Three Men in a Boat. To Say Nothing of the T-Killer

The new location. — A mysterious sabotage. — The marshy river. — The T-Killer prepares scrambled eggs. — Washing clothes. — Dendritic Cell as a fashion designer. — Another night in the boat. — A complicated arithmetic problem. — Morning bathing. — Mister Basophil and his successful fishing. "Wow, we drifted off really far!" said Dendritic Cell, baffled and blinking. "Whatever, since we're already here, we might as well participate in the regatta!" rejoiced the B Lymphocyte. "Or at least watch it a bit." "What a shame, and I really wanted to make a pilgrimage to the temple in the heart," sighed Dendritic Cell and started looking with very sad eyes at the T-Killer for some reason. "It's okay, I think that it will be very interesting here as well," Memory Cell tried to cheer him up. But to be honest, he wasn't completely sure of it himself. He took out his map that miraculously didn't get wet during the flooding of the boat, and started studying it. Their main task was now to find out, which brachial vein they were entering. "That sign should've really been a bit more specific," commented Dendritic Cell, directing the objective of his camera, that had luckily survived all the water as well, at it. The scheme situated under the warning inscription was quite vague, provisional and also very worn out, making it impossible to understand what exactly it was showing. He closed the objective, shrugged and suggested: "Let's ask someone." And they did ask the first endothelial cell they met, if he could tell them where they were right now. But instead of answering, the latter inquired if they had suffered a heat stroke. "What heat stroke?" questioned the B cells with indignation. "Here's nothing but humidity!" "Well, then your nuclei must've been completely softened up by it," mocked the endothelial cell. "Very funny," chimed in Dendritic Cell. "But we've gotten a bit lost here and would like to know which vein this is." "A shoulder vein, of course," grunted their excessively clever interlocutor, made a dismissive gesture with his hand and returned to his work, since he was really busy at that moment. "Okay, not bad," uttered the Dendrocyte with slight confusion, trying to have at least a rough idea of how their further path would look like. "Perfect!" exclaimed the B Lymphocyte. "Let's go to the elbow, that's where the starting point for the regatta is." While saying that, he patted the T-Killer on the shoulder, accidentally waking him up, as the latter had nodded off in the meantime, tired after the difficult night filled with bad dreams. Luckily, he had slept through the conversation with that sapient endothelial cell, who would have gotten a good punch to the membrane otherwise for sure. Our adventurers rowed against the current, complaining that it would have been a lot easier if they were in an artery. There they wouldn't have needed to put in any efforts, as they could have sailed along the bloodstream. Dendritic Cell didn't have the slightest clue how they had managed to end up here in the first place, as the boat actually should have drifted off with the current. So basically they should have landed near the heart. What could have happened to bring them here, into a brachial vein? But he didn't find any answer, and in addiction to that, Memory Cell started spreading some mysticism, telling about evil pranks played by river spirits and nonsense like that. The B Lymphocyte answered that he was making that all up and that river spirits didn't exist, at which Memory Cell began to assure him that he had seen them with his own eyes. Hearing that, the other B cell indicated him with a gesture that he had a screw loose and recommended him to stop banging his head against the wall that often. And the T-Killer assumed that it was someone's act of sabotage. Perhaps the boat didn't even come untied by itself! Strangely, he was almost right. Their boat really didn't sail against the bloodstream by itself. It's just that the guests of some nearby hotel had decided to leave their boat and to continue by foot, asking some local workers to bring it back to the shoulder vein, where they had rented it. The latter confused the boats in the dark and pulled our sleeping gentlemen away almost until said vein, without noticing them inside the boat. And after having realized their mistake way too late, these dumbasses just decided to abandon them on the river in the fog and leave. And then, the current had brought them a bit back, right to that warning sign. Technically, it still wasn't late to head back, or more precisely, not too late. But the B Lymphocyte started protesting and insisting that he absolutely wanted to go to the competition. Memory Cell agreed, the T-Killer didn't care where they should go, and Dendritic Cell would have sailed to the end of the universe if it was together with the T-Killer. And so they continued their path, diligently rowing against the current and towards the elbow. The B Lymphocyte promptly started planning how to upgrade their boat for that sporting event. He was estimating something in his head, sketching in his notepad and producing calculations, until he was handed the oars, with a direct insinuation that he shouldn't laze around. But he