The leader of the Rough-House Pirates was a man named Barracuda. Through a concoction called eel soup, he was able to discover that his plans would succeed. Prior to this, James and two of his crewmates had entered a five-star restaurant and were looking through the menu cards. The time was two-twenty p.m. While they were doing this, Charleston entered the kitchen, where one of their best chefs happened to be working a shift. He would be working until four p.m.
"Hey, Persimmon, how's it going?" asked Charleston.
"As it always is. Why do you have to ask me that? You should know that I love this job, Charleston. Just like I know you'd much rather be an adventurer," said this cook.
"Then you also know I don't have the spirit for it."
"Yeah, but that doesn't change a thing."
"I guess you're right. In the end, it's my choice."
"And you made a bad one."
Charleston left because he wanted to be sure that he could drop the conversation first. Persimmon put his focus back on his cooking. He began to think to himself. I've told Charleston how many times? And still, he refuses to pursue his dream. He thought back to when he was still in school, the day he met Charleston. He was twelve years old.
"School is so dumb," said an obnoxious, well-built kid. "When I grow up, I'm gonna become a policeman so I can get rid of school."
"Policeman enforce the laws, they don't make them," said a skinny, quiet kid leaning against his locker.
"What did you say, loser? You don't get to tell a future cop what to do." The obnoxious kid held the skinny one up by his collar, and proceeded to threaten him.
That is when Persimmon walked by. "Hey, ass, put the nerd down," he said while walking by.
The obnoxious kid attempted to turn around and grab this new smart-mouth by the collar with his free hand, but Persimmon dodged and said "If you don't want to get your ass kicked, you had better stop being one and walk away."
"Who do you think you are, fish boy? I heard you hang with fishermen because you don't even have parents."
"Well, I tried to warned you." Persimmon swung his fist right into the obnoxious kid's stomach. He stepped back and began to realise that he was not untouchable. He ran off, and this prompted his friends to run after him.
"Thank you," said the skinny kid.
"Whatever. He's an ass."
"Wait, don't go."
"What do you want?"
"Can you be my friend?"
"Knock yourself out. Literally or figuratively, I don't care."
Persimmon and his new friend walked to class and talked.
"What's your name then?" asked Persimmon.
"My name is Charleston Abernathy."
"Uh, right. My name is Persimmon."
"Sounds fruity. What's your full name?"
"Don't have one. I was raised by merchants and fishermen so I don't have a real name."
"That's weird."
"Who was the ass that bullied you?"
"That was German. He wants to be a policeman when he grows up so he's always coming up with reasons for it. I think he has some other reason that he doesn't want to talk about."
"You don't hear a name like that very often. Sounds like one of those countries from the old world. Does he have a surname?"
"His surname is Wallace."
"Well, German Wallace is a mule."
"Calling people names won't get you anywhere."
"I can see why people beat you up."
"I may be completely insufferable at times, but hey, if you can bear with me, you won't regret being my friend."
"If you say so, Chuckle."
They continued to talk right up until they got to class, and met up at lunch to talk again. When Persimmon walked up to Charleston, he was sitting on the stairs reading a book.
"What are you reading?" asked Persimmon.
"A Tall Order, Volume Four," replied Charleston.
"That's Wilhelm Gogh, right? Do you think places like that could actually exist?"
"I think it makes good fiction, but I don't know what I'd do if these places were real."
"Would you want to find out?"
"Sure, I'd love to. But I don't have the adventurer's spirit."
"What do you mean?"
"Wilhelm describes his spirit as willing to take risks, and all this other stuff. That's not me."
"The adventurer's spirit is just the love of adventure. All that other stuff comes to you later– as a direct result of the adventure."
"How come you know so much about it?"
"I know a fisherman who knows an adventurer."
"Right. So what do you want to do when you grow up?"
"I want to be a chef. Actually cook something instead of just sell it. My guardian is a merchant, so for now all I can do is help him with his work."
"Well, considering I don't have what it takes to become an adventurer, how about I help you with your dream?"
"I told you, it's not about skills, it's about determination. But if you want to give up so easily, then fine."
Charleston went back to reading, and then Persimmon asked him what the book was about.
"Oh, in book four, he goes to a place called Tomcharts Land. It's a fascinating place."
They talked a bit about places they knew of from other books, until lunch had ended. At the end of the school day, they met up and said goodbye to each other as they both went their own ways to the places they called home. For Persimmon, this was a market stall where a merchant named Gumboot worked.
"Aye, lad. I take it you're all learned up today?"
"I, uh, made a friend, I guess."
"Oh, is that so? Well then, maybe it isn't all bad..."
"Nope. He's a stubborn, serious fool. And a nerd."
"And what's wrong with being a nerd?"
"I'm not the one who has a problem with it. The influential kids don't like it when other people make them look stupid."
"Ah, too smart for his own good. Well, hopefully he curbs that before it becomes illegal."
"Yeah, what's with those questioning laws?"
"I know right? You can't question them! Ha ha ha!"
"You sure you're okay to say that?"
"Why, of course, my boy. Ain't nobody but us."
Persimmon and Gumboot ate dinner and watched a cooking show. "You know, I want to cook someday."
"Sure, lad, and I will wear the King's socks."
A few hours later, Persimmon went to bed. He dreamed about that night in the storm.
"Kid! Wake up lad, you can't afford sleeping in this weather!"
Persimmon's eyes were half-open, and saw a man talking to him. He opened his eyes further. He was on a fishing boat. It was raining heavily and the waves were unyielding.
"How did I get here?" he asked the man.
"How would I know? What's the last thing you remember?"
