Mahogany panels,
Carved with crescent moons,
Cover the walls of Nocturna’s
Smoking Gallery.
Three magnificent cabinets
Contain cigars from every corner
Of the known and unknown world.
Along neighbouring shelves,
Leather tobacco pouches
Hold blends
Both local and obscure.
Some fragrant.
Some peculiar.
And several that Edgar Brillows
Has specifically requested
Never be smoked
Near the curtains.
A small bar,
Serving cognac,
Whisky,
Port,
And various appropriate accompaniments,
Occupies one corner.
Deep leather
Chesterfield armchairs
And sofas rest upon Persian rugs,
While at the far end
A great stone fireplace
Crackles with the life
Of a fire that is said
To have never gone out.
Nocturna’s resident armchair philosophers,
Seamus Draker and Dante Ververs,
Are already deep within
One of their usual impossible discussions.
Tonight,
They are joined by the Coldbottom brothers,
Arthur and Malcolm,
Who have somehow
Become involved in a debate
Concerning whether a map
Can reasonably be considered accurate
If the island it depicts only exists
On Tuesdays.
Nearby,
Silvania Crumb is discussing entomology
With apiarist Brian Darrow.
And beside the fire,
Walter Crookshank
And Captain Abercrombie Marlowe
Discuss tobaccos from forgotten lands
With Nocturna member,
Tobacconist and Cigar Sommelier,
Beatrix Ashleaf.
Beatrix is a formidable woman.
Broad shouldered.
Dark haired.
Powerfully built.
She wears a black woollen skirt
And matching waistcoat,
From which hang,
Upon silver chains,
An ornate matchbox
And cigar cutter.
Beneath,
A short-sleeved,
High-necked white blouse
Leaves her muscular,
Heavily tattooed arms
Uncovered.
Several large silver rings
Decorate her fingers.
She sits hunched forward
In her armchair,
Her skirt
Slightly hitched,
Revealing a pair of structured
Black leather lace-up boots.
Between her fingers burns the stub
Of a magnificent cuban corona.
She draws deeply,
Exhales a great cloud
Of smoke,
And laughs.
“Nonsense,
Captain.”
Captain Marlowe stops.
His expression suggests
He has just suffered
A profound insult.
“Nonsense?”
“Complete nonsense.”
Beatrix replies.
Walter Crookshank
Immediately leans forward.
“Oh,
This should be good.”
Marlowe points his cigar
Towards Beatrix.
“Madam,
I was there.”
“So you claim.”
“I was captain of the vessel!”
“Which vessel?”
“The Mercy Bell.”
Beatrix frowns.
“Never heard of it.”
“Of course you’ve never heard of it.
It disappeared.”
There is a pause.
Beatrix removes her cigar.
“That…”
She admits,
“Is a reasonably
Good explanation.”
Across the room,
Dante Ververs
Has stopped talking.
So has Seamus.
Arthur Coldbottom
Closes his book.
Malcolm
Puts down his pen.
Silvania
and Brian Darrow
Turn their chairs
Towards the fire.
Everyone knows
The signs.
Captain Abercrombie Marlowe
Is about
To tell a story.
“It happened,”
Marlowe begins,
“Thirty-seven years ago,
In waters three hundred miles
Beyond the Widow’s Teeth.”
Arthur Coldbottom
Immediately interrupts.
“Which Widow’s Teeth?”
Marlowe glares at him.
“The islands.”
“There are three Archipelagos
Called the Widow’s Teeth.”
“The northern.”
Arthur considers this.
“Acceptable.
Continue.”
Marlowe takes
A considerable drink of whisky.
“We had been at sea
For twenty-three days.
No wind.
No birds.
No other ships.
Nothing.
Then,
Just before dawn,
We saw
An island.”
Malcolm Coldbottom
Raises one finger.
“Uncharted?”
“Completely.”
Arthur scoffs.
“Unlikely.”
“It wasn’t on our maps.”
“Bad maps.”
“They were excellent maps.”
“Who made them?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Bad maps.”
Marlowe ignores him.
“The island was covered
Entirely in black trees.”
Dante Ververs leans forward.
“Entirely?”
“Entirely.”
“No beaches?”
“None.”
“Cliffs?”
“None.”
“Then how did you land?”
Marlowe pauses.
“We didn’t.”
Dante smiles.
“Excellent.”
Seamus nods.
“The story has recovered.”
Marlowe continues.
“As we approached,
We heard a sound.”
“What sort of sound?”
Asks Silvania.