didn't give up, continuing to chatter about how he would have done this thing like this and that thing like that. The problem was just how to get some materials. After listening to his discourse, Dendritic Cell, who actually didn't really have any desire to participate in a competition nor much less to remodel the boat, had to admit nevertheless that a few upgrades wouldn't be a bad idea. Although, a mast with sails could be both a blessing and a curse. In addiction to the fact that he didn't have a clue how to handle the sails, that mast would take too much precious space away in the boat, and it was already not very comfortable to sleep in it. To be honest, it was quite surprising how the four of them manage to fit in there at all. But he did agree to visit a shop for boating equipment, as, in the end, he was pretty interested in having a look at different fishing items and other things. It was just that they still had to find such a shop. The places they were passing right now, were somehow deserted, the river near the banks was very marshy, and they were risking getting stuck in the mud. "I didn't think that the shoulder veins in this body were in such a bad condition," said Dendritic Cell, looking at the surroundings through the objective of his camera and taking a few photos. Just in case. "Maybe it's only this one?" supposed the B Lymphocyte, not very sure if that really sounded more optimistic. "Oh, who knows, who knows... " murmured Memory Cell, looking around cautiously. "I'm sure that it was the work of river spirits!" "What river spirits? You and your babbling again!" The B Lymphocyte slammed his elbow into the other's side. "I'd like to rip off the ears of these river spirits," said the T-Killer, clenching his fists and cracking his knuckles. Well, actually he wasn't that sure whether they possessed "ears" at all, but that wasn't a problem for him. He would always find something to rip off! Among all that marshiness they finally managed to find a dry island. It was too small for camping, but perfect to make a fire and have a meal. One single crooked little tree was growing there, that was immediately put to use, and in addiction to that, the foresighted Dendrocyte also ordered to sail to the piece of tree that was sticking out of the water behind the island and, skillfully, broke off its dry branches. Together with the first tree, that would be enough for a decent fire. As soon as the fire was burning as it should, our adventurers took out the most perishable food and created something like an improvisational shashlik out of it. In one of the baskets they found a few dozen eggs that somehow miraculously had survived the passing of the water lock and their other adventures. But before Dendritic Cell could manage to suggest boiling them all in the cauldron, the T-Killer announced at the top of his voice that he would prepare scrambled eggs out of them. The best they would ever have in their lives. Oh yes, he was a real master at making this dish! And they were really lucky that he was feeling quite generous today and granting them the honor to eat his scrambled eggs, since cells, who had once tasted them, never cared for any others afterwards. His talk immediately made his companions' mouths water, and they promptly handed him the basket with the eggs, a frying-pan, a package with oil and other equipment he would need. The T-Killer took everything and went down to business. However, it seemed like breaking the eggs wasn't that simple of a task for him, or rather getting them into the frying-pan when broken, instead of making their content scatter around, run down his sleeves, get on his trousers or do other things that needed to be avoided. The result of it was that not a lot of eggs landed in the pan, and half of the ones that did, consisted only of shells. But the T-Killer affirmed that it were precisely the shells that would make that dish even richer. He was stirring everything with a fork, constantly burning himself, cursing and complaining that everything was getting burned. No wonder, since he had completely forgotten to put the oil in the frying-pan first. His companions even thought at the beginning that him waving his hands like that must be something like a necessary part of the culinary arrangements of T cells, since they had never witnessed such an unusual preparation of scrambled eggs before. Dendritic Cell even said that this was one of the most interesting and exciting spectacles he had ever seen. However, all that came out of all the eggs that had found their way into the pan, was a pathetic teaspoonful of burnt and unappetizing looking mess. Of course, the T-Killer started blaming everything on the eggs, the pan and also the oil that he didn't even use. Dendritic Cell tried to cheer him up, while the B cells noted that he should have tried to use industrial oil, or even better the one for rockets, then his dish would have been a real high-flyer. Good for them that the T-Killer didn't get that joke. After the meal, they started thinking about what to do next. Examining themselves and each other, they finally concluded that the most important thing right now would be to wash their clothes, that had gotten quite dirty during all of their adventures. And even dirtier after the