Beating The Devil

Time Capsule: 1970

Can * nois * seur  (kan' us sur') n. one competent to render critical judgement on the qualities and merits of cannabis

Heads Up: Check out a strain with the unlikely name Girl Scout Cookies at Re-Leaf on Mission at 9th in San Francisco. It's a fast moving, long lasting, space shuttle that keeps climbing for the new frontier.


Scorpio Rising on the Queen Mary of the Underground: Part 2
(The following is from my log of that 1970 voyage from New York to Tangier, Morocco)

                           Beating The Devil

Now you must understand that the charm of Yugolinia, the Yugoslavian Passenger Line, is in its casual attitude about time. People who can afford to spend eight to ten days en route to Tangier or Casablanca, are people who move with the flow.
Indeed Scorpio had first heard about the line in the late fifties when it transported heroes like Ginsberg, Kerouac, Corso, Bowles and Burroughs to the Casbah, And the legend persisted. Tangier, Kif, hash, Telepathon, girls, boys, free zone, exotic solitude, enlightenment... Any experience you can imagine. Live like a lord on 1000 bucks a year.
All through the early sixties the legend grew. The Yugo line baby. New York to Morocco for 180 bucks. If you take your bike its another 50. Haul a car? 150 bills. Absolutely the cheapest and grooviest way to go. Incredible droves of drop-outs, drifters, artists, students, smugglers, seekers and unlikely prophets: making it from everywhere to catch the boat. And most of them ending up crashing on someone's sofa and watching New York devour their circus money, while the captain makes up his mind tp pull out. For as mentioned earlier, the ship seldom leaves when it's supposed to.

                                                         (Jerusalem '65 Herod's Gate)
                               
As the scheduled departure date went from February 17 to 24 Scorpio began to get anxious. His phone was off, his apartment disassembled, and his psyche set at split position. With each change of date the delay became more sinister. Finally, on the 24th, Scorpio decided to stop fucking around and Get On The Boat.
He boarded the Tuhobic at the Columbia Street Pier in Brooklyn, after a grim ride through Red Hook  at dusk. The first things that struck him were the scars that time, and the sea, had worked into the freighter. Needing a paint job, its hatches open and empty, loading beams tangled and cargo in disarray, the Tuhobic looked vulnerable, and very tired. Well, she was five years older and so was Scorpio. He found his cabin, hustled the steward for some food, took a long walk around the deck and went to sleep.
Scorpio took his time getting up and arranging himself in the cabin with his Mysterious Traveling Companion. He was On The Boat and there was no reason to hurry.
In the off season (November to March) the difference between First Class and Tourist Class is thirty bucks. Scorpio had traveled Tourist the first time, and found it quite confortable. Since he had Mysterious Traveling Companion along this trip it seemed like a good idea to spring for some extra amenities.
It was an excellent idea.
All of the cabins, both Tourist and First, were done in the same decor: sort of New England bed and breakfast. But the first class cabins were spacious: large stateroom, private bathroom, wardrobe area with big closets. The two single beds were separated by a mirrored vanity table and against the far wall was a couch with small bureaus at each end. There was also a table, two armchairs, wall to wall carpeting, and plenty of drawer space. All this was to the good in Scorpio's situation because because  Mysterious Traveling Companion never made a move with less than ten suitcases and the odd trunk.
That taken care of, Scorpio put a roll of film his Konica and leisurely went up on deck  Leisurely because On The Boat time is a key factor. Sixty strangers compressed on board for ten days with all their needs covered, booze fifty cents a taste, and grass legal beyond the twelve mile limit. Everything of course at the captain's discretion. Over that span things change and take shape. Basic elements for any number of plot lines.
On deck nothing was moving.
Scorpio took a few shots of the loading cranes talked to an elderly fellow passenger about the departure date and went back to his cabin to read. He picked up The Electric Kool Aid Acid Test by Tom Wolfe, switched on the reading lamp above his pillow and, after noting the subtle luxury of the ashtray screwed into the wall just hand high, remained transfixed until the dinner bell rang.
 One's first entrance in any ship's dining room is always an uptight affair and Scorpio's dinner offered an added stroke. There were ten pissed off females sitting glumly around the table.
It came out that only two were sailing and the rest were there to see them off. They were dragged because they all expected to eat but the ship was only feeding certified passengers. To Scorpio this meant getting into his chow with sixteen hungry eyes on his greedy chops.
During the meal Scorpio learned which two were on the boat. They were eating. One was a homespun, maidenly type from Florida who was on her way to Morocco and Europe, destination and stay indefinite. The other, a very straight looking bird with an up and over swept hairdo that made her look like a Miss America contestant--was on her way to Algiers to pick up on revolutionary techniques. From Miss America to Miss Chicago Convention. She talked about Battle of Algiers and billyclubs and as he listened to her repeating slogans, an ecstatic glaze on her smiling face, Scorpio realized he was dealing with the old Joan of Arc change here and promptly intoned baptism.
After dinner he went directly back to his stateroom and his book only to be interrupted by a knock at the door. Reluctantly, Scorpio got up and opened it a crack.
Cole was standing there.

NEXT: The Joker Gets Wild