Willy's Unfortunate Condition

Another Kalinka* story.

Willy and I had just returned to Gibraltar from a voyage along the coast of Spain. No need for details here—suffice to say that the trip had not gone well.

Kalinka in front of The Rock

By the time we dropped the hook in the anchorage, Willy and I had ceased to be on speaking terms due to some disagreement we’d had along the way. I was, however, civil enough to serve him a plate of the stew I’d prepared that evening.

Three things must be explained at this point:

1) The toilet on the Kalinka was situated in a corner of the saloon. It had its own enclosure, but it was right there—the door opening directly into what was basically our living room.

I had plans to move it and I think the previous owner of the vessel had the same idea because, attached to the outlet valve was a rather long length of flexible tubing. This was not marine grade reinforced rubber but more like the suction tube you’d find on a household vacuum cleaner.

2) During our little jaunt, Willy had managed to pick up some kind of stomach bug that had cleaned him out completely and left him thin as a pencil.

3) At sea, I always turn off all outlet valves.

So, Willy and I sat across the table from each other eating our meal in silence. Shortly afterwards however, that silence was broken by the gurgle and rumble of Willy’s tortured stomach.

A couple of minutes later, he made a desperate dash for the toilet.

After a rather protracted session on the throne, I heard him begin to operate the pump—a long lever situated beside the toilet bowl. It made a kind of vwooping sound. But as Willy pumped, the vwooping got higher and higher in pitch.

You stupid bastard, I thought. You’ve forgotten to open the sea cock.

I was tempted to tell him, but resisted the urge.

Willy and me in a more amicable moment

Instead, I allowed the vwooping to build to an impossible high.

Then there was a bang, like the crash of a drum at the finale of a symphony.

I pictured the scene. The hose coming off the seacock and thrashing around the small enclosure like a demented snake. As it turned out, that is exactly what happened.

A moment of silence, then the door slowly opened.

Willy looked like he’d been plucked from the Okefenokee Swamp.

Without a word he strode across the salon, climbed the companionway and I heard the splash as he went over the side.

He’d left the door to the toilet open though. And there on the back of it was a perfect silhouette of Willy.

My punishment for my lack of sympathy was that I had to do the cleaning myself as Willy’s delicate constitution was not up to the task.

*See blog dated 3-11-‘12