by JE Gurley
“There is a dance tonight, Mr. Crabtree. Will you be joining us?”
To the captain’s surprise, Crabtree smiled. However, it was not a smile denoting pleasure, but a malicious one, as if the man was savoring a private joke.
“No, Captain, I have another reunion to attend.”
When Crabtree picked up his drink and stirred it with his finger, Captain Amos took it as a sign of dismissal. He continued his rounds, but his meeting with Crabtree left him with a feeling of apprehension. Whatever Crabtree’s reunion was, it didn’t bode well for the reputation of the company. He had no grounds for confining him to his cabin, but he would take the precaution of having a steward keep close tabs on Crabtree.
As he reached the Main Deck, the aroma of lunch being prepared met him at the galley door. The chef and his fifteen assistants scurried around the kitchen, dicing vegetables, stirring pots, grilling steaks, and baking bread. He tried to watch their progress without getting in their way, but at a scornful glance from the chef, he left. The dining room was decorated in his favorite colors, coral and beige. The round tables were covered in white cloths and the high back rattan chairs in a floral pattern of red and white. Vases of fresh flowers graced each table. It was a relaxing room, he thought, one designed to aid the digestion and to encourage lingering. Already, several tables were full. His captain’s table at the front of the room was empty as usual. He took breakfast and lunch alone, mingling with passengers only at the evening meal.
Strolling through the corridor, he greeted several passengers, shook a few hands, and posed for several photographs with enamored wives. Outside on deck, though the day was still cloudy, several passengers lounged around the pool or played shuffleboard. His cryptic conversation with Raymond Crabtree had dampened his mood. He postponed touring the engine room and returned to the bridge. Hurricane Clive had passed and the sea was calm. The day was cloudy but full of promise. Why then, did he feel so apprehensive? He had crossed the Trench over a thousand times without mishap. Why was this voyage different?
He rubbed his watch without thinking, as he often did when nervous. His crew glanced at him but he ignored them, keeping his eyes peeled on the horizon, searching for what… he didn’t know.
* * * *
Raymond Crabtree leaned on the aft rail of the Sun Deck of the Neptune, staring at the water churned up by the propellers. Inside the Trident lounge, a party was going full tilt. He had no desire to party or to mingle with his fellow passengers. His trip wasn’t a vacation. It was a voyage of discovery, a sojourn of memories. His stomach rumbled, either from the last gin and tonic he had gulped down, or from the cancer that was gnawing away at his insides. It didn’t matter. At seventy-one, he was ready to die. His wife Molly had died four years earlier, and his two children hardly kept in touch anymore. He didn’t miss them. Both were precocious brats squandering their lives in the accumulation of wealth, leaving them empty and devoid of human kindness. He regretted that they came from his loins. They would die as alone and as bitter as he was.
Death held no mysteries for him. In his twenty years in the Navy, he had witnessed death in so many forms that they melded together as one massive killing spree. Vietnam had not been a real war, but men had died nevertheless.
The captain had promised that the ship would be over the Trench shortly after midnight. The timing was impeccable, an omen. He remembered watching the Russian freighter break apart and sink on October 26, 1962, just after midnight. 2440 hours to be exact. Its sinking had haunted him all these years. The sound the ship had made as it went down had been a scream, a scream echoing down forty-two years, weaving itself into every fiber of his being, until he had awoken too many nights in a cold sweat with the sound still ringing in his ears. It was a Siren call, beckoning him to join it. He didn’t know why a single event in his long life would demand his full attention, haunt his nights. It was as if some cosmic string tied him to the Russian freighter, yanking him downward in a slow spiral into the briny depths.
It seemed appropriate somehow, that he should end his life where the nightmares had begun. Lying in bed while cancer sapped his remaining strength and consumed his body held no appeal to him. He had considered a bullet, but that seemed too mundane, too easy. At forty minutes past midnight, he would quietly climb over the rail and launch himself into the cold, wet void. He would sink to the bottom, joining the captain of the Russian freighter he had killed. It had not been a stand up fight. The freighter had been unarmed. It had been an execution. The Russian’s blood had stained his hands for almost half a century. Only the cold, clean ocean could wash it off.
