Chapter 1: Saturday Night
I wonder. Can they see us? Have they just finished their tea as well? They must be able to see the lights here. Where are they from? Where else have they been? I wonder.
Portside, facing the shore, he leaned on the deck rail and looked through his binoculars, carefully focused the lenses on each eyepiece. Rain was coming down like a light cool blanket. Evening silence had settled on the ship: there was no noise from the deck or the galley. The sea was calm below and barely made a splash as it moved against the hull. He was ready to go.
He opened the storeroom door behind him, careful that the rusty door did not make a sound. Faint light poured through the porthole. Inside, he saw the inflated rubber boat. Next to the boat was a long grey canvas bag with a thick strap and a zipper that ran its length. It appeared white in the light. Two coils of rope lay on the damp floor. Looped at the end of one rope were two oars.
A hand grabbed his shoulder. He jumped and turned around. There was Andre, his teeth flashing in the moonlight as he smiled. They embraced, said nothing, but exchanged signs in the dim light. Together, they tied the rope to the end of the rubber boat and lowered it over the side of the ship, feeling the slack as the boat reached the sea. Andre tied the rope to the ship railing and then helped him climb over the side.
He slid down the rope, breaking his descent, as he had learned, with the rope wrapped around one leg and between his boots. He reached the boat, sat and steadied himself. The waves were larger than he had anticipated. Then it seemed like an hour, but it was less than a minute before his bag and the oars appeared before him, dangling from the second rope. No one else about, just the figure of Andre, still dressed in his cook’s apron and wearing his white cap, waving from above. He waved back, not knowing if Andre could see him below.
He untied both ropes, first the one attached to his bag and the oars, then he untied the knot holding the rope to the boat. He held the rope for a moment, felt his stomach tighten, and held back the urge to vomit. He inhaled deeply, tugged the two ropes, and they disappeared quickly above him into the dark heaven on the deck above. A wave embraced then carried the small boat away from the ship in a sudden rush.
His fear turned into a surge of energy and excitement. He grabbed the oars and placed them securely into the gunnels and began to row. Looking over his left shoulder, he saw the lights from the town in the distance. He faced the ship, which looked immense. On the bridge, he could barely make out the figure of the skipper holding his coffee cup and gazing somewhere out to sea. Just below the bridge, still standing on the lower deck, stood Andre, waving his apron.
He would have waved back, but his hands were frozen to the oars now. Shoulders pulling. His back into each stroke. The rain cooled his face. He rowed steady, remembering that he needed to be patient. The distance was at least one mile. Use the ship, the town lights to his left, and now…yes, now he saw it, the lighthouse slightly behind his right shoulder. He constantly checked his position and often corrected his direction. He felt himself making headway, but the ship still looked like a tall building above him with its few lights steady, a great black wall as he bobbed up, down and sideways. A fleeting feeling of desperation, but then he remembered a similar sensation off the coast of
He rowed on.
“Jerry, it’s getting late and I’m wet, Love”.
“It’s Saturday night, Mum. No school tomorrow. We’ll have plenty of time to sleep. I’ll get you up at eight. Look at all those ships out there tonight, Mum. Just sitting there, still.”
Janet held an umbrella over them. Jerry stood there eating the remnants of his chips from a crisp white bag. They both stared out to sea, leaning on the railing at the promenade. The arcade lights behind them washed out the stars above but illuminated a portion of the beach leading to the sea. They stood silently for a time as the light rain drifted beneath the umbrella and onto their faces. It was cool tonight, for being late April.
“C’mon you. Time to get home. We don’t want Granny and Bart having to deal with you being tired tomorrow, Mate”.
They walked and the arcade lights began to fade behind them. To their street. Past a few of the shops. Up a side entrance, next to the hair salon, two floors up.
He checked his watch, but could not see the dial or the hands. Andre promised him that this was a good wristwatch with hands that would glow bright. But despite the dark sea, the cloudy moonlit sky, and darker even shadow of his ship, he could not make out the time. It must be around one in the morning. He must have been rowing at least an hour he estimated, but it felt much longer.
Then, behind him, he heard waves crashing. He stopped and turned around to see white waves in the distance. He no longer saw the town lights, and the intermittent pulsing beam of the lighthouse was now no longer in sight. He thought that he must keep rowing to the sound of the waves. He quickened his pace. Then grew exhausted and rested a few moments. His boat stopped suddenly and he fell backwards toward the bow. A dark wall. How tall?
He knelt in the boat and held himself against the wall, looking to his left then right. The street lights above gave some light and his eyes adjusted after having stared into the darkness all that time. To his right, he saw that the wall ended about fifty feet away. He rowed again, this time on his knees with one paddle, one side then the other. Every few feet, he touched the wet slippery wall to keep himself from crashing into it. The waves were gentle now. Almost there. Then he turned the corner.
The wall now led, on his left side, directly to shore. The beach was in sight now, a light grey. He rowed slowly, and looked out to sea across the stern. There were more than ten boats out there. Which one was his, he thought? Was Andre out there, still standing on the deck? He smiled to himself and then began to cry. He was ashore.
Janet lay awake. She heard the television through the wall. Her neighbours were old and the volume seemed always an issue. She thought about the day. A busy Saturday: 28 customers times 4 equals 112. Minus 12, 100, plus 3, 103. Train tomorrow around nine, in
She got out of bed, put on her green bathrobe, shut the door to Jerry’s room, turned on the blue lamp at her desk by the window, and filled the kettle. The noisy kettle. Her tall blue cup, one tea bag, three sugars, two Hob Nobs on a plate. Radio 2 on low.
The kettle bubbled, hissed and finally ended its thunderous drama with a click. She poured the steamy water into the cup and let it darken. No milk. Damn. Forgot. Reaching up into the cupboard, she rummaged blind behind tins and jars and found the powdered creamer. Hasn’t been opened for a year. Like chalk. It should dissolve anyway. She stirred and stirred. Sips and burns her tongue. She cursed silently and danced across the floor. Try an ice cube or four.
She finally sat her chair and stared out the window, considering how everything seemed to be hard. Tedious. Repetitive. It would be nice to always have milk and the time to remember it.
He unzipped his bag and took out a knife from Andre’s kitchen. With it, he punctured the rubber boat. Looking at the walkway above, he checked to see if he was alone. He hurled the knife far out into the now calm sea and pushed the limp boat into the water. It looked so small now. Then he slung his bag over his shoulder and took up the two oars, one in each hand, and walked slowly up the nearby ramp to the promenade above. His legs were aching and for the first time he realized that he was soaked to the skin.
When he reached the prom, he turned right and began to walk quickly. He headed towards the dimmed town lights which glowed around the corner. Then a feeling of doubt. How far? He stopped at a bench which faced the sea and sat down, looking around at the houses. Hardly a light on. It seemed dark and too quiet. From his bag, he took out a small plastic bag containing a black notebook. He flipped to the middle of the book and took out a folded map. He couldn’t see it well. From his coat pocket, he took a black pen-like flash light, twisted its red filtered light on and held it in his teeth while he checked the map.
With the light still in his teeth, he carefully folded the map and placed it in the same place in the notebook, slipped it back inside the plastic bag and secured it inside his coat. As he turned to zip up his bag, he noticed a brass plaque on the bench, centred on the back. He read the inscription: “In loving Memory of Dell and Bob. Granny, Grandad, Mum, Dad, Sister, Brother. 1973”. He turned off the light and stared for a moment back out to sea. Below, he gazed at the outline of a wall-enclosed pool-like area below to his right. He must have landed against the wall that faced the sea and followed the left wall to the beach.
No comments:
Post a Comment