The Incredible Charlie Carewe (27 page)

Waking, he felt stiff and chilly. The sun was still warm but the wind had risen. Automatically he looked at his wrist; he had left his watch in his room, so he tuned the radio for a possible time signal. There were little thunder squalls hanging in streaks along the horizon to the northeast; large patches of the water had become the color of dark bruises. The few smaller boats farther south had come in, apparently; but the
Vee Cee
was still out; he could see the bluish whiteness of her mainsail, leaning, bent like an archer’s bow. “Damned uncomfortable, I should think.” Gregg had never been an enthusiast of the hardier aspects of sailing; a nice, lazy, calm day was fine, but when it got like this, both his nerves and stomach complained. He wondered if Charlie were giving a thought to Jeff’s comfort. Well, Jeff himself was capable of telling Charlie when he’d had enough—he was probably thoroughly enjoying himself.

Coming down the beach from the house, Gregg could see, was Virginia with Zoë a few paces behind her. Virginia had a sailor’s ear for the weather; often he’d seen her tilt her head at the sound of the wind changing up to a minor key; she was barometer-minded as some people are clock-minded. He looked back at the sloop, trying to see it with her eyes, to understand the cause of her concern, for she was waving in its direction, frantically. The raft under his feet rose and fell, thumping and slurping. He could see that Charlie was racing in, down-wind of a squall that was wrinkling the water behind him, tufting it with white, hissing at his heels.

Gregg muttered, “Damn fool! I hope to hell he knows what he’s doing!”

He probably did of course, Virginia herself had said that Charlie was the more skilled of the two; but even so, it angered Gregg that Charlie would take any chances with the others along. He dropped over the side of the raft to swim in. They’d need him at the dock to help Jeff ashore—Charlie would be too busy boasting. He kicked himself away from the raft irritably. After a few hard strokes he could still hear the radio playing, loudly. He must have flipped it further up instead of off. “The hell with it,” he thought, and kept on swimming.

As he clambered up out of the surf, beating the water out of his ears, he saw Virginia, quite close, so close that the foam had caught around her ankles. Her face was a sickly green above the hand that was pressed to her mouth.

Zoë, frightened, was shaking Virginia’s arm, her voice pitched high. “
Virginia!
What’s wrong! Why are you
scared!
”

Virginia looked to Gregg, shaking her head, a little laugh of hysteria coming through her words. “Why, he’s just never going to make it, that’s all—he should have hauled in the sheet or come about into the wind. Look—there she goes——”

From the raft came the sound of a Benny Goodman record, swinging with a solid beat, as the wind shifted to another quarter and brought the music to the watchers, loud and clear. The boat slewed around to starboard, too late, and the wind like a giant hand flattened the sail into the water and the boat turned on her side quickly.

Instinctively, Gregg started to go out to aid them, but Virginia held him firmly. “No, Gregg—you’d never make it—it’s too far. Better call the Coast Guard—they can hang on—but they’ll need help.”

He hesitated. “Go! go, Gregg, please!” And he was off.

The squall dissolved itself into a short deluge of a hissing shower around them, making it difficult to see what was happening.

The two wives clung to each other, straining to pierce the distance, as a flash of orange scarf emerged. It was Alma’s head, and then her arm against the keel. In a second Charlie’s figure scrambled up over the side, squatting on the bottom of the hull.

Running toward the two women were Beatrice and Walter, and behind them on the veranda Gregg appeared, sprinting out to them. He reached Virginia’s side and, breathless, said, “There’s a cutter on the way—and they’re phoning the Hendersons—if they’re home, they can get their launch out to them sooner than the Coast Guard can be here.”

Virginia nodded, her eyes still glued to the scene. “I can’t—see Jeff—unless he’s on the other side,” she said. “Oh, dear God—he must be tangled in the rigging——” as the orange-scarfed head disappeared. Bobbed up alone. Disappeared again. Suddenly, Charlie made a flat dive, and with a few pounding strokes cleared the boat and headed for shore. The group was stunned into silence, as Charlie could soon be seen clearly, taking in strong breaths through his open mouth, his arms rhythmically pulling, approaching the first break of the surf. Beyond him the
Vee Cee
’s hull rose and fell and once in a while the tip of the mast emerged, from which a bit of torn white sail limply fluttered. It raised deceptive hope, but only briefly. The last possible time limit of survival had passed.

