Dick said, “That’s why God made it, Parker.” Charlie came up with two mugs of tea. Dick let Charlie take the wheel, told him the bearing.
“And what did he do to keep you in your place? He didn’t need to do nothing. You already got winter with thirty-degree water—waves as big as a barn—ice in your rigging. Dickey-boy, I admire that you built yourself a boat, but I don’t envy you.”
Dick thought that there were days in these waters he wouldn’t trade for anything. Even December, fair days after a gale, the sea still shaggy with white crests, the sky a blue as pale and hard as a Portuguese glass float. He’d still be going out no matter what kind of mess his life was onshore.
They came in through the breakwater, dropped Parker off at his boat. One of the smaller fishing boats was being hauled. When he got to the top end of the salt pond, he saw that one of the larger sailboats was being hauled too. It was after six in the evening.
When he passed the office the yard manager called out to him, asked him when he was going to move Spartina down the harbor.
“Another day or two. What’s the rush?”
“There may be some bad weather. I don’t want your boat swinging around here in a storm.”
“I’ll be out of here tomorrow. I’m going out. When I get back, I’ll tie up down in Galilee.”
“You may not be going out. There’s a hurricane coming out of the Caribbean.”
“They usually pass out to sea,” Dick said. “Is that why you’re hauling boats so late at night? Every year everyone gets all edgy about hurricanes. We haven’t had one hit hard since ’54.”
“Maybe we’re due.”
“No such thing as due. Of all the hundreds of hurricanes that have started up in my life, only four have hit shore: ’38, ’54, and then those two little ones in 1955. Nothing since, and that’s more than twenty years. I’m not saying we won’t get one. I’m just saying there’s no such thing as due.”
Dick realized in mid-speech that he himself was working on an even dumber theory than due. He was figuring on not due.
He drove down to Joxer’s plant. He’d noticed on his way in that Captain Texeira’s Lydia P. was tied up at Joxer’s pier. The Lydia P. received satellite weather-pictures, flashed them on her computer screen.
Dick ran into Joxer at the foot of the pier. Joxer was supervising his plant crew as they nailed up shutters over the windows and piled up sandbags along the cinderblock walls.
Dick said, “You’re taking this pretty serious.”
“I talked to Captain Texeira,” Joxer said. “He’s pretty serious.”
Dick asked the Lydia P.’s first mate if he could come aboard to talk to the captain. The mate sent him up to the wheelhouse.
Captain Texeira laid it out for him.
There were two storms. The second one, Elvira, was moving faster than the first, Donald. If Elvira caught up with Donald, the combined storm might pick up speed. Usually hurricanes moving up the coast followed the Gulf Stream and moved out to sea before they hit New England. But if a hurricane was moving fast, over thirty-five miles an hour, it could override this tendency to move toward warmer water. There was also a weak Arctic trough over central New England, and that tended to invite a storm in. The winds at twenty thousand feet over the storms, which, according to one theory, steered a hurricane, were out of the south. Captain Texeira had ordered his bigger boat, Bom Sonho, to head southeast from Georges Bank. She was fast enough to get to mid-Atlantic.
Captain Texeira said, “Even if the hurricane does curve out to sea, in two days she’ll be safe to the southeast.”
“What about the Lydia P.?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know. I won’t stay in this harbor. The breakwater may prevent a hurricane wave from coming up the harbor full-force. You remember ’54—boats thrown up across Route One, right up the hill, forty feet above the water.
“If the hurricane tide goes up twenty feet, all those yachts back there will yank their moorings right up. The harbor of refuge just out here will be for Coast Guard and Navy ships. Perhaps other ships. That’ll be up to the Coast Guard. They may let the Lydia P. lie to, there. There may be room, it’s almost a square mile inside the breakwater. But even there you have to depend on the other ships’ not breaking loose, or dragging their anchors. I don’t like to depend on people I don’t know.”
Dick was sobered by Captain Texeira.
Captain Texeira said, “My wife wants me to stay at home. My nephew is competent to take the Lydia P. out to sea, he’s been the acting skipper half the time for the last five years. But what if something happens? How do I face his mother—my sister? The Lydia P. is insured. She’s my second boat. But if she stays here and she goes down, my nephew and all the crew are out of work for a year while I have a new boat built. I think I can take her east of the storm. But the storm may move east. And then she’ll be in the worst quadrant.”
Dick said, “Why not go out and if the storm moves east then you move back to the west, into the easier half. You have plenty of speed.”
Captain Texeira shook his head. “A storm this size, the swells go far ahead of her, several hundred miles. They can be so big you can only go half-speed, maybe less. And they may be spread out two hundred miles across.”
“So you think we may get hit this time.”
“I don’t know. NOAA doesn’t know. Nobody knows. If the storms link up, if the big storm is moving forty miles an hour when she passes Cape Hatteras … if, if, if. I’ll know more tomorrow, but tomorrow may be too late to take the Lydia out to sea.”
Dick thanked him. He drove back to the yard. There was a crowd now around the office. Dick peered over the shoulders of the people in front of the door. He saw that the phone on the manager’s desk was off the hook, the manager was trying to get out the door. When he finally popped through he went by Dick but turned after a few steps. “You going to move Spartina?”
Dick said, “Look. I feel like a damn fool—after we just put her in. I’ll get Eddie’s flatbed, rig my old cradle on it, and if you haul her, we’ll take her out of here.”
The manager shook his head.
“I got twenty-five, maybe thirty boats ahead of you. They’ve been customers for years. They’ve all heard the news. I can’t haul Spartina. No way.”
