“I still have to think about it.” John tilted his head back. “I’ve never done anything like this before.”
“There’s always a first time.” Ray grinned. “Besides, it’ll be fun.”
“I still have to think about it,” John said. “This is not something I can take lightly.”
“Look,” Bill said loudly. “You think about it while I take Ray home so he can get ready.”
“Don’t let me stop you,” John said absently. “I just don’t know.”
“You will by the time we get back.” Ray laughed. “We’re going fishing.”
When they left John went straight to the refrigerator and opened the door. Although Mom had not been to the grocery store since he last looked, he gazed intently at the cold contents as if expecting some new delicacy to appear from nowhere. The orange juice cried for attention and he removed the carton with his right hand. Feeling it was nearly empty he looked furtively around making sure he was alone, unfolded the carton spout, and drank the remainder in several gulps. He threw the carton in the trash nearby and continued searching the cold depths. He was not really hungry, but it was a family trait when faced with a decision to eat the way to an answer. He spotted a peach and removed it from the refrigerator. The peach smelled marvelous in his nostrils and he bit into the fuzzy skin. The texture of the peach skin brought a smile to his face because Dad refused to eat them.
“Where did your brother go?” Mom said softly coming into the kitchen.
“He took Ray home. He and Ray want to go fishing tonight.”
“At least it keeps them out of trouble. And whatever they catch I can always freeze.”
“Of course; this is a great peach.”
“I’m glad to see you enjoy it.” Mom smiled. “Your grandfather always enjoyed his fruit. There was never a day at our house without fruit while I was growing up.”
“I know, Mom.” John smiled. “In the summer, when we went to visit him, he used to stop at a roadside fruit stand every time we went by it.”
“I like to keep the tradition,” Mom said warmly. “And your father likes it, too.”
“Except, for peaches,” John grinned and took another bite. “He can’t stand the fuzz.”
“Yes.” Mom laughed. “He can’t stand the peel so I remove the skin before he eats it. I try to get nectarines for him but it’s hard to find good ones.”
“I like nectarines too,” John said. “But only when they’re ripe and juicy.”
“I hear your father coming.” She turned toward the kitchen entrance. “He must be either hungry or curious about what we’re doing.”
“Aha!” Dad laughed loudly. “I caught you!”
“We’re not doing anything,” John said softly. “We are just talking.”
“I’ll bet you are both down here eating me out of house and home.” Dad opened the refrigerator in the family way.
“Would you like me to fix you something to eat?” Mom smiled. “There is some fried fish I can warm up or some spaghetti.”
Dad ignored the question as he explored the contents of the refrigerator. After moving several items around, he pulled out a plate of cold kingfish covered with Saran wrap.
“This will do,” he said barely audible. “There is nothing like cold fish.”
“Honey, let me warm it up for you,” she said. “It’ll taste better.”
“No need.” He uncovered the fish and sniffed. “I don’t even need a plate.” He picked up a filet and put it into his mouth humming loudly: mmmh–mmmh.
“Honey, at least sit down at the table like a civilized being.” She was visibly irritated. “You’ll get crumbs everywhere if you don’t.”
“Would you like some?” Dad held the plate toward John.
“No thanks, Dad, I’ve already eaten,” John said politely. “Besides, I just got finished eating your favorite.
“And what’s that?”
“A peach!” John laughed.
Dad pursed his lips and shook with mock aversion to the fuzzy fruit. John was tempted to get a fresh peach from the refrigerator and eat it in front of him, if not thrust and parry it at him. The result would be funny. To an outsider, it was unnecessary foolery, but in the family such antics were wholesome fun.
“Don’t worry, Dad.” John laughed. “You’re safe for the moment. The peaches are safely out of sight. I’m glad you don’t like them, because that means more for the rest of us.”
Dad laughed as he plopped down at his self-appointed place at the kitchen table. He was wearing a tank undershirt, eternal brown polyester pants and slippers. Sometimes he would forget his pants and come down in boxer shorts. Mom encouraged him to dress properly, but as always, Dad did whatever he pleased. In actuality, it might have never been a conscious thing in how he dressed. There were always other things on his mind and clothes never mattered.
