Rarely there were tall sea stories told among us, mostly, just the day-to-day dialog of our lives. The dark wooden booths, bar stools, walls and sideboards that surrounded us, were polished from spit and spilt beer. The captain's wheel, nailed to the wall, had long since guided a rudder, and the rotten rope nets had never snared a fish. This was a tavern-the Captain Benbow Lounge-'Bows' to us regulars, not overlooking a deep blue sea, but the heart of a great concrete world of a city. There was no ocean's roar, no smell of salt air, no tides to mark time and travel, only the steady, low murmur of the jukebox box and idle laughter. Thieves and liars, pimps, prostitutes and fools sat, consorted, imbibed with speculators, thinkers, gamblers and men of business, both fair and foul-the pirate and the prince drinking from the same well. But adventurers we were also. Though the days were spent sipping warm beer and joining in these seemingly trivial amusements, we ventured into uncharted waters-the hidden places unto each of us.

"It's Crazy Paul ... he's at it again!" said Luke.

I looked up from my notes. Through the dark shadows of the late afternoon and cigarette smoke, I could see him. He had taken a roll of toilet paper from the bathroom and was carefully tearing each square piece off neatly and placing each one on an empty bar stool.

Luke and I didn't stop him. We just watched.

Ruth moved from table to table with her wet towel, wiping them clean. Then, she too looked up only to wipe the sweat from her brow and continue her chores. Luke spoke up again, this time loud enough for the 'Capt'n' to hear.

The 'Capt'n', John Lee Washington, short, bald and full-bodied, was a retired Army sergeant and owner of the Captain Benbow Lounge. But to all who knew him, he was simply-'the Capt'n'.

"Paul! What in the hell are ya' doin' now?" he bellowed. Crazy Paul just looked up and smiled through very dirty teeth. "Damn it!" the Capt'n exclaimed, coming out from behind the bar and picking each piece of tissue up off the stools. "Now you know I run a clean place and ya' don't need t' be doin' this!"

Still, Crazy Paul smiled. It was as though he didn't understand. No one ever really knew just what Crazy Paul was thinking.

"Now Capt'n, leave poor Paul alone," said Ruth. "He jus' saw me a' cleanin' over here and he wanted t' help." She came over and patted him gently on the shoulder. She cared for him in a very motherly way. "Come on Paul ... come on back t' the kitchen. Let me make ya' a nice egg sandwich. The kind ya' like," she said to him. She took him by the arm and led him away.

"You would think this is some kind'a fruit farm," said the Capt'n, getting up the remaining tissues.

"Crazy Paul is jus' ... 'Crazy Paul'," said Luke.

"Well some folks may wonder 'bout you too, the way you play with that set'a checkers all day. Maybe you ought'a go on out and get a job!"

"Now do I pay m'way or don't I?"

"And how do ya' pay? Asked the Capt'n, suddenly looking over at me. I picked up my warm draft and took a sip.

"And you think I'm jus' bein' some up'ty nigger huh?" he asked me.

"No," I replied, "I was just thinking ... that's all."

"And that's your problem 'Pilgrim'," that's what they called me at 'Bows'-'Pilgrim', "you always thinkin'. Always watchin'," he said pointing his finger to his head, insinuating that I was nuts.

I said nothing. He turned his attention back to Luke. "And how do ya' pay? Jus' tell me that!"

"Look here, there ain't nothin' wrong with a supplemented income," Luke told him.

"Supplemented? You ain't worked as long as I've known ya'! Welfare! That's what it is ... welfare checks!!"

"First off, it ain't none of your business jus' how I pay my way. Second of all, I'm .. sort of a ... philosopher, an' philosophers don't work. Shows how much you know!"

"Philosopher Huh? All I see you do is drink beer, smoke cigarettes, an' look at that checker board!"

The Capt'n looked at me again. "Do ya' think this man is really a philosopher? I mean really? Tell me."

I looked down at the residue of suds in my mug. "Well ... maybe everyone is a philosopher at heart," I said.

"Oh Great Mother Mary help us!" he exclaimed, "I got a thinker and a philosophizer! Heaven help us!"

"Go ahead an' laugh. Go ahead!" Luke replied.

"Look .. you jus' show me what starin' at that checker board all day does for ya'? A' movin' them pieces 'round by yourself?"

Luke looked at the faded, tattered game board on the bar, and shifted his weight on the bar stool, grinning. "I dunno ... I jus' been thinkin' ..."

"Hell! That ain't no answer!"

Luke took a red checker piece and placed it carefully on a middle black square. "It's .. it's like black 'n white, right 'r wrong, ... us 'n them ..."

"Oh Jesus help us!" the Capt'n lamented.

Luke looked at me for encouragement. "Go on," I replied.

He continued. "Us 'n them ... sort'a like you against the world. Ya' got'a make a move and ya' can't take it back. Ya' can't take it back. Life's such a gamble. Ya' take one piece and it's candy. Take another .. an' it's poison ..."

"... life and death, yin and yang, happiness and ... sorrow ..." I reflected.

"What?" said the Capt'n.

"It's a fair analogy I suppose."

"Anala-what? There ya' go with them fi'dollar words again. What do ya' mean .. anala .. whatever you said?"

"'Analogy'," I pronounced the word carefully.

"Yeah ... a-n-a-l-o-g-y," he said with difficulty.

"It means .. well it means that the game of checkers is sort of like the game of life."

"Well, it's sounds like bullshit t'me," replied the Capt'n.

"It's like an analogy," parroted Luke. He fiddled with the old checker pieces. I watched him quietly from my corner table. His greasy hair flowed down past the collar of his torn Hawaiian shirt. And his pants, his dirty jeans, perhaps they were the only pair he owned, along with his shabby tennis shoes. No socks. He was a drunk, but a likable one, seemingly always on hand to help the Capt'n or Ruth with the daily chores of running a saloon.

I yawned and looked back at my notes. They had become a mess, just a series of words and phrases. It was late in the afternoon. I had been there all day, and I knew I should get home. I had to put these notes to use while they were still fresh in my mind. But then again, maybe I would just go home and to bed. No. I couldn't. I just couldn't, I thought, as I stared down at the crumpled papers on the table. Tonight I would write.

Suddenly, the figure of a stranger appeared in the light of the opened door. He stood there for a moment, looking around, at me, then Luke, and then the Capt'n. He sat down on a stool at the end of the bar and ordered a drink. He was not like any of us. He wore a fine suit and carried a brief case. He was older, his hair slightly graying at the temples. He was of average build. There was something about his manner that demanded respect.

With interest, I watched him, his clean hands and starched white shirt cuffs. His movements were diligent and precise....