[Chapter 1] Popeye the Astronaut Man
Now that Popeye has entered the public domain, I am writing a science-fiction story starring the sailor in an entirely new adventure. This story will be told over the next thirteen weeks exclusively available to members. If you’re not a member, now’s a great time to join.
I plan to self-publish the entire work this summer. In the meantime, here’s Chapter One: Into Davy Jones’s Locker.
"It's lung cancer, Mr. Popeye," the doctor said solemnly. "Late stage."
Popeye's fist closed, gripping around the corncob pipe that sat in his pocket. There was a deep pang of worry. He'd been coughing lately; a persistent hacking cough which rattled deep in his chest. Finally his wife finally nagged him enough to get it checked out.
Lung cancer? Him? He'd fought sea monsters, brawled with his old rival a thousand times, and survived countless shipwrecks. And yet he was going to be felled by something he couldn't see.
"Cancer?" he croaked, the word foreign on his tongue.
"I'm so sorry," the doctor had a look of sympathy. "It's quite advanced, I'm afraid."
Popeye felt a wave of dizziness wash over him. The cheerful yellow walls appeared to be mocking him. He needed a way to calm down. He almost reached for his pipe, but then he noticed how much his hand was trembling.
The doctor continued, explaining the prognosis and the treatment options. Popeye barely heard the words after it was mentioned how slim were the chances of survival. All he could think about was his wife, his family, and the life he had built. There were so many adventures he still wanted to have. And now, it was all slipping away like sand through his calloused fingers.
He felt a surge of defiance. He was Popeye the Sailor. Cancer was not the worst thing he ever fought. But unlike his old rival, he couldn't just punch his way through to victory. That was a colder fear gnawing even deeper in his psyche.
Leaving the doctor's office, he knew he had to talk to someone. But not Olivia. He didn't know how he would ever be able to tell her. It had long been his mission to keep her safe, to protect her from harm.
He drove his beat-up old Ford north, up through the winding roads of the hills overlooking the sea. As the sun turned orange and descended into the water, he saw the familiar sprawling silhouette of a Spanish-style mansion which rested on the peak.
It was Walt Disney's private sanctuary, his vacation home far away from the bustling studio lots in Hollywood. The two had long been friends, although they rarely spoke about anything beyond sailing.
Popeye paused in front of the ornate front door, feeling a knot of anxiety tightening in his gut. He hadn't been here in years, not since one of Walter's lavish Christmas parties with a whirlwind of movie stars and an overwhelming amount of food. Tonight though, the atmosphere felt much less festive.
He rang the doorbell, and a cartoonish chime echoed through the large hallway. A moment later, the door swung open, revealing Walter himself. There was a touch more gray in his hair, but he still had the same twinkle in his eyes.
"Popeye?! This is quite a surprise!" Walter exclaimed and ushered him inside. "Come in, come in. You're just in touch for a nightcap. I'd offer to take your coat, if you had one."
"I don't get cold," Popeye said with a defiant shrug. "I get even."
The interior was a blend of cozy comfort and whimsical charm. A fire crackled in the hearth, casting dancing shadows upon the book-lined walls. Everywhere around him were figurines of Mickey Mouse, alongside framed sketches and awards.
Walter led Popeye to a small study, where a decanter of amber liquid sat on an empty mahogany desk. He poured two generous glasses.
"This is for you Popeye," Walter said, handing him a glass. "It's just something to take the edge off."
Popeye nodded and took a long sip. He could feel the brandy burning his tongue and rolling down his throat, warming up his insides.
"Are you alright?" Walter said, eyeing his friend with suspicion.
"No. Got something on my mind."
"Take a seat. Get a drink."
"Walt," he began, his voice rough. "I got some bad news today. The doc says I've got lung cancer."
Walter's jovial expression turned.
"I'm so sorry to heart that. That's awful."
"Yeah, well, it ain't exactly I pictured goin' out," Popeye mumbled, unable to meet his friend's gaze. He just stared into the fire.
"I wish there was something I could do."
"Nah, I don't need your money. The doctor says the prognosis is grim no matter what."
Walter swirled the brandy in his glass, his gaze distant.
"You know Popeye, I've been working on something that just might change everything."
Popeye looked up, intrigued. "What's that?"
Walter leaned forward, his eyes with the same visionary spark as earlier. "As I've been working on my City of Tomorrow, I've realized that I too won't be around for much longer. All those dreams a future where we travel among the stars... where we conquer disease... it won't happen before I turn a hundred. I need more time."
"More time," Popeye murmured.
"Cryogenics, Popeye. Freezing people, preserving them until a time when they can be cured and revived."
"Freezin' yerself? Like a popsicle?"
Walter chuckled. "I know. It sounds like science fiction. But..."
He trailed off, his expression turned serious.
"But I'm planning on doing it myself, Popeye. When the time comes."
Popeye stared at his friend with a mix of awe and disbelief. Walt Disney was a man who brought talking mice and fairy tales to life, but was now talking about cheating death in real life. It was an absurd idea... but that was what he was all about. He always pushed the boundaries of the possible, dreaming the impossible dream.
