The trip to Uncle's boat was quiet. Yes, Lynn had burning questions, but it honestly felt better that she let Uncle finish driving before she started in on them. They parked at the marina, and headed down to Uncle's boat and boarded. He opened the door into the main cabin, and had them sit down at the table.
"Where do I start?" Uncle mused, fetching a couple of warm sodas. He put one down in front of Lynn. He popped the other one sat down.
"My father," Lynn said, "At the beginning. I'm told it's a very good place to start."
Uncle raised an eyebrow, apparently unclear on the reference, and shrugged. "I met your father, Popeye, in the Navy. That probably doesn't come as a surprise, does it." He chuckled to himself. "We were quartered together. He was the shortest of our group, I was the largest. He became 'the runt', and I became 'The Brute'. Let me tell you that neither of us cared for our nicknames."
"Cadet. Midshipman. Those I can take, but runt? Can't he be any more creative than that?" the smaller sailor mumbled, pushing his white sailor hat forward.
"Can't blame ya for that, chum," Bartholomew told him. "He's calling me the brute. I feel the same way. What's your name, anyway?"
He threw a hand out. "Popeye! Popeye the Sailor, now," he giggled to himself. Popeye was bald, even in those days. He had a squint in one eye. Like all the sailors, packing their few belongings, he was in the white 'Crackerjack' outfit.
"Bartholomew," he introduced himself, grabbing Popeye's hand in a firm shake. "Please ta' meet ya, Popeye." Bartholomew was large, muscular man already. He was clean shaven, the Navy being very particular on that kind of thing.
But for the next two months, the recruits were pushed to the limit with all sorts of physical activity. They were trained to work to work with sails (even in this age of powered ships), damage control, even firearms, though neither of them were very handy with those.
"Come here, Brute," the Drill Sergeant snapped. "Reach in and pick a partner."
Bartholomew walked up to him, reached into the hat, and shuffled around the pieces of papers. Picking one out, he read it aloud, "Popeye!"
"Go on, go join the Brute, your partner," he snapped again.
"How about Brutus," Popeye grinned at him, as they stepped up to the line.
"Hah. Better, I suppose. Better than 'Bart', anyway. Or Brute," Bartholomew told him.
That day, the exercise in question was firefighting. In teams of two, they were to drag the setup about a thousand feet, unfurl the long heavy hosepipe, and use it to put out a fire. This was easier for Bartholomew than it was for Popeye. Not because he didn't have the strength, even if he wasn't as strong as his partner, he just wasn't tall enough to get enough lift.
"C'mon, Popeye, heft!"
"If I were to heft, I'd need a haft," he giggled to himself. But that was beyond the allowances of the exercise. He just grabbed lower and forced himself to lift higher. When they reached the marker, Popeye grabbed the hose and ran it toward much faster then Bartholomew could, as he unwound the hose as fast he could. He planted his feet and raised his hand. Bartholomew turned the massive wheel, opening the water, and then hurried to grab the hose halfway up to give his fellow sailor some control over the raging water.
When the fire was out to the satisfaction of the Drill Sergeant, he blew a whistle, and checked his watch. The two rerolled the hose and brought it back to the starting point, ready for the next team. "Competently managed," the drill sergeant acknowledged.
"I thinks that's the closest he's come to a complement," Popeye said.
"Hahahaha," Bartholomew laughed. "Yeah, I think so too."
"Whether it was luck or because they knew we worked very well together, I never got a tour of duty away from Popeye," Uncle said. "Be it aircraft carrier, destroyer, or transport, and I think we served on just about every type of ship in the Navy except on a sub. I'm too large and Popeye couldn't serve in one of those 'sinking tin cans', I think he's mildly claustrophobic. Can't blame him, though. The whole point of working on a boat is to keep it from going underwater." He laughed.
"How long were you in the Navy?" Lynn asked.
"Two tours. We reupped after the first one, there was concerns about war in the Middle East, and were offering large re-sign bonuses. We just couldn't say no."
"And after that?" Lynn prompted, "You must have stayed together."
"The sea was in our blood," Uncle confirmed. "After we got out, we put our wallets together and bought a fishing trawler."
"C'mon, Popeye, that is a terrible name for a ship! Use some sense, chum."
"We're gonna take care of it on the ocean, and she'll take care of us, Bluto."
Bartholomew had never quite been sure when Brutus had metamorphosed into Bluto. But, as nicknames went, he liked it better. "I still think she'll need a name. A proper ship name. Like 'Alexa'. We're gonna work with the rod and the reel, after all."
Popeye snorted, but he quieted down as they took a look at the fishing boat they were being offered. It it was a little disheveled, certain of the planks would need replacing, but they'd seen worse. They'd seen a lot worse. "I think we can work with this, Popeye," Bluto said.
