The Boat

by Clara Salaman

  Johnny picked up his tobacco, glancing at Frank as he did so, glad of the conversation. Annie ripped off another handful of feathers and chucked them overboard. Johnny watched them floating on the water, balancing on the surface, drifting with the boat.

  ‘You two, you’re at the beginning of your journey,’ Frank said. ‘And there’s always pain with birth.’ He tapped out one of his cigarettes, catching it in his mouth.

  ‘Not that you’d know,’ Annie said, rolling her eyes.

  ‘Don’t be annoyed with her,’ Frank continued, ignoring Annie’s remark, lighting his cigarette. ‘Or us,’ he said.

  Johnny looked up at him. He didn’t want Frank to stop talking.

  ‘When you’re feeling frustrated or upset by a situation or a person, Johnny, you’ve got to try and remember that it’s not the person or the situation you’re upset by, it’s your feelings about them.’

  He leant forward and lit Johnny’s cigarette. Johnny sat back and inhaled deeply. ‘Maybe sometimes it is someone else’s fault, Frank,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, but they’re still your feelings. They’re not someone else’s. You are responsible for your reactions, Johnny. And responsibility means not blaming anyone or anything for your situation.’ He smiled again, his eyes full of kindness and understanding. ‘Not even yourself.’

  Frank had a way of calming him; his words worked as balm on Johnny’s splintering thoughts. He only felt troubled when he felt out of control, that things were happening to him. He looked back at the scattered feathers in the glassy water; they lay in a straight line as far as the eye could see. The Little Utopia was moving. She had left a feathery wake. Time was slipping by just fast enough for the naked eye to miss it.

  He shut his eyes and took a deep breath and when he looked inside himself, he found that his jealousy had lost its sting and he wondered why he had felt so fearful. After all, what was his big fear? That Clem might stop loving him? That she might love Frank? She would always love him. Wasn’t that what his father had said after his mother died: you can’t lose the love. So what if she loved Frank too? Johnny himself loved Frank. Everything was going to pass anyhow. One day they’d be looking back at all this. It was as transient as the blue cigarette smoke hovering over their heads.

  Frank was strumming on the guitar again, playing something new, something familiar. A Beatles’ song his mother used to play on the big old record player.

  Johnny leant back and listened, his eyes as always scanning the water for wind. How did Frank manage to see through situations, to the core of things and find what was real in there, the seed of truth behind the bullshit? His mind worked like a sieve, straining out the waste. Annie was right; he did see everything. He wondered what Frank had been like when he had been his age. He would have liked to know him then.

  Frank was watching him as he strummed. Then he stopped suddenly. ‘Hey, Smudge?’ he called down to the bows of the boat. Both Smudge and Clem looked up. There was something similar about them, not just their hair and nails, but their expressions. They could have been sisters: what with Clem being so small, the age gap seemed less.

  ‘Why don’t you give us a show?’ her father said. Johnny knew that Frank was trying to cheer him up. He smiled. Smudge’s face had lit up.

  ‘Yes! Yes!’ she cried, leaping up and down. She ran down the decks and into the cockpit, leaning over her father whispering something in his ear. He whispered back.

  ‘Yes! Oh yes!’ she cried. ‘I have to get ready! I have to put my costume on!’ With that she scampered down into the galley, shutting the cockpit doors behind her.

  Frank reached across and rested his hand on Johnny’s thigh. ‘Stay with us,’ he said quietly. ‘You want to go east? Let’s go east. Let’s go through the Suez Canal, head for the Indian Ocean.’

  When Frank said things like that Johnny couldn’t imagine ever leaving them. It would be insane to turn down such an offer. Yet he would; they had to move on. He and Clem both knew that; they had agreed that. But the pull to stay was great; Johnny felt that he was halfway through some kind of metamorphosis, that if he left now, his transformation would be incomplete. He could see it clearly – his old life, lived in a happy kind of ignorance, and the new one, where wonder after wonder seemed to unfold before him. It was all a question of risk, stepping into that uncertainty.

