Quidnunc

"Has she always been that way?" asked the Captain.

"Why?" asked the First Mate.

"You're not supposed to answer a question with a question, Sailor, especially of your Captain. If the woman has hustled all her life the way she does now, I don't know how she's still alive."

"Aye, Captain. But we should be thankful we have her, because she does keep things lively what with her flowing tongue and great energy."

"Fine. But she's supposed to be on vacation. And a pretty expensive one at that. Chartering a hundred-footer for six weeks doesn't come cheap. Does she ever stand still? Or sit? Or stop talking?"

They used to call Nancy Fleming, Live Wire and Dancy Prancy Nancy. Her mother thought she was pathologically hyper so put her on tranquilizers. But the little girl still jumped, skipped, hopped, and talked incessantly. It wasn't that she was clinically hyperactive, she was simply more than anyone could handle.

"Nancy, will youpleasesit down, you're disturbing the others."

"It's all right, Mrs. Oglethorpe," said a classmate. "We're used to her." Then the little girl teased, "If you tie dust mops to her legs, she'll clean the room in record time."

"Girl, will yousit! I think we should send you to Obedience School or put a shock collar on you. Sit, girl, sit!"

But she didn't and never would. She was energy in motion and would be for the rest of her life. The best thing Captain Larund could do was stay out of her way.

"But how can you ignore a tornado, a typhoon, a tsunami? If we hooked her up to a paddle wheel, she'd scoot us faster than the main and jib put together. No one can ignore the likes of that!"

Nancy Fleming Dupont was a dynamo, that's for certain. But onlookers were wrong when they assumed it was all physical. In college, she fell in love with Biology and, while she loved field trips, was as quiet and still as an accountant in the dorm when she pinned and prepared

specimens. So subdued was the girl that her roommate worried about her.

"All she does is read books about Lepidoptery. That's great if you're a butterfly, but you can tell Nancy has tons of energy. Somehow it seems unnatural that such a vivacious person should be sostill."

"I agree," said her lab partner. "I think she's turning into one of her specimens: a moth, maybe. She's going to burn the midnight oil so much I'm afraid she's going to singe her wings.

Even her boyfriend said, "I think we should get out more, Nancy. Party and stuff. OtherwiseI'mgoing to end on the point of a pin."

But during the day she exhibited symptoms of one with St. Vitas Dance.

"Well, Captain," said the First Mate, as theMacawmet a cold, wet front off Martha's Vineyard, "from what I've heard, if we want her to calm her sheets, all we have to do is put her in a dark cabin with a net full of butterflies and pocket full of pins." The front lasted three days.

"Only a duck and Career Seaman could like this," said the cook as he closed the hatch and focused on his fondue. "But even I could be driven topside by that infernal woman and her jibber-jabber! Sun, please come out so Butterfly Lady can spread her wings and give me some peace!"

But the front stayed, and the other crew members and guests learned first-hand what the cook had met in the galley: when Nancy Dupont wasn't running from bow to stern or port to starboard, she incessentlyperpetuallynontstopneverendingnointermissiononandon chattered.

A problem-solving guest approached Nancy. "You know so much, Dear, have you ever thought of writing a book?"

"Mrs. Dupont," said another guest, "my brother-in-law operates a lecturing circuit. He's a regular impresario. Books people all over the world. Perhaps you would like to enlist his services? I think you would be marvelous on the platform."

Everyone aboard theMacawstrategized to divert the woman's boundless energy. The First Mate joked that if they found a way to confine her to her cabin it would leave the job of filling the sails to the wind.

"Lookie here, Captain," said Robinson the third night out, "we need todosomething. She's driving everyone mad. Cook's burning his biscuits, navigator's losing his bearings, cabin boy's sweeping dirt from under the bunks, we're all going bananas. If this were the old days we'd keelhaul or hoist her ever-talking body to the top yard for the rest of the voyage, strap her in the Crow's Nest, tack her to the tiller, nail her as a figurehead, use

her as shark bait, weld her to the anchor. I'm serious, Captain, the lady, beautiful and rich as she may be, is driving us all to distraction."

"Ah, Robinson, you're letting the rainy spell get to you," said the Skipper. You know as well as I that all storms blow over. Get a good Northerner and both storms will dissipate."

"Aye, Sir," said the First Mate. "Question is, can we survive that long?"

"Fear not," said Larund. "I'll come up with something."

A veteran Captain is far more than a salty order giver. His talents reach far and wide, to the heights and the depths, and for that reason in days gone by he was given the power to marry, execute, attack, plunder: he was a god afloat. And all this not because of his exhalted position: it was due to the man's intrinsic worth. Captains of old were knowledgeable, bold, and even deviously clever. Typically, these were the very qualities Captain Theobold Seisman Larund possessed. And he displayed them that very evening at the Captain's Table.

Now, before the voyage, Master Larund had researched the background of every member aboard: he wanted to know how best to satisfy his clients. After Robinson's outburst, the Captain sat in his mahogany-lined Quarters and reexamined Nancy Dupont's file. He focused on her passion for Lepidoptery. And that's when the idea struck him. He closed the file and mused. The plan was simple, and if it worked, would solve everyone's problem. That night at dinner, Master Larund cast his bait.

"It's a good thing, this weather. Plightful as it may seem, because of it we just might get a chance to witnessOmlicha Millenniana."

"Sounds scientific, Captain," bit the Lepidopterist. "Is it a species or a nautical term?"