There was a long moment when the sea was still. The moment before the “big wave” gathers its forces to spring like a panther onto the sand. Everyone was motionless, frozen, unbelieving. The music from the raft was insistent, sensual in its beat, and the brass took up the theme. Charlie rode the big wave in and flopped, panting, on the sand beside them. “Boy, that was close!” he gasped. Beatrice alone moved toward him, sank to her knees, and held his head tight to her breast, but saying nothing.

“Watch it, Mum, I’ll get you all wet——” Charlie pulled himself free from her arms. “I’ve got to get these clothes off, you know you don’t realize how tough it is to swim when you’re dressed——” He realized no one was paying attention to him and he looked at the figures standing apart from him in a frozen group. Zoë had her face in her hands; Walter had helped Beatrice to her feet and stood with his arms clasped tight around her. Virginia’s body seemed to have grown thinner, awkward, as she stood with her feet planted widely in the sand. Her arms were lifted slightly from her sides, motionless; the bones on her face stood out in relief and she seemed all staring eyes. She was literally out on her feet, and Gregg moved in time as she collapsed. The sand gave as he picked her up in his arms and he staggered a little; taking a few steps brought him nearer to Charlie. Growling, speaking from clenched teeth, he said, “Help me carry her, you stupid son of a bitch, don’t just stand there——”

Charlie said, “Oh, sure, sure. What’s wrong with her?”

Gregg ignored his question and said, “Get her under the knees—just help a little till we get out of this sand——”

Beatrice left Walter and went ahead of them, saying, “I’ll get Dr. Hagedorn,” biting her lips for strength.

It was nightfall before ebb tide. Search lamps had been set up on the fiat surface of Berry Pie, poking white fingers at the rocks and the mingled waters of the river and the sea. The currents had pushed and pulled at the fragile shell of the sloop, battering her to bits against the black sentinels of the Point. It would take time, time to extricate the forms held wrapped by ropes and sail, tangled among the rocks and seaweed. The rescue crew had asked the family to stay inside, there was nothing they could do, it was best not to watch.

Beatrice and Zoë were in Virginia’s room, sitting on the edge of the bed, listening to her, as she said, “talking silly!” Dr. Hagedorn had given her something, advised the women to keep her warm and quiet, and had left some sedation for later.

Down in the hall, he grumbled to Walter, “Nothing else to do—bring her to, knock her out. She’s got the biggest job, has to do it herself—heal her own mind and heart.” Gruffly he stated that he would attend to the grimmer matters, that Walter was to “stay home—I’ll take over when the rescue people are finished.”

Zoë had one fleeting thought while she changed into a simple dress and cleaned up her face. “How odd, I don’t need a drink! There’s too much to be done! I must think about this more thoroughly—later, later.” Jeff’s mother and father were on their way over, and she had told Walter she would be with him to help him tell about their loss. Beatrice wanted to stay with Virginia, but Virginia was talkative from the restorative the doctor had given her, and Beatrice had desperately asked Gregg to help. “She wants every single detail, Gregg—I just can’t bear it—I can’t go over and over it.”

Virginia was sitting up in the bed and talking intensely, while Gregg gripped her hands. “What was he trying to prove! Why did he want to stay out, why did he want to play games with the wind!” Her eyes were wide and tearless. “And then—leaving them—to save his own skin. I’ll kill him, Gregg—I’ll kill him!”

“Well—you can’t tell, Virginia—maybe he panicked.”

“You sound like Mum! Charlie never panicked—about anything.”

It was true of course, but Gregg refrained from agreeing.

“Charlie always knows what’s best for Charlie,” she went on. “He didn’t even try—Gregg——” She searched his face, still dry-eyed. “How can I learn to hate him? I’m so full of anger I could kill him—but I should despise him—why don’t I?”

“Virginia——” Gregg protested gently.

“Is it because he’s my brother? Tell me!”

“I don’t think you—being you—could hate anyone——”

“Maybe I’ll learn—and what good will it do——” Her face began to contort in the first signs of grief and Gregg said quickly:

“I think it would be a good idea now for you to take the sedative Hagedorn left—let’s just blot it all out for a while, what do you say?”

She sank back onto the pillows and dug her fists into her eyes like a child. “I’ve got an awful headache—I can’t seem to think straight.”