T-Killer's masterly preparation of the scrambled eggs and the improvisational shashlik. And so, our filthy guys got down to business. Or at least tried to. To be honest, it would have been best for them to visit a washing house, but there was no way to find one out there, so they decided to take care of that problem themselves, after all they were leading a nomadic life for now. Memory Cell found a piece of laundry soap, Dendritic Cell another of a strawberry-scented one and the B Lymphocyte took out a little bottle with some unknown chemical stuff, announcing that it was able to get absolutely everything clean in no time. Before the washing, their clothes had been very, very dirty, extremely dirty, but still wearable. But after the washing, they had turned into something that couldn't be described with words: not only soaked in the B Lymphocyte's fantastic washing agent, but also filled with colorful stains and little holes, both caused by that said agent. Looking at his ruined t-shirt, the T-Killer pronounced a word that the other three had never heard in their lives and thus couldn't appreciate its brilliance nor its lexical meaning. Since he was the only one, who, due to the circumstances, hadn't brought anything with him, the B Lymphocyte felt the necessity to give him his own spare t-shirt instead. Of course, it was way too small for the Squad Leader and promptly ripped open at the seams. Captivated by the sight of the T-Killer's strong and mighty body that was indiscreetly bulging out of the damaged article of clothing, Dendritic Cell remembered that he loved sewing and offered to repair the t-shirt, sacrificed by the B Lymphocyte, and to alter it a bit as well. The entire rest of the day they were spending on that island, Dendritic Cell worked without cease and in the end produced a qualitatively new piece of clothing, consisting of different sized parts of the old t-shirt and decorated with some laces and rhinestones no one knew where he had these from. Since our aspiring fashion designer possessed an exclusively specific taste, his masterpiece resulted to be so extravagant that the T-Killer couldn't believe his own eyes at first: was it really possible to create something like that out of a simple t-shirt? With slight hesitation, he put on that miracle of fashion and noticed that it fit him perfectly, even though it looked weird. The B cells discretely turned away from that sight and pressed their fists to their mouths, nearly choking with laughter, while Dendritic Cell was admiring his own work. It was wonderfully emphasizing the boldest and most indecent aspects of the Squad Leader's body. Especially the heart made out of rhinestones on his abdomen. "Not bad, I think," concluded the T-Killer, having moved around in it a bit. "Alright." "It suits you so great." The Dendrocyte was beaming. "The most important thing is that it's comfortable to wear and doesn't grate," added the B cells, doing everything in their power to not laugh out loud. "Should I also decorate your cap?" suggested the inspired Dendritic Cell, who still had some rhinestones left. The answer was a skeptical snort from the T-Killer and giggling and nervous hiccups from the B cells. After that, all three assured him that the cap looked well enough as it was. * * * Since they still hadn't managed to find a decent place to rest, they were forced to pass another night in their boat. Though it didn't rain this time, it wasn't very comfortable to sleep there again. And in addiction to that, Memory Cell, whose feet were freezing, just couldn't remember where he had put his warm socks and was endlessly rummaging around in the boat, stepping on his friends, who were trying to sleep and pronouncing everything they thought of him. Trying to make themselves at least a bit more comfortable, the four of them were turning and moving around and hitting each other with their elbows, until finally falling asleep. The ground was hard, different things and wood pieces were poking into every part of their bodies, and it was so cramped that they were constantly on the verge of rolling on top of one another. The result of it was that they ended up entwining their legs to such an extent that the B Lymphocyte wasn't able to get up. Together with Memory Cell they lifted the blanket and stared with baffled faces at the whole bunch of legs. There was no way that they all belonged to them. But just in case, they started to count them, first from right to left, then from left to right. The B Lymphocyte counted six and Memory Cell seven. Naturally, that couldn't be right, so they did it again. Now it was the other way round. None of them had even the slightest explanation for that, so they went for a third try. This time, they both counted six. That result would have satisfied them, if there hadn't been one little detail: there were four of them, so someone's legs were clearly missing. Now the T-Killer woke up and wanted to know what nonsense they were doing again. The B cells told him about their complicated arithmetic problem and about their fear that someone of them might have lost his legs overnight. The T-Killer thoughtfully looked at the legs he considered his. "I still have mine," he affirmed decidedly, moved them and powerfully slapped one of his