The Atua Man
Page 17
Treading water, facing each other, David’s eyes were dark with fury. “You think Larry knew what he was doing? He could have killed us!”
“Look at us, though; we went along with it.”
“He’s psychotic. Lillian warned us. That man is evil.”
“What are you going to do about it? Swim to Tahiti?”
“Fuck you. Aren’t you pissed?”
The boys struggle to get their hands free.
“When we get back to the boat, I’m going to treat it like a grand joke that we won.” Jason pulled the rope and David’s hand toward him. “I think Byron was really chewing Larry out.”
“Want to bet that he’ll turn the motor on and come and get us?” David pulled the rope back to him.
“Not a chance. That would admit that he made a mistake, and Larry Graff never makes a mistake. The knot is on your side.”
The boys finally broke free, stretched out into a good crawl and swam back toward the boat.
Jason was just as furious as David, but he could see no benefit in telling Larry off. He couldn’t accept that Larry was as malicious as he appeared. Jason knew that Larry was an egotist, but he attributed it to the man’s ignorance.
David kept pace as Jason increased his speed. With every stroke, David wrestled with how to extract justice, or at least an admission of stupidity. Fat chance! He probably should let it go and follow Jason’s lead in maintaining a sense of civility.
It took a good twenty minutes for the initiates to reach the Mata‘i and when they got there, they found the boarding ladder hung over the side. They climbed on board and collapsed on the cockpit lounges. Larry and Byron were no longer on deck. The boys were naked, exhausted, and no one was there to applaud them.
Larry came on deck wearing a large smile. “Congratulations. You two now belong to the Ancient Order of the Deep. Well done!”
Byron followed his brother on deck with an armful of towels. Both were dressed as if they were going to a cocktail party. Byron tossed each boy a towel and studied Jason as he dried himself off.
“I’ll have that beer now,” Jason said to Larry.
“Ice cold beer, coming up.” Larry went aft where two wet socks hung from the mizzen boom. The socks were in the shade and the battery-powered fan from Larry’s cabin was propped up on the dinghy, blowing air on them. Larry took the heavy socks off of the boom and pulled out two bottles of Hinano beer, handing one to each of the boys. “I’ve been saving these for this occasion. Surprised you, didn’t I?”
The beer was cool.
“Evaporation.” Larry proclaimed, smugly.
The boys looked at each other and clinked their bottles.
“Refreshing,” David said.
“What a surprise,” Jason said. “Cold beer at the equator and not an ice cube for a thousand miles.” They saluted Larry with their beers.
“I’m curious, Larry, what was your initiation when you first crossed the equator?” David ventured.
He thought a moment. “I was one of a handful of passengers on a freighter heading from Panama to Sydney. The captain had a ‘Neptune Ball’ and we wore black tie. I drank a lot of champagne.”
David got up and went below, mumbling something about getting dressed.
“Nap time,” Byron said and followed David.
“I guess you have the watch,” Larry said to Jason as he took his fan from the dinghy. “Welcome to the Neptune Club,” he said and disappeared into his cabin.
Jason looked around and saw nothing but a flat, mirror-like sea. It was nearly white in the reflected sunlight, and the surrounding horizon made him feel strangely claustrophobic. He felt there was another world out there, just beyond human perception, and it was so close it made reality seem unreal.
The southeast trade winds arrived on their sixteenth day at sea. Larry had planned to be in Papeete by this time, and Mata‘i was well capable of meeting that schedule. But this is where they were, and Larry set a course of south-by-south-southeast and put up every sail he had. He was happy again and sure that they would make up the time lost in the Doldrums. Everyone checked the knot-meter regularly, especially after gusts of wind, and with the sea still calm, and Mata‘i well-trimmed, she was doing over twelve knots.
