On a small beach, just beyond the Cascais fishing village, Marie’s cries of fun and passion are muffled in the warm night and the crashing of the sea on the rocky shore. Exhausted, the two lovers untangle arms and legs and lie still under the stars.
“Tiger,” says Marie, “you definitely know how to make a gal happy.”
“It must be this Portuguese air,” says Cliff.
“Then let’s bottle it and take it home with us.”
“Must we go home?” says Cliff as he pulls Marie into his arms. “Tonight, home is only a bad memory.”
Marie frees herself from his arms and stands up. “Come, I need to cool off.” She pulls him to his feet and they run to he sea.
Later, as they dry off and get dressed, Cliff says, “Let’s go to the hotel bar and say our farewells to Jose.”
“Can’t we take him home with us?”
“Why would he want to leave this paradise?”
“Why would we?”
“Because, Sweetheart, I have to make a trip to Watertown.”
“There are no cobble streets in Watertown.”
“No palm trees either, but there is some unfinished business to take care of.”
“Well, don’t let the damn business finish you.”
“I’m indestructible--and thirsty. I’ll race you to the Hotel Cidadela.”
“Ok,” says Marie. “Jose, here we come!”
Four days later, Cliff enters the lobby of the Peninsula Hotel, built on the site of Captain Jack’s old run-down homestead. At the desk he checks in and gets a room on the top floor with a window overlooking the shopping mall, also built on his father’s land--the sandy earth he tried unsuccessfully to farm. Cliff takes a bottle from his luggage and pours a large scotch over ice. At the window he looks down on the mall and remembers the day his father told him to get a job or find another place to live. He was only twelve. It was one of many times that the old man brought tears to his mother’s eyes. On that occasion, Cliff said to his father, “There are no jobs for boys of my age. These are hard times.” Captain Jack slapped him hard and said, “You don’t have to tell me about no hard times--too damn hard for a boy like you to be sitting around with your nose in a book.” Cliff could still feel the sting from the old man’s hand. He had tried to get a job, if only to keep his father from abusing his mother, who never relaxed her efforts to see that Cliff got a good education. "Oh, what the hell," says Cliff. "There’s nothing to be gained by rehashing those unhappy years." He picks up the phone and calls his half-brother Art.
“Art, it’s Cliff. I’m at the Peninsula Hotel.”
“No kidding! Why?”
“I wanted to see the old town. It’s been a long time.”
“Too long, Cliff. I hope you’ll join me for dinner at the Blue Crab. You still like steamed crabs, don’t you?
“You bet. I’ll eat all you can pick.”
“You’re on. Should I come get you?”
“No, I have a car. How’s Matt?”
“He’s in the sanitarium. He still can’t deal with all the trouble caused by Jack.”
“What about Frank?”
“I’ll call him and ask him to join us.”
“Good. How do I get to your place?
“Just drive to the beach. The Blue Crab is at the end of the main pier.”
“Ok, Art. I’m on my way.”
Thirty minutes later, Cliff is greeted by Art and that unmistakable aroma of steamed crabs. He inhales deeply and says, “I wish Mother were here to share this feast with us.”
“I wish Captain Jack were here too, but--hell, the old man hated seafood.”
“Almost as much as he hated me.”
“He never really hated you,” says Frank, as he enters the restaurant. “He just didn’t understand you.”
“Oh?”
“As he was dying he asked us to tell you how sorry he was about the way things were in the old days.”
“Are you kidding?”
“No,” says Art. “He actually said he was proud of all his sons, you and Lew included. That’s why he insisted that the proceeds from the sale of his property be divided equally among all his sons.”
“I was opposed, of course.” says Frank. “So was Matt. We never felt you deserved it. I mean, what did you and Lew do to help the old man when he needed you?”
“Frank,” says Art. “The past is dead. Leave it in the grave.”
“I can't,” says Frank.
“Me either,” says Cliff. “The past has haunted me all my life.”
“Is that why you turned your back on young Jack when he came to you for help?"
“You’re wrong,” says Cliff. “Lew and I did all we could for the boy.”
“Bullshit,” says Frank.
