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8 Our Favourite Destination |
From Mary Celeste |
[The bell strikes and lights come up on Mary Celeste, apparently at sea. The Crew are poring over a nautical chart at a table on deck. Cabin-boy emerges from the galley with plates and utensils to set a meal. Seeing him, Crew sing, with reflective anticipation]
Crew
We're just an ordinary crew
The Captain's nothing special too
On an average, mediocre little boat
But when it comes to catering
and mid-Atlantic waitering
We've simply got the finest cook afloat
[The tempo picks up: music with a light, samba feel. The Captain's daughter, Sophia, begins to sing]
Sophia
In any water or vessel
with her mortar and pestle
She'll be grinding new delicacies
and when we weigh the anchor
it's 'hooray' and thank her
for our favourite: fish fricassees
[Cheers from Crew as improbably stout Cook appears from galley with a great tray laden with tureen cover, pots and so on: signs of an imminent feast]
Cook
I've done treacle tart in Thailand
à la carte on Easter Island
Even dumplings in Bristol one day
Kangaroo in South Australia
vindaloo in Venezuela
But my favourite place is never far away,
Crew
yes our favourite place is never far away
[Crew stand in formal array by the table and sing in careful harmony to a solemn melody, indicating their stomachs as they come to the last line. Their nautical chart is turned over to reveal a checkered tablecloth]
Crew
Yes our favourite destination
Isn't found on any chart
It requires no calculation
of the navigator's art
You just set your first course
for a mariner's jaws
and you've made the perfect start
as each culinary creation
works a passage to my favourite part
[The Crew is expecting Cook to serve the meal but first she offers a warning; back to the samba tune]
Cook
For the first fortnight you found
there was a lot to go round
and round boys, you wanted to go;
there was gravy in my larder
for a navy or armada
But it's gone now, the stock's running low
[Cook gestures to Briggs, indicating which members of the Crew will still be fed and which will not]
The remains could feed your daughter
and your wife there in your quarter
and your cook, sir; and none of us doubt
that the man that pays our salary's
entitled to his calories;
The ordinary men can go without
Yes the ordinary men can go without
[Crew sings the solemn harmony tune in a tone of sadness as much as of outrage]
Crew
We deplore this new solution
nothing could be more unfair
In a proper constitution
You'd have rationed our stocks with care
Yet now the rich people feed
In their gluttonous greed
and the poor folk live on air
When a small redistribution
Would give every man his proper share
[Cabin-boy sneaks a look under the tureen-cover and points accusingly at the portly Cook]
Cabin-boy
She's bluffin', boys!
Look in the pot!
Nuffin'!
She's scoffed the lot!
[Crew menacingly approach Cook, who picks up cleaver from tray but tries to sound casual: the samba tune returns in a halting, sinister arrangement]
Cook
I know you're scuppered on the seven seas
when supper and elevenses
are missing; you're certain to starve
unless you're feeling pally
and you crawl to my galley
and I'll show you, there's plenty to carve!
[Cook reaches out to hold on to Cabin-boy, who does not, at first, realise her cannibalistic intentions]
If you bother to examine
there's no need to talk of famine
we're surrounded by flesh we can eat
Here's a boy to ward off hunger
nice and juicy when they're younger
and an older man is twice as full of meat
[Cabin-boy leaps into boat, defends himself with oar. Crew look uncertain: Boy pleads over solemn tune, its grandeur all gone, reduced to desperation]
Now you face a grim decision:
I could feed you fit to burst
but the price of this nutrition
is, your souls would all be cursed
[Crew drop any semblance of aggression and make to get into the lifeboat: Cook stands at the ready with cleaver]
Crew
Do we trust to the tide
taking nothing beside
but our hunger and our thirst?
Do we stay and face perdition
Or let the ocean claim us first?
[Tableau; fade lights on Mary Celeste and bring up lights on Crowd, most of whom clap. They are indignantly interrupted by Porters carrying boxes, pickaxes and so on: heading them, the famous archæologist, Heinrich Schliemann]