"I was swimming with my parents when... I think we drowned."
"Yes, well, you survived, though. What remarkable luck."
"If I made it, could my parents have made it?"
The man seemed to ponder something before he answered. "I'm sorry, but it's best if you don't think about them anymore."
"Why?"
"If anyone here should be asking questions, it's us. Let's start with your age."
"I'm seven years old and my name is..."
"Slow down, your name isn't important to us. We're seafarers. We discard names in favour of words. If you want to stick with us, we'll give you a word, but if you want to go back to land, then wait until then to start using your name."
"I can't go back without my parents."
"Well then, sail with us."
"Who are you?"
"We're fishermen. Well, I'm a merchant. My word is Gumboot. This is our vessel, and right now we're doing all we can to stop it from being swallowed by the sea."
Persimmon attempted to offer to help, but in the end knew he was of no use. He waited inside that night, and tried to sleep, but could not. The storm was raging, and his young mind had perhaps experienced a terror previously unfamiliar to him: the thought that he would never see his parents again.
The next morning, he was caught stealing persimmons from the fridge. "Keep doing stuff like that," Gumboot began, "and your word will be Persimmon."
"It's fine. Call me what you want."
The next day, Persimmon and Charleston were at school when German approached. He was with two of his friends. The boy on the left wore clothes from an earlier decade, including a boldly coloured top hat and glasses. The boy on the right wore a shirt from a metal band and a muzzle covering his mouth.
"Who are your friends, German?" asked Persimmon.
"Some kids who know exactly who the future best cop in town will be," replied German.
"You're too mean to be a cop," said Persimmon.
"Hey, you, apologise to the man, diva," said the boy to the left of German.
"Disco, what did I tell you about that sentence quirk?" asked German.
"Something a lot less threatening than what my dad does to me when I don't help remind him, retro."
"Why don't you just bite him already? He'll never go near you again after that," said the boy on the right.
"Piranha, no-one likes restraining orders or muzzles," said German.
"Yeah, but at least they changed my name like I wanted."
"A change of name might not be such a bad idea. Anyway, where was I? Oh, right. Shut up, fruit fish!"
"Being a cop takes more than whatever you think you've got, German," said Persimmon, confidently.
"As a cop, I can beat up anyone I want. I'll get rid of school, I'll give my friends the freedom they deserve, and best of all, I'll lock up every smart ass punk who thinks I'm not cut out for it."
"It sounds like you have absolutely no idea what being a cop is about! If I were you, I'd take a moment to learn something, do a bit of growing up, and then work hard to become a cop. Not just rush in blindly, thinking everything will go your way!"
"Like I'd ever tell a little bitch like you why I want to do this! You keep saying I'm the mean one, the selfish one, but you're not me! No-one ever gave a shit about me! I'll make them care about me by becoming the island's best policeman!"
"You still don't get it, do you? You can't become something you're not. If you want to be a policeman, learn about yourself first. Understand your flaws and learn how to temper them. Channel your anger into something artful and constructive, for example. If you really want it, you can do it."
German stepped back and thought for a moment. Then a smile spread across his face. He started laughing. "Well, later, losers. Dreams are stupid anyway, let's go guys, outta here."
Later that day, Persimmon was on his way home as usual. However, he could not shake this feeling that he was being followed. Whenever he looked behind him, though, he could not see anyone. Suddenly, everything around him went dark. He was in a sack. Minutes later, he heard laughter.
"Oh man, are we really gonna do this?" said a voice that may have been the muzzled boy's.
"Yeah, I heard two weeks covered in these fish is enough to have the smell stay with you forever," said a voice that was almost certainly German's.
Persimmon heard something open and then felt cold and squished. He knew the smell. These were babyfish. Recalling the description from an illustrated encyclopaedia: Babyfish are undoubtedly one of the stranger species that exist in the world. They smell like newborn babies, and the effect is that many women (and to a lesser extent, men) feel compelled to care for them. They are very popular pets among sterile couples. Some cultures consider the babyfish to be a symbol of good fortune.
Persimmon wondered whether he would really spend two weeks in a sack, surrounded by fish. Thankfully, after a time period that he could not determine, he was pulled out by the police. He met up with Gumboot in the police station, and was informed that he had spent five days inside of an icebox filled with babyfish. This means that there may be minor side effects over the course of the next six years.
The first such side effect was soon noticed, as one of the police officers handed him a lollipop and ruffled his hair. After that, she smiled and walked away.
"So, you'll be smelling faintly of baby for the rest of school. That is some nasty shit right there. Everyone's gonna treat you like a kid right when you most want to be treated like an adult. Those boys really aren't very friendly at all, are they?"
"That's not really a question, is it?"
"Ha ha, thanks kid. You remind me why I'm an old man who'll never understand any of this." After saying this, his face, if only for a moment, betrayed the idea that perhaps he was hiding something from Persimmon.
In the present, Persimmon had finished his thoughts in time for the finishing of the main course for the three people who had placed orders at two-thirty. It was three-fifteen p.m. and he was well aware that this would be his second-to-last dish for the day. He gave the meals to Charleston, who would in turn deliver them to James, Karnilla, and Patricia.
All of them did not know it yet, but there were plans in motion that would affect them all. They began at three-twenty p.m, when Judge Wisconsin Perkins and his wife arrived with the intent to dine.
"All over town, fuck me. Next time, I pick the cab," he said.
Charleston cleared his throat. "Sir, that is language we do not use here."
"Of course. Forgive me, I am not a gracious person."
"Well, at least you're honest about it. Right this way, Judge Perkins. We have your table prepared as per your request."