Unless they were building one from scratch, something they just didn't think they could manage at this point, buying a 'used' ship was going to be their best bet, then refitting it.
Popeye looked at Bluto, Bluto looked at Popeye. Then they looked at the salesman (a questionable man with a too large smile, the unfortunate name of 'Stan', and rather ugly plaid suit), "You've got a deal." Bluto told him.
"Now to find some sail on sale," Popeye giggled.
Both Bluto and the salesman groaned.
"I'll have it brought down to the marina," the salesman promised. "What name should I put in the registry?" he asked.
"Okeies, Bluto, I've gots it. We'll flip for it."
Bluto reached into a pocket for a coin, not convinced he trusted the gleam in Popeye's good eye. "Fine. We'll flip for it. Call it in the air, and I'll let it drop to the ground." So saying, he put the quarter on his thumb, and flipped it in the air.
"Tails! It'll be tails!" Popeye called.
With a clink, it fell onto the asphalt. They both bent over to see how it landed, and Popeye crowed as Bluto groaned.
"And that's how we got stuck with the 'Sweat Pea'. Uncle laughed.
"So what was it like owning a fishing trawler?" Lynn asked.
"Much like the sea, it had its ups and downs, but it was usually pretty swell," he laughed again. Ocean humor. Lynn sighed.
"It was living, and a decent one. We usually caught enough fish between us to keep the Sweet Pea ship shape and sock away money for later. We had economy of scale, after all." He winked. "But now we're coming to the part you want to know about. It was our... fourth? Fifth year at sea? Somewhere about then."
The day had turned dark and stormy. This was never a good sign, and it had just crept up no them. The emergency radio they had on the cabin hadn't gone off. Bluto was busy battening down as many hatches as he could, he didn't wanted to lose the days catch, at least not unless he had to.
Popeye was looking for any sort of shelter that might possibly help them ride out the storm. A second ship they could turn to in case of foundering was their best bet. But when Popeye called out "Island!" Bluto could scarcely believe it. As far as Bluto knew, there weren't any islands out here. They'd been doing this for years and never seen one.
"Any port in a storm," on the other hand, was a sailor's watchword. "Which direction?" He shouted to his friend, as he raced to the wheel, the water starting to get choppy.
"Starboard," Popeye shouted back. "Bit more... bit more, right there. Hold it steady, Bluto!" Popeye said, as he moved to trim the sail and start the backup engine. Bluto did, gripping the wheel as if his life depended on it... and it just might have.
As the rain got harder, it got harder and harder to keep a straight line. But then it happened, Bluto felt the engine grind to a halt as the bow hit sand. He held it for a bit longer as Popeye cut the engine and dropped the anchor.
The island was... weird. Not just that it was in a place that it shouldn't be, but it was larger than it should be. A speck of land? Unlikely, but not completely out of the realm of possibility. But this was a large island, large enough to have a full forest. Popeye and Bluto jumped on the shore in order to pull the ship even further inland.
"Do you feel that, Popeye?" Bluto asked. There was something about this island that gave him the willies, like someone had stepped on his grave. "I don't think we should be here."
"Nonsense, Bluto! This has got to mean something! Wild storm, mystery island, c'mon! And it's better than being soaked in this downpour."
"That's what the cabin is for, Popeye," Bluto grumbled. With a swallow, the larger man followed his friend down into the small island forest. It seemed like the forest was guiding them somewhere, there was always gaps between the trees just large enough for Bluto to pass through comfortably, a fact that only added to his growing tension.
In what had to be the center of the island was a clearing, and in that clearing set a hut. It was a charming hut of wood and a thatched roof of palm leaves (never mind that Bluto had not seen a single palm tree on the island). Before Bluto could protest, Popeye was already knocking on the door and pushing his way inside.
The inside of the house was dark, without a single window to be seen. Light came from a blue cauldron filled with bright, green, glowing liquid. A red couch was off to one side, and everywhere else that Bluto looked hung animal – and animal claws – that Bluto did not recognize. Across from the doorway was a large set dark skinned woman wearing a red dress, a necklace of pearls, and what appeared in the gloom to be a green turban. She sat in an oversized chair backed with red cloth that was one step away from being a throne.
"Uh, hi lady," Bluto stammered. "Neat place you got here. Guess we'll be on our way."
"Be polite, Bluto," Popeye said, as he gave an exaggerated bow. "I'm Popeye the sailor, and this is my best mate Bluto. I hope you don't mind us taking shelter here."
"Not at all... not at all. I sense you heroes have been called here for a purpose," she said, her eyes focused on the two.
"Heroes? You've got the wrong people, lady. Popeye... it's time to go."
"What purpose?" Popeye asked, sounding fascinated.
"I... am not sure yet. And yet, here you are," she said. "I think you will be a strong hero, the woman told him. "You just need to accept my gift," she beckoned to the cauldron in front of her. "I should warn you... all gifts of magic come with a price. My price is straightforward though, when the time comes that aid is needed, you will give it."
