I had been living at the Agnes Beach trailer complex for about a year when the events of this story happened. The trailer complex was a form of community housing. It had originally been built for a construction crew, and then it was left behind for the use of the owner of the property it had been built on. VR was the owner of the property, and she eventually moved into the abandoned structure. She had to accept roommates at the complex to help with the expense of keeping the place open. Jim Baccus lived at the trailer complex and he was our trickster. He would tell a story that sounded good, but which was mostly bogus just to see if he could get someone to believe it. Speaking as a victim of some of his pranks I can say that he was a master of deception. Once he had even convinced my friend, SM (who stayed at Agnes Beach on and off between fishing seasons) that there was a mail buoy at St. Paul Island. Jim had told SM she could have the skipper of her boat stop by the buoy and let her drop off her mail in the waterproof pouch. Jim put the icing on the cake by also telling SM that the Coast Guard assisted the U.S. Post Office by picking up the mail and bringing it to the next port they visited. Because of this, sometimes the mail might be postmarked Dutch Harbor, or Kodiak, or Chignik. SM actually did approach her skipper with letters for the mail buoy while fishing for opilio crab that season. She became the laughing stock of the Bering Sea. What really amazed me was that she should have known better because SM had several years of fishing under her belt when Jim pulled this joke on her. But SM pleaded insanity by reason of Mr. Baccus' powers of persuasive deception. I had to accept her plea as a viable excuse, having been a victim of his other pranks. Even so, the mail buoy story is almost legendary as one of the oldest maritime jokes played on greenhorns. At the time that this story takes place, I was also working on fishing boats. December was usually a time of recovery for me from the ravages of the autumn Bairdi crab season in Bristol Bay. The seas were always high at that time of the year and whatever boat I was on usually ended up in distress for some reason. It was just a bad time of year to be out on the water. I would come home exhausted and feeling like I had been slam-dancing with a fat lady in full armor. My sleeping pattern went through radical shifts as I slept for the first twelve hours I laid down, and then didn't sleep for days after. Then I would barely wake up to eat or take care of hygiene needs and bodily functions. At some point I would reestablish my natural biorhythms. It was during my readjustment period this particular December that VR had her son get a tree from the store and mount it on its stand in the livingroom of the complex. VR was suffering from a lack of holiday spirit and decided to just dump the boxes of ornaments she had saved in a corner of the livingroom. Whoever wanted a happy Christmas the most was going to have to decorate the tree, VR had told everyone. She had also firmly declared that she wasn't going to do it. It was one of those years when no one seemed to have the Christmas spirit. The tree stood naked for several days without anyone making an attempt to decorate it. Late one morning I woke up and trudged into the livingroom to see what was on TV. Mr. Baccus was sitting in his usual place, with the remote control for the TV in one hand, and a cigarette in the other. We exchanged greetings as I settled into a semiconscious repose on the couch, in order to catch up on the mind candy and psycho babble that modern day entertainment has to offer. Having been out on a boat for the last two months, I was quite behind on such things. I was still half-asleep and not entirely sure that leaving my mattress so early in the day was a good idea, when Jim interrupted my contemplation of a return to hibernation by asking me if I wanted a cup of coffee. He added that it was fresh and that he had just made it. Now that he had mentioned it, I suddenly noticed the aroma of fresh coffee wafting invitingly through my nostrils. It occurred to me that I must really be out of it if I had missed that smell when I first opened my eyes. The aroma of coffee always got my attention. I accepted Jim's offer and laboriously began to shift into a sitting position, so that I could get up and go get a cup of java. Jim hastily advised me to not get up. He didn't want me to bestir myself for something he could so easily do for me instead. I should have known that something was up right then and there. This solicitous behavior was totally out of character for Mr. Baccus. Instead, I thought to myself, Gee, Jim must really be glad to see me. He's actually going to wait on me and bring me coffee. I didn't realize the guy missed my company so much when I went to sea. It is amazing how solicitous Jim can be when he wants something. He poured me a cup of coffee, asked me what I wanted in it and how much. He even set up a chair as a little table so I would have somewhere to set my cup. I was amazed! Jim was notorious for being incredibly lazy. He was always shystering people into doing things for him because he didn't want to do them himself. I was half worried that the guy was going to propose marriage and ask me to quit the sea. I liked the chubby old fart as a friend and didn't want to hurt his feelings by turning him down, but this situation was getting ridiculous! Jim? Waiting hand and foot on me? What was going