And in that moment, a flicker of hope ignited in Popeye's chest.
Suddenly the shrill ringing of the telephone cut through the quiet of the study.
"Excuse me for a moment."
Walter reached for the receiver and developed a curious look on his face.
"Hello? Oh Olivia? Yes, he's right here." he glanced over at Popeye.
Popeye suddenly felt a jolt of panic. He couldn't say anything to her. The thought of her worry and her sobbing filled him with a deep grief. He wasn't ready to face that, not yet.
He shook his head aggressively, waving his hands in a frantic "no."
Walter nodded, sensing his friend's distress, and turned back to the phone. "Ah, actually Olivia, he just stepped out. Said something about needing to catch the sunset down by the pier. You know him, always drawn to the sea."
Popeye mouthed a silent "thank you" to Walter.
"Don't worry Olivia, I'll make sure he gets home safe," he continued. "Dinner, you say? Ah well, I'm sure he'll appreciate a warm meal when he gets back. You take car now."
Walter hung up the phone, with a knowing smile on his lips. "Seems like someone's worried about her sailor," he teased.
Popeye felt a pang of guilty.
"I just... I can't face her yet, Walt. Not with this hangin' over me."
Walter nodded sympathetically. "I get it Popeye, it's a lot to take in. And about Olivia... I know you two are inseparable, but..."
Popeye looked over, seeing how serious his friend had become.
"This cryogenic process..." Walter chose his words carefully. "It's experimental. There's no guarantee it will work. And even if it does, the future... it will be a very different place. A place that Olivia... she might not belong there."
He knew Walter was right, and felt a heaviness in his chest. Olivia was a woman of her time, rooted in the familiar comforts of their life together. The future, with its unknown wonders and potential dangers, might be too much for her."
He looked back at the flames, which lived and died without being aware. "This whole freezin' thing... It's a mighty strange idea."
"It is," Walter agreed. "But sometimes it's the strangest ideas which change the world. Think of it Popeye, a chance to wake up in a future where they've found a cure for your cancer. You could live a whole new life."
Popeye pondered on this. He tried to imagine a future without sickness, possibly without the specter of death watching him. A future where he could sail the stars like in Walt's cartoons. But it would have to be a future without Olivia...
There was a wave of sadness, but a sense of acceptance. He knew, deep down, that this was a journey he had to take alone.
"Alright Walt," he said firmly. "Tell me more about this freezin' business."
"The City of Tomorrow Lab hummed in a low thrum. Sleek, chrome surfaces were covered in cool fluorescent lights. It was a stark contrast to the salty docks and rickety boats that Popeye was accustomed to. He felt a pang of apprehension as he stepped into the pristine white chamber where the cryogenic pod awaited.
Walter stood by his side and clapped a reassuring hand on Popeye's shoulder.
"Ready for your next adventure, Popeye?" he asked with a mischievous glint in his eye.
Popeye tried to muster a confident grin, but his heart pounded in his chest. "Aye Walt. I yam what I yam, and right now I yam a sailor facin' the unknown."
A young doctor, his face obscured by a surgical mask, approached with a clipboard.
"Popeye, sir, before we begin, would you like to write a message for your loved ones? Something we can deliver to them after your procedure?"
Popeye blinked, taken aback. "A message? Well, I..."
He shifted uncomfortably, feeling his face go flush with shame. "To be honest doc, I never learned how to write and can hardly read."
The doctor seemed surprised. "Well in that case, we can just include a standard message stating the date of your cryogenic suspension and the reason for the procedure."
Popeye felt disappointed in himself. He wanted to leave something more personal, something that captured his love for Olivia and his family, his gratitude to Walter, his... all the people in town. But words had always failed him.
He sighed. "Alright doc, do what ya gotta do."
The doctor moved to a large computer monitor and typed a few words, then attached it to the cryogenic pod. Popeye peered at the screen where a sterile, impersonal message appeared:
Subject: Popeye the Sailor.
Cryogenic Suspension Date: January 7th, 1965.
Reason for Suspension: Terminal Lung Cancer. Awaiting future cure.
Popeye grimaced. It wasn't exactly a heartfelt farewell.
"Not much of a poem, is it?" he asked with a gruff chuckle.
"Don't worry Popeye. Your actions speak louder than words. And your loved ones know what's in your heart," Walter patted his back.
Popeye nodded. He stepped forward, then paused. He glanced back at Walter and a silent understanding passed between them. Then, with a mix of trepidation and hope, he climbed into the cryogenic pod.
The doctor sealed the pod. Pressurized air filled the chamber with a loud hiss. Popeye lay back against the cold metal. He closed his eyes, picturing Olivia's smiling face, his adopted son’s mischievous grin, and the vast expanse of the sea.
"See ya in the future," he whispered, not sure if his voice could be heard over the whirring of the machines.
The freezing process began. A wave of icy numbness washed over him. The lights of the lab began to blur and grow dim. The sounds faded into a distant hum. Popeye grew exhausted, more exhausted than ever before in his life. He felt himself drift into a cold, silent sleep.