At first, I felt only disbelief as the knife's blade slid cleanly into my back.
He struck me hard on the head with something metallic (I know because it made a distinctive
dong
sound when it hit me)...maybe an ice bucket. And as I went down I heard him say in a falsetto that was probably his way of imitating Charity, "He's my advisor." Then in his own grouchy geezer voice, "Well, this is what you get for giving out bad advice. Shame on you."
My head began to pound with a dull, repeating thud, but it was the tearing pain in my back where I'd been stabbed that threatened my consciousness; it was incredible. What the hell had he used, a butter knife?
He stepped over my prone figure and left me lying there. I looked up and saw that his right shoe was leaving a mark on the hallway carpet. It looked wet...it was...blood. My blood. Ahh, jeez. I fought off an attack of nausea and tried to get up. But he'd beaned me harder than I'd thought. A psychedelic dizziness overtook me, the nausea came flooding back and I dropped to the floor like a bag of wet sand. I squeezed my eyes shut and took several deep breaths. After a few seconds I painfully forced open my right eye. I really didn't have to. I knew where he was going. He was heading to 702. Charity's cabin.
I used the wall to pull myself up, paling with the effort. I winced as my head and knife wounds screamed their combined irritation at the motion. I stumbled into the hallway, determined to catch up with Patrick. But I was too late. He'd already found her unlocked door and thrown it open. All I saw was the green and black pattern of his flannel shirt as it disappeared inside. I did my best to jog the distance, holding my side in a half-assed effort to stem the bleeding and the pain.
It seemed to take a week for me to reach Charity's cabin door. When I got there, I saw her on the deck, facing the water, a phone to her ear. In the foreground was Patrick Halburton, walking determinedly in her direction, knife in hand. He was probably debating whether he should stab her or simply rush her and throw her overboard. A millisecond later he chose the latter and, at a run, began bellowing, "You can't do this to my Harry!"
The figure on the deck turned around just in time to expertly ward off Patrick's flailing attack and revealed himself to be not Charity, but rather one of the ship's security officers in drag. As he felled Patrick as sure as a lumberjack on an aged birch tree, five other security men jumped out from various hiding spots throughout the room, all yelling and screaming for Patrick to yield. Perhaps a bit of overkill-I'm sure it almost gave him a heart attack-but it did produce the desired result. His assault died as quickly as it took him to hit the floor. He didn't struggle, not even a little. He did, however, begin to weep.
"I don't believe it!" This from the real Charity, being escorted into the cabin by Captain Bagnato along with Flora and Dottie and two more of the ship's officers. "Patrick, oh Patrick, why have you done this?
Why is it you?" She turned to the lead security officer. "Oh let Mm up. He's a sixty-three year old man for goodness sake."
The security men hauled Patrick up into a standing position facing Charity, but were careful to keep his hands secure behind his back. He was wet-and-wild-eyed but semi-coherent.
"I couldn't let you and that advisor fellow of yours take away from Harry what's rightfully hers. What's she got, poor Harry? You tell me that," he spewed. "She can't marry 'cause she can't have kids. No man'll ever want her. She has nothing because of this family's disease! You promised me once, Charity, you promised me you'd take care of her. You said you understood how badly she'd been done by. Her father's got nothing, I've got nothing, her greatgrandfather's got nothing. We got nothing to give her, to make up for all of this. 'Cept you. And you promised."
"Yes," Charity agreed in a still voice. "Yes, Patrick, I did."
"And now you're going back on that promise," he said accusingly. "I couldn't let it happen."
"I'd never go back on a promise like that. I care deeply about your family, Patrick, most especially about Harry. You should know that," she told him.
"How?" Patrick shot back, tears collecting in the deep crevices of his face. "How would I know that?"
And to tha
t, Charity Wiser had no answer.
According to Errall, most of the Wiser clan, except of course for Patrick who was locked up somewhere until we arrived in Civitivecchia, and Harry, who kindly asked and was allowed to sit with him until then, showed up at Yellow Bricks for dinner that night. Later, they even attempted some weak-hearted last night celebration at Munchkin Land by taking in the entertainment, including Alberta's psychic show. But nothing cheered them as much as when, at the end of the evening Charity made the announcement that she had no intention of changing her will and that there'd be many more Charity Events in the family's future. Talk about sweet and sour news.
After a visit with the ship's doctor, I spent the night alone, recuperating in my cabin, licking my wounds, old and new. I was feeling a little sour myself. There was nothing satisfying about seeing a man driven to uncontrollable fury. All for an altruistic, although misguided, purpose: to protect and provide for his beloved granddaughter.
I actually wasn't too worried about Harriet Delmonico. If someone had the spirit and verve and tenacity to survive the curse of her family line, it was she. And someday she'd have some of Charity's money as added succour. Until then, I guessed, she'd be just fine. Of all the Wisers, she probably needed the money the least to make a good life for herself.
When Errall walked in quite late that evening, I was in my bathrobe, sitting on our beautiful teak-floored deck staring out at the sea, stewing. Although I didn't know I was stewing.
"A euro for your thoughts," she said, slipping soundlessly into the chair next to mine.
"Oh nothing," I answered. "Just thinking about Patrick Halburton."
"And?"
I hesitated, thinking, then answered, "And how, despite all that's happened, I've really enjoyed this experience. Being on this ship I mean. I think this prairie boy has fallen a little bit in love with the sea. I'm sad to see our trip come to an end."
True as it was, she wasn't buying it. "And?"
I thought some more. It wouldn't come.
"Richard's gone," she told me flatly in her Errall way.
