Excerpt
When I reached the top, the mast was lurching wildly. I felt like an insect clinging to a pendulum—about to be flung into space. Far below, the crew looked up at me … small, pale expressions too distant to read … faces lightly sketched within the shape of Morning Star floundering in the frothy mess.
An errant wave suddenly smacked her bow hard, forcing us from the eye of the wind and causing us to wallow broadside to the swells. We rocked dangerously back and forth, back and forth. One moment I looked straight down at the deck and the next I hovered above the ocean—only to be catapulted back to the other side. After blinking the rain out of my eyes, I could see Barb fighting the wheel, trying to turn Morning Star back into the wind. But with the slackened sail, she had no steerage. She needed more throttle!
________________
The boson’s chair held, but left me dangling like a piñata, making me lunge for support. One of my hands found the thick forestay and I desperately clamped on to it, along with several protruding, frayed wires. They tore the flesh between my thumb and index finger, ripping it open like a gutted fish. When I gripped the forestay I accidentally dropped the pliers. I was horrified to watch them descend. At first they were over the water, but as we rocked back again they aligned to the swaying mast and were on a trajectory for Greg’s head! They struck the deck only a few feet from him with a bang I could hear all the way from the top, causing poor Greg to jump like he was shot. We watched the pliers bounce and flip into the sea.
I felt no pain, just the sensation of a very loose thumb with a lot of red juice pumping from the gash. But the forestay kept me in place.
“It’s ready!” I yelled. “Pull it down!” I gave the OK sign with my good hand.
Greg and John pulled the mainsail down, and I descended the mast, leaving a bloody trail that was instantly washed away by the rain.
________________
Greg, the soft-spoken gentleman, was the first to react. “Oh Lord, help us!” He dropped his fork on the plate.
Protests erupted around the table: “Ugh! …” “Oh my God!” and “John, are you trying to kill us?”
“John,” Barb asked, still laughing, “just what herbs and spices did you put in this?”
He furrowed his eyebrows. “Oh, I just grabbed whatever I found. You know I can’t cook!”
Everyone put their plates down with disgusted moans.
John was silent, crushed by the collective verdict. We waited.
Resigned, he said, “OK, I’ll shut my eyes.”
Greg took the pot, turned, and threw it and the vile contents into the sea. One by one, we scraped our plates clean of the stuff, no doubt sentencing hundreds of fish to a slow death by poisoning.
Sometime later, Barb emerged from the galley carrying a box of baking soda and a can of Drano.
“John, please tell me you didn’t use any of these. They’re in the galley too, but they’re not food.”
John shook his head emphatically. “No. For sure, no! … At least I don’t think so.”
________________
Warren took out his Bible and cleared his throat. It became quiet except for the clinking of dishes and the light waves slapping against the hull.
He turned to us and asked, “Ken and Barbie, what are you doing in Spain and what are you looking for?”
At first Barb was uncomfortable, with her eyes staring at the floor and the muscles of her jaw tensed. I’d seen that look more often than I wanted … the attitude of rebellion waiting to lash out.
But Warren didn’t seem bothered. He went on. The time flew by.
When I glanced at her later, I saw her features had softened. Her eyes were lifted, intent on what he was saying. Warren continued with mounting conviction, and his voice became louder. With spit forming around his mouth he began to spray with each crescendo. We subtly moved back, out of range.
Then Warren prayed a long, loud, and wonderful prayer. Mrs. Harding and the kids stopped what they were doing and gathered around us both, gently touching us with their fingers, praying softly.
It seemed the earth fell silent, bowing in reverence to the moment. Sometime during those brief moments in time and space on board that little wooden boat floating in a river in southern Spain, Barb crossed the great chasm between lost and new life. The river gently flowed on as it always had, the fish nibbled at the growth on the hull, and the moon sent a trail of light across the water. On the outside, everything went on as always, but inside that boat and inside Barbara, the entire universe had changed.
________________
Leaning back against the forestay, I felt Morning Star play on the water while the unseen horizon pondered the new day. The feeling of safety and comfort returned.
Absent the intrusion of clocks, schedules, square walls, traffic, or beeping coffeemakers, I floated free in the expanse, anticipating the transition from darkness to glorious new day. It was a moment of ethereal lightness, void of substance, with only the wind and the gentle lifting and plowing of her sharp bow through the water as my reference. I waited. The Artist was about to create the first draft.
________________
Startling, brilliant light exploded from the bounds of the earth’s perimeter as the blazing sphere scattered javelin-like beams across the sky and water, glancing them from the canyons onto Morning Star. Stabbed by the bright onslaught, I reluctantly put on my sunglasses in time to see the cloud pillars cower and shrink to puffs of white, empty threats.
________________
“Ah, you must know I speak American, not English,” Jalil said proudly. “I studied dentistry in Chicago. I had one year to go when my father became ill last year. I had to return to Algeria to help my family. It’s the way of the Arab culture, you know … to take care of our families.”
He said it without guile, but his comment told me his experience in America might have been less than stellar. I couldn’t argue that, having seen my own grandmother waste away in a nursing home.
He picked up the scalpel. “Open your mouth very wide, John, and hang on to these.” He placed heavy sponges in each of John’s hands. “Squeeze them when it hurts.”
“No Novocain?” Barb asked, mildly shocked.
|