“A humming.”
Brian Darrow
Immediately sits upright.
“Humming?”
Marlowe looks at him.
“Yes.”
“What frequency?”
The captain stares.
“What?”
“High pitched?
Low pitched?
Continuous?
Intermittent?”
“I don’t know.
Humming!”
Brian frowns.
“Could have been bees.”
“At sea?”
Silvania asks.
“There are coastal bees.”
“Three hundred miles
Beyond the Widow’s Teeth?”
Brian considers this.
“Unusual coastal bees.”
Marlowe points
At both of them.
“They were not bees.”
“What were they?”
Silvania asks.
Marlowe leans forward.
“Moths.”
Silence.
Silvania’s eyes immediately brighten.
“What kind?”
“Black.”
“That isn’t a kind.”
“Very large.”
“That isn’t a kind either.”
Marlowe sighs.
“They were black,
Very large,
And there were millions of them.”
Now Silvania is interested.
“How large?”
Marlowe holds
His hands apart.
“About this.”
Brian nearly spills his drink.
Silvania stares.
“A wingspan of eighteen inches?”
“At least.”
“Impossible.”
Marlowe grins.
“Precisely.”
From beside her,
Beatrix Ashleaf
Quietly says,
“Careful, Captain.
You’ve got her attention now.”
Silvania turns towards Beatrix.
Their eyes meet.
Beatrix smiles
Around her cigar.
Silvania tries not to smile back.
She fails.
Only slightly.
Marlowe continues.
“The moths covered every tree.
Every branch.
Every leaf.
The island itself appeared to breathe
Whenever they opened their wings.”
Even Arthur Coldbottom
Is listening now.
“And then?”
Marlowe lowers his voice.
“Then we smelled the tobacco.”
Beatrix stops smiling.
“What?”
“Pipe tobacco.
Rich.
Sweet.
Spiced.
The finest aroma any sailor aboard
Had ever encountered.”
Beatrix leans forward.
“What sort?”
“Dark tobacco.”
“Obviously.”
She waves impatiently.
“What sort?”
Marlowe thinks.
“Vanilla.
Cedar.
Something floral.
And…”
He pauses.
“…salt.”
Beatrix’s expression
Changes.
Her cigar
Slowly lowers.
“Captain…”
She says.
“Was there a blue flower
Growing beneath
Those trees?”
Marlowe stares at her.
“There was.”
Beatrix sits back.
“Well,
I’ll be damned.”
Silvania watches her.
“You know it?”
“I might.”
Beatrix rises,
Crosses to one
Of the cabinets,
And removes
A small wooden box.
She returns.
Inside are several
Almost black tobacco leaves.
“This…”
She explains,
“Is Widowleaf.”
Marlowe’s mouth
Falls open.
Walter Crookshank
Bursts out laughing.
“You’ve finally found
Someone who believes you!”
“I never said I believed him.”
Beatrix replies.
She looks
At Marlowe.
“I merely said his imaginary island
Produces excellent tobacco.”
The room erupts into laughter.
By now,
Everyone is involved.
Arthur insists
The island must appear
On at least
One forgotten chart.
Malcolm remembers
A seventeenth-century journal
Describing
“A forest that smoked
Upon the sea.”
Brian Darrow develops a theory
That the giant moths
Pollinate the tobacco.
Silvania disagrees.
Then reconsiders.
Then begins sketching
The hypothetical insect.
Seamus Draker
Proposes that the island
May itself be alive.
Dante Ververs
Objects.
“An island cannot be alive.”
“Why not?”
“Because it is an island.”
“That is a geographical argument,
Not a biological one.”
Dante opens his mouth.
Stops.
Then points at Seamus.
“I dislike how reasonable
That sounded.”
Walter Crookshank suggests
The island might actually
Be the back of an enormous
Sleeping whale.
Arthur immediately
Rejects this on cartographic grounds.
Brian asks whether whales
Can grow trees.
Malcolm claims to have once read
That they can.
Nobody believes him.
Gideon Rook,
Entering with another tray of drinks,
Makes the considerable mistake
Of asking,
“What are we discussing?”
Eight people answer him
At once.
Gideon stands
Perfectly still.
He listens.
Looks towards the door.
Then quietly places down
The drinks.
“I see.”
“You don’t.”
Says Dante.
“No.”
Gideon agrees.
“I really don’t.”
Edgar Brillows
Appears behind him.
“What has happened?”
Gideon looks at the barman.
