi flute rose with newfound, invigorating ferocity and with it, the strength of the vipers grew at an alarming rate.
The creaking of wood and the ear-splitting hissing became downright unbearable for the duo, nearly as much as the unrelenting might of the Snake Charmer's servants. Amram and Zelikman took in sharp breaths and held on through sheer adrenaline. Every moment passed on as if an eternity (more so in the case of the cold-sweated Frank), for they knew that at the slightest miss-step death would not come knocking, it would crash in unwelcome.
Zelikman grit his teeth, his joints creaking and brain swimming. "If we perish, Amram, then let the assassin's tale of flaunt spread far and wide! So that every soul, in every backwater corner of the known world knows, unequivocally, that the demise of the colorful pair was the Abyssininan's blame and his alone!"
Suddenly, the vipers ceased their battering ram duties of the door, despite the tune of the flute clearly commanding otherwise.
Zelikman gasped, plopped down on the floor and contemplated on the whimsical creativity of the forces that be. Meanwhile, Amram chuckled and wiped the sweat off his brow.
The Frank, staring flatly at the Abyssinian, too cleaned the cold wetness of his face (with his prized hat no less). "Do tell me, Amram, what is it that you find so amusing? It is the second time we have had to push ourselves to our utmost limits in order to escape with our dear lives, and I do not trust our odds on the likely third."
Amram shrugged. "You undervalue the healing properties of mirth, my good friend."
Zelikman held back a hurl. "…And you hold nonsense in high regard," he grumbled.
Amram smiled and shrugged. "Regardless, I have to agree with you on the likeability of our demise, should we attempt to exert ourselves thrice. Perhaps it is best that we try to-"
"No, Amram," Zelikman interrupted, clutching his head in pain. "We are not attempting dialogue with the man, for the moment we step outside that door in parley will be the moment those scaly beasts swarm in and make skewered tartare out of both of us!"
Amram hummed. "Then what do you propose, my fellow of boundless hindsight?"
Zelikman huddled on the floor and turned his back on Amram. "That you leave me be and cease getting under my skin with your boundless idiocy. If I am to die at sea then at least grant me the privilege of doing so with some peace of mind!"
Amram's eyes suddenly brightened and began to dart about, seeking indentations, cracks, and faults of any sort around the room, trusting the greed of the now-deceased merchant to extend not only to the underpayment of his crew members but the maintenance of the vessel as well.
His eyes stopped at a large, faultily placed set of planks, sunken further by the crate of citrus fruit that laid on top. He grinned.
"Bless you, Zelikman! Oh, bless you, you providential devil!"
Zelikman shuffled about and scratched his back.
Taking his friend's silence as a probing question, Amram continued. "Under the ship's skin, Zelikman. That is it, the key to escaping this plight!" He went over and carefully removed the citrus fruit crates. "One of us must venture under the planks, make his way to the opposite end of the vessel, and enter the merchant's chamber through…well…um…"
Zelikman coughed.
Amram snapped his fingers. "Yes, of course! Another set of these loose boards (which there must be in all likelihood I hope). With that done, all that that is left would be to sneak up to the Snake Charmer on the deck. Having placed his entire army of vipers guarding our door, the man should be virtually defenseless against a good and proper backstab," he beamed. "Now, who shall have the honors then, my good fellow?"
Zelikman looked back, stared dully and turned his back on Amram.
"….Alright, me it is then!" Amram removed the planks with ease and without fuss, given the frankly outrageous lack of nails. Good heavens, one day of bad weather and we all might have perished, Snake Charmer or otherwise…oh well, no time like the present! Amram thought as he brandished his trusty axe and climbed down the hole.
"Fret not, Zelikman. I shall return in the blink of an eye!" his voice echoed as he wandered inside the ship's interior.
Hearing his companion's footsteps recede, Zelikman scratched the back of his head and sighed.
"Go defile yourself, Amram."
Amram tiptoed around the haphazardly built corridor of nail-lacking wooden beams, using whatever light crept in from the many, tiny openings of the ship's hull to guide himself throughout. His nerves rose with every step he took, for he knew full well that death slithered above deck. All those vipers would no doubt be very attentive, and most likely unforgiving, to the slightest of his possible missteps, and the thought of failure alone made a void in his stomach.
Feeling his stress rise to unmanageable lengths, he paused, took a small breath and whisked all those pesky thoughts away, courtesy of his ever-dependable optimism! It was one of the main qualities in his fellowship with Zelikman after all so that whenever the Frank gave up hope it was his duty (as the ever-unwavering one) to brave through the uncertainties of their countless plights.
He exhaled, now fully relaxed. "It will all soon be but a happy memory!" He whispered to himself, or so he thought.
A stray wave struck and shook the ship, letting in some much-needed sunlight to illuminate Amram's path forward. He saw little, but that alone was enough for his heart to sink and for the void in his stomach to return with a vengeance. The hissing sent him running.
Zelikman groaned. The vipers had yet to respond to their master's command but the flute kept on playing regardless, and though the melody lacked the same strength as before, it mattered little to Zelikman and his head-splitting migraine.
