THE HOMLIEST MAN I EVER MET
Thomas Mahon
I am not an animal.
I am a human being.
I…Am…A Man!
~ The Elephant Man
“Some years ago — never mind how long precisely — having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery parts of the world…. Almost all men, sometime or other, cherish very nearly the same feelings towards the ocean with me.”
And thus, long ago and far away I too sailed in the watery realms of the world, and saw sights and lights such as were seldom seen by God-fearing men since first the world began.
Out there you’ll see things as will make you doubt your own sanity. There be grown men directing big firefighters’ hoses out to sea, giving the ocean a good washdown, as if it required such. Only when the mate says it’s Fire Drill Thursday does the absurd make sense.
Or learning a knot that, secured to the handle of a swab, lets you toss the filthy mop in the ship’s wake for a few minutes, then retrieve it clean enough so’s you might floss your teeth with it.
The S/S NoGoodNick was a tramp steamer that not even Panama or Liberia would allow her men to serve on. Our ship had a crew of fifty seamen, self-called the out-to-lunch-bunch, and we represented at least twenty different countries, not all of them recognized by the United Nations.
But of all these friends and shipmates I best recall
The Homliest man God ever made, him most of all.
“Homely,” as he was called never spoke, either because he preferred to keep his own counsel, or he did not know the guttural sounds by which men communicate where is no common language. Or maybe he was mute.
Some said he was from the South Seas; some claimed from the Balkans; and still others though maybe from one of the -stans. Perhaps one of the other planets.
He was so homely that no one would sit across from him in the mess at mealtime. Nobody hated him or razzed him or gave much thought to him. He was just a presence you accept like paint on a wall.
I cannot describe the features of his homeliness. It would demean him and frustrate me. But it happened one morning, after weathering a typhoon off the coast of the Philippines, that I came into the mess late and was forced to take the only seat left, the one opposite Homely; the seat that had been unused since we last left port.
So I will describe his breakfast that may tell you something about the fullness of the man, and of the reality of his presence in the world.
He started with a large bowl of oatmeal which he topped with some brown sugar. On top of that he scooped two three-minute eggs, and then some corn flakes.
A single pancake covered the concoction, requiring a squirt of maple syrup. And for the pièce de resistance, a few dabs of cayenne pepper to give it all a little body. Finally, he poured a cup of hot coffee into the big bowl and stirred vigorously.
I could no longer look at the concoction so I began to study his face. There was a tenderness and innocence about it that I hadn’t seen before (maybe because I’d been too frightened to look before).
As if in the act of stirring he remembered his beloved m’nana from a world away (Samoa, Kosovo or Tajikistan?).
Then, for a moment, we caught each other’s eye. His gaze was of such unconditional happiness and serenity I could barely stand it. Then I had to look away, fearing in his magnanimity he would offer me a spoonful.
The homeliest man in the world, alone in the world, adrift at sea. Yet I envied him more than anyone alive.
I learned something that morning. Homeliness might be a gift from the gods. It scares away from your path all those who would waste your time with gibberish or diddly-doo. Kings would give up thrones to have the serenity in Homely’s face.
And I made another note in my journal that morning, too. Homely (the adjective not the noun) is not the same as ugly. Ugliness is engendered within broken, shriveled, stagnant souls. A man can spend two hours every day being made to look slick and shiney to the world, but the ugliness that proceeds from mouth, and the stink from his bowels, is noted by the gods we cannot see. And they judge well
Arrrgggg, there be a lesson there, matey. Learn from it as you plod your weary way, til at last you reach safe harbor, and all be revealed. And all will be well. And all will be well.
© 2024, Thomas Mahon