The manager turned toward a man who began to speak to him. The man got in one word, the manager said, “I’m sorry—I’m talking to Captain Pierce.”
The man said, “I’ve been waiting—”
“I’m talking to Captain Pierce.”
The man made a show of keeping the lid on. He said, “Very well. I’ll phone you at home.”
“I’m not going home. I’m not answering the phone here. You want your boat hauled, write her name on a piece of paper, sign it, put the time which is now eighteen forty hours and have it on my desk. No promises.”
The man left.
Dick said, “I owe you near to a thousand bucks. For that I get to see a yacht owner go away pissed off, and I get to be called Captain Pierce. Life is full of satisfactions.”
The manager said, “Look, Dick. I’m sorry. That guy’s an asshole. If it was him or you I’d haul you. But I got to go by rules, I got to have a system for the whole crowd. I’ll put you on the list, that’s all I can do. I got to be fair.”
“Can I use your phone?”
“Sure. Just leave it off the hook when you’re done.”
Dick called his insurance agent at home. Busy. Called his office. Busy. He got in his truck and drove to the guy’s house in Wakefield. The guy’s car was there so Dick kept knocking till the door opened.
Dick told him he’d like to up the coverage on Spartina. “Sure,” the guy said, “I’ll see what I can do. But you remember how I explained it to you. There’s a little lead time. It’ll be easier once your interim policy is in effect.”
Dick said, “You told me Spartina’s covered with an interim policy. I wouldn’t have gone out today without that. So just up the interim poli
cy.”
“That’s what I’m talking about. The interim policy. I’m pretty certain I explained to you it would be a few days. That’ll be the ninth. Today is the sixth.”
Dick turned aside. If he looked at the guy’s face, he’d get mad. He took a breath and said, “So any damage before September ninth, I’m out of luck. After that I’m fine.”
“Yes.”
“So if Spartina is a total wreck, let’s say as of one minute past midnight September ninth, I get a hundred and fifty thousand dollars. One minute before and I get nothing.”
The guy said, “It does seem—”
“Yes or no,” Dick said. “Just tell me have I got it right?”
“Yes.”
“And where is this written down? I mean, where do I have this written down? Is it on that piece of paper you gave me?”
“Yes.”
“The ninth it is, then. That’s two days and five hours from now. If there is any doubt in your mind as to when any damage was sustained by my vessel, you be sure to check with Captain Ruy Texeira. You know Captain Texeira?”
“Yes, I do—”
“Good. I will be in radio contact with him or with one of his vessels, and you be sure you check with him, you verify with him that Spartina is well as of the first minute of the ninth of September. Now, if by some chance I’m not around to collect, you still owe that money to my family. Is that right?”
“Yes. You remember when I wrote the policy we discussed the eventuality that—”
“Good.”
Dick drove back to Galilee. Joxer’s plant was now fully bulwarked with sandbags on the south and east sides. Captain Texeira was still on board the Lydia P.
Dick asked him if he was taking her out.
Captain Texeira said he was. Dick said, “Good. I’m taking Spartina out. What channel will you be on?”
“Fifty-six.”
“Okay, good. I don’t receive the satellite picture, so if I can get the word from you I’ll be much obliged.”
Captain Texeira sat down. He was silent for a long time. At last he said, “You were in the Coast Guard in ’59.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Were you out in that little hurricane?”
“Yes, sir.”
“This will be bigger.” Captain Texeira’s head tilted forward, and the flesh of his face sagged.
Dick said, “Captain Texeira, there’s lots of reasons. My insurance starts in two days. I may seem to be running around like a chicken with its head cut off, but there’s one big reason. If I lose my boat, I’ll be a slave.”
Captain Texeira shook his head.
Dick said, “I’m not doing this because you’re doing it, you’re not talking me into it. I have my own reason, and I have my own boat. You can’t take me on your conscience.”
Captain Texeira nodded. Dick started to leave. Captain Texeira took him by the arm. “If you do get caught, don’t fight. You understand? More power isn’t the answer. The shape of your boat is the answer. If you punch hard against a big wave, it’s harder for her.
“If you let her yield, she’ll move right. The wave is a wall if you run at it. If you move with it, it’s a wave. But you used to have a temper—you used to like to get tough.”
Dick said, “Look. There’s one last thing. My insurance policy starts on the ninth. One tick after midnight. I plan to call you then so it’ll be on your log that Spartina’s okay.”
Captain Texeira nodded.
Dick considered asking him to log in the message no matter what. At the last minute he kept quiet.
Dick shook hands with the old man and left the Lydia P.
Dick stopped at home just long enough to leave a list of chores with Charlie. He was in and out so fast May didn’t have time to ask questions. He filled his new thermos with coffee, took a six-pack of the boys’ Cokes.
He got Charlie to drive him to the yard and ferry him on board. He told Charlie to load the little skiff in the back of the pickup. The whole family was to go up to Eddie’s in case there was a flood. Charlie and Tom were to pull the plug on the big skiff and sink her in the creek filled with stones. Take as much stuff as they could in the car and the truck, but especially the books. If there was time Charlie and Tom could board up windows, but the main thing was to be up at Eddie’s before the storm hit.
It wasn’t until Dick climbed on board Spartina that Charlie seemed to realize what Dick planned to do.
Dick told him to get going. He wouldn’t let go, he just stood in the skiff and hung on to Spartina with a frown on his face.
“I haven’t got time to fool around,” Dick said. “If I leave now, I can keep up with Captain Texeira. I’m just doing what he’s doing.”
Charlie said, “I’ll come with you.”
“No,” Dick said. “Look—you get your mother and your brother up to Eddie’s. That’s your job. I’ll take care of the