  ‘Sometimes you have to take risks to get the real rewards,’ Frank said, those dark eyes looking right into him and reading him like a chart, the tip of his cigarette crackling fiercely as he sucked the life out of it. Annie was watching him from her husband’s side, willing him to stay; he could see it in her face. Frank was almost whispering. ‘When you start making the right decisions moment to moment, everything falls into place with absolutely no effort at all, Johnny. Don’t force those solutions. This moment, the one you are experiencing right now, is exactly as it should be. It is the result of all your other choices.’

  Johnny looked up at the sky and felt the moment, the one right now, and it felt fine. He smiled and watched as Annie tossed the plucked chicken into the bucket of seawater and began to wash it down. Johnny stared at the corpse, white and puny underneath all those feathers, like an old man’s scrotum.

  Then the cockpit doors opened slightly as Smudge pushed her nose and mouth around them. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, take your seats!’ she yelled. Then the doors were firmly shut again and Clem came down from the bows, put her book aside and sat down next to Johnny. He took her hand and she let him. They were all right. They were going to be fine. That night had just been a shock for both of them.

  The cockpit doors flung open and Smudge was posing on the companionway steps dressed in some pink frilly knickers of Annie’s and a matching bra stuffed with several pairs of socks and a pair of way too big wedged shoes. She looked extremely funny, especially because her expression was so focused, so intent. Johnny tried hard not to laugh.

  Then Frank began to strum his guitar and it only got funnier. Smudge wasn’t remotely distracted by their muted giggling; she began to wiggle her hips with the music, her face deadpan, one eyebrow raised. She had struck a pose and was going to keep it. Her arms held wide the cockpit doors, her knees were bent forward as she wiggled, her bottom sticking out, her sock-cleavage thrust forward, her head tilted back, her lips forming a kiss.

  ‘I wanna be loved by you…’ she sang in a breathy, sultry, perfectly mimicked voice. She was doing a Marilyn Monroe impression and she was doing it uncannily well. It was quite the most extraordinary thing that either Johnny or Clem had ever seen: the sophistication, the perfect pitch, the sizzling expression. Smudge was mesmeric. Clem covered her mouth to contain herself, to plug the laughter.

  Smudge must have seen the film because she struck the poses and sang the words with an incredible and almost disturbing accuracy. She was pointing her finger at Johnny and bouncing up and down when a pair of socks rolled out of her cleavage. But being the pro that she evidently was, she seamlessly bent down to pick them up again and stuffed them back inside and just carried on singing in that sweet child voice, hoiking up the giant knickers. Johnny wiped the tears of laughter from his eyes, trying desperately to keep a straight face, which he failed to do when during the instrumental she turned a little circle clunking in the heels before striking the finale attitude, hands on hips, lips pursed. They clapped and cheered and Smudge kicked off the shoes, looking quite thrilled by how well she had gone down. ‘I’ll do another!’ she said and scurried back down into the galley.

  ‘I think that’ll do!’ Frank called down after her.

  ‘Oh my Lord,’ Clem said, still laughing. ‘She’s going to be little performer. She’s incredible!’

  Frank, a big grin on his face, turned to the pair of them then and laid down his guitar. ‘So are you two going to stay with us a little longer or what?’

  Johnny and Clem looked at each other, the laughter dissipating. ‘We’ll see,’ Johnny said. After all, decisions meant nothing right now floating in a motionless
boat without a breath of wind.

  Much later and in renewed spirits, Johnny turned the engine on and the Little Utopia spluttered into yet another deserted bay for the night. They’d barely travelled ten miles all day but Johnny had spotted vague wisps of cloud on the horizon and was sure there was wind on its way; wind that would carry them forwards. The hills were gradually getting higher; great mountains surrounded them on three sides and birds of prey swooped down the slopes looking for rabbit or rodent or whatever it was that they ate. The sun set and they drank wine in the cockpit and listened to the eerie howls of the wolves in the hills from the safety of their floating home.

  By the early hours of the morning, the four of them were seated around the kitchen table, happily drunk but playing a game of Five Hundred in a concentrated silence. They’d been playing for hours, knocking back the wine. Five Hundred was a difficult game but Johnny and Clem had got the hang of it now. Clem had been dealt the mother of all trumps, the two of diamonds, three hands in a row and both she and Johnny were proving to be excellent players, giving Frank and Annie a run for their money. There was something refreshingly straightforward about cards that Johnny loved: there were clear rules, no room for negotiation, you won or you lost. He had always liked numbers, the precision of mathematics. He was partnered with Annie while Clem and Frank were together. Three of them were fiercely competitive; only Annie’s modus operandi was all about trying not to mess things up for her partner. Johnny noticed that for some reason she had dressed up, she had a clean white shirt on, no bra, mascara on her eyes and some shiny stuff on her lips, as if she was going for a night on the town, which was certainly out of the question – God knew where the nearest town was.