knees. "Ouch!" The B Lymphocyte did a jump. "Did you really have to do that?" "Why are you putting your leg before me?" objected the T-Killer as an answer. "Didn't you see that it was mine?" "How could I mistake your leg for mine? Such a scrawny one like yours!" "What did you say?!" exclaimed the B Lymphocyte with indignation and tried to get up, but in vain. "I have the most beautiful leg of you all! There!" And slapped it. "Ouch!" let out Memory Cell this time. The worn out Dendrocyte, who had once again been suffering from bad dreams about the landlady and her kettles and cups, woke up now as well and asked what the matter was. Hearing that it was all about their legs, he sarcastically suggested them to tickle each other's feet to find out who the legs belonged to. A dumb idea, but the others liked it for some reason. However, the T-Killer did try to object, saying that it would be the easiest if they just stood up one by one, then the problem would resolve itself. Well, sometimes even the T-Killer could give clever ideas, but the other three couldn't be stopped anymore. Dendritic Cell ripped out a feather from a pillow and started to tickle one foot after the other. The B Lymphocyte was the first to laugh, then Memory Cell, then the T-Killer let out something similar to a savage laughter that caused goosebumps, then the B Lymphocyte again and... again. Memory Cell said that he was worried about the fact that only one of his legs had been found. So where was the other one? And why are there only six legs in total in the first place? The last question made Dendritic Cell inexplicably burst out laughing. After looking at him, the others suddenly noticed that he had been sitting in a squatting position the whole time, hiding his bent legs under the blanket. The T-Killer spit out theatrically and just got up, followed by the B cells, who carefully untangled their legs and stood up as well. Problem solved! * * * While the Dendrocyte was thinking about how to brew up the damp tea with the help of the bad working alcohol burner they practically hadn't used at all, the others remembered their conversation about morning bathing from the evening before. How fantastic would it be to dip oneself into cool water in the early morning in order to wake up! They imagined themselves splashing in the water letting out excited shouts, toughing themselves up and loading up on energy for the entire day or things like that. But now the morning had arrived and the water in the river terribly cold, not to mention the piercing wind blowing from the coast. So for some reason, nobody had any desire to take a bath. Well, actually the T-Killer wanted to stand out as usual again, affirming that the other three were just weaklings and wimps, but the B cells immediately asked him to serve them as an example and shoved him overboard. And while the T-Killer was dabbling in the icy water and using inappropriate language, they just giggled and asked him how the water was. He sought revenge, so he dove a bit deeper, secretly swam towards the boat, then jumped out of the water and dragged them in it as well. Looking at all the fun his companions were having, Dendritic Cell checked the water with his finger and decided to not join them after all, instead quickly heating up a big amount of water for the tea. Then he prepared towels and helped the others into the boat. They were now wide awake and full of energy, but somehow didn't look like that, not to mention their mood. The B cells pouted, thinking about how to get back at the T-Killer. The latter was still pronouncing a whole bunch of swear words, for some reason mentioning the Basophil and the basophilic grandma, who absolutely weren't to blame here. * * * Mister Basophil was in the meantime peacefully fishing in his boat. Sitting comfortably under his opened umbrella that was tied to the mast, he was leisurely thinking about eternity and not taking his eyes off the swimmer. Suddenly, something drifting very near the stern of his boat caught his attention. He took a scoop net and accurately fished it out: a shoe sole. Why and how it had landed there, was a mystery. The Basophil thoughtfully spun it around in his hands and then threw it into the boat to dispose of it later and not litter the river. To continue fishing wouldn't have any sense, as it was already late, and the fish had left to the bottom of the river. The Basophil untied the umbrella, arranged the ropes and sat down to row. Having almost arrived to the foreland, he stopped, measured the depth with a measuring stick to not run ashore and accidentally bumped into something hard. With a metallic clanking sound, a horribly deformed, almost unrecognizable can jumped out from the river. It showed marks done by different blunt and sharp objects, but still was hermetically sealed. The Basophil looked at the expiration date, then dried the can off with a rag, took a can opener from his pocket and went down to business. The content was impeccable, not only not spoiled, but of perfect quality. And after having lain at the bottom of the river, it got cooled down and even more delicious. The Basophil ate the amazing pineapple in sweet syrup, first carefully, then with more courage, and dreamily gazed into the distance. It was sheer poetry!