A pirates story
You do know I’m into sailing with pirates, right? It all started when I was sailing on this old boat — we were hunting sperm whales and I was driven to jump off the ship. It’s a long story, I’ll tell you about it some other time but yes, sailing with pirates is my thing. I may look like a maiden darling but I curse like a dirty old man.
It is unfair that pirates have been given such a bad reputation in so many stories. So they stole some gold — pirates need to eat, and they terrified a few damsels in distress — please, women like bad boys. I’m sure the real reason they have been clouded with bad connotations is because of jealous sailors who could not don black eye liner as good as the pirates could.
As I was saying darling, I was a woman overboard, swimming towards the ship. The pirates threw down a rope when they noticed me, and, tied around my chest, I was lifted up to the ship. Landing on the wooden platform, bare foot, in my wet jumpsuit, I saw a pack of men grinning at me with an evil look. They all wore guyliner; donning black leather ensembles and jet black hair sleeked back — I had never seen pirates look so good, pirate chic should really be a thing! They were all grinning at me, expecting me to be another damsel in distress for them to toy with but I had other plans.
“Darlings, stop your grinning, your tortures will never be as bad as what I’ve been through on the other ship, so, how about you show me a room where I can change, then we can dine and you can share some of your stories, hmm?”
They stood there, their grins had grown weary and they started to look confused. One of them, who had been eyeing my wet ensemble suspiciously, came forward with his belly and tight leather pants.
“Girl, I love your look! Very sailor meets darkness chic! Let me look at you!” At this, he spun me around, nodding to himself and rubbing his hands in glee.
“I have so many garments that will fit you. We have a whole closet of women’s dresses from, um, girls who left us very abruptly…”
He took my hand, and moving past the rest of the group, he led me downstairs to a room that was brimming with dresses, jumpsuits, knitwear and coats hanging on iron rails.
“Well, you must have abandonment issues.”
“Oh, ha ha ha ha ha! Now, what do I put on you, you red haired minx!”
Eduardo, that was his name, Eduardo del Mar, he went through the racks, mumbling to himself, while I sat on a velvet ottoman, drying myself off.
“This is it!” He held the garment possessively in his hands and walked over to me with glee. We spent some time in the closet, he wanted to do my hair — “Veronica Lake waves!” and my makeup — drawing thick cat eyeliner on my eyelids and a red lip. I did draw the line at wearing heels however — he pouted for a moment but then forgot all about it when he saw how I looked in my Alexander McQueen dress.
We headed back to the deck — “look at me coming out of the closet, with the prettiest girl ever!” Eduardo exclaimed, while I finally got the chance to perceive the properties of the ship. The drapes of the mastheads were tattered; they were the colour of black snow, and the wood with its veins protruding made the ship look more skeletal in nature than the bones I had seen at the Capelinha de São Francisco.
One of the pirates, with an open shirt and just the right amount of chest hair came to greet me, “You clean up very well —”
“Elena della Rosa” (What? I can’t be called Madeliene Rose on a pirate ship, that sounds too soft!)
“Elena, we will dine al fresco today, on the deck, since you are joining us.”
“Oh darling, I’m home!”
I tucked my hand under his and he led us to the table with the rest of the pirates. There were steaming pots on the table, wine glasses made of led and a small chandelier that swung from the masthead, at the centre of the table. It was a gift from a king’s ship, they told me. We spent all night on the table; they had so many stories to recount.
I stayed on the ship for an immeasurable time; I ended up going through all of the clothes on the racks. There was no order to the ship, everyone was left to work in his own space, at his own pace and yet, as uncoordinated as we were, the ship never stopped working. We sailed in unknown seas — I would always ask them where we were heading and they would say they weren’t sure, but they would let me know when we arrived.
Story credit: Vogue Italia (Image).