  Frank and Clem had won the last two hands and Frank was now dealing a new hand. Clem was busy sucking her thumb as the cards landed in front of her, her right hand determinedly stroking a hot spot just behind her earlobe as if her life depended on it, and yet her focus was entirely on the hand being dealt. Johnny poured the last of the bottle into their glasses.

  ‘You look about Smudge’s age when you do that,’ Frank said to her. ‘What are you doing with that other hand?’ he asked. Johnny was wrong, he had been watching after all.

  ‘Hot spots,’ she said, reluctantly taking her thumb out to speak. Johnny thought he’d been unfair earlier. She hadn’t been doing anything deliberately; her thumb was her comfort, it aided her concentration. Alcohol made him a much kinder gentler person: he must never forget that. He loved her fiercely then, in that moment. Everything was going to be just fine, moment to moment.

  ‘Hot spots?’ Annie asked.

  ‘The parts of your body that are burning with heat,’ Clem said.

  ‘What parts?’ Annie asked. She was being flirtatious; they all knew it. Clem locked eyes with Johnny and he smiled at her, genuinely. She slowly took out her thumb and placed her fingertips on Annie’s temple.

  ‘See? Your temple is warm. It’s always warm, by the way. That’s why it’s a hotspot.’

  ‘What a sensualist you are,’ Frank said to her, dealing the cards slowly and deliberately. Johnny knew what was coming now. He could feel the electricity in the air. There was something alarming about it and yet intoxicating, irresistible. His body felt it first: a tingling in his groin. His brain had to play catch up. Moment to moment.

  ‘I like it,’ Annie said, placing her fingertips on Clem’s temple. She always seemed to be the instigator and before Johnny knew it, there was only one thing on his mind. Clem surprised him; she was so able, so confident. She could turn it on so easily. He watched her and Annie touching each other’s faces, softly, tenderly, with their fingertips. Frank had put down his cards and leant back, one arm on the couch behind Johnny, who, for want of something to do, pretended to study his cards; he wanted to delay the sexual game a little, to eke it out and prolong the excitement. He raised his glass to his lips and drank slowly, snatching a look at the girls.

  ‘The best one…’ Clem said, meeting his eye, making sure he was up for it. ‘… is this,’ she said. He watched her undo the top two buttons of Annie’s shirt and slip her hand on to the far side of Annie’s breast, almost under her armpit. He was hard now.

  He felt Frank’s hand behind him, down the back of the cushion; he could feel his fingers brush against the base of his back and was unsure whether it was deliberate or not. He preferred not to know. His eyes were fixed on Annie’s breast where Clem’s fingers were, his breathing getting high and shallow; he didn’t want Frank to remove his hand. Glancing down he could see that Frank was hard too. He could feel the sex in the air. He looked down at his cards open in his hand. Shit, what a time to get the two of diamonds.

  ‘You have to shut your eyes,’ Clem said to Annie.

  ‘Oh, yes. I can feel it,’ Annie said. Johnny could actually see her tits now, through the open shirt. ‘Let me feel yours,’ Annie said, taking the reins from Clem, leading the dance, opening her eyes, not waiting for a response, undoing the buttons of Clem’s shirt. Clem looked over at Johnny again as Annie slid her hand inside and then shuffled back slightly and bent down to take Clem’s brown nipple in her mouth, sucking at it gently. Johnny laid his cards flat on the table, abandoning all thoughts of the two of diamonds. He watched them sucking at each other and wanted to undo his flies and get out his cock without moving away from the touch of Frank’s hand.

  Johnny jumped when he heard the cry. It was brief but high-pitched coming from the forepeak. He’d completely forgotten about Smudge, the fact that they had a child asleep next door. The cry killed the atmosphere immediately. He felt his prick softening. How could he have forgotten she was there? He sat upright, brushing himself down, glad he hadn’t undone his flies. But no one else seemed to have heard her, not even Frank, who was closest to the door. Then Smudge cried out again, louder this time, and Clem heard; she pulled herself away from Annie and started quickly doing up her shirt.

