by Arne Bue
"And you believe that?"
Gary gave Elaine a dark look. He said, "Elaine, I don't trust the guy. I wish he'd fall overboard."
Elaine headed for Anna's purser station, wanting to talk, but not really about her and Captain Sewell. She was simply glad she had someone to confide in, chit-chat with.
"Get this," Elaine says. "Lingenberry thinks Mr. Nakano's a medical man."
"Tell me about it. The Nelson's think the guy's a genius," Anna said.
Elaine thought of the subtle changes in John Sewell that seemed to have taken place after he'd spoken with Mr. Nakano. But she said nothing. Maybe she could be a beneficiary of Mr. Nakano's conversations with John.
"You know, Gary's suspicious of Mr. Nakano, but sort of in awe at the same time if you ask me," Elaine said. "Gary can't get over the change in the Nelsons.
Anna said, "You know what Mr. Nakano told Harry to do?
"What?"
"Take two Advils, drink plenty of fluids and have his thing looked at. Lingenberry's sold on the guy," Anna said.
"Oh, brother. What about the Nelsons? What did Nakano tell them?"
"Well," Anna said, "the Nelson's came by, dropped off some postcards."
"And?"
"They're to their parents in Washington, D.C. They're taking up meditation. Look around. You see them anywhere?"
"No," Elaine said.
"That's because they're in their staterooms meditating. That's all they do now," Anna said.
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
Mr. Nakano could not stay locked in this stateroom. The walls closed upon him.
I must walk, reach out to the sea and to my own freedom, he thought.
It was only five in the afternoon, a gray day indeed. After one turn on the promenade deck, he saw ahead the Third Mate, Gary Quinsen. The deck officer walked in a threatening, stalking manner and looked right at Mr. Nakano, as though he were prey. Mr. Nakano s blood slid through his veins like cold needles. Nakano hunched around and opened his blade. He kept the edge out of sight in his pocket, his grip firm upon the handle. He faced Quinsen. Mr. Nakano's heart rate had heightened, his breathing quickened, for Quinsen had blocked Mr. Nakano's progress. The man reached and gripped Mr. Nakano by the throat.
"You and me have a little problem," Quinsen said.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Mr. Nakano said, keeping his voice small and harmless, like a puppy calling out to its mother, but at the same time his knife ready, his mind all the while weighing, calculating. He would not use the blade on this man. That would be the work of a foolish man, to kill a Third Mate when really not necessary. The night watchman, yes, that was necessary and logical. Redbeard, yes, that was done with clear concise thinking, for the man had done the work needed, and would have been a detriment to his cause had he not acted quickly and efficiently. Jeffrey Johnson had been loud and loose with words and had been using his own shabu, but that had been a mistake in management, an error by a boss too far away to understand that Mr. Nakano could have talked to Jeffrey and saved him. Management had placed a stain upon a most perfect creation.
But to kill a Third Mate? No. No matter how despicable a person he was, killing him would be a gross miscalculation. Besides, Mr. Nakano knew of threats and intimidation. He'd seen them and been on several scenes when they were accomplished by the soldiers. This was such a scene. He was but a minor player. He was simply being intimidated and threatened. All he had to do was follow along with this and play his role, and when the threat was over, Mr. Nakano would continue with his plan. Mr. Nakano loosened his grip on the knife handle, let the killing weapon slip silently to the depths of his dark coat pocket.
Third Mate Quinsen said, "You're getting all buddy-buddy with the Captain. Chitty-chatty with Anna Knight. You setting me up?" Mr. Nakano's head was bent back at the neck from Quinsen s grip.
"I know nothing," Mr. Nakano said. It was difficult to speak clearly, but his words were pleasant enough to the ear, as Mr. Nakano intended. This man, Mr. Nakano thought, must know me as no threat. Rather, he must consider me as one who understands how it feels to stray from the path. And Mr. Nakano imparted this message with his eyes.
"You were on the solarium that night," Quinsen said, blinking, loosening his grip, taking in a sudden breath as though electricity had entered him.
