The Redbird Monologue

Redbird
With the dull look of a drunk, Gabriel hugged the tiller singing to himself, his square jaw deep in stubble, face as gray as a wet street at midnight. On the head a pointed hat, on the left foot a dirty bandage; between the two, naked. Opening welcoming arms he fell back on the rudder post drunk as a weasel, breath heavy with whiskey and onions. Waving a lantern in our faces, ‘Francis, Pat me favrit boys, ‘ave a drink.’ Scrabbling around, he shook an empty bottle close to the light, berating an absent companion; in desperation licking the cork. ‘Was all ‘ere jus’ now, some toad guzzled it,’ Gabriel complained tossing the bottle overboard.
Gabbled instructions how to hitch mules to the towrope ignored, I pushed him from the tiller seat;
A woman had brightened walls using pictures of red and yellow nasturtiums. On shelves stood a battered sugar castor and a neat collection of carved pipes alongside a black marble clock topped by two entwined prancing horses. At eight o’clock twelve tinkling chimes as stuck hands traveled around the dial together. Slamming kindling in the stove, I boiled the kettle, threw coffee in a jug and fried chunks of bacon and potatoes. Gabriel unlaced scuffed boots. ‘What do you know? She darned my socks afore she left! A man can hardly find a thing where a tidy woman lives!’ He exclaimed searching for a pipe and scratching short tufts of hair that made his head look like a worn shoe-brush. ‘She’s always neat ‘n ‘iding things. I've got snake-oil salve laid in bear fat somewhere.’ He fished behind the seat and brought out an earthenware jar. ‘This stuff's good, paid a shilling to a squaw for it. Rub it light on the chest and keep rubbing till the skin feels loose and breathing gets easy. Problem’s the smell; it’s like skunk
Coffee and bacon tangs filled the cabin, rising sunlight bounced off chipped crockery, lighting flowers. Banging interrupted eating.
On the towpath stood a hard-looking group of toughs, one holding an iron-tipped boat pole. With a choking sensation in the throat, my heart leaped. To fashion an escape the brain worked overtime, anxiety awaited