Long Nose the Liar

There was an old liar who lived in our village. I’m sure of it. No one else seems to remember him, but then again no one else seemed to like him either. Back then the other children called him “Long Nose the Liar” because he looked like Pinocchio, and all his stories sounded like lies.

But I liked his stories. I loved the liar and his tall tales about the Great Pirate Era, about the open seas, and how he saved the world. He never did tell me his name though, even though I asked him over and over he’d just say, “Ah, doesn’t matter. Just call me so-n-so.”

I called him Gramps instead, and he just chuckled.

If any of the other children liked him, they wouldn’t admit it. They always made fun of him, and even had a song:

“Long nose the liar

Used to sail the seas.

His head got boiled in the sun,

So now it’s full of peas!

He says he’s had adventures,

But that’s a big fat lie:

Don’t listen to the liar,

Or you’ll dream all day and die!”

They didn’t like me either. I suppose that’s why we got along. Even now I’ll try to tell the village children the old stories, but their parents just shake their heads at me and say, “Get your head out of the clouds. Grow up!”

It’s like they don’t remember any of it, or maybe they don’t want to. They were old stories even back then, and well over a century old now. I suppose the children will have a song for me soon enough as well, but I don’t mind turning out like Gramps.

He’d tell us, well, tell me stories of his adventures. The other’s mocked him, but I listened. I loved him, and I suppose he loved me too, because he gave me his book...

It was the day he left. I had come to this very beach to watch the sea on that day too, because here is where I’ve always felt most like myself. Here I could act out Gramp’s stories, and I could dream about going to sea and imagine what adventures I could have on far off islands.

The other children had been extra mean that morning. So, I didn’t feel like playing. I was sitting on the beach, staring out to sea when Gramps came hobbling up along the coast.

“Daisy,” he said, “Why on earth are you out here on your own?”

“The other kids are picking on me,” I said, “so I ran away.”

“A very good tactic,” he’d said wisely, “Good for the lungs too.”

I sat on the sand and tossed a handful at the water.

“I’m so sick of myself for just running away,” I said, “how do I become a brave sailor like you?”

Gramps struggled himself down to sit beside me and looked out over the waters.

“Have I ever told you about my miracle ship?”

I shook my head. For all his wild tales, he’d never once mentioned a miracle ship.

“I wouldn’t have been half the sailor I was without her. Well, truth be told,” he looked over his shoulders, “I was a pirate!”

“What?!” I gasped, “But you’ve always said you were a plain old sailor!”

“Well, Pirates are sailors too!”

“But doesn’t that make you a liar like they say?!”

“Ha! For all I’ve seen the truth is far stranger than any lie, bluff, or half-truth a geezer like me could ever imagine! Those kids don’t deserve the truth, but you, my dear, you’re a dreamer like me so I think you do. Do you want to hear it?”

I nodded, eagerly, “Yes, please! You were a pirate? What was this miracle ship?”

He waved a hand at me to calm down, “All in good time! But:” He grinned at me, “It all started on this very shore, when The Pirate King himself came on land.”

“THE Pirate King!”

“That’s right. I taught him all he knew! Not one of my adventures happened without him by my side. Only, when he landed here, he wasn’t anyone yet. Just a boy in a straw hat with a leaky rowboat!” He smiled wistfully at the waters, “he helped me save this village from bandits, and as a reward I convinced the shipyard to give him a ship. But that’s another tale for another time. Ah, that ship was a beauty: a caravel with a sheep for a figurehead, and it’s that miracle of a ship which taught me bravery.” He smiled, and said softly “Her name was Merry Go.”

I wish I could remember his story more clearly. But like his presence in the village, time has a way of softening memory. But surely there was something there. A great many somethings: floating restaurants, rivers flowing up mountains, men living in whales, dueling giants, talking reindeer, mocking towns, sky islands, and beneath it all a little ship pushing him onwards, saying “Can’t you see that light?”

He’d said that too,

““Can’t you see that light?” Merry carried us through all manner of dark storms with that little phrase. But while humans may grow stronger through experience, ships don’t. They wear out over time. And Merry, well, she carried us through it all. But after all these adventures, we found our way to that famous city of shipbuilders: Water 7, where even the greatest shipwrights in the world said she could not be repaired.

We found ourselves in the darkest waters then. Our ship was dying, and another member of our crew was captured by the Old World Government, but that didn’t stop us! No! We chased after her into the very belly of the beast to save her!

Oh, was I scared! We were surrounded on all sides, nearly captured, killed, or worse, and just when the darkness and doom seemed ready to devour us whole Merry came for us! With neither sail, nor sailor, that wonderous ship never lost her way in the darkness but called to us and said “look! There’s the light!” She came for us and delivered us safely to the next shore.

But after all that, she gave way to the wear and tear of adventure and broke clean in half. We saw her off, sure enough, giving her a proper burial at sea. Even so, it was she who apologized to us, apologized that she couldn’t carry us further, though she’d already done so much.”

He sighed deeply then, breathing in the sea air and closed his eyes.

“She taught me to push forward to the light. No matter how dark the storms grew, no matter how wild the seas, she didn’t fight or flee but pointed straight ahead. She taught me to persist. Pirates, at least back then, are those who raise a skull and bones in defiance of the impossible; those who pursue dreams no matter how many people laugh. When I remember that, the jeers of the dreamless are empty threats to we who fight the impossible.”

That’s when he gave me his journal, his collection of adventures. I’m sure of that. It all seems so vivid. But maybe it all was just a dream. Because he smiled then too, and looked to the sea:

“I’m sorry, Daisy. But it’s time I go as well. I hear Merry calling me back to sea, ready to carry me to the next shore. That, to me, is bravery: choosing to push forward through the storm. No matter how afraid, no matter how dark. I’m afraid right now, but also excited. Because I know that if I can hold on, if I can persist and push forward past what’s possible, then the dawn will come in time.”

Maybe it was a dream, because I’m sure he walked out to sea to meet a little ship with a sheep for a figurehead. But he did live here once, so like him I’ll be brave, persist and tell his stories. Just like he wrote in that book. Where did I put it? It was called something with his name, “The Adventures of Captain…” something. “So-n-So” I suppose, or maybe just Long Nose the Liar.