  ‘Frank! Smudge is awake,’ Johnny said, nudging him on the leg and looking over at Annie, who was making no attempt to do up her shirt. Her breasts were out, her eyes on her husband. Frank cocked his head listening out for Smudge and slowly he withdrew his arm from behind Johnny and pulled himself upright. Johnny knew then that his hand had been there deliberately.

  But nobody went to Smudge. Frank sighed, pulled the cork out of a new bottle and refilled their glasses. He turned to look at Johnny and said, ‘Just as we were getting started.’

  ‘Lucky we heard her,’ Johnny replied, reaching for his tobacco. ‘There might have been some explaining to do.’

  ‘You don’t need to worry about Smudge,’ Frank said, his face losing its flush as he rolled the soft packet of cigarettes backwards and forwards in his hand. ‘She’s used to all this,’ he said, his other hand waving across the table to including the cards, the booze, the sex, everything.

  ‘What, just debauchery in general?’ Johnny said as he sat back against the cushions, wondering whether they would be playing cards again but not wanting to appear too keen because then everybody would know that he had the two of diamonds. Smudge cried out again, a sleepy, dreamy moan as if she was going back to sleep now. Still nobody went to her.

  Frank caught a cigarette in his lips. He chucked down the lighter and it slid silently across the table. ‘It’s a small boat,’ he said scrutinizing Johnny’s face.

  ‘Yup,’ Johnny said. ‘Not a lot of privacy for nooky-making.’

  ‘That’s right,’ he said, taking a tip-glowing suck. ‘Besides, she doesn’t like to be left out of all the fun.’ He tapped his non-existent ash into the ashtray, smiling as he did so. ‘Who does?’

  Frank blew the smoke out from the corner of his mouth in a steady stream and Johnny watched it slip out through the hatch above their heads. Both Annie and Clem picked up their cards. Then slowly Frank raised his hand and put his arm around Johnny, resting his hand on the back of his neck, cupping him gently, those warm, tipless fingers against his skin, their faces close. Frank’s pupils
were indistinguishable from his iris, like two black holes.

  ‘Fate brought you to me, Johnny. Like attracts like. This is no coincidence that you should come to us now, right at this moment in time.’

  An uncomfortable silence filled the saloon. Johnny swallowed. His throat was dry and rough. ‘What moment in time?’ he asked.

  Behind Frank, the forecabin door creaked open and they all turned to look. A very sleepy Smudge stood there naked beneath her Captain Hook coat, rubbing her eyes, her skew-whiff fringe standing upright, Gilla dangling from her arm. Frank let go of Johnny’s neck and slowly leant forwards and picked up his daughter and sat her on his lap. She leant against her father, mumbling sleepily. Johnny stared at them, watching the caress of those tipless fingers against her skin. Not a moment before he had wanted that touch on his own flesh.

  Something wasn’t right. He felt a chill enter the saloon. It slipped beneath his skin and stole across his flesh making all the hairs on his body stand on end.

  He looked across at Clem. She was sorting out her hand of cards, oblivious to anything else. He looked over at Annie and she was looking right back at him, her eyes flicking from Frank’s hands to Johnny’s face. She knew what he was thinking; he swore he saw a kind of thrill in her eye. He wanted to say something but his tongue lay heavy in his mouth while the rest of his body began to take on a weightlessness – he had the strange sensation that he was floating above the table, out of the saloon, that he was leaving, going somewhere else, the connections inside him closing down like lights going out in a building, leaving him fumbling around in the darkness. An unprecedented claustrophobia had taken hold of him; the sides of the boat were caving in on him. He felt nauseous, as if he was falling downwards from a great height. He had to get out of here. He stumbled to his feet, knocking the abandoned cards off the table, watching as the two of diamonds floated down to the floor. He turned, mumbling something about ‘air’ and made his way up the steps out into the pitch blackness of the night. He shut the companionway doors behind him and snatched lungfuls of the cold night. He looked out but saw nothing: 360 degrees of darkness. They were in the middle of absolutely nowhere.