68 Knots

  “Now!” Crystal whispered. She and BillFi scrambled out onto the dock, duffels clenched firmly in their hands. They tiptoed down the dock and into twilight.

  A moment later, Arthur looked up. “I’m okay,” he said to the couple. “Must have eaten some bad lobster.”

  The man nodded. “Ate a lot of ‘bad lobster’ in my day, shon. Nothing to be shamed about,” he slurred.

  Arthur stood up shakily, thanked his new “friends,” and staggered down the dock, leaving the yacht owners by the bench. Once he joined the others in the darkness, they dashed toward the end of the dock. “We’re clear,” he hissed. “Let’s get back to the dinghy.”

  A short time later, the Dreadnought was easing out of the harbor, flying just one small sail near the bow to avoid attracting attention. Only when the ship was well out of earshot did the Booty Pirates dare to breathe. Dawn asked Crystal how the rest of the raid had gone.

  “It was close!” Crystal said.

  “Too close,” BillFi said. “Way too close. Far too close.”

  They told the story to the rest of the crew, and Joy patted Arthur on the shoulder. “That was very impressive,” she said. “I don’t know many people who can barf at will.”

  Arthur smiled. “Fingers down the throat,” he said. “It’s just one of my many talents.”

  When at last the ship was anchored in deep water off Pond Island, a small tuft of land south and a bit out to sea from Orrs Island, the crew gathered around the dining table for Show-and-Tell. The oil lamps gave the room a sense of warmth and secrecy. Marietta sat next to Arthur. Logan poured a round of scotch and root beer—extra scotch for himself, but water for Crystal and Joy. Joy eyed Logan’s overfull glass with a look of concern.

  Then Crystal opened the first duffel. “I present for your enjoyment,” she said with a flourish, “a ham. A fucking Virginia ham, can you believe it?”

  The crew cheered. Joy made a note in the ship’s inventory: “One large ham. May God have mercy on our souls.”

  “And to go with the ham,” Crystal continued, “fifteen ears of fresh corn on the cob, three large cans of New England-style clam chowder, a big jar of fucking Tang, and a jug of expensive gin.”

  “Gin and Tang!” Logan said. “Yeeee–haw! My favorite drink! You’re so thoughtful!” He downed another large swallow of his scotch and root beer. Even he had to grimace at the foul taste.

  Crystal pulled more out of the duffels. Cans of tuna, chunked chicken, peas, corned beef, Spam, kidney beans, mushrooms. Jars of spaghetti sauce, mustard, pickles, apple-sauce. Bottles of Coke, ginger ale, beer, liquors. Paper towels, sugar, salt, flour, corn starch. Aspirin, soap, toothpaste, shampoo. Eight hundred dollars in cash.

  Show-and-Tell continued for almost an hour, and the dining table filled to overflowing with food and supplies. The crew stowed everything in the galley and then returned to the table.

  “This will keep us in good shape for a while,” Arthur said. “Not forever, but a while. We’ll have to do one of these raids every couple of weeks or so. I still don’t like it, but—”

  “We’ll move around a lot,” Crystal said. “Never hit the same place twice. No one will even guess that the stupid raids are related.”

  Logan stood unsteadily and offered another toast.

  “To independence!” he said.

  Arthur shook his head.

  “We’re not independent at all,” he said. “We rely on the food and supplies that other people have. This isn’t independence. And it isn’t right. We’re committing crimes, and I don’t think we should forget that. We need to realize that we’re all guilty of these thefts, whether we actually went on board the yachts or not. This is something we decided to do as a group—myself included—and that makes us all guilty.”

  Logan drank to his toast anyway.

  Dawn found Joy on the bow, right where she thought she’d be. Joy was deep in thought, her dark brown eyes showing both worry and concern.

  “It just gets messier, doesn’t it?” Dawn asked. Joy said nothing.

  Jesse was at the helm, and the Dreadnought cut steadily through the waves. Seagulls overhead called and squawked as they soared along with the ship. Dawn sat down next to Joy and let some quiet time go by.

