The Black House (14 page)

With a look of annoyance, Bif motioned for Sam to take the wheel, which Sam did.

“Did you find out her name?” Bif asked Chuck.

“Yessir. Natalie Anderson.”

“And where does she live?”

“Cambridge.”

“Um—I'd better call shore now and tell 'em.”

“She doesn't care, Bif. I mean—she's not in a hurry.”

“No? You asked her?”

Chuck hadn't. He didn't reply.

Bif went to the wheelhouse. Sam was steering. Bif started to use the radio-telephone, and found it dead. “What's the matter here, Sam?”

“Sir?”

“Radio's out.” Bif looked at the back of the radio. The aerial was in place. But someone had removed an essential part, Bif knew, and maybe had it in his pocket now, or had thrown it over the side. “Do you know who touched this?”

“No, sir,” said Sam, strongly suspecting Johnny.

“Damn nuisance,” Bif murmured, and went out, toward the cabin.

Chuck saw him and said, “She's putting on some clothes now, Bif.”

Bif snorted. “Well, ask her if she's finished yet.”

Chuck knocked. “Are you finished dressing, ma'am?” he called to the closed hatch doors.

“Yes, you can come down.”

The girl stood barefoot in Chuck's big dungarees, which she had rolled at the cuffs. She held the waist up with one hand.

“Got a belt—somewhere,” said Chuck, and started rummaging in his drawer again. “Try this, Natalie.” He handed her a brown leather belt. “You might have to tie it.”

“Radio's dead,” Bif said to Chuck, who looked only mildly surprised and not much interested. “We radioed shore that we picked a girl up, miss—but not your name. Won't your family be worried?”

The girl smiled her easy smile, which lit up her blue eyes. “My family?—They just think I'm on a camping trip. As long as you said you picked a girl
up
—What's the worry?”

Bif nodded, thinking that it wouldn't be long before the Coast Guard sent out a boat looking for the
Emma C
, and they were still headed away from home.

Chuck watched with fascination as the girl threaded the long belt through the loops of his dungarees, and tied it loosely in a way that left both ends hanging to one side. He was hoping the girl would hold out, that she'd decide she never wanted to go back on shore, that she'd stay—at least a week with them, even longer. Chuck envisaged the
Emma C
putting in for fresh food and water at any old port, while Natalie stayed below in the cabin out of sight.

“I'm not in a hurry to get back,” the girl said finally.

Chuck glowed with satisfaction. His very words to Bif!

“I'd love to see the rest of the ship,” she added.

Bif nodded in a puzzled way. “All right—Natalie.”

“S
OCKS
!” O
NCE MORE
the drawer, and Chuck produced heavy white socks with a red stripe in the cuff.

The girl slipped these on quickly. “Marvelous!”

They all went up on deck. The girl lifted her face to the sun and smiled, looked above her at a gliding gull, at the horizon. Johnny stared with parted lips as she approached him.

Sam saw her and gripped the wheel hard in astonishment. Now she was walking toward the prow. Sam stared at her, wondering if she had his poem in a pocket of those trousers, thinking what a splendid figurehead she would make for the
Emma C
, looking just like this, leaning forward with the wind blowing her blonde hair back! Except that she deserved a better ship. What had Bif been thinking about while he was steering? They were way north, leaving Massachusetts Bay and entering the Atlantic, to eastward. It would take them all night to get back to Wellfleet, even if they put about now.

The girl turned and leaned back against the prow. She looked directly at Sam, and his heart jumped.

Sam raised his right hand in something between a wave and a salute, and suddenly grinned back at her.

Johnny came into the wheelhouse, and Sam left the helm before Johnny could say anything, so Johnny had to take it. Sam went down to the girl. The sun was setting.

“You're feeling better?” Sam asked.

She nodded. “Oh, sure!”

Sam kept a distance from her, partly out of courtesy, partly so he could better see her whole figure. “Did you—I'm the—”

“What?”

“I'm the one who wrote that lousy poem . . . You read it?”

“I don't think it's lousy.”

Sam sighed, aching.

“Can you show me around the ship?”

“Certainly can!”

They began to walk aft on the starboard deck. Sam at once got a whiff of fish from the hold. He thought of the mackerel lying on salted ice below their feet now. That catch might have to be chucked. And why hadn't somebody thought to put Louie in the hold?