"I was stretching my sore knee. I know nothing," Mr. Nakano said pleasantly, trying to relax all of his body, his mind, his heart, which was giving him pain. Quinsen began lifting Mr. Nakano's entire body, and he pushed Mr. Nakano over to the rail, and made as though to throw Mr. Nakano into the sliding sea, but a steward walked through the side lounge and looked through the windows at them. Quinsen saw the steward. He withdrew from Mr. Nakano. There was a grayish pallor under Quinsen s skin, and the lines and features of his face etched themselves into a horrified expression.
The confusion on the deck officer's face said much to Mr. Nakano. Now, Nakano thought, this officer will exist on a different level. Mr. Nakano looked at the man's eyes, which registered confusion and the realization of what he'd nearly done. This man, Mr. Nakano thought, is seeing an aspect of himself and his own life heretofore hidden away. I, myself, have had this experience. But Mr. Nakano held his tongue. To speak his thoughts would lessen the impact.
Mr. Nakano rubbed his throat and felt his feet solid upon the deck. His chest pains did not go away. Nevertheless, Mr. Nakano concentrated on relaxing. The Third Mate bore into him with frightened, confused eyes. He swung around and climbed the side stairs up to the boat deck.
The steward came out to the deck and stood by Mr. Nakano. "Hey, what was that all about?"
"Nothing," Mr. Nakano said.
"Looked like Quinsen wanted to throw you overboard."
"He was joking. Only a joke," Mr. Nakano said, rubbing his throat. The chest pain was still there.
In his cabin, Mr. Nakano decided he was becoming somewhat like his father as far as health was concerned. The pains were coming just as they had with Etsuo shortly before he died.
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
On the quarterdeck, Elaine heard someone knocking on one of the doors. It was Gary Quinsen, standing outside her door.
"What's up, Gary?"
"Come up into the wheelhouse," Quinsen said.
She followed Gary up the passage and onto the bridge. The Captain and Harry hovered about the single-band radio. Sewell had a tight look on his face, one of anger as a voice crackled over the radio, a man's voice.
"So keep him under wraps until Homer. Might be armed, so search his quarters."
"Right," Captain Sewell said.
"Henderson out."
"Tustumena out."
Elaine said, "The Troopers? What's going on? More gypsies?"
"It's Kenso Nakano. The Troopers are going to arrest him in Homer."
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
Anna Knight s voice rasped over the loudspeaker: Mr. Kenso Nakano, the Captain would like to meet with you on the quarterdeck.
Mr. Nakano had stayed in his cabin following the encounter with Third Mate Gary Quinsen. In his bunk, he'd made a great meditative effort to regain control of his mind and body. And after a long, contemplative period, his chest pains had subsided and he was able once again to think rationally of Gary Quinsen. Perhaps, Mr. Nakano said to himself, Gary Quinsen's explosion has given the man pause. One day this man will see himself for what he is. The incident, with time, may well cause the man in shame to consider living on a higher plane. After all, Third Mate Quinsen has strayed from honor.
Mr. Nakano switched to the more immediate concern, Captain Sewell. The Captain wished to meet with him. Mr. Nakano would probably be safe on the officers' quarterdeck, safe from further threats from the Third Mate. Surely, Quinsen would not attack with witnesses about.
Mr. Nakano tested his sore knee. It would be necessary to limp.
He stepped into the quarterdeck's entrance. Red light bathed the passageway for night vision. The Captain waited outside the Maste
r's Quarters. He beckoned Mr. Nakano with a relaxed arm movement, as Americans often do. The Captain appeared brighter than when Mr. Nakano had last seen him, his eyes alive, more color to his face, his shoulders no longer slumped.
"Come in my office, Mr. Nakano. We've got to talk." The Captain stood there a moment with an indolent, tomcat grace, then retreated inside.
Mr. Nakano entered the office. The Captain seated himself behind his desk. He seemed somehow relaxed and invincible.
"I am pleased to see you are feeling better, Captain," Mr. Nakano said. The Captain s mouth turned down at the sides and his face darkened as though he was considering Mr. Nakano as visiting pestilence. But he appeared to lighten a moment, and forced upon Mr. Nakano a smile, though he then retreated inside.
"What'd you say you do for a living?"
"As I said, I create art."
"And you make a living? Sell in Tokyo?" the Captain asked.
"My work is quite honorable," Mr. Nakano said. He believed the Captain's questioning harsh, suspicious, impolite.
