Long Voyage Back (15 page)

After becoming queasy while preparing some hot tea in the galley, Jeanne remained in the wheelhouse. Frank was steering while Neil with the binoculars was keeping a lookout south for the anticipated larger waves.

It must have been something like two hours later - Jeanne had fallen asleep on the settee

- with the two boats still running side by side, and now only half a mile from Tangier Island and nearing the protection of its northern end, that Frank's shout awakened Jeanne.

When she sat up she saw Neil now at the wheel grab the airhorn and shoot out four loud blasts. Frank, with the binoculars, ran into the cabin to come up beside him. Ìt's a WALL OF WATER!' he shouted.

`Help 01ly and Jim get aboard,' Neil shouted back, glancing to his right where already the Lucy Mae was approaching. 'Jeanne! Get below!'

But she simply took hold of one of the wooden supports of

the wheelhouse roof and looked back at him dumbly.

Ùntie me!' Macklin said fiercely, but Neil, ignoring him, slowed Vagabond slightly to permit Lucy Mae to come up alongside. Jim threw an armful of things into the cockpit and then disappeared for more. 01ly handed something to Frank and shouted to Jim to get off. Frank was trying to hold the two boats together as they rolled and smashed into each other's sides while 0lly next turned back to his steering wheel, and tied a line to one of its spokes. When Jim had thrown the last of the Lucy Mae's salvageable gear on to the trimaran and boarded, 01ly jumped aboard Vagabond, tugging on the line. The Lucy Mae, still under power, swung away and ploughed at a right angle out into the darkness.

`Damn pretty boat,' 0lly commented as he watched her go.

All the hatches and door slides had been put in place earlier and now everyone except Neil crouched in the wheelhouse looking aft through the plexiglas window at the low wall of water growing out of the horizon behind them, the wall made visible by the huge hill of light which filled the low southern sky from the explosion over Norfolk. Ùntie me!' Macklin pleaded to Jeanne who looked past him at the approaching water. Neil had opened Vagabond's diesel to full rpm and Vagabond rushed forward away from the tidal wave at over nine knots, but the wall still grew towards them, a roaring sound now clearly heard as the wave smashed along the shore of Tangier Island. Neil had swung the boat slightly towards the island, but when the wave was only a hundred feet away he turned back to put Vagabond's stern directly to the racing sea. The first wave was over twenty feet high, a mound of water rather than a wall, a cap of white froth bubbling down its forward side. The roaring noise grew louder, the wave grew immense, and then was upon them, first lifting Vagabond's stern, then burying it as it struck at three times

Vagabond's speed into her three hulls, a river of water ten feet high rushing across the whole boat, smashing through the rear of the wheelhouse, hurling the trimaran forward at twice her earlier speed, hurling 01ly, Jim, Jeanne and Frank in a heap against the wall and hatch-slide of the main companionway and tangling 01ly in Neil's feet where he stood clutching the wheel.

Jeanne, crushed up against the cabin wall by the cold salt water swirling over her, choked and gasped as she struggled upwards in a nightmare of drowning, clawing at the wall as the water seemed still to pin her down. Frank grasped her arm and pulled her sputtering up into his arms, clinging himself to the control panel shelf. The water was up to her knees and she assumed that they were sinking, but then she saw Neil looking back over his shoulder with a look of concentration devoid of dismay. The roar was still all around and she felt they must be hurtling through the water at some fantastic speed, but even as she thought this, she saw Neil actually increase Vagabond's speed.

`We'll anchor behind Tangier Island just as we planned,' he shouted to all of them. 'It'll take us a while to pump her out and clean up.'

The water had already fallen to her ankles, some of it pouring into the main cabin through the broken hatch-slide and the rest draining out of the holes of the self-bailing cockpits and wheelhouse.

Jim crawled forward to prepare the anchor, while Frank stared at the smashed fragments of plywood, fibreglass, and plexiglas that had been the back wall of his wheelhouse.

`Not too many boats going to be floating after that ripple,' 01ly said to Neil with an uncharacteristically grim expression.

`Check our main bilge, 01ly,' Neil countered.

Jesus, what's the use,' said Frank. 'Every time we . . . `Go check your starboard cabin bilge,' Neil interrupted.

`Jeanne, check your children. 'We've survived.'

