Sandy zees. Sandy zat. All that me own sweet mere, Mary Bottoms, peut dire was "Sandy". Ne'er "Claude". And so, but, of course, I Claude, Claude the one who washed ze clothes, who swept ze floor was always in that cochon's shadow.
While he slept until ze sun was way past the horizon, twas I that chopped ze wood and changed the sheets at home.
I have only been ze step-son, the half brother, never part of "la famille". Even when I grew my moustache and said, "Ma mere, look at me, am I not ze most handsome man", she would scratch Sandy's beard and call him her little "Swashbuckler" and tell him to go have ze little nap!
"We must paint zees ship black", I'd tell her, "to be ze scourges".
Sandy was too weak, to ready to cave in to the wishes of la mere. Me? I had enough! Swines! I left them in Liverpool and crossed the divide to find my true father in Bordeaux. There on the corner of LaFleure and Grande, the ass that was once my father made his business. He was making sweeping motions with his hands as if trapped in a box staring wide eyed at passersby. I spat! My father? A mime? Incroyable! I crossed the boulevard and told him, "If you were not my flesh and blood, I would slice you from ear to ear!"
He made these grand gestures of wiping away tears before looking off into the distance and pulling forth an imaginary scully line. While he was of remarkable talent, I can never forgive the fates, and cursed that his walk down invisible stairs would land him in the fires of l'enfer!
So, I shrouded myself in la conspiracy mysterieuse. I followed my brother from port to port, keenly spying on him as he recruited new imbeciles. I quiverred when we meeted once more at his port of call in Lyons. Had he become slyer? I readied my en garde, to fend lunges from his uncaged scimitar. But, he did not see through my disguise of ze long blonde wig!.
Maybe he was just dull from ze grog, but he muttered on how thankful he was. Thankful that I, unlike ze other fools, will not stab me own foot? Always with ze muttering, he is like a papillion! My disguise was clever enough to fool ze chien! He never even asked my name, ze scourge, welcoming me aboard with ze stumbles and ze hiccups.
La Voilia! 'Tis, I, Claude de Persimmons, back aboard my birthright. Why does he insist on watering ze fleurs? Zey are cannons, mon frere, one does not grow ze tulips on ze cannons!
Zese clods call me ze frenchman. They steer clear of me with ze gaping eyes of malheuresment. I have already dispatched zat clown with ze two teeth. Swabbing ze deck, he said! By pretending to do waltz with ze mop? What is this, now? Ze first mate's calling on deck! Oh, mon dieu! To watch the sunset? Zis is my ship, it belongs to me and zees charlatans have no place here.
Zis ship will be painted black and rechristenned "the SS Claude de Persimmon" before my jour is rued.
And Sandy will walk ze plank. Sandy Bottoms.