on here? I didn't realize it, but Jim's little bug-eyes were keeping a careful watch on the level of fluid in my coffee cup. About the time I had consumed half of a cup of coffee the sales pitch began. Here came Jim's hook, "Gee, 'Chelle. Would you take a look at the tree? Did I do okay with putting on the lights? I tried to throw on a couple of garlands, too, but that tree's kind of tall and I'm kind of short. So what do you think, does it look okay, so far?" I cast a still somewhat bleary gaze upon the tree in the corner of the room. I really didn't care about the tree. I was still trying to wake up and I didn't want to think too hard about anything at just that moment. "Yeah, the tree's fine Jim," I said, answering all of his questions at once, "but could we not talk about this right now? I'm so tired. It hurts just to think. I need some more time to wake up." Jim was really apologetic about having bothered me. He even offered to get me another cup of coffee. After my second cup of coffee I began to perk up, but I still wondered what was going on. As soon as I began to show signs of conscious and alert life, Jim started in again about Christmas decorations. I remained very non commital because I had the feeling he wanted me to do something about the tree. Finally he asked me if I would do him a favor and this sparked a warning bell of caution in me as I agreed to grant his request with mild intrepidation. I was relieved when Jim told me he was afraid to stand on the wooden folding chairs that comprised most of the seating at the tables in the room. He wasn't tall enough to reach over one of the windows to hang a garland. Since I was both taller and skinnier than Jim, he figured I could help him with his problem. What I didn't realize is that Jim had decided to back up and start over with something small, since he didn't seem to be eliciting any concern from me about the lack of decorations on the tree. Sometimes I can be a hard person to get started. But once I am in motion I tend to shift gears pretty quickly, and then there has to be somewhere for this express train to go or I will cut and lay my own track. I ended up climbing on a chair to hang Jim's garland and then he brought me a couple of ornaments to hang on it so that they could be seen in the window. I climbed down, took one look at Jim's pathetic attempt to decorate the tree, and felt my gears shift into second for a steep climb. It was time to move the mountain, Mohammed, so start helping or get out of the way! It was like something out of a cartoon. I ripped off garlands and strings of lights with the same dextrous alacrity with which I handled deck lines. The garlands went flying off to one side while I sorted through the lights and then decided how best to place them. Pretty soon I was rustling around in the boxes of ornaments that VR had left lying around the room. Shiny stuff, round stuff, fluffy stuff, whatever-- it all came flying out and juggled itself into the air as though it were possessed by magic. But if one had looked closely, one could have seen my nimble hands flying about like birds, guiding each ornament to its place on the tree. When I was done, I looked around and realized the walls of the livingroom needed help. There were still plenty of decorations left. As I expanded my holiday decorating efforts, Jim nearly ended up fleeing the room, lest he too, be festooned. At last I stopped and poured myself another cup of coffee. I stood still in the middle of the room, surveying my handiwork as Jim gazed at me in fearful appreciation and wonder. "You did a nice job of decorating the tree, Jim!" I exclaimed. Bob, who was another resident of the complex, stopped in to take a lunch break from driving his taxi. He immediately noticed the change in the room, which was boldly advertised by a huge medley of brightly colored, and/or shiny, or blinking ornaments. "Great job, 'Chelle!" Bob told me, "It looks wonderful." "Oh, don't thank me, it was all Jim's doing." I told Bob, cocking my head at Jim with an amused glance. "Jim did all this? He told me he was going to get you to do it!" Bob exclaimed as he watched Mr. Baccus begin to squirm in his chair. Somehow Bob's revelation did not surprise me. As we all began to laugh, Jim gave a detailed account of his machinations to get the Christmas tree decorated. Bob was thoroughly impressed by the fact that Jim had actually bestirred himself to wait hand and foot on me. "Gee, if I had known I was going to see Jim do some work around here, and that he would even serve me coffee, I would have done the job!" Bob told us. All of the residents of Agnes Beach had a very merry Christmas that year. We teased Jim over and over, asking him if he would get us a cup of coffee, and telling him just how we liked our java. But he didn't care. Every time we started in on him he would just look at the tree with a far away gaze and smile. Some where in time he was remembering other holidays and all the good things that had come with them. Nothing we said could take that away, but only added to the memories. Agnes Beach is abandoned now and all the people who brought it to life again for a few years are scattered to the four directions. Mr. Baccus went back to his native Idaho and succumbed to lung cancer. There was a wake at the Elbow Room for our missing friend and everyone mourned his loss. There has been no one like him since. Merry Christmas, Jim, wherever you are.
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