“The captain has discovered
An island covered in moths
That grows tobacco
And may possibly
Be a whale.”
Edgar considers this.
“Tuesday?”
Arthur Coldbottom
Immediately points at him.
“Exactly!”
Edgar nods,
Takes an empty glass from the tray,
And leaves.
By ten o’clock,
The Smoking Gallery has become
Thoroughly unruly.
Maps cover one table.
Books cover another.
Silvania and Brian
Have designed
An entirely hypothetical
Species of giant moth.
Malcolm has discovered
Three references to islands
That should not exist.
Seamus and Dante
Are now debating whether a whale
Can legally
Own property.
And Beatrix Ashleaf
Has opened the box of Widowleaf.
She carefully
Packs several pipes and selects
Two cigars.
“Well?”
Marlowe asks.
Beatrix lights one of the cigars.
Draws.
Waits.
Smoke slowly escapes her lips.
“Cedar.”
She says.
“Vanilla.
Bluebell.
Sea salt.”
Marlowe slaps both hands
Upon his knees.
“HA!”
Beatrix points the cigar at him.
“That proves the tobacco exists.
It does not prove
Your ridiculous story.”
“Madam,
You wound me.”
“Not yet.”
Silvania laughs.
Beatrix glances towards her.
For a moment,
The formidable tobacconist’s
Expression softens.
She removes a second cigar
From the box.
Cuts it.
Lights it carefully.
Then,
Without asking,
Passes it to Silvania.
Silvania accepts it.
Their fingers
Brush.
Just briefly.
“Careful,”
Beatrix says.
“It’s stronger than it smells.”
Silvania regards her
Over the cigar.
“So am I.”
Beatrix smiles.
“I know.”
Neither woman looks away
Quite as quickly
As necessary.
Brian Darrow,
Entirely occupied
With his moth drawings,
Notices nothing.
Seamus Draker does.
He smiles into his pipe.
And wisely
Says absolutely nothing.
It is Walter Crookshank
Who eventually
Causes trouble.
“There’s only one way
To settle this.”
Everyone turns.
Walter points
Towards Marlowe.
Then Beatrix.
“Arm wrestle.”
Silence.
Captain Marlowe
Looks at Beatrix.
Beatrix
Narrows her eyes at Marlowe.
Silvania removes her cigar.
“Oh dear.”
Marlowe laughs.
“Against her?”
Beatrix slowly rises from
Her armchair.
She rolls one shoulder.
Then the other.
“Something wrong,
Captain?”
Marlowe looks at her tattooed arms.
“Not at all.”
“Good.”
She removes her waistcoat.
Silvania very suddenly
Finds herself in need
Of another drink.
Beatrix folds her sleeves
A little higher.
“Where?”
She asks.
Gideon Rook
Points towards
A small mahogany
Chess table.
“Absolutely not.”
Everyone turns towards him.
Gideon looks
At the expensive table.
Then at Beatrix.
Then at Marlowe.
He sighs.
“I shall fetch a stronger table.”
“No!”
Walter cries.
“The chess table!”
Within moments,
The pieces have been removed.
Beatrix sits on one side.
Captain Marlowe
Takes the other.
Their elbows meet the mahogany.
Hands clasp.
And suddenly,
Money appears.
“Five sovereigns on Ashleaf!”
Calls Arthur.
“Ten on Marlowe!”
Shouts Walter.
“A box of cigars On Beatrix.”
Offers Brian.
Silvania places something
Upon the table.
Beatrix looks down.
A silver sovereign.
“On whom?”
She asks.
Silvania smiles.
“You.”
Beatrix’s eyebrow
Slowly rises.
“Only one?”
“I don’t gamble.”
“And yet?”
Silvania takes a slow draw
From her cigar.
“I consider this an investment.”
Beatrix laughs.
“Now I really can’t lose.”
From behind the bar,
Edgar Brillows
Calls out,
“Twenty on Ashleaf.”
Gideon looks
At him.
“Mr Brillows!”
“What?”
Edgar asks.
“I have eyes.”
Gideon sighs.
Then quietly places five sovereigns
Beside Edgar’s twenty.
The room erupts.
“Mr Rook!”
“I also have eyes.”
Walter Crookshank
Takes position
Beside the table.
“Ready?”
Marlowe grips Beatrix’s hand.
She grips back.
The mahogany table makes a small,
Concerning sound.
“Ready.”
Says Marlowe.
Beatrix smiles.
“Whenever you are,
Captain.”
“Three!”
Walter cries.
“Two!”