Gregg placed the two capsules in her hand and offered her the glassful of water he had poured. “Come on now, drink up.” She gulped the pills and the water dutifully, and lay back again with a sigh.

The room was quiet for a while. Gregg smoothed the hair from her damp forehead, stroking it gently till her eyelids stopped fluttering. The rain streaked down the windowpanes, and from the beach came a distant sound of voices shouting. Virginia opened her eyes wide and looked over at the window, her lips parted, listening. At the same time Beatrice came into the room with a blanket. Gregg took it from her hands, saying, “She’ll be all right till morning.” Together they spread the blanket over Virginia, who said, “Mum? You doing all right?”

“I’m fine, baby, you go to sleep like a good girl now, hear?”

Gregg blessed the woman in his mind, and wondered at the strength of those who seem weak. She hurried out, however, not trusting herself, saying flatly to Gregg, “We’ll have a nurse by morning—if you’ll just—I have to——”

He patted the thin shoulder as she went out the door. “Go easy on yourself—you’re not Gibraltar, you know!”

From the bed Virginia said, “Gregg?” and he was by her side. “Gregg?” she asked again.

“What, Virginia?”

“Where’s Charlie?”

“In his room, I think. Why?”

“Take him some oatmeal cookies—he’ll need them.” She chuckled and closed her eyes.

The morning was bright and fair and still. The house itself seemed to sleep the sleep of exhaustion. There was nothing more to be done for the moment, except to yield to the immediate needs for recovery from shock. Tragedy had swung a paralyzing blow, and before the problems arising out of it could be dealt with, there had to be recuperation from the tragedy itself.

In the kitchen the servants whispered and went through the motions of preparing food and cleaning up, conscientiously setting down each pan and kettle, each piece of silverware or bit of china with care and caution, to make as few sounds as possible. They felt that their own small offering was to be quiet and respect the multiplied nerve endings of the household.

The nurse arrived and was shown to Virginia’s room, where she still slept, white and motionless. The door to Walter’s and Beatrice’s room was closed. Charlie’s door stood open, but the curtains were drawn and Zoë was curled in the depths of the bed, alone; nor had she stirred when Charlie rose, grumbling, “Is everybody going to sleep all day!”

He had been served his breakfast on the terrace by himself, annoyed further at the solemn mask of the face of Doreen. He felt as though he would explode from the atmosphere around him, and Gregg saw him from his window on the third floor, striding down toward Berry Pie.

It would be a couple of hours before Gregg had to cope with the self-imposed job of seeing the press, answering phone calls and personal calls from friends of the family. All the details, the questions to be answered, were about to begin. It was a necessary part of the healing process, he supposed, like the white corpuscles racing to the emergency of a wound. But Charlie was like the bullet in the wound, and like the bullet had no knowledge, no feeling of having caused the wound. He must be removed, in some way, before the healing could commence. It went against Gregg’s make-up, his nature, to interfere to such a degree. It was more like him to keep in the background, to stay uninvolved. But it was more than just a desire for Charlie to get the hell out, get out from under the suffering eyes of Virginia and Walter and Beatrice—and Zoë. His very presence at the funeral, for instance, would be a galling malapropism. He could almost visualize him, behaving perfectly. Gently solicitous to Virginia, taking charge, his face properly molded into just the right degree of concern, a too-proud-to-show-one’s-feelings expression. He would show a humble gratitude to those who would say, “You mustn’t blame yourself, everybody knows you did all you could!”

Somehow he had to spare the family such a fiction. The burden of the loss of Jeff and Alma was enough. He might not be successful, Gregg thought, but at least he’d try some fancy irritation.

Walking down the steps of the veranda, he paused to light his pipe. A few sea gulls had begun to circle around Charlie in hopes of crumbs. Charlie was venting his annoyance by throwing small stones at them.

Gregg watched him a moment and thought, “Nice, filthy mood—good, maybe I can take advantage of it, go along with it, get him to go back to New York in his best high dudgeon,” and went down to join him.

“Oh, hi, Gregg.” Charlie glanced around, speaking somewhat suspiciously.

“Hi, Charlie—how do you feel?” said Gregg, determined to keep it, God help him, light.

“A-ach!” Charlie made a sound indicating a combination of disgust and resignation, sitting down onto the sand with his back against the rocks.