Vagabond had had ten tons of water sweep over her, had over half a ton in her three bilges from stove-in windows and hatchslides, and had a wrecked wheelhouse rear wall, but all her rigging had come through intact. In another half hour they had pumped or bucketed out most of the uninvited water and were anchored behind what was left of Tangier Island. They set up a rotation of two-hour watches and, numb, shell-shocked, exhausted to the point of not caring, all at last were permitted to sleep. 19

Neil didn't waken until nine o'clock the following morning and thus had five full hours sleep, a luxury after the previous forty-eight. As he emerged from his damp cabin he could feel anxiety and irritation moiling within him. In the daylight he saw clearly for the first time the extent of the wreckage of the aft wall of the wheelhouse, saw 01ly's gaffs, fishing nets, oyster tongs and other gear still sitting unstored in the starboard cockpit, saw the wrecked cabin hatchslide, noted Frank sprawled asleep on one of the wheelhouse settees - it was Frank's watch - and felt a strong breeze blowing now out of the north. The thought that they had been sitting still doing nothing for almost seven hours rankled him and he had to stop on the aft deck to quiet himself.

But as he gazed around the Bay an entirely different emotion flooded him. A house was floating only a hundred yards to the east; on the shore of Tangier Island were the remains of several wrecked houses and boats. On the island itself not a single building seemed to remain standing. Further to the south was another now familiar ghastly grey mass squatting in the otherwise clear blue sky like an ugly swelling toad. Whatever he didn't like about the condition of Vagabond she was afloat; she had survived. As he stepped down into the starboard cockpit to begin work he stopped, fear again slicing through him like an icicle. Where was Macklin? He'd been left still tied to the mizzen mast. Neil leapt down into the starboard cockpit, ran into the wheelhouse and then stopped: Macklin was seated nonchalantly in the sun of the opposite cockpit sipping coffee. Jeanne emerged from the main cabin and behind her he saw Lisa at the galley stove.

`Good morning,' she said.

`How'd he get loose? Neil asked grimly.

Jeanne flushed in response to Neil's anger. 'He was free when I got up,' she replied. `Can I fix you something for breakfast?'

Neil walked further into the port cockpit and saw with a start that the .22 was lying across Macklin's knees.

`Good morning,' said Macklin neutrally.

`May I have the rifle?' Neil asked.

`Sure,' said Macklin. 'It's of no use to me.' He placed his coffee cup on the seat beside him and handed the .22 to Neil. 'But look, Loken, let me sail with you. Putting me ashore would mean death'

`How did you get loose?' Neil asked quietly, noting that the .22 he had taken from Macklin was loaded.

`Child's play,' Macklin replied with a sneer.

`Why didn't you take the dinghy and escape?'

Èscape, shit,' Macklin snapped. 'There's no escape out there. My only chance - I admit it'

s smaller than a flea's cock -' he added parenthetically, glancing to his left at the blast cloud over the Norfolk area, 'is on this ship. Don't sentence me to die.'

Àre you all right?' Neil asked Jeanne, turning back to her. `Yes. I thought you had released him.'

He nodded, grimacing.

`Would you like to eat now?' Jeanne asked again.

`Thanks,' Neil answered. 'Use whatever's in the refrigerator first--bacon, cheese, other things that will spoil when we turn off the propane to conserve it for cooking. Don't cook potatoes, for example.'

`Fine,' she said, disappearing down into the galley.

`Cook for everyone,' he called after her. As he looked down into the galley he was pleased to see that although the area was a mess it was a functioning mess: Jeanne and Lisa had removed all the food from the bilge where some of it had been damaged by the previous night's deluge and were inventorying

and restoring it. He noted too that Jeanne and her two children were dressed as neatly as for a quiet summer cruise, their white shorts and blouses seeming out of place with the big bluish bruise on Jeanne's cheek and the bloody bandage on the side of Lisa's head. Skippy was looking shyly up at him, clinging to one of his mother's bare thighs.

`Can you keep an eye on Skippy for me?' Jeanne called up to him. Òf course.'

But Skippy didn't need an eye kept on him since he remained with his mother down in the main cabin, clinging to her as if she were safe space in a game of tag. He ignored her suggestion that he go up with Neil and look at a comic book and limited his conversation to periodic statements to his mother: 'I'm hungry.'

Lisa came up to where Neil was examining the wrecked wheelhouse wall to hand him a cup of coffee. The bandage on the left side of her face was immense and had a blot of red in the middle, but she told him that though it hurt and throbbed she felt no dizziness.