As with all ocean crossings, progress was measured in daily nautical miles. The shortest distance they had made in one day was in the doldrums—thirty-eight miles. At six knots the Mata‘i would do one hundred forty-four miles in twenty-four hours. If she had averaged that speed for the entire voyage, it would have taken her just under sixteen days to sail from Honolulu to Papeete. Mata‘i could actually make over fourteen knots with the right sea and wind conditions, and if the current wind held, she could make up some of the lost time and reach Papeete in four days. Larry was hoping to be there in three.
Larry had the guys take a noon sight with their sextants every day. Learning celestial navigation was part of the experience that Larry was providing, and though David had some experience with sextants, chronometers, and nautical almanacs, Jason had not. This was the one time each day when Jason and Larry’s relationship was genuine. Jason wanted to learn, and Larry was a good teacher.
Four nights later, on the twentith day, the wind died. A front had moved up from the south and killed the trade winds. Mata‘i was less than one hundred miles from Papeete and she was becalmed. The morning dawned overcast and still, and it was humid. Larry refused to use the motor to power into Papeete. Byron grew furious as the boat rolled in the swell while the sails slapped back and forth.
“If we turn on the motor now, we’ll be in Papeete tomorrow,” Byron said as the whole crew sat in the cockpit looking at each other.
“There’s a fifty-fifty chance,” Larry said, sitting at the helm controlling the boat.
Hours went by. The crew of the Mata‘i stared at each other, enduring the sickening motion of the boat and the crack of the sails as they popped from one side of the yacht to the other. Larry stubbornly pretended to steer. He couldn’t hold a course and with the heavy overcast hiding the sun they were not going to get a sight that day. Mata‘i had been drifting since four that morning and her last position had put her between Caroline Atoll and Tetiaroa, Marlon Brando’s island.
“We’re a sailboat, and the diesel is an auxiliary to be used to get us out of trouble. It’s not our primary means of power. We leave that to nature and right now nature isn’t cooperating,” Larry said, looking at Jason. “Shouldn’t you be praying or meditating or something?”
“As if that will do any good,” Byron said. “I’ve got a prayer for you: Turn on the god of diesel and let’s move.”
Larry just stared ahead, perched at the helm as if he were truly sailing.
“Oh, for fuck sake!” Byron cried. “I’m out of here when we reach Papeete.” He went below and poured himself a double shot of rum.
The boys went forward and sat on the cabin roof in front of the salon. The last time they were there, Lillian sat between them.
“Are you going to leave, too?” Jason asked David.
“I will if you will.”
“I feel like I’ve made a commitment, and I should see it through.”
“You don’t owe Larry a damn thing. He’s unreasonable and dangerous.”
“I wouldn’t be staying for Larry. I’d do it to find out what kind of spiritual growth this is forcing on me. I’ve been so pissed since we left Honolulu, I’m not sure I can even meditate anymore. I’ve seen people who think they’re so committed to the Spirit when all is going well, run from it when things fall apart. They let their instinct to fight, or get the hell out take over. I’m trying to look beyond those feelings and find another way to deal with the situation.” Jason looked away, trying to get a handle on his emotions. “I don’t know if I’ll be successful. If not, then the spiritual life isn’t for me.”
David put his arm around his friend. “I won’t abandon you to that son of a bitch. I might not have much influence, but I’ll stay for you.”
After a meager dinner of canned food, and the dinner dishes had been cleaned and put away, the boys went forward to their space on the cabin top. Byron was attempting to hold a course. Larry was cussing at the Aires self-steering gear—he hadn’t completely given up on it. When there were decent winds, the Aires worked well. Why Larry thought he could get it to work when there was no wind was puzzling. Mata‘i had been drifting for almost twenty-four hours and everybody had accepted that Papeete was another day away.
Jason was meditating, which made him extra alert. “Did you hear that?” he said.
David turned his head like a direction finder until he was looking to where Jason thought he’d heard the surf. “Yeah. Over there.”
The boys went to the rail and looked out into the darkness. The cloud cover was thick and the night dark. Then Jason saw a pale line of white off the port bow and pointed it out to David. “Surf!”