“That's the galley,” Sam said, gesturing. “Cleaner than usual today, I have to admit. I think that's in your honor.” He saw Filip still lying on the worn, shiny linoleum.

“Somebody's sleeping there?” she asked.

“Y-yes, ma'am,” Sam said, aware of footsteps behind him.

It was Chuck behind him, with a grin that was merely bared teeth. “Well, Sam?”

“So—Chuck.” Sam kept his cool. “Would you like to join us on a tour of the ship?”

Chuck followed them like a heavy, ugly shadow. Sam glanced at the girl for comfort, for alliance, but she was looking straight ahead, her gaze a bit lifted, as if unaware of Chuck's attitude. Her feet in the big white socks made no sound on the deck, and Sam could almost believe she didn't exist, except that when he glanced at her, the mere corner of her eye jolted him into reality. Sam heard Bif give an order for Johnny to put about. The port and starboard lights had come on. Filip's blood was still on the deck, but the girl didn't look down.

Then on the port deck, she stopped suddenly. She had seen the tarpaulin-wrapped form of Louie. The rope circle was smaller at his ankles. It was unmistakably a human form. “
This?
” she said, looking with wide blue eyes at Sam, then at Chuck.

Chuck cleared his throat and said, “Sacks.—Extra burlap sacks for fish. Have to keep 'em dry.”

Sam walked on slowly with the girl, wishing he had thought to say that.

Now they were at the cabin hatch, and Chuck stopped, but the girl did not want to go in. She said she felt quite well now, and wanted to stay out in the air. Captain Bif spoke to Sam and also to Filip, who was now sitting on a bench in the galley: they were to prepare supper, a good supper as they'd all more or less missed lunch. Then the captain produced some red wine. It was homemade by the local Portuguese, not notably good, but not mouth-puckering either.

Sam slipped out the starboard galley door, and went forward to the cabin. From the drawer he shared with Johnny, Sam dragged out an orange waterproof jacket with a cozy lining, and dashed up the steps again and closed the hatches. He presented the jacket to the girl. “Getting cooler,” Sam said.

She put it on. “Thank you, Sam. Just what I needed!”

Sam smiled, and without a glance at the other men, returned to his cooking. It was getting dark now. The
Emma C
's white steaming light atop the mast shed a lovely glow over the ship, nearly as pretty as moonlight. And a moon would be coming up, Sam knew, nearly full. Someone, probably Johnny, had switched on a transistor to guitar music. Ordinarily Captain Bif forbade transistors except for news, but Bif was in a good mood tonight. Sam heard laughter, and occasionally the girl's soft voice, because the others fell silent when she spoke.

“Hey, the catch is starting to
stink
!” Chuck yelled out, and the others laughed, even Natalie.

Then Sam heard the planks over the hold being tossed aside on deck. Mackerel and the occasional pilchard arced over the bulwarks, over the stern.

“Pity the gulls're all asleep!” someone said.

Sam put frozen broccoli on to boil, and sipped his red wine. He could hear the captain laughing—a rare thing, Sam thought, with a half-a-hold catch going overboard. When Sam called everyone to table, the moon was up, and he had a glimpse of the girl leaning gracefully against the superstructure with her stemmed glass of wine—the only stemmed glass on board—and it seemed to Sam that she looked directly at him for a couple of seconds.

Johnny had lashed the helm. There was no other vessel in sight, and the Cape lights lay far ahead, somewhere, as yet invisible. Four sat at the table, including Natalie, who had been provided with a pillow for the hard bench and another pillow to lean back against. Sam was happy to stand and serve, and Captain Bif, with new found sprightliness, remained on his feet also, and peered out from time to time to see if another boat might be in the neighborhood.

“Natalie . . . Natalie . . .” But no one wanted to know her last name. No one asked where she lived. There were only questions like, “What is your favourite color? . . . What size shoe do you wear?” Were some of these idiots going to try to buy shoes for her, Sam wondered. But he also took note of her size: seven, sometimes seven and a half. No one asked her address. And there was much hearty laughter, at nothing. They were eating lamb chops, the best fare the freezer had afforded this evening. Natalie said the meal was delicious. Sam had discovered a jar of mint jelly to go with the lamb chops. And then ice cream. And more wine.