“How about a game of cards?” Dad said. “You can try to win back what you lost.”
“Okay, honey,” Mom sat directly across from him. “What are you and Billy going to do tonight?”
“He wants to go fishing tonight,” John said. “He wants to go down to the boat.”
“Make sure you clean up your mess.” Dad shuffled the cards. “I don’t want to find your crap all over the place.”
“Don’t worry, Dad,” John said hotly. “We always clean up our mess!”
“When are you going to the docks?” Mom picked up her cards. “I don’t want you boys to stay up too late.”
“I guess when Billy gets back.” John remained irritated at what Dad had said. “We’ll get down there just after all the boats go out night fishing.”
The front door opened loudly with Bill and Ray marching in. Ray came into the kitchen while Bill went directly to his room.
“Hello, Mr. Christ,” Ray said politely with a smile. “Hello, Mrs. Christ.”
“Hello, Ray,” Mom said sweetly. “I hear you boys are going fishing tonight down at the docks.”
“Yes ma’am.” Ray looked over Dad’s shoulder at his cards.
Dad glanced up at Ray and grunted. He examined his cards closely and pushed a nickel into a new pot. Mom responded by looking at her own cards and answered his ante with her own. They quickly became engrossed in the game.
“Let’s go!” Bill dashed into the kitchen. “I’m ready now!”
“You boys have a good time,” Mom said cheerfully. Dad remained focused on the cards. The game was on.
The boys left the house quickly. Bill and Ray drove down to the docks in the Dodge van while John took his Mustang. They arrived at the docks as the last boat had cleared the fuel area and was nearly at the cut out into the ocean. The Hurricane was the only boat which had not scheduled to go out and was birthed under a constellation of multiple incandescent lights on poles. The air was warm, but not uncomfortable, and there was barely a detectable breeze. A flag hanging on a pole next to the dock master’s office hung limply immobile.
John parked next to Bill’s van. Bill removed a collection of tackle from the back of the van. Ray simply watched and closed the doors when Bill had what he wanted.
“Did you see the ocean?” Bill pointed toward the east. “It’s like glass out there. This is a perfect night.”
“I agree,” John said without hesitation. “I think this is the night!”
“Does that mean we’re going out?” Ray was cautious. He did not want to be disappointed. “Are we really going?”
“Yes,” John said flatly. “We're going. You and Billy will handle lines. I don’t think we’ll have any problems.”
“Great!” Ray yelled. “We’ll have a night to fish by ourselves.”
“I’m not so sure of all night,” John said slowly. “But we will go out for a while.”
They noticed no one around. Both the parking lot and docks appeared completely deserted. They walked onto the docks with the authority of belonging. The gangway was in its usual position. Bill and Ray jumped down onto the lower dock and swung it into posi
tion as a walkway from the dock to the boat. John watched indifferently.
“Get everything ready.” John took command as he stepped on deck. “We need to get out of here quickly.”
The Hurricane was the pride and joy of Dad, John and Bill. She was a 65 foot long 20 foot beam custom built boat for taking up to 50 passengers out fishing in the Atlantic off Miami Beach. Powered by twin 671–M GM diesels she was as fast as she was beautiful. The hull and cabins were painted pristine white trimmed in hot passion red. When seen at a distance no one would ever mistake her sharp clipper bow and forward slanting windows for anything except the boat she was. She was the product of Dad’s forward thinking and planning. Tonight, John would take the full responsibility of her safety. It was a responsibility he did not take lightly. Pride and joy though she was, she was also the lifeblood of the family. Without The Hurricane there would be other storms to master.
“Let’s go,” Ray said impatiently. “I want to catch some snappers.”