“Larry! Byron! Surf off our port bow!” Jason yelled.
Both men looked to where Jason was pointing.
“Impossible.” Larry said, walking to the port shrouds. “We passed Tetiaroa late this afternoon.”
A slight breeze drifted over the boat, coming from the direction of the surf, and it smelled like land. The mainsail jibed at the same time that a larger than normal swell rolled under Mata‘i.
“That’s a wave and it’s going to break,” David said.
“Smell that!” said Byron. He slid off the helmsman’s seat and stood at the wheel for better control.
Suddenly it became clear that the boat was about sixty yards off a reef and drifting into the impact zone of the waves.
“Larry, turn on the fuckin’ engine before you lose your boat!” Byron yelled.
Larry just stood there, staring at the now apparent surf, and not moving. The boys ran back to the cockpit and David started the vent motor that cleared the bilge of fumes. “Release the shaft brake, J.J.”
“I’m starting the goddamn engine now,” Byron said shoving David aside. “If we blow up, we blow up.”
Jason had the seat hatch raised and was turning the extension into the brake clamp when another swell rolled under the boat and knocked him off-balance. Byron hung onto the helm and pressed the starter button. He shifted the motor in gear and gave it some throttle.
“Wait!” Jason said. “The brake’s not off!”
Byron throttled back but the brief turning of the shaft had locked it to where Jason didn’t have the purchase to release it.
“Dave, get the brake from below,” Larry finally joined the effort to get the boat moving. He took over the helm from Byron.
David ran below, and with Jason working from topside, they were able to release the brake clamp. “We’re free!” Jason hollered.
Larry put the boat in gear and gave her some power. The reef was clearly visible, and the boat was still in the crash zone of the surf. Larry was not acting quickly enough. Byron shoved the throttle to max, pushed Larry aside, and then turned the boat ninety degrees to plow through a couple of large swells that were already breaking. Everybody held their breath, hoping that Mata‘i had enough power to get through the waves before they drove her onto the reef. She did have the power, and the Mata‘i cleared the impact zone. They were safe, and the crew relaxed.
Byron then declared that they would be motoring to Papeete and demanded a course. Larry brought up his radio direction finder and found two beacons that he triangulated to get them to Papeete. No one said anything about Byron taking over in the emergency.
Mata‘i approached the pass through the reef into Papeete harbor at first light the following day. The swell had increased. There was no wind, and large drops of rain randomly fell from the sky. Byron motored the Mata‘i into the harbor while Larry called customs. At the same time, a fifty-foot sloop backed into the last slot left along Boulevard Pomare. “That’s not looking good,” Byron said.
The boys were standing on the stern, ready with the mooring lines. “What’s wrong?” Jason said.
David saw the situation. “That sloop took our berth. They moor here like the Caribbean, stern to. You just put a gangway off the stern and you’re ashore.”
Larry came back on deck livid. “That was the last place along the quay. Another boat from Honolulu.” Larry shoved Byron out of the way and took over. He turned his boat a hundred and eighty degrees and powered down to where the street turned inland, and the quay stopped. Beyond that was a rock revetment and a bank of grass that made a waterfront park for a few hundred yards until the shore turned into mangrove and mud flats.
“We’ll have to anchor off the park,” Larry said, maneuvering Mata‘i to a spot ten yards from the shore.
After the bow anchor was set, the boys lowered the dinghy into the water and rowed ashore, taking a stern line with them. They took the line up the grass and tied it to a nearby coconut tree. Using the tree as a makeshift winch, they pulled the stern of Mata‘i as close to the shore as was safe and tied her off. Mata‘i had finally arrived, after twenty-two days at sea.