“Frank, shut up,” says Art. “The kid was beyond help. If anybody was to blame for the way things turned out, it was Matt.”
“Thanks, Art. I guess I shouldn’t have come. Thomas Wolfe was right.”
“Who the hell is Thomas Wolfe?” says Frank.
“A Southern writer who said, ‘You can’t go home again.’”
“Well, you’re here,” says Art. “Let’s make the best of it. You two shake hands.”
“I’d rather have a beer,” says Frank.
“Ok, then we eat.” Art hands Frank a cold beer. “I promised Cliff a mess of crabs.”
“No crabs for me,” says Frank.
“Me either,” says Cliff. “I lost my appetite.”
Franks drinks his beer and leaves.
“Just like old times,” says Cliff.
“Oh, Frank will come around. He’s depressed these days because his farm market is losing money. Most of his old customers have either died or switched their business to that fancy supermarket in the mall, which is more convenient than driving out to the farm.”
“Maybe I can help”
“He won’t take any money, even from me.”
“I wasn’t suggesting money.”
“Well, what do you know about farming?”
“Nothing. But I know a lot about marketing.”
“So you’re willing to help?
“Yes, but let me think about it. What does he call his business?”
“Farm-Fresh Produce.”
“Hell, any supermarket can say that. Franks needs a gimmick”
“A what?”
“Something special. Something the supermarket doesn’t have.”
“Like what?”
“Captain Jack’s truck, modernized, refrigerated. Load it up every morning and drive it into town where the customers are. Maybe we could find a parking spot near the mall, or several spots.” Cliff is getting enthusiastic about the idea. “We could attach a loudspeaker and a good old boy voice to generate some excitement, something like: “Captain Jack is back! Money-saving produce fresh from the farm!” We support the idea with a few radio and tv commercials, with a slogan like: Wherever you live, Captain Jack brings the farm to you. The freshest produce in town at money-saving prices.”
“Sounds good to me,” says Art.
“It’ll take some work,” says Cliff, “but I think it will work.”
“Will you help get it started?”
“Yes, if Frank is willing to listen.”
“If he thinks it will save his business, he’ll listen.”
“One more thing.”
“What?”
“If, somehow, we can get young Jack out of jail, maybe he can manage the truck and the advertising.”
“Can we trust him? Will he do it?”
“It’s a lot better than rotting behind bars.”
“I don’t know,” says Art. “That crazy kid might drive off in the truck and never come back.”
“Not if we work on his ego a bit. We can tell him that he’s Captain Jack. Dress him up and let him star in the commercials. The kid has a lot of charm. The ladies will love him. All we have to do is keep him off the sauce.”
“You make it sound easy.”
“It’s not. It’s going to take a lot of thought and a lot of work.”
“Ok, Cliff, I’m sold. After we fill up on steamed crabs, let’s talk to brother Frank.”
“Do you think he’ll talk to me?”
“Yes, he needs you.”
That night, Cliff flops on the bed and calls Marie.
“Hi, Tiger. You still in one piece?”
“Yeah, I may go into the farm business.”
“Are you crazy? You hate farming.”
“Frank is having financial problems with his farm market, and I’d like to try to help him save the business.”
“I can’t see you pulling a plow or whatever it is you do with the damn thing.”
“I‘m working on a marketing plan.”
“He doesn’t deserve it.”
“He’s family.”
“So is young Jack, and you know the kind of hell he’s caused you.”
“I may be able to help him, too.
“When did you become God?”
“When I met you, Angel. Which leads me to ask if you’d mind coming down later to help with the initial promotion.”
“What could I possibly do?”
“You’d be the star attraction. I’d display your beauty in large posters plastered all over town.”
“As what?”
“The Farmer’s Daughter.”
Marie squeals with laughter. “So you want to put me in some skimpy nothing lying in the hay?”
“Mainly I just want you to stand there in your skimpy nothing, maybe leaning on a plow or Captain Jack‘s produce truck. The text would say: FARM FRESH.”
“I love it.”
“I thought you would. I’ll be home tomorrow.”
“Good, I’ll turn down the bed.”