An inebriated couple, the man staggering slightly, passed him without noticing him. He had avoided contact with his fellow man on the cruise. He had no patience for idle conversation or polite smiles. If Molly’s lingering death and his own disease had not eaten away his life savings, he would have chartered a small craft for a solitary visit to the place his life ended and his hell had begun. Instead, he had chosen the Neptune. Even the name was an omen, the God of the Deep.
He lit a cigarette and inhaled a lungful of smoke. He had quit on his doctor’s advice for ten years, but over forty years of a two-packs-a-day habit had taken its inevitable toll. His desire for a cigarette had remained with him every single day he had gone without. Now, cigarettes and alcohol sustained him. It didn’t matter anymore. He was near the end of his quest. He checked his watch – 2030 hours. In just over four hours, it would be all over, except for the dying part. That would come as welcome relief from a life filled only with pain and regret.
As he exhaled, he spotted a light in the distance. At first, he thought a small fishing boat was chancing the seas after the hurricane, but the manner in which the light moved and then began to blink on and off, reminded him of a signal. He debated bringing it to the captain’s attention. What did someone in distress matter when his life would end in four hours? Nevertheless, his years as a naval officer, and then a New York City cop were too ingrained to ignore it. He knew that he would lose sight of the light if he went to the bridge or the lounge. Instead, he began yelling, “Man overboard!” at the top of his lungs.
7
Oct. 25, Neptune, Cayman Trench –
Josh’s heart pounded as the ship changed course. They had seen his signal. He collapsed onto the roof weeping for joy. He waited the twenty minutes for the ship, a three-hundred-foot cruise ship, to reach him. He would have done a happy dance if he thought his raft wouldn’t capsize and his legs would hold him erect. From his seated position, just inches above the water, the ship was a city of lights gliding on the water. Curious passengers lined the railing, staring down at him. Some cheered; others raised glasses of wine or mixed drinks and saluted his salvation.
A large door opened just above the waterline in the aft section of the hull, and two men launched a Zodiac raft down an extended ramp. When the Zodiac nudged up against his roof-raft, he tried to stand, but found his legs too numb to support him. He rolled into the raft and allowed one of the men to sit him upright.
“You’re a lucky bastard,” the man said. “If a passenger hadn’t spotted you, we’d have passed you by.”
“Thank you, thank you,” Josh gushed. He wanted to kiss the man’s hand, salute him … something to show his appreciation.
As they returned to the ship, a third crewman tossed a nylon rope to the man in the raft. He secured it to a metal ring in the bow and sat back while a winch hauled the raft up a ramp of rollers into the ship. Eager hands helped Josh out of the raft, handed him a blanket and a cup of hot coffee. The coffee burned his parched lips, but sent a rush of warmth through his chilled limbs. He downed the coffee in three large gulps and returned the cup to the crewman.
“The doctor will want to examine you,” the first man said. “What are you doing all the way out here?”
Josh didn’t want to sound delirious. He decided to withhold describing the creatures that attacked the island. He especially didn’t want to mention what he
thought he had seen. “The hurricane. A tsunami washed over Little Cayman. It looked like it flooded the entire island.”
“Little Cayman?” the man gasped. “God Almighty. That’s terrible news. I heard it was rough in Grand Cayman, but we had no idea how bad it hit the other islands.”
“Did you ride out the storm?”
“No. We anchored in Jamaica until she blew over. We’re headed for home port in Hamilton, Bermuda.”
Josh nodded. “I need to find a flight home.”
“Where’s home?”
“Texas.”
“You’re a long way from home. The storm is making northwest toward the Yucatan. It will miss Texas. You can catch a flight out of Bermuda. Come on. We’d best get you to the infirmary, and then clean you up.”