"I apologize," feigned the Captain. "I was mumbling to myself."

"You mumbledOmlicha Millenniana, Sir. Just what might that be?"

Larund let out more line."Omlichaappears only after a lengthy spell of mist and fog and, little known to most scientists, has been spotted by few boats in the North Atlantic. It belongs to the insect world, Mam."

"Insect world?" prodded Robinson, sensing the game. He knew his Captain.

"Yes. TheOmlichacomes but once a thousand years, hence theMillenniana. in its name. Obviously a most rare specimen. Or speci-woman, if you insist. It seems that the bug breeds so rarely that no one knows ..."

"Bug?" interrupted the Lepidopterist. "Please, Captain, at least insect, butterfly, or moth, but notbug."

Robinson was silent, extending a bowl of biscuits.

"Well," continued Larund casually, "Sailors of old hung lanterns over the gunwales hoping to catch one. But it may all be legend," and he dismissed the topic. "Thank you, Robinson."

Well hooked, there was nothing the woman wouldn't do to spot this rare species even if she had to wait nine hundred and ninety-nine years more. Her mind raced.Immediately after dinner, I must take my nine-volt, rechargeable, battery-operated storm lamp and trusty butterfly net and go topside.She had the presence to question the Captain.

"Please tell me more, Captain. I've studied butterflies all my life but have never come acrossOmlicha Millenniana."

"Oh, no matter, Mam," said Larund, giving her more line. "Some think it's just a legend anyway. Please pass the butter, Robinson."

"But, Captain, if it's true..."

"Nothing to concern yourself with, Mrs. Dupont. Honey pot, First Mate?"

"But if it exists and is seen only during this kind of weather, I should think it would behoove an aficionados to keep a close watch."

"And a steady one," added the Captain, yanking the hook. "For it's said among mariners and seafarers -- this is your first voyage? -- that the extremely rare butterfly can appear at the most unexpected time. That is, atanytime. At dawn, throughout the light of day, sunset, or even at night. Some say the most likely time is between meals, others during cocktail hour in the evening. Sailors of old, bent on capturing the rare bug..."

"Please, Captain,butterfly."

"Yes, of course." feigned the Captain, beginning to reel in his catch, "Sailors of old were said to have hung lanterns over the gunwales hoping to catch one. But it may be all legend. More biscuits, Robinson?"

In that simple stroke, Captain Theobold Seisman Larund earned his rank. He knew he had landed his prey, for as soon as dinner was over, hyper Mrs. Dupont rushed to her cabin and prepared herself. Robinson beamed above the bisquits.

For the rest of the voyage, the passengers of theMacawlived in peace. They ate pleasantly as the Lepidopterist had taken eternal Watch on deck and insisted that her meals be brought to her. The cook never considered it

an inconvenience. Mrs. Dupont ate, slept, and lived at the lifeline. And just to keep her interest keen, Captain Lundar occasionally dropped a teaser.

"Some sayOmlichahangs close to the water," or "Two thousand years ago a Phoenician galley was said to have spotted the bug at the stern," and then, "Nautical rumor has it that the bow's the most likely spot." So through his well-timed remarks, he had the woman glued to the deck and, equally important, silent.

When theMacawdocked at a Caribbean island, the first thing Nancy did was rush to the Public Library. Then the University Library. Onto the Science Department and Archives that specialized in rare animals. She searched the Internet in her Quarters and interviewed sea salts along the docks. The woman did all this on the run because she didn't want to miss the chance of seeing the famousOmlicha Millenniana. But, of course, she found nothing. Neither in her search or research.

Now, Nancy was, as First Mate Robinson pointed out, a "stalwart lass." Possessed the endurance of a shark. "Put her to a task and she never lets go. More like a lamprey eel, if you ask me." Nevertheless, she was human. She spent so much time on the deck, twenty-four hours a day for weeks, that it finally took its toll. Robinson understated his observation when he said, "The poor woman wasn't always awake that last week."

In fact, when they docked at Providence, Rhode Island on their return, and her rested husband came to greet her, take her to the limousine, and escort her to the family mansion, he met a hair-bleached, face-burned, droopy-eyed, emaciated woman.

"What's this?" asked Warren. "I don't dare ask if you enjoyed the trip, Dear. Rough seas? What have you been doing?"

"Doing?" answered Nancy groggily. "I've been hunting the famousOmlicha Millenniana."

The millionaire looked at the Captain inquisitively. The Captain smiled, conspiringly.

"Oh, yes Sir," said Master Larund, his tongue noticeably tucked in his cheek. "Your wife has spent a fascinating trip seeking the ubiquitousbutterfly. Aye, legendary, it is. Said to be visible but once a thousand years and then only to thetrueaficionados who neverleavesherpost. And I must admit, Sir," the Captain said boldly, "your wifeisdevoted. Spent more time on deck than the rest of the crew combined. Oh, yes, we just loiteredquietlyandaimlesslyabout the deck the entire trip once Mrs.

Dupont took Watch. I'm certain the trip was quite dull for the rest of us compared to the milestone search your wife undertook in her lively, dedicated way. Why, guests almost fellasleepduring the day!"

Warren smiled broadly. He and the chauffeur carried the bedraggled woman to the limo.

No one knows if the Lepidopterist still seeks the rare butterfly, but Warren Dupont claims that the mansion has been pleasantly quiet since the return of theMacaw.

Ah, dear quidnunc.