I shifted in my seat, catching a sharp intake of breath from the pain that came from disturbing the bandage around my torso. Richard was gone? This was a surprise. I thought he was giving me the cold shoulder. We hadn't talked since Wednesday night when he'd called asking me out for a drink. I put him off until later and then never showed up. I could see him being pissed, but enough to leave the ship, forgo the last part of the trip? What about the rest of his clients on board?
"Giovanna told me," Errall said softly. "She knew about.. .well, that you and he were spending time together. She received a note from him before we left Salerno. It said he was staying behind to catch a flight back to the States to attend to a personal crisis."
"I...I didn't know...he didn't tell me."
"That's what I thought."
"It's odd he wouldn't have," I said. "Or at least leave me a note too."
She shrugged. "It sounded serious. Maybe he had no time."
Hmphf. "I guess."
"Sorry."
"Thanks for telling me." I gave her a smile. "You should get back to your captain."
She smiled back. "It's good, y'know."
This was a rare personal admission from the steely Errall Strane. I took a second to study her face. I thought to myself how very pretty she is when she allows herself to let down her guard and relax the muscles in her face and neck, as she had now. "I know."
"Were you and Richard getting close?"
I considered the question, but not for long. "I liked him. We were having fun. No big deal." Big, strong, unemotional man.
"You should try it. Getting close to someone I mean."
I looked away. Was it bad that I didn't want to? "You should get back."
"To Giovanna?" She snuggled deeper into her chair. "She's kinda busy right now...the whole steering the boat thing. I thought I'd hang around here for a while if you're serving something good. After all, it's our last night. Any champagne left in the fridge?" She got up to check then stopped. "Oh, I suppose you're on pain medication or something? You shouldn't mix drugs and alcohol."
I shook my head, disappointed.
"Well then, we'll indulge in the next best thing," she told me, heading inside for the phone. "I'm going to order everything off the room service
menu that has chocolate in it.
Errall did sneak out to the captain's quarters later that night but returned bright and early the next morning. I think she thought I wouldn't notice, having left after I'd fallen into a deep drug and chocolate induced sleep. But I did notice she wasn't in her bed when at 7 a.m. a rather curt Judy Smythwicke addressed the ship's passengers one last time.
"Good morning all," she began. "It is now seven a.m. on a bright and beautiful Italian morning. If you take a peek out your windows you shall see that The Dorothy has arrived in Civitivecchia. As this is the final day of your cruise, you will be expected to vacate your rooms no later than eight-thirty a.m. and be off the ship no later than nine-forty-five a.m. So please, budget your time accordingly. For those of you heading into Rome, have a pleasant day in one of the world's most exciting and stumping cities and for the rest of you, safe travels wherever they may take you." In other words, get up and get out. When Errall came sneaking back in moments later, I was
wide awake and packing my bags.
"Did I thank you enough, Russell?" she asked as we finished our last cup of coffee on the deck before leaving our cabin and The Dorothy for the final time.
"Of course," I answered absentmindedly, still half-brooding over something I couldn't put my finger on.
It didn't help that I hadn't slept too well. I wasn't sure if it was the persistent headache that was ailing me, or all the chocolate Errall and I had tossed down our throats before going to bed.
"Good. I want you to know how grateful I am." She pinned me with the full force of her blue, blue eyes, a look meant to reinforce how serious she was. "This has helped."
Neither of us wanted to say the "K" word, but it hung in the air for a while before floating harmlessly off on a passing wisp of sea breeze. Then, just as we were about to get up, a wave of water washed over us, as shocking for its cold wetness as for its unexpectedness.
"What the fuck was that?" Errall yodelled. She hopped up and over to the railing to see what had caused the sudden tidal wave.
Then another splash. Fortunately Errall got the brunt of that one.
"Oh my God!" she yelped, jumping back.
"What? What? What?" was about all I was capable of, not knowing if I should laugh or run for my life jacket.
Errall fell back in her chair, holding her tummy and chortling.
"What?" I stared at her, wondering if she'd lost her mind. Or had I? Were we still at sea? Were we sinking? Was all my earlier blathering on about falling in love with the sea about to turn around and bite me on my drowning ass?
"They're washing the ship," Errall managed to tell me through bursts of laughter. "They're washing the fuckin' ship!"
And indeed, once I garnered enough courage to stand up and steal a look over the deck's railing, I saw a large mechanical thingy bob, (I'm nothing if not knowledgeable about machinery) making its way up and down the length of The Dorothy giving her a bath. I pulled back and went for a last sip of coffee, which turned out to be mostly dirty ship-cleaning water. Blech.
I shook my head with incredulity. First the 7 a.m. wake up call, now this. There was no doubt; when the cruise is over, it’
s really over.
Anthony and Jared had generously offered to host all of us, Errall, Charity, Dottie, Flora and myself that first night off the ship. The next morning Errall and I would head south to Rome to catch a plane for home while the others made their way to Florence and other points north for an extended holiday.
After disembarking from The Dorothy, Charity and Dottie and I remained shipside, collecting luggage and saying our fare-thee-wells to the rest of the Wiser bunch and Alberta (who gave me a hurried hug before having to dash off with the rest of the departing crew). Flora and Errall caught a shuttle into town to find the Europcar office. In surprisingly short order we were packed up and on our way to Tuscany in matching blue Golfs, Errall and me in the lead, with Errall driv
ing (I was still rather stiff).
Our route took us north through Grosetto, then inland towards Siena. The beginning part of our journey was unremarkable and rather disappointing scenery-wise, with flat, uninspired parcels of land, ramshackle farm houses and dilapidated, industrial-looking towns devoid of colour or character. But at some point, almost imperceptibly, the landscape transformed, caught in the beauty of summer meeting fall. Browns turned into yellows and oranges and reds and countless shades of green-olive, pea, chartreuse, viridian.