Bill gave him a dirty look. If they were to pull this thing off, they had to be absolutely sure nothing would go wrong. Bill ordered Ray to help remove the gangway. They both jumped out of the boat onto the lower dock. Hefting the gangway together they slid it back onto the dock easily. They got back onto the boat from where the gangway had rested on the stern. Once on board, Bill replaced the removable railing in position.
John climbed the narrow ladder up to the pilothouse. He opened the doors on both sides. Although it was dark, he had no trouble finding his way around the controls. Before starting the engines, he stepped out on the upper deck to take a last look as to who might be watching and to see where Bill and Ray were positioned. He saw there was nary a soul about the shore and Bill and Ray were in the bow talking to each other.
“Is everything ready?” John felt in control.
“Everything is ready,” Bill said flatly. “Start the engines and I’ll put the bow lines up.”
“Okay.” John went back into the pilothouse.
Standing at the wheel, John saw Bill and Ray waiting expectantly. He made sure the clutches were in the neutral and the throttles in the idle position. He glanced once more at the harbor master’s office and saw no one. Moving with an instinct honed by countless days of practice, his right thumb found the starter button in the dark. At last, without hesitation he pushed the button and the starboard engine sprang to life. The deep throaty rumble filled the air with diesel song. Partly scared, partly excited, he started the port engine. In a very real way, he had never heard the engines as loud as they were at that moment. He saw Bill and Ray had instantly hung the bow lines upon hearing the sound of the engines. Bill waved up at him and said something to Ray. They split up heading to the stern quickly, each traveling on opposite sides.
John turned on the panel lights for an instant and checked both engines. All the readings were perfect. There was no reason to expect any mechanical problems. He extinguished the lights on the panel and turned on the running lights. The stern light slowly drifted to one side. He knew instantly either Bill or Ray had thrown off one of the stern lines. He leaned out one door then the other and saw the stern lines were off. Bill and Ray were waiting at the spring lines.
The next move would forever commit them to what they were about to do. As long as the lines were attached to the boat they had really accomplished nothing. Bill waved to move the boat forward. John stood at the wheel, grabbed one of the spokes and pushed one of the clutches into forward. The sound of the port engine changed perceptibly and the boat inched forward. Bill easily removed the spring line and hung it properly on the piling. Ray was not quite as skilled and had difficulty. Bill pushed Ray aside and hung the line himself. With the lines all off, Bill waved.
Ever cautious John pushed the other engine into forward. Slowly The Hurricane moved out of its birth. For him it was an eternity. He had never done anything quite as bold as he now found himself doing. Upon clearing the pilings, he pushed the throttles forward slightly. The dock slowly receded astern. He surveyed the waterway in all directions. The shore lights twinkled brightly while Beer Can Island, a short distance to starboard, was pitch-dark.
“We’ve done it!” Bill happily came up the ladder with Ray following.
“Yes, we’ve done it,” John said cautiously. “Getting the boat out of the dock is easy. It’s backing it in that’s the hard part.”
“You can do it.” Bill smiled. “Dad has let you do it before.”
“True,” John said slowly. “But he has always been nearby.”
“It’s too late now!” Ray laughed. “But you can do it. I know you can.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” John smiled. “I know I can do it too.” Although he said it in a way that implied he was not exactly certain he could. Doing it would prove it once and for all.
The tide was swiftly coming in as they approached the cut. There were a few lights at the water’s edge testifying to the presence of a few diehard fishermen. John pushed the throttles forward in anticipation of the current. He had done this many times with Dad standing behind him. The moment the bow met the current he knew instantly how to handle the wheel and controls. Without a single deviation, he deftly edged the bow into the current and sailed safely through the narrow channel. They moved under the Haulover Bridge that spanned the cut, passed the rocky fingers of jetties and were out into the perfectly flat Atlantic Ocean. The water and moonless night could not have been more perfect.
The lights of the cut receded slowly as John headed straight out to sea. Without a moon the horizon was invisible. The stars lit up the sky in crystal clarity. Over the sound of the engines the water was heard gently slapping the bow. Searching the horizon both north and south he spotted where the other boats had gone fishing for the night.