"They're sketches. You take pictures," the Captain said.
"All the time. That is why I am here. I am an honorable man."
"And the university you are affiliated with," the Captain said. "Which one?"
"Sophia University, Tokyo," Mr. Nakano said.
"And which governmental agency helps you with funding?"
"The Japan External Trade Organization," he lied. "My studies, they believe, will increase the flow of Japanese tourists to Alaska."
What had gone wrong? Mr. Nakano worried. Why must the Captain persist? But, Mr. Nakano believed, there was still hope. The voyage had nearly ended. He was almost finished.
"I heard you had a scuffle on deck," the Captain said.
"No. No. That was nothing."
"One of my stewards reported it. You were being worked over." Captain Sewell, Mr. Nakano assumed, did not wish at this time to point a accusatory finger at one of his own Deck Officers by naming him. That would have to come from Mr. Nakano.
"There was no one working me over, as you say," Mr. Nakano said quickly. "Only a little playing. We were only joking. I want no difficulties for myself or for anyone else. We'll not play like that again."
"I assure you I'll take care of this," Captain Sewell said.
"No, not necessary."
"The steward wasn't sure, but he thought the man hurting you was one of my officers."
"He was mistaken. I wish there to be no problem."
The Captain folded his hands into a shape of power and sat in absolute silence in the straight-backed chair behind the square desk. Though facing Mr. Nakano, he was not looking directly at him, remaining uncomfortably still. Mr. Nakano heard the diesels working and the creak of the ship. Something was wrong, but Mr. Nakano remained quiet, stood there as though fastened to the deck. The idea germinated within Mr. Nakano that the Captain was quite wise, and though wounded from life, the man still carried strength about him, an ability to change and re-shape and quickly go forward on another level. The Captain's blank eyes, however, had ceased to see Mr. Nakano as a person. The Captain's eyes seemed death-bright, watery, but with no expression.
"We've spoken enough for now, Mr. Nakano," he heard the Captain say.
It was as though a ghost-thing had spoken. Mr. Nakano tried to place a polite mask upon his own face. He could only muster an incomplete curve to his mouth as he bowed out of the quarters. He almost did not notice the pain in his knee until he'd returned to 208.
Mr. Nakano journalized his unfortunate encounter with Third Mate Quinsen and wrote about his tense meeting with Captain Sewell, and how his plan was proceeding with that man. Sensing safety in a public place, he relaxed in the theater and watched the ending of a 1970 Charles Bronson movie, "Chatto." After that, Billy Sullivan inserted "The China Syndrome" into the VCR.
In the observation lounge passengers read and took naps in the lounge chairs. At odd moments a large wave, one the night watchman had called a "sneaker," shook the Tustumena. Sea water and spray covered the windows.
Late in the day Mr. Nakano ventured on the deck with others. Blunt smears of cloud bordered the horizon. The setting sun struck the formations, shading their centers with gray streaks and heightening the edges in orange. The sea settled and lay flat about the ship in a cast of mercury. The skyline turned yellow. Light slowly lessened. The horizon shifted to crimson and raised gray and blue ripples from the sea. For a moment, the world became orange. The orange rusted and faded. The sea darkened. The black sky awakened with stars.
The ship docked in Kodiak at 9:30 p.m., Monday, October 3.
Mr. Nakano climbed into his bunk and fell into a dreamless sleep.
Mr. Nakano discovered a problem in the morning. The Kodiak post office would not be open when the ship left for Port Lions.
The grocery store, however, was open. He bought postage there, what he figured was more than enough. The box, along with other packages he'd put together fit nicely in the postal box. He dropped them in. The letter went in, too.
He returned to his stateroom. He did not sketch nor did he journalize. The packages were on the way to Japan, to wife Misako and son Kano, including the money and several checkbooks. He hoped postal authorities would not tamper, that they would pass these mailings through, let the bundles that could well be clothing from appearance continue to Misako and Kano in Tokyo.
Two and a half hours after departing Kodiak, the Tustumena docked in Port Lions, a journey of a little over twenty miles. A public safety officer awaited the Tustumena. The man stood below on the dock next to the harbormaster, a narrow dark man with wrap-around sunglasses.