Josh allowed the crewman to help him down the corridor to the bow of the ship. He tried not to stare at the gawking passengers and crewmen they passed along the way. His rescue was a bit of excitement for them, something to discuss over drinks. He presented a pitiful sight. His shirt was half torn off his body. His shoes had disappeared during the storm. All he needed was a beard and long stringy hair to pass for Robinson Crusoe. Somewhere along the way, someone shoved a glass of wine into his hand. Dehydrated and suffering from sunstroke, the alcohol was probably the last thing he needed, but he drank it anyway. It was his way of celebrating his salvation.
The ship’s doctor was an emaciated older man with thin black hair and dark brown eyes. The glasses he wore perched on the end of his nose were thick and heavy. His sunken cheeks highlighted his high cheekbones. He eyed Josh over the rims of his glasses as the crewman ushered him in.
“Well, well, a real patient. I’m so used to sea sickness, stomach disorders from over indulging, and sprains from shuffleboard tournaments that I’m eager to examine a real medical emergency. Sit down, young man. I’m Doctor Chase.”
Josh climbed up on the table and examined the infirmary. The doctor was not a tidy man. Magazines, medical journals, and newspapers littered the desk and an empty glass sat on top of the file cabinet, where Josh suspected he might find a bottle of liquor filed under ‘L’ for lush. He removed the remains of his tattered shirt, wincing as he did so at the pain in his shoulder and his sunburned skin.
The doctor’s latex-gloved hands were cold as he listened to Josh’s chest and heart. He peered into Josh’s eyes and nodded.
“Except for sunburn, some bruises, and a few aches and pains, you’re the epitome of health, young man.”
He wiped Josh’s exposed skin with a solution that stung as it was first applied, but gradually reduced the pain. He slapped iodine and a Band-Aid on a couple of the worst cuts and scrapes, removed his latex gloves, and tossed them in the garbage.
“A little rest and some hot food and you’ll soon be as good as new.”
Sleep was the last thing Josh wanted. The nightmares were worse than lack of sleep. “I could use a good meal,” he said.
“The cabins are all full, and I doubt you would want to bunk with the crew.” He smiled at the crewman who had helped Josh to the infirmary. “You can stay here. I have an empty bed in the next room. We’ll send a meal to you. Any preferences?”
Josh didn’t feel like being picky. His stomach growled in appreciation of the offer. “A Coke and anything would be nice.”
The doctor smiled. “Anything it is.” He turned to the crewman. “Have the chef send down something light. We don’t want to tax our guest’s stomach.”
Doctor Chase showed him the empty patient room. In spite of his aches and pains and his fear of sleep, the bed was inviting, but he was too grungy to soil the clean sheets.
“Can I take a shower first?”
“Certainly. I’ll see if we can find you some clean clothes. I’m sure one of the crew or perhaps a passenger would donate a few things.”
After the doctor left, Josh stripped off his ragged, filthy clothes, and stepped into the shower. The needle jets pricked his sunburned skin, but he ignored the pain, luxuriating in the hot water as it scoured clean his body. After a few minutes, his legs began to give out. He reluctantly turned off the water and toweled off. Underwear, socks, shorts, and a pullover shirt bearing the Neptune logo sat folded on a chair. A pair of used Adidas sat on top of them. He had just finished dressing when the steward returned with a tray of food. He appeared to be no older than Josh. He set the tray on a table and pointed to the items as he called them out.
“Ice, two Cokes, bread, butter, potato-basil soup, herb-roasted chicken, baked potato, and steamed vegetables. For dessert, we have ice cream.”
Looking at the food made Josh’s mouth water. He marveled at the amount. The tray held enough food for two men. Even starving, he would never be able to eat it all.
“Would you care to join me?” he asked.
“Oh, no, sir. Thank you, but I must return to my duties, unless you need something else.”
“I think this will do.”
The first thing he did was open a Coke and pour it over the ice. More than water or even the glass of wine, the Coke quenched his thirst. He began his meal with the soup and was astonished at the taste. It was the best potato soup he had ever eaten. The fresh basil complimented the Yukon potato, and the heavy cream and butter made the soup rich. Just a hint of leeks edged it beyond a simple soup to a delightful course starter.