  Finally Joy spoke. “No me gusta,” she said. “I don’t like it. The Commandment is perfectly clear. No hurtarás. Thou shalt not steal. So how can I take part in something that involves stealing? I’m supposed to help people do the right thing. I want to be a spiritual leader. Founder of the House of Joy. How can I do that if I eat stolen food and spend stolen money?” She turned to face Dawn. “I think I have to quit. I think I have to go home. I hate it—but I don’t see how I can stay.”

  Dawn let some waves pass beneath the hull. She let the clouds sweep across the sky, and she let the Dreadnought sail along on its journey. After a long silence, she spoke softly, a gentle smile brightening her freckled face. “Joy,” she said, “if you go, what would that say about us? Are we too evil for your company? Are we too sinful for your love? Are we too far gone for your help?”

  Joy’s face flashed with fear and sadness. “No!” she said. “Of course not! I just don’t think I can do this with you, that’s all. I can’t steal things. It’s against the Commandments.”

  Dawn nodded. “But no one’s asking you to steal anything,” she said.

  “I can’t eat stolen food or use stolen things, either,” Joy said. “It’s just the same thing as stealing.”

  “Is it?” Dawn asked. “Let me ask you this. If a church received a donation from a prostitute, would they keep the money and try to build on that relationship? Or would they throw the money back at her and say ‘We can’t accept money from someone like you!’?”

  “They’d accept the donation,” Joy said. “No church would slam the door on someone like that.”

  “Even though they knew how she’d gotten the money?” Dawn asked.

  “It wouldn’t matter,” Joy said. “How she got the money isn’t as important as the person herself. They’d try to help her change, of course, but they wouldn’t throw her gift back in her face.”

  “Well, Joy,” Dawn said, “we want to share food and things with you. We want you to stay on this ship and help us learn. Yes, some of the food and stuff came from raids. But how we got it surely isn’t as important as we are ourselves. Is it?”

  Joy thought about that for a while. Then she shook her head again. “I still can’t stay. How would it look if people found out that the founder of the House of Joy once spent a summer on a pirate ship?”

  “Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that, too,” Dawn said. “Is starting a church really the best way to reach people? It seems to me that most of the people who walk through the doors are already believers. If you really want to get to people, don’t you have to go to them? Shouldn’t you find out where they are and spend time with them on their own turf? Shouldn’t you, well, shouldn’t you stay on board here and talk with us about what you believe? I see the universe differently than you do, but that doesn’t mean we can’t have some interesting conversations.”

  Joy sighed. “The House of Joy has been a dream of mine for years,” she said. “It’s God’s will that I start my own church.”

  “Okay. But does a church have to have walls? Does it have to have a door? Does it have to have a sign out front that says ‘House of Joy’?”

  “That’s the dream,” Joy said. “That’s what God wants me to do.”

  Dawn stood up and brushed off her shorts. “Yeah, about that,” she said. “I mean this as a friend. I really like you a lot. But if this dream of yours is really God’s will, wouldn’t the sign out front say ‘House of God’? I mean, isn’t ‘House of Joy’ kind of egotistical?”

  Joy’s dark skin paled. She didn’t speak.

  “It’s been a while since I’ve read the Bible,” Dawn said, “but didn’t Jesus spend his time with lepers and tax collectors and sinners, in their houses, eating their food and drinking thei
r wine? Maybe God’s will for you is to bring His love—His Joy—to people who really need it. Maybe,” she said, tapping her chest, “the House of Joy is right here.”

  That night, McKinley’s sign in the dining room—the one that read “Discipline is the heart of a focused life”—had been turned around, and on the back was tacked a saying from the Bible: “For I am sure that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor any thing else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ, Jesus our Lord.—Romans 8:38–39.” Dawn smiled when she saw it. Joy’s finding ways to share her beliefs, she thought. That sure beats quitting.

  The pillow of each bunk sported a brand new leather-bound Bible, direct from the Freeport InterFaith Bookstore. In careful, sweeping calligraphy, Joy had written each person’s name on the inside front cover, along with the phrase, “I accept Jesus Christ as my personal Lord and Savior. Date:________.” Joy climbed into bed ahead of the others and opened her book reverently. She closed her eyes and lay silently for a long moment. Then she turned to the Book of Matthew and began reading aloud:

  Then Jesus called his disciples to him and said, “I have compassion on the crowd, because they have been with me now three days, and have nothing to eat; and I am unwilling to send them away hungry, lest they faint on the way.”

