ONE TACO SHORT
By Rob Tillitz

John Szymczak fancies himself a connoisseur. He's not delusional, he knows he's a "blue-collar" connoisseur. A man who's spent most of his life doing something around the docks, either fishing or underwater welding, his style is your basic "roughhewn." Nonetheless, having enjoyed any number of large Alaskan paydays, John's had many opportunities, over the years, to sample life's fineries.

Below the Kodiak-bound airplane, panoramic landscapes exploded out of a stark blue ocean. Withal, the words just flowed -- velvety smooth -- when the pretty Alaska Airlines flight attendant asked John how he liked the California Chardonnay.

"You know," he fixed his black-Russian eyes on the well-tanned blond, then reflected philosophically, "I can taste the sunshine ... and I can taste the acidic soil. And, I can tell you that the summer that these grapes matured, was a hot summer. But it was also a summer mixed with some rain...." he arched one eyebrow up high, which is a genetic thing that only people with the right DNA can do. His dark eyes twinkled, and he glowed with a connoisseurial smirk.

Shelly, the flight attendant, returned the gleam, surveying John with large green eyes. And the instant her eyes locked with his, she knew this was going somewhere.

"So, in what California County was it that these grapes were grown?" she quized. The wine bottle was now hidden behind the drink cart. There were only a few other passengers going to Kodiak, and no one was sitting close enough to interrupt them.

"Durned if I know," the eyebrow shot up.

  "Ha! You're too funny," Shelly laughed. A strong laugh, but melodic like a church bell. Then she decided to make her wishes known, "I've got to layover in Kodiak, alone, for two days, can you suggest anything I might do there to pass the time?"

"Sure," John didn't hesitate, "I'll get us a room at the Westmark, and we'll have some fun!" John believed that honesty was always the best approach.

And so did Shelly, "Wait for me at the gate after we land ... I'll be there in four-and-a-half minutes."

* * *

The new sweethearts stayed at the Westmark, all right, but with room-service wine, and pay-per-view feature movies, they only made it outside of the room once during the entire layover. After two days, John took Shelly back to the airport. They exchanged numbers for another possible hook-up, but both knew the chances of their paths crossing again were slight.

That didn't alter the bliss John felt on the skiff ride out to the 196-foot ROYAL PRINCESS. On board, net repairs were underway on the deck of the factory trawler. They were anchored out in the bay, and John set right to work; the entire morning he was driven by a new vitality. The sky was clear-blue on the emerald green island, and it was a balmy fifty degrees out. Pungent smells from the dockside canneries, and the trawler's galley, reminded everyone they were still very much alive.

You know, I can still taste the sunshine, John snickered to himself. He had web stretched across his lap, and the net-needle was a flying blur. Then he laughed out loud, remembering the look on Shelly's face when he'd delivered that line.

The other guys glanced at one another, and they too laughed: John had been talking to himself continually throughout the morning ... and he hadn't said why, and this made everyone think that maybe he'd returned from his vacation one taco short of a combination plate.

"Hey Szymczak," a tall, built-like-a-truck ex-Marine called, "you talking to anyone in particular?"

"Shelly," he said, and looked at them like they should understand, and the guys all shook their heads.

"Okey-dokey!" they chorused, then burst out laughing.

* * *

That evening, Grundy, the too-skinny skiff driver, with a Marlboro dangling from his thin lips, ferried everyone over to the floating service dock so they could go uptown and eat. The boys put Grundy on stand-by so they could get a ride back when necessary. Everyone had a different idea about what they wanted to do. John's plan was to eat, have one or two at the Elbow Room, then come home early.

And that's exactly what he did.

It was just at sunset when John walked down the main dock. He'd called Grundy just as soon as the cab dropped him on the main pier, and Grundy said John was the first one of the crew to call for a ride.

  When John reached the end of the pier, and walked down the gangway catwalk to the fifty-foot-square floating service dock, sea lions were the last thing on his mind. The gangway from the main pier rests about dead-center on the floating service dock when the tide is at slack high. This is about where it was on this evening, and several sea lions were grouped back underneath the gangway. John, still nostalgic about Shelly, didn't notice they were there.

He walked down the gangway, then right straight to the tie-up side of the floating square, then stood peering into the dark looking for Grundy. It was a cold and misty Kodiak evening, and John was underdressed. The volcano rumbled in the distance, a night bird screeched from out on the bay, and sea gulls bunched wherever they could find a shadow. The air was pure Kodiak with the chilly cannery reverberations.

And just as the "whhhiirrrr" of the outboard motor became clear in the night air, another sound almost knocked John right off the dock..

"RRraaaah! RRraaah! RRraaah!" a 1,200-pound cow sea lion came lumbering at John with her teeth barred. And cuddled-up not far behind, were a pair of tiny pups: and that knowledge is what frightened John the most -- everyone knows about protective mothers with pups.

He backed away, looking over one shoulder at his heels hanging off the dock's edge; before him the gangway was effectively blocked.

And the mama lion kept scooting, lumbering.

“Rraahh,” she repeated.

The big mama shifted her weight and continued.

Szymczak could go no farther back. He knew swimming was not an option. Thus, decided to go on the offense.

Why not?, he thought to himself, what have I got to  loose?

He shot both arms out into the air, and began waggling them like a whooping crane trying to take off. "Rrraaah," he growled, and edged a few steps toward the startled lion.

She stopped, so he stepped ahead and waggled some more . . . and he continued to bellow wildly.

The fat sea lion didn't know what to do, so she instinctively turned back toward her pups.

It was at this very moment that Grundy slid the skiff skillfully up alongside the dock. And as John turned and balanced for the leap aboard, Grundy asked suspiciously, "Who were you talking to just now? I could hear you before I even got here!"

"I was talking to the sea lions, right there," John, somewhat exasperated explained. "You see that big cow with her pups?" he pointed.

"Okey-dokey!" Grundy drawled, puffing on the Marlboro that dangled and bobbed, amusingly, from between his thin, purple lips.

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