Chapter 22
Papeete, Tahiti
Monday May 22, 1989
The customs boat arrived shortly after Mata‘i had set her anchors. It maneuvered alongside and two agents came aboard. Larry had the paperwork ready and spoke to the captain in fluent French. The officer stamped all the passports while his colleague searched the cabin, opened storage lockers and pulled floorboards up from the cabin sole. The sergeant searched the aft cabin while Larry and the captain talked and laughed like old friends. When he came back carrying the bag of firearms, everything changed. The captain felt fooled and demanded an explanation for the guns. Larry argued that they were for protection at sea, but the officer, seeing the thousands of rounds of ammunition, thought Larry was supplying one of the dissident native groups that wanted the French out of their islands. They confiscated the guns and gave Larry a summons to appear before the local magistrate.
As the customs boat pulled away Larry went into his cabin cursing them in French and English. A few minutes later he came back with his shore pack. “Listen up,” he said, “I’m staying ashore for a few days. Melanie is here, and we’re going to have some private father-daughter time together. I’ll straighten out this fucking mess with the gendarmes and find a new heat exchanger. I want someone on the boat at all times. Jason, take me ashore and rig something that will make the dinghy more useful.”
“I don’t get what you mean.”
“If I’m ashore, I don’t want to have to wait and shout for someone to get me. Rig the dinghy so I can get back to the boat myself. Got it?”
Larry tossed his duffel into Mata‘i-iti, climbed over the rail into it, and looked back at Jason impatiently. “You coming or what?”
Jason climbed in and looked at Larry puzzled.
“What?” Larry said. “Pull us ashore with the stern line.”
This was a scene straight out of Mutiny on the Bounty; Larry in the bow with his foot on the rail with Jason working the rope. Larry jumped out as soon as the dinghy reached land and strode off without another word.
When Jason got back to the boat, Byron was standing in the cockpit dressed in his Miami Vice look and clutching his canvas seabag. “What do you charge for a ride?” Jason ignored the question and took Byron ashore. When he returned, he tied the dinghy to a stanchion. David had put up the awning, and the boys flaked out in the cockpit.
The rigging system would have to wait.
The afternoon grew hot and the diesel fumes from the traffic on Boulevard Pomare drifted out to the boat. Someone was yelling from shore. Jason refused to move unti
l David shoved him off the cockpit bench. “We’ve got company.”
Jason rolled off the bench and saw Byron waving, wanting a ride back to the boat.
“I’ll do it,” David said.
“Then why did you wake me up?”
David shrugged, climbed into the dinghy, and pulled it to shore.
“I thought you were going to rig up some pulley system to do this. I’ve been here for five minutes,” Byron said in a sour voice.
“Well, we’ve been busy.”
Byron stepped in and David pulled him back to the boat.
“Here’s the deal,” Byron said, climbing aboard Mata‘i, “I’ve got a nice room at the Tahiti Nui just up the street on Avenue du Prince Hinoi and thought you dickheads would like to clean up a bit.” He gave them a key. “Just fix up the dinghy so we can get back and forth before you go.”
The boys rigged a system of pulleys to get the dinghy to and from shore. They grabbed some fresh clothes, and left Byron with a rum drink in one hand and a baguette with cheese in the other. They stepped ashore and staggered down Boulevard Pomare like a couple of drunken sailors. The constant motion of the sea for three weeks made it difficult to walk a straight line on land. It took them ten minutes to reach the hotel and two minutes later they were fighting over who was going to use the shower first.
Feeling revived and like human beings again, the buddies strolled back to the boat through the public market pavilion, a full city block selling everything from fruits and fish to machete’s and sparkplugs. They debated whether or not to shop and decided they’d do that later. According to Larry, they were planning to spend at least five days in Papeete, so the guys figured they had time enough to come back. They stopped by the post office where David mailed the stack of letters he wrote on the voyage down. Jason noticed that they were all to Lillian. He was miffed that David was even writing Lillian. For a moment they locked eyes, and each decided not to say anything. Jason asked if there were any letters for them, but the clerk refused to say one way or another. The post office would only release mail to the captain of the yacht.