Port Lions was located on Settler's Cove near the mouth of Kizhuyak Bay on the north coast of Kodiak Island. Almost 250 people lived there. The community was founded in 1964 by various agencies, the Bureau of Indian Affairs and the Public Health service among them, for displaced residents of Afognak, for the village of Afognak had been partially destroyed by tidal waves in the aftermath of the March 27, 1964 earthquake. The economy of Port Lions was based on commercial fishing. There were other jobs with lodges, stores, the harbor, oil company, school, city and health clinic. The residents depended to some extent on subsistence activities. As with other communities, food harvested included salmon, halibut, crab, shrimp, scallops, ducks, seals, deer, rabbits, and berries.
That the public safety officer was on the dock along with the harbormaster was of no concern, for Mr. Nakano this morning felt hopeful and jubilant, even after the meeting with Captain Sewell. He thought of why he'd attempted to make an acquaintance with the man. And that was part of his jubilance. He'd used Captain Sewell to get a reading of his own success. Yes, the Captain had asked suspicious, pointed questions during their discussion, but it was only natural for a Captain to ask, was it not? Besides, he was only trying, as Americans do, to press for information in the usual American barbarian sort of way, was he not?
But never mind. Being an acquaintance of the Captain was perhaps like an insurance policy. Should things go badly before the ship arrives at Homer, perhaps this Captain would be considerate, and let Mr. Nakano end this, his last of all voyages, the correct way.
Mr. Nakano walked on the Port Lions the dock. The sun was bright this morning, and he felt its warmth upon his face. The public safety officer looked at Mr. Nakano.
Never mind, sir, he said in his mind. I have almost finished. And with a great swell of confidence, Mr. Nakano stood next to the man. The officer was almost six feet tall, blond, with a small brown mustache. His automobile was parked behind him, a few feet away. The officer looked at him.
"This is my last trip," Mr. Nakano said.
"For what?" the officer asked, looking off at the ship.
"I am an artist. I've been making the Aleutian run, sketching and making photographs. Once my work is finished, I will sell my work. Then I can pay for my wife's operation. I'll probably have enough left over for my son's college tuition at the University of A
laska in Anchorage."
Mr. Nakano had said too much, but he did not care, for the ship's horn sounded, the Tustumena getting ready for the final run, the ten hour voyage into Homer. Then, Mr. Nakano would be free.
"I think you'd better get aboard," the officer said.
Mr. Nakano looked at the man's face, and he looked over to the young man in the sunglasses, the harbormaster. Neither man appeared pleased with Mr. Nakano for some reason, and he felt the passion of the day leave as he climbed the gangway, trying to carry himself with vigor and grace, though indeed the threatening strangeness of the two Americans bothered him, almost as much as his sore knee and his throbbing chest.
The ship had been underway for two hours when Mr. Nakano heard the terrible suddenness of an authoritative knock on his cabin door. Every nerve in him strung off-key. He slid his blade inside the mattress through a cut he'd made.
Captain Sewell stood in the passageway like a post, arms rigid, as though waiting for a horror to present itself. Chief Mate Elaine Miller lurked behind him. Mr. Nakano right away looked at the .30-.30 she held, at the hole in the barrel, at the hard eyes and set mouth of the Chief Mate zeroing on him behind the stock and butt. He smelled the vinegar from the mopped passageway, heard the churning heart of the diesels.
"You're going to have to remain in your stateroom until Homer, Mr. Nakano," the Captain said, his voice low, absolutely no agony of indecision, brimming with distaste.
Mr. Nakano did not wish to frighten Elaine into pulling the trigger, so he raised his hands and locked them behind his head. The Captain stiffened his massive weight. Elaine's eyes appeared as hard as black glass.
"What?" Mr. Nakano said. He spoke the one word quietly, so as not to cause an unfortunate happening. There may still be a way.
"Just stay in your stateroom, Mr. Nakano," Captain Sewell said.
"I would like very much to know why," Mr. Nakano said. He saw Elaine's elbow go rigid and lift slightly. The one eye closed as Mr. Nakano moved a little too much to the side, a motion that must have unnerved her. Mr. Nakano figured her to be expert with the weapon. He'd not make another such movement.