`Here comes somebody,' she added unexpectedly, squinting off to the northeast. Following her gaze, Neil turned to see a small skiff motoring at full throttle towards them, a man standing aft, steering. Neil picked up the .22 again and cradled it in his arm. At first he assumed the man was headed towards the village of Tangier, but the skiff kept coming straight in and coasted to a halt alongside the starboard hull. A small, deeply tanned young man about Jim's age wearing dirty khakis and a soiled cotton sweatshirt looked over Vagabond's coaming at them.

`My father here?' he asked.

`Who's that?' Neil countered.

`Cap' n 01ly.'

`He's sleeping in the forepeak, I think.'

`Hey, pa! PA! It's Chris!' the young man shouted.

After a moment the old man poked his head up out of the forward hatch and then emerged, his sparse white hair askew; he was dressed only in tee-shirt and underpants.

`Well, you don't have to shout about it,' he grumbled, looking aft, and seeing Lisa standing twenty feet away staring at him, he disappeared back below to get his trousers on.

"Pears you had some waves come visiting last night,' Chris said to Neil, nodding solemnly at the wrecked wall of the wheelhouse.

`We did,' Neil agreed. 'How about you?'

`Well, most of the houses on Smith Island are a few hundred feet further north than they used to be and there aren't many people left to give a damn.' Chris glanced to his right. '

Tangier must have really got socked.'

Ì'm afraid so.'

`Good morning, ma'am,' Chris said to Jeanne, who had come up into the wheelhouse.

`Good morning.'

`Well, what you want?' Captain 01ly asked when he came out on deck a second time, buttoning up his trousers. `Getting so a man can't even escape his own family out to sea.'

Ì was worried about you, pa,' his son said. 'They said you went chasing pirates or something and then the tidal wave last night, and you didn't come back.'

`Well, I'm back,' he said. 'Got myself two pirates. Woulda gotten more, but there weren't none.'

`Where's Lucy Mae?'

Ì sent her into Crisfield to pick me up some pipe tobacco.' Chris looked at his father uncertainly.

`We had to cut her loose when the big wave was about to hit,' Neil explained. 'I imagine she's sunk.'

`You okay?' Chris asked his father.

"Course I'm okay. I been dying for two years now and

chasin' pirates and dodging tidal waves ain't gonna affect it none. What you been up to? You remember the mayonnaise?' Ì'm going in the Navy, pa.'

`What do you mean you're going in the Navy?' the old man countered, seated now on the cockpit bench near his son and pulling on his socks. 'Why you want to go in the Navy?'

`Because I have to,' Chris answered.

`How have to? Why have to? What are you talking about?'

`The President ordered us to,' Chris answered quietly. Èverybody has to go. I'm taking a special bus this morning at eleven from Salisbury.'

`What's the hurry?' Captain Olly said irritably. 'Navy got a ship needs bailing this afternoon?'

Ì've got to go, pa,' Chris insisted.

Captain Olly stood up and looked out across the aft deck towards Smith Island. He stood silently for almost half a minute while his son watched him patiently.

`Well,' the old man finally said. 'Give me a goodbye kiss. Ain't every day a son goes puttputting off to get himself blown to bits.' He took a step towards his son and presented his grizzled cheek. Chris kissed him awkwardly. Captain Olly straightened up but remained looking down at his son.

Òne of them H-bombs come after you, you remember to stay below,' he said.

`You know me, pa,' Chris said, smiling boyishly. 'If I know one's coming I'll want to come on deck to look.'

`Know you will, son, know you will. I figure in another week you'll come raining down into the Atlantic.'

Chris stared at him.

`Don't mind me, son,' 01ly said, tears glistening in his eyes. Ì just wish you'd stole a boat and sailed into the Atlantic like a respectable son would do. Or at least a live one.'

Ì'm going, pa.'

Ì know you are, but I'm not going to stop talking. You're just gonna have to go 'cause I ain't letting you go. 'F I had my `druthers I'd stay here talking to you 'dl this boat rotted and sank. I like your face, son, and the damn sky's gonna be empty without it.'

`Goodbye, pa,' Chris said, and gave his skiff a gentle shove away from Vagabond and pulled the starting cord on his , outboard. The engine purred into life.

Ì know you're going, son, but you can't stop me from talking to you. I been talkin' to you eighteen years and I ain't gonna stop now just 'cause you want to go rushing off to become a smithereen. The world's full of smithereens these days and I don't see why you think one more's gonna make the air smell any purtier, 'specially you smelling most the time like a blowfish after flies been at it a week. Why I remember when you . . His son was already fifty feet away, the sound of the skiff's engine buzzing gently back to them across the water and beginning to fade.