He seldom cooked and normally ate his meals in the college cafeteria or his neighborhood bar. The food had seemed adequate, but after tasting the soup, it paled. He wanted to eat it all, but decided to sample his entrée. The chicken, like the soup, exceeded his expectations. He had thought the food at the resort had been good, but this meal put it to shame. He could tell that the chef loved his work and made certain that his cooks didn’t scrimp on portion or flavor. He envied the passengers. His stomach began to complain halfway through his meal. He set it aside for later and skipped desert.
A knock at the door surprised him.
“Come in.”
An older man opened the door and stood staring at him. His gaze was intense and slightly intimidating, but his gaunt face and pallor spoke of a man of ill health. He wasn’t dressed like any of the crew and was therefore a passenger. Josh assumed he was a patient.
“Doctor Chase isn’t in.”
The man continued to stare, making Josh uncomfortable. Finally, he said, “I’m Ray Crabtree. I’m the one who spotted your light.”
Josh smiled at him. “Then I have you to thank for saving my life.”
“Just in the right place at the right time. You okay?”
“The doctor says I’m fine, just sore, exhausted, and sunburned.”
Crabtree nodded. “I was gonna jump.”
Now it was Josh’s turn to stare. He wasn’t certain he had heard correctly. “Jump?”
“Over the side. It’s why I came on this voyage.”
“That’s pretty rash. Any particular reason?”
Crabtree’s lips creased into a slight smile. “Long story. You wouldn’t be interested. Let’s just say that I’m dying, and something drew me here to this spot.”
Josh didn’t understand. “This ship?”
Crabtree shook his head. “The Cayman Trench. I watched a Russian freighter sink here forty-two years ago today. It’s haunted me my whole life.”
Josh understood how something could haunt you. “Do you still want to die?”
“I don’t know. Seeing your light did something. It’s like I was supposed to find you. Now, I’m sort of confused.” He shrugged. “I don’t know.”
Josh pointed to his tray of food. “Want something to eat?”
Crabtree smiled and pulled a small silver flask from his pocket. “I’ve been drinking most of my meals lately. Want some gin?”
Josh decided to be sociable. After all, the man had saved his life. He didn’t really like gin, but he held out his glass of Coke. “Maybe a splash to sweeten it up.”
Crabtree poured a liberal amount in Josh’s glass and took a lo
ng swig from the flask. Josh took a sip from his Coke, hoping that whatever ailed the man wasn’t catching.
“I’m going to die soon. Cancer. This keeps the pain down. I figured here would be a good place to end the pain for good. I had talked myself into it. I was a sailor. They say drowning is a good way to go.”
After his near drowning during the tidal wave, Josh wasn’t sure he would agree, but then he wasn’t facing a long, lingering death by cancer. Suicide always seemed easier than it was. The last step off a roof, the millisecond before pulling the trigger, the last pill – that was when reality hit. He was glad he had disturbed Crabtree’s schedule. The man had saved his life. He couldn’t save Crabtree’s, but he could delay the inevitable. Crabtree could always jump overboard later if that was what he wanted.
“I almost drowned. I’m glad I didn’t.”
Crabtree nodded. He was silent for a moment, and then took another sip. “I’ve still got time to do it. It’s another two hours until 2440. We’ll see. I just thought I should see who I saved. Glad you made it.”
“So am I. Thank you again.”
Crabtree turned to leave. Over his shoulder, he said, “The sea gives and the sea takes. You were lucky. It wasn’t your time.”
He decided to try one more time. “Maybe it isn’t yours either.”
Crabtree smiled. “We’ll see.”
He left before Josh could say anything more.
“Strange man.”
He didn’t want to judge Crabtree. An old man dying of cancer deserved an easy out if he wanted it, but the idea of drowning on purpose sent shivers through Josh. Aside from the tidal wave, he had nearly drowned once when his regulator quit working on a dive while he was fifty feet down examining sea anemones. He had reached the surface safely, but the thought of swallowing ocean water and suffocating had stayed with him. After that dive, he now always double-checked his equipment.