"What is keeping him so damn long?"
Amram leaped from the hole, his face stricken with terror. In frantic succession, he grabbed the pile of planks, covered the hole and placed as many citrus crates as possible over it. As soon as he placed the last of the crates, a loud impact shook them all and he pressed on against the combined strength of the viper horde below.
After excruciating seconds, the deadly tug of war finally came to an end. Amram huffed and looked back at Zelikman with bulging eyes.
"Confound the excessive presence of these accursed reptiles, aboard this god-forsaken vessel!"
Just as Zelikman was about to answer his companion with an appropriate dose of sadistic humor, the tune of the flute (which had lowered considerably over the course of the Abyssinian's now failed mission of subterfuge) rose once again with newfound ferocity. The barricade on the door and the covering of the hole shook violently and moved, enough to give the vipers the smallest of openings.
Amram and Zelikman reacted as fast they could, but as soon as they fought back against the reptillian battering rams and closed off the openings, several vipers had already managed to slither inside.
With one hand holding their respective barricades, and the other wielding their weapons, Amram and Zelikman fought each against a dozen or so vipers. They dodged their dripping fangs by a hair's breadth and countered with powerful cleaves and precise skewers, all while holding off the outside forces.
Soon the intruding vipers fell to Amram's ax and Zelikman's lancet, but the pressure of holding the barricade grew too much to handle. The planks and the door slowly, but surely, began to creak open and the duo knew that their fates were sealed.
Then, at that moment, the Snake Charmer coughed and hacked, cutting the tune and the horde's charge to a halt. The fit went on for quite some time, and as it died down Amram thought it fitting to resort to some good old cordiality. What else is there to attempt? He shrugged internally.
"Nasty fit you seem to be having, eh? I do not suppose you might be in need of some refreshments?" Amram asked aloud.
Zelikman stared at Amram with a look of pure disbelief. Amram winked. A large vein popped in the Frank's forehead.
The Snake Charmer outside coughed some more, before composing himself.
"Uh…," he hacked quietly. "Yes, that would be…um…most kind of you!"
"Shall I bring you a remedy for your parchedness, my good man? Perhaps then, minds and throats refreshed, can we settle for a more peaceful arrangement as civilized folk, if you would prefer it so that is," Amram asked with impeccable manners (and ignoring Zelikman's soul-piercing glare as impeccably so, both virtues gained through years of practice).
There was a pause. "…Oh…o-of course, sir. I wholeheartedly agree with your proposition, you are definitely most kind!"
"Cordiality? Cordiality!" Zelikman hissed lowly. He stumbled towards Amram and clasped his hands around the thick neck of his companion. Both a strangling attempt and an exercise in futility.
"For God's sake Amram, why must you force me to savagery with your ineptitude? We do not even have any water left! You. Drank. It. All!"
Amram grabbed his friend by the shoulders as one would a rowdy, struggling child and sat him down on one of the citrus crates. The vipers peering in from the hole on the floor and the door watched intently.
Amram removed Zelikman's hands. He grinned. "Wait and see, I shall give what he wants and kill him by shoving the damn thing in his throat, or cleaving him in two if need be," he whispered in Zelikman's ear. He stood up. "Oh, and I am sorry to say that you are sadly mistaken. I gave you all my water, Zelikman, lest you have forgotten. I would never leave you unattended, so that you cannot blame me for."
With care, as to stay out of the biting range of the inert vipers that surrounded the citrus crates (and ignoring Zelikman's mumblings), Amram searched for the juiciest orange he could find. Once he did, he backed away from the crates and wary reptiles and pulled out his wineskin. With a mighty squeeze, he deposited all of the orange's contents inside and gave it a good shake.
Amram walked towards the door and stopped short of the viper's range. After a short tune of the Snake Charmer's flute, the reptiles slithered aside. He shivered and looked back at Zelikman.
"Wish me luck!"
"No, fuck you."
Amram ignored that too.
"Bitch."
Amram sighed.
The short walk on deck towards the Snake Charmer was dreadfully quiet for the poor Abyssinian. Never one for selective fears even he, however, could not deny his distaste for all things slithery, venomous, tongue flicking and slit-eyed, and almost everything around him at that moment fit that very description.
Pleasant thoughts, Amram. Pleasant thoughts. Amram repeated to himself ad nauseam.
Midway through his odyssey of a stroll, the flute rang. In the blink of an eye, Amram dropped his mantra and wineskin and brandished his concealed axe. With a sprint powered by desperation, fear and raw willpower, Amram reached for the door and thrust himself inside the chambers, leaving a trail of cleaved viper heads behind.
Amram slammed the door, but the vipers slammed back. He glanced at Zelikman, who was now fighting off the reptiles barging in from the hole on the floor. Despite this, however, Zelikman's judgmental stare never once strayed away from him (and neither did that affect the accuracy of the Frank's skewers).
"Ha! You fools! How could you have not foreseen such a clear blunder?" He coughed and laughed. "Worry not, I shall make justice of your amusing tale by spreading it far and wide, as far as the eye can see and as wide as your sheer stupidity!"