“This is great!” Ray said loudly. “We couldn’t have picked a better night.”
“Ray, come with me,” Bill said. “Let’s get our lines ready.” Before John could say anything he was alone in the pilothouse finally aware he had done the unthinkable. How would Dad respond to what he was doing was a question that turn over and over in his head. Rather than dwell on the unknown consequences he focused attention on the surrounding water. When he looked astern he could see the symmetrical jetties frame the Haulover Bridge ever farther in the distance. To the south the hotels and condominiums lit the shore with innumerable dots of light. To the north there was the dark stretch of Haulover Beach followed by a strip of hotels and motels blending into another dark stretch called Hollywood Beach. In the distance, behind the shore, far inland there were three radio towers evident only by their red lights.
The radio towers were important landmarks for using parallax in finding fishing sites. John turned on the depth recorder. He knew instinctively how deep the water was underneath them. It was no more than five fathoms. The depth recorder would let them know when they passed over the first and second reefs.
In the total solitude, John enjoyed his newfound freedom. But as the boat moved farther out to sea his conscience bothered him. He felt he had transgressed a great faith. He was afraid he may have destroyed whatever confidence Dad had in him. During the previous summer he and Dad had become close in a very unique way. By sharing the extraordinary experience of being together far offshore they began to share a common language they both understood. Dad did not understand physics as a science but knew the action of wind and waves as no one else did. Being with Dad on the boat allowed him to translate his book knowledge to what he faced every day of the summer on the boat. A mutual pride of each other grew that summer. John understood Dad better than he had ever before in his life. The only thing he did not know was exactly how Dad felt. Dad was always quick with his wit and humor, but forever stingy on telling what he really felt.
“Are we almost there?” Ray startled John.
“Let me up,” Bill said below Ray on the letter.
John stood at the wheel while Bill and Ray entered the pilothouse. They stood on each side of
him. John turned on the panel lights, examined the readings and turned them off. Bill noticed his unease.
“I think we’ve gone far enough,” John said slowly. “This is my first time out alone and I don’t want to push it. I’m going to turn back in.”
Bill knew exactly how John felt and waved at Ray to keep comments to himself. They were asking for trouble and if they had not already gotten it, he wanted to limit it when it came.
“We can do it again,” Bill said slowly. “Ray and I will fish at the docks. Besides, there are no good fishing spots straight out from the cut. We’d have to go either way north or way south to catch any good snappers.”
“I’m glad you agree.” John smiled in the dark. “It’ll be easy backing the boat in without the others there.”
“Can we do this again?” Ray was disappointed. “I was really looking forward to fishing.”
“You will,” Bill said. “But at the docks, like I said.”
“Okay, you’re the boss,” Ray said flatly.
By now they were several miles offshore. John turned the wheel to port in a wide turn toward shore. Once facing west, John located the Haulover cut. He boosted the RPMs on both engines a little. With the incoming tide and a slight breeze from behind it felt as if they were racing home.
“What do you think your Dad is going to say?” Ray said as if he knew. “You think he will be mad?”
“Ray, I don’t know what he’ll think,” John said. “I’ll just have to play it by ear. I’m not sure I’m going to tell him tonight.”
The cut appeared directly ahead before they knew it. John easily slid the boat into the safe harbor of the Inland Waterway. As he made the starboard turn for the docks he noticed the lights of the unseen fisherman onshore were exactly where he had last seen them. John cut back the engines to idle speed but the boat continued quickly forward of its own momentum. With the berth in sight Bill and Ray returned to the lower deck getting readying to grab the lines as they backed in.
Alone in the pilothouse, John steeled himself to the task at hand. He knew he had to use every bit of his skill to prove he could run the boat as he had been taught by Dad. He further slowed the speed of the boat by putting one engine into idle. He eased the bow into the narrow space between opposing berths. When the stern was in proper position he took a deep breath.
Against the Sea: Tales On and Under the Sea Page 9