When he came here, they called him ugly. They threw rocks at him for the way he spoke his mother’s tongue.
Cordially, he expertly dodged rocks till the day he decided to throw back. I, with my sister, sat atop a hill and watched him return fire. Each projectile found its mark. He did not miss, and his tormentors became the first to fear him most. The berth they gave him when he walked down the village’s main road, nothing but a dirt path rutted from the wheels of many wagons, many hooves, was impressive.
When he came upon me as I bathed at what in that moment became my former secret spot on the river, we never again parted.
After our first intimacy, I looked up to see my sister. The look on her face that day was new. I shiver and wish not to describe it. Lamentably, I have now become accustomed to it. It is the only way she now looks at me.
After the last attempt at sabotage, as he carried her shackled over his shoulder, he joked that execution and getting it over with would lead to much less future strife.
He jested, and though the situation terrible, understands that any attempts on my life do not change that to me she is still my sister.
WHO IS CAPTAIN B?
Captain B. Seafarer. Lover of shore leave. Collector of heads. Disseminator of tales. Twitter: @NPeligeiro