  And the disciples said to him, “Where are we to get bread enough in the desert to feed so great a crowd?”

  And Jesus said to them, “How many loaves have you?” They said, “Seven, and a few small fish.”

  And commanding the crowd to sit down on the ground, he took the seven loaves and the fish, and having given thanks he broke them and gave them to the disciples, and the disciples gave them to the crowds. And they all ate and were satisfied; and they took up seven baskets full of the broken pieces left over.

  Marietta muttered something under her breath, and Crystal shrugged. “Whatever gets you through the night, sister,” she said. “Sounds like hocus pocus to me—and we still have to raid yachts to put food on this boat.”

  “But we’ll be fine,” Joy said from her bunk. “We don’t need to worry.”

  “Says who?” Crystal shot back. Before Joy could answer, Jesse stood up, casting a massive shadow over Crystal. Crystal glared right into his eyes, daring him to start something.

  “Crystal,” Jesse said in a deep and surprisingly gentle voice, “consider the ravens.”

  “What?”

  “Consider the ravens,” Jesse said. “They neither sow nor reap, they have neither storehouse nor barn, and yet God feeds them. Of how much more value are you than the birds!”

  Joy, her eyes wide, whispered, “Dios mio! Luke, chapter twelve, verse twenty-four.”

  The crew of the Dreadnought ate well the next day and throughout the following week. Joy threw enormous energy into her cooking, and she served ham and scalloped potato casserole, fresh salad with bleu cheese dressing, corn bread, red wine; western omelets with home fries and fresh biscuits slathered with mango chutney; and tuna salad sandwiches with avocado and herbed cheese, pesto pasta salad, and brownies.

  On July 3, four weeks into the journey, Marietta was at the helm, the wind was strong, the sun was hot, and the crew lounged around the deck and chatted. Jesse sat by himself, shirtless, in the bow. Next to him on a vinyl cushion lay a set of permanent markers, and Jesse held the red one in his right hand. He was engrossed in drawing an intricate pattern of curves and circles and dots on the back of his left hand. The pattern was a crude version of a Maori tattoo, and Jesse added orange, black, and green lines as well. Slowly the swirls spread up his arm, past his elbow and over his bulging bicep, transforming the Bronx teenager into a New Zealand warrior and the ship into the Pequot.

  As the others chatted, the talk eventually turned once again to harvesting lobsters.

  “It was totally easy,” Logan said. “Not to mention delicious.”

  “Easy?” Crystal said with a sneer. “I didn’t see you diving eight feet down and sticking your hands in those fucking traps. I’ll do some more diving, but no one had better think it’s easy!”

  “Sorry,” Logan said. “I didn’t mean that it wasn’t—”

  “Yeah, okay,” Crystal interrupted. “Anyway, I’m game to do it again. Only this time, I’ll wear my bathing suit.”

  Marietta laughed. “Good idea,” she said. “Do that underwear thing again and all four guys will dive with you.”

  Marietta steered the ship into a long narrow bay. Logan and Jesse rowed Crystal out to a cluster of lobster floats, and in less than an hour, they were back with a dozen large lobsters.

  “We can keep this up all summer,” Logan said. “I wonder if you can actually get tired of eating lobster?”

  “Not a chance,” Marietta said, releasing the wheel to fuss with her running shorts. “It would be like getting tired of flying to Europe or driving a Porsche.”

  Joy boiled the lobsters for dinner that night and served them with her usual outstanding side dishes. Now that supplies were on board, the crew began to feel that theirs was a life of luxury. During the days, they sailed along the coast of Maine, exploring inlets and islands, discussing which mansions they would own if they were rich, and mastering the steering of the ship and the setting of the sails. In the evenings, once anchored, they sat on deck or around the dining table, sipping drinks and sharing their thoughts and dreams. With increasing frequency, Marietta placed herself at Arthur’s side, wherever he was. She even traded bunks with Logan so she could sleep close to the captain’s quarters; despite the six other people in the room, it somehow seemed more intimate. For his part, Logan began to volunteer with increasing frequency for whatever mission Crystal was on. Joy passed time by writing lengthy letters to her boyfriend back home, and BillFi and Jesse often engaged in long conversation with sparse words. Jesse continued the work on his tattoos, adding colorful swoops and swirls to his right arm and his feet and calves. BillFi drew patterns on his back.