The Snake Charmer did not even bother to look at or smell the contents of the wineskin. So entranced was he in his thoughts of premature victory and the desire to quench his thirst that he downed it all in a single gulp. He gasped in relief, licked his lips and prepared to play his melody, or rather, a ballad, the man thought, one most fitting for a duo of foolhardy simpletons, awaiting their inevitable demise.
Amram and Zelikman braced themselves as they heard the first note, but the tune did not go further than that. The Snake Charmer began coughing again but far more severely this time. Seeing the vipers taken aback by this just as much as they were, Amram and Zelikman opened the door without any signs of aggression. There they came upon the Snake Charmer, convulsing on deck.
The cloak that covered the man's face laid on the floor beside him, revealing a swollen mess of a face that pleaded for help, but as soon as the duo attempted to move toward him, the man moved no more.
Every living being aboard stared silent and utterly dumbfounded at the fallen Snake Charmer.
"…Zelikman." said Amram.
Taking his companion's cautious words as a probable inquiry regarding the Snake Charmer's abrupt demise, Zelikman scratched his chin and hummed thoughtfully.
"Perhaps an adverse reaction to the drink," his eyes lit up and he scratched his chin. "He did show some degree of aversion towards the citrus fruit crates now that I recall, did you notice that…no who am I jesting of course you did not-"
"Zelikman."
"What? Was my post-mortem diagnosis not to up to your standards, whatever those could be, Amram? In case you have forgotten, which case I would not be surprised, I am also afflicted myself! Not only with seasickness, mind you, oh no, but with a severe case of inadequate company! What? What is it now? Speak up, you lout! Cease tugging at my garments you foresight-less son of a-"
Amram pinched Zelikman's lips tight shut. Zelikman screamed muffledly, albeit for a short time, for he soon realized that what Amram meant was no question. It was a warning.
The vipers were all staring at them, their slit eyes focused, coils tensed and fangs bared.
The duo screamed as they jumped out of the ship into the ocean. However, feeling safe no doubt - despite still being in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea - they momentarily forgot one important fact (which the reader should do well to remember, should there ever be a situation involving venomous reptiles and maritime vessels).
"Amram," Zelikman mumbled as he grabbed his floating hat and tied it around his arm.
"Yes, Zelikman?"
Snakes can swim.
The duo resumed their shrieks and swam as fast as they could, bothering not to look back at the slithering swarm that gave them chase. With every stroke, backstroke, butterfly and several other terms yet to be coined as of the time period of this tale, Amram and Zelikman began to feel their energy peter out, from their arms to their legs, to their backs, all the way to their heads, their sights now blurry and their breaths desperate.
Was this the end? Had the accumulated sins of their high adventures finally caught up to them? Both certainly thought so, though of course, with varying degrees of bitter irony. Zelikman even thought of wasting his last drops of energy to have one final argument with his dear old friend. What better way to leave this world than by doing what he knew (and enjoyed) best?
His perfectly articulated diatribe escaped him, however, but not because of his fatigue, no, oh no, how he wished otherwise. It was a smell, a smell so foul so pungent that it stripped him away from the thrall of unconsciousness. A most familiar smell he realized, but of what exactly?
"Zelikman! Look!" Amram stopped swimming and turned Zelikman around.
Neither could believe it. The vipers had fled back to the ship. It appeared that foul, ammoniated smells - just like violence – was a universal language and one the vipers understood perfectly.
Zelikman blinked and rubbed his eyes. "What in the name of-"
A small ship nearly cracked their heads open, but the familiar smell that came out of it was enough warning for them to swim away and climb aboard shortly after.
A one-man crew welcomed them, a snoring man that is. They soon recognized him. He was the same lazy fermented egg merchant from back at the port, who everyone wise enough knew best to avoid. Holding back hurls, they woke him up, for they still had manners and were not about to toss the man who had inadvertently saved them into the ocean depths (simply because of the rancid odor of his merchandise).
To their surprise, the yawning, chubby man cared not about repayment in the form of their mercenary work or anything of the sort, rather, he welcomed them gladly! However, he did insist on such picturesque a duo to entertain him on his dull business voyage, with their likely tales of high adventure. They certainly looked the part he commented as he glanced at their soaked selves, weapons and the adrift vessel ridden with venomous vipers not too far behind.
And so, with their heads cleared and fatigue eased thanks to the merchant's barrels of fresh water and the unique properties of fermented eggs (excellent migraine treatment as Zelikman regretfully found out), the duo began their re-telling of their many tales, with Zelikman interrupting Amram's narration more often than not. Factual accuracy the Frank demanded, to which the Abyssinian responded: "Shut up, Zelikman."
Out of all of these grand stories of daring-do and swashbuckling, one stood out to the merchant, the very same adventure that had just occurred to the duo moments ago. It was the one he demanded to hear from the very beginning after all, arguing that the details were as fresh as they could be and the most impervious to the admittedly charming whims of rose-tinted memory.
The merchant chuckled and ate one the fermented eggs as one would a sweet pastry. Amram and Zelikman gagged inwardly.
"Now this I cannot wait to re-tell!"