Johnny was a bit drunk, and sang “Moon River,” addressing Natalie, but in a comical way addressing Chuck also, the man he had fought with that day.

“. . . wherever you're going
I'm going—with
you-u
. . .”

Chuck smiled contemptuously and told him to shut up.

After supper, they went on deck in the moonlight, and the jettisoning of fish continued. The girl declined the offer of a cigarette from Johnny. She and two or three fellows were on the starboard deck where the moon shone brightest. Would he ever forget her face, Sam thought, as she stood leaning against the superstructure, hands behind her, in his orange jacket? The curve of her cheek, pale like the round moon? Sam wished another poem would spring full-blown to his mind, so he could write it out and give it to her, now.

More guffaws as Johnny fell into the stinking hold! Johnny pronounced the hold empty, and Chuck and Bif pulled him out. Sam went into the galley to help Filip, who was clearing away. They began to wash dishes.

On deck, the girl yawned like a child, and seeing this Captain Bif and Chuck both informed her that she was sleepy, that she'd had a long hard day.

“You'll sleep by yourself in the cabin,” Chuck said. “And I'll be your guard.” Chuck was weaving on his feet, from drink and fatigue. He had bumped his swollen lip, the skin had split, and it was bleeding a little.

“And I'll kiss her good night,” said Johnny, approaching with a wobbling attempt at a bow.

Natalie laughed, turned slightly from Johnny, and at that moment Chuck swung a fist that caught Johnny squarely in the chest. Johnny went straight backward over the bulwark into the sea, and Chuck's feet slid forward, and he landed on his rump on the deck.

“What the hell
next
on this
boat
!” Bif bawled. “Na-ow—where in God's name's a
rope
?”

Natalie saw a rope first, the length that trailed from the tied feet of Louie, lifted it, and Bif hurled it over the side.

“Man overboard!” Bif yelled. “Turn about!”

Sam heard this and raced to the wheel. Johnny caught the rope after a minute or so, and was hauled gasping and spitting over a bulwark. He lay on the deck, mumbling still about kissing Natalie good night. Louie's shoes had become exposed, and the girl saw beyond a doubt what the tarpaulin contained. Chuck took her hand firmly, and led her to the cabin. The cabin light was on. Chuck took a blanket from another bunk and added this to the blanket she had, and tucked her feet.

“You'll be safe as a—as a bug in a rug,” he assured her. He pulled two other blankets from the other bunks, and went on deck with them. Here he announced that no one was sleeping in the cabin that night except Natalie.

Bif laughed, as if Chuck's giving such an order amused him.

But no one protested. Filip wanted a sweater, and Chuck entered the cabin with a torch, as quietly as possible, got a sweater and jackets and oil slickers for warmth, and tossed them out on deck. Then he sat on deck with his back against the low cabin. Filip curled up on the galley floor, and Bif against the superstructure out of the wind. Sam was to steer for an hour or so, then awaken Bif. Sam lashed the wheel, leaned tiredly against the back wall of the wheelhouse, and smoked a rare cigarette, dreaming.

And
was
it a dream, Sam thought. His head was still buzzing from wine. If so, they were all dreaming it. Or was it only he, dreaming about all of them?

The captain offered to take over around 4
A.M
. and Sam wrapped himself in a blanket and collapsed, face to the superstructure. Chuck was sleeping with his head between his knees, determined to sit up beside the cabin.

Around 6:30, Sam made coffee. The Cape showed fuzzily on the port side, but Wellfleet was a couple of hours away. The
Emma C
was still not doing her full speed. No one mentioned lowering the nets, trying for another catch. They were going to give up the girl, deliver her, in a little while. Johnny sipped black coffee and didn't want anything to eat. He cast dreary glances at the shore. It seemed to Sam that everyone's eyes were sad that morning. Chuck had finally stretched out with his back against the cabin below the hatch doors, and as others awakened, so did Chuck.

Sam wanted to go to Bif and say, “Let's put in for food and fuel and take off again!” But he couldn't give such an order. Instead, he poured two mugs of coffee and brought them on a tray to Chuck. “One for Natalie,” Sam said.