  When she wasn’t on duty, Dawn spent a lot of time alone. She would take a notebook from her duffel, sit on the aft rail or the cushions on the windward side, and make sketches of the scenes she saw. Or she would lie beneath the mainsail, her head leaning against a cushion, and meditate, chanting and bringing her soul into greater harmony with the wind and the ocean and the birds and animals around her. And sometimes she would watch Arthur and Marietta for signs of disillusionment.

  “Jeez,” BillFi said one afternoon as he and Jesse took the bow watch shift. “It’s freezing out here. It’s really freezing. I mean, it’s really cold. I never thought Maine would be this damn cold in July. I mean, it’s really cold.”

  Jesse nodded. “It’s cold,” he said, his strong voice vibrating through the sea air. “I like the cold. Makes you strong.” He searched the water ahead for lobster floats and rocks. All clear. He pulled a red marker out of his pocket and took off his pants. He began an elaborate design on his right thigh.

  The sky was gray, and the water below the bow was rolling pewter. A chilly wind was blowing from the northwest. The dullness and the cold made BillFi think of the Bronx and the cinderblock pillbox he called home. About twenty kids in the foster-care system lived there in between home assignments. BillFi had moved in three months previously, when his latest foster parents were arrested for cocaine possession. He didn’t mind. Even though it was scary, the shelter was more home-like than the foster home he had been sleeping in. Those foster parents—George and Janet Carroll—were weird. They looked okay on the surface, but they stayed up all night long and never seemed to keep a job. They pierced each other’s ears and navels, and they let people come in without knocking whenever they wanted. Billy—that’s what the Carrolls called him—found himself longing for the rigid schedule and predictable food of the shelter even more than he feared the aggression of the other kids.

  He had been back in the shelter for a few weeks when the guy who
ran the place showed him the Leadership Cruise brochure. “We have some grant money for sending kids to places like this,” he said. “Wanna go? I think you’d get a lot out of it.”

  Billy shrugged. He was always “going.” He deeply wanted to know what “staying” felt like, but he had long ago stopped fighting the Foster Machine. Besides, the other kids in the shelter made him nervous. He was never relaxed there. He didn’t dare. “Sure,” he said. “Sure. I’ll go. Sure.”

  BillFi scanned the leaden waves. “Did you ever wonder,” he said to Jesse, “why your guardians sent you here? Did you ever wonder? I mean, Frank at the shelter told me it would be a lot of fun. He said it would be fun. But I think he also sent me here for a reason. Some kind of reason. There has to be a reason. Something he thinks I need. He must think I need something.”

  Jesse nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “Me, too. Don’t know what, though.” He drew a concentric orange maze on his knee.

  BillFi looked out across the water through the tinge of his thick glasses. “I know my folks wouldn’t have sent me here. They really wouldn’t have. I know they wouldn’t have. They didn’t care if I learned nothing or not. They really didn’t care. My dad only wanted me around so he could have something to smack. That’s all he wanted me for. Something to smack. And my mom didn’t care if he did or didn’t. She didn’t care. Really. She didn’t care if I was around or not. She doesn’t even know where I am now. She really doesn’t.”

  “My mom, either,” Jesse said. “She’s dead, remember? My dad’s in Florida. He’s the one that gave me to the shelter. So he could move to Florida.”

  BillFi smiled. “Wasn’t it great the way McKinley just got himself out of the way? The way he just left, right when we wanted him to? Wasn’t it great? Wouldn’t it be great if our folks did that? Just left, died, right when we wanted them to? Wouldn’t it be great?”

  “No,” Jesse said, tattooing a jagged black line on his upper thigh. “I love my dad.”