Everyone leans forward.
“ONE!”
The room explodes.
Marlowe pushes.
Beatrix pushes back.
Neither moves.
Cigars hang forgotten
Between lips.
Whisky glasses remain suspended
Halfway to mouths.
The captain’s face turns red.
Beatrix’s smile does not move.
Slowly,
Marlowe begins
Forcing her arm
Towards the table.
Walter cheers.
“Come on,
Captain!”
Arthur groans.
Brian Darrow has somehow
Started praying.
Silvania says nothing.
She simply watches Beatrix.
Their eyes meet.
Beatrix winks.
And then,
With one sudden
Terrifying movement,
THUMP.
Captain Abercrombie Marlowe’s hand
Hits the table.
Silence.
Then chaos.
The Smoking Gallery erupts.
Arthur Coldbottom
Throws both hands
Into the air.
Brian Darrow nearly falls
Out of his chair.
Edgar Brillows collects his winnings.
Gideon Rook looks rather pleased
With himself.
Dante Ververs
Claims the result
Was philosophically inevitable.
Seamus asks
What that means.
Dante admits he has no idea.
Captain Marlowe
Stares at his defeated hand.
Then at Beatrix.
Then begins to laugh.
A great,
Booming,
Seafarer’s laugh.
“Madam…”
He says,
Rubbing his wrist.
“I have fought typhoons,
Pirates,
Sea serpents,
And one
Extremely unpleasant Portuguese cook.”
He raises his whisky.
“But I know when I’ve been beaten.”
Beatrix raises her cigar.
“Next time,
Captain,
Choose the cook.”
Marlowe roars with laughter.
Everyone drinks.
Eventually,
The hour grows late.
Cigars become glowing stubs.
Pipes are gently emptied.
The cognac bottle
Is considerably lighter
Than it was at the beginning
Of the evening.
Books are closed.
Maps are folded.
Wagers are reluctantly paid.
And Captain Marlowe’s
Impossible island remains
Entirely unresolved.
Which,
Everyone agrees,
Is much better.
Silvania Crumb collects her notes.
Beside her are several pages
Of drawings showing an enormous
Black moth.
Beatrix approaches.
“Keeping that?”
She asks.
“Naturally.”
Silvania replies.
“I intend to determine
Whether our captain
Has accidentally discovered
A new species.”
“And if he has?”
Silvania looks towards Marlowe,
Who is demonstrating
To Walter precisely how
He would have won
The arm wrestle had the table
Been on a ship.
“I shall apologise.”
Beatrix smiles.
“That could be worth attending
The next meeting
Just to see.”
Silvania looks at her.
“You weren’t planning to attend?”
Beatrix pauses.
“Well…”
Silvania waits.
Beatrix smiles.
“I suppose I am now.”
She reaches forward and gently removes
A small piece of cigar ash
from Silvania’s sleeve.
A tiny gesture.
Almost nothing.
“Goodnight,
Silvania.”
“Goodnight,
Beatrix.”
Beatrix walks away.
Silvania watches her.
Only briefly.
Perhaps.
From his armchair,
Seamus Draker quietly smiles
Into the remains of his drink.
Gideon Rook opens the doors.
Cool night air drifts into
The smoke-filled room.
One by one,
The members of Nocturna’s Cigar Club
Take their leave.
Walter Crookshank
With a new tobacco to investigate.
Brian Darrow with an impossible moth
To identify.
Arthur and Malcolm Coldbottom
With an island to locate.
Seamus and Dante
With the considerably
More important question
Of whether a sentient island
Should be permitted membership
At Nocturna.
Captain Marlowe
Leaves with a sore arm,
An empty wallet,
And another story
That nobody believes.
And Beatrix Ashleaf
Leaves
With Silvania Crumb
Walking beside her.
Still talking.
Still laughing.
And taking rather longer
Than necessary
To say goodnight.
Behind them,
Edgar Brillows
Begins gathering the empty glasses.
Gideon surveys
The devastation.
Ashtrays.
Bottles.
Books.
Maps.
Abandoned chess pieces.
And one mahogany table
That has somehow survived
The evening.
“Successful meeting?”
He asks.
Edgar looks around the room.
From somewhere
Beyond the doors,
Captain Marlowe’s laughter
Echoes down the corridor.
Brillows smiles.
“Very.”
The ancient fire crackles
Within the hearth.
Still burning.
As it always has.
And another gathering of Nocturna’s
Cigar Club
Comes noisily,
Smokily,
And very happily to an end.