"You cannot be considering this, Popeye,' Bluto said. "This is nuts!"
"Me pal is right," Popeye told her. "I can't take you just at your word, I mean, you could be a dark witch of the sea!"
"I am no hag," the woman said, though there was no anger in her voice. "My magic is meant to be beneficial. As are you two, no just anyone can find my island."
Popeye appeared to be considering this. "Then swear by your magic that I can trust you to be good to your word."
"Popeye... have you lost your marbles?" Bluto asked.
"A clever promise, to break my magic if I break my word," the woman said. "Clearly you are the right people to offer my gift to. Very well, I swear by magic that this gift is genuine, and that you will feel that the aid is a good cause."
"Then I accept!"
"Popeye!" Bluto said in desperation. He was unable to stop Popeye from moving forward, held in place by... something actually supernatural. Which only proved to him that he should be stopped.
Bluto watched helplessly as the woman handed handed Popeye a ladle. "Accept this gift, young Popeye, and you will find yourself able to summon the strength of Hercules when you need it."
Popeye looked mesmerized as Popeye dipped the ladle in the cauldron, and sipped the potion inside. "Tastes... tastes like lime juice? Yick." he said, sputtering slightly. "Uhm. I don't feel any different."
"You will need to unlock this strength," she said. Then, for the first time, she showed some emotion by wrinkling her own face. "I didn't make the formula, so don't blame me. I don't even like the stuff. But you're going to need to eat spinach to activate the gift." She regained her composure. "It will work as long as you're worthy." She looked at Bluto curiously.
Bluto shook his head with as much force as he could muster.
"Then I will not try. Fare well, sailors."
"When we left the hut, the storm was gone. And just a minute or two after we had shoved back off, I'm pretty sure the island vanished too," Uncle said. "There's really not much more to explain. Popeye mostly kept his strength a secret, using it when no one was around, unless it was an actual emergency. Such as when he had to fight a mugger," Uncle chuckled. "That's how the cartoon came about. Popeye punched out a mugger going after some guy named Max Fleischer. He hired the two of us to voice our own characters. Made a good change from just trying to live by the sea."
"So when did my father meet my mother?"
Uncle laughed again. "She was a voice actress who applied to be the voice of Olive! I don't know who's bright idea it was to use all our real names. Popeye, probably, he would have found it hilarious. And it was always going to by Popeye, in case you're curious. She's not really my type, I need someone more... my size, if you get my drift."
"So... does Spinach work on her too?" Lynn asked, remembering a specific episode of the cartoon.
"No," Bluto said, shaking his head. "Only Popeye. But Popeye had it written into our contracts that at least one in ten episodes I wouldn't have to be the villain, and Olive wouldn't have to be rescued. So that's how they worked it out, by literally flipping the script backwards. If I were completely honest, I wasn't sure it was going to work on you, though Popeye was convinced."
"So... what happened to him?" Lynn asked.
It was late. Bluto had gotten a call to meet Popeye at the Sweet Pea. He still didn't really like the name. But he couldn't deny the ship had served the two of them well. He found Popeye sitting on the foredeck, looking out over the water. "How long has it been, Bluto?"
Bluto cocked his head, not sure what his chum was asking him. "Since what? About four years since your daughter was born; about a decade since you met Olive."
"That island."
"Oh," Bluto said, suddenly feeling a cold wind blow across his face. "That Island. I think it's been fifteen years." He paused, and looked at his friend. That face looked haunted. "The bill has come due, has it?"
"Yes, I can hear her calling me," Popeye said. "Over the water, and I'm going to need to answer it. She needs my help, and you knows me," he gave a nervous giggle.
"You cannot resist a call for help. How can I help you, old friend?"
"I've left Olive a note. But... if you could watch out for her, and little Linseed? She has the same gift I was given, and I hope she has the sense to use It properly." Bluto could see tears trickling down his eyes. "I would so much rather see her grow up... but I do not regret me decision. Can ye do that for me, Bluto? I'd invite you with me... but this call is for me only."
Bluto sat next to him on the deck, sharing his view of the water. "Of course I can, chum. And you're going to need a boat. This boat. It's all yours. You're the one who got me the job with the studio. I'm sure I can get more work from them."
Popeye gave a small giggle. "Yeah, they like you more then me." They sat there together, stalling as long as Popeye would dare. "I have to be gone before Olive finds that note, so... goodbye me friend."
Bluto stood, and helped Popeye up. He was crying as much as Popeye was.
"Goodbye, chum."
"And that was the last I saw of him," Bluto said, releasing a heavy, heavy, sigh.
The sun was beginning to set through the window of Bluto's ship.
"And with that, I think it's time I take you home."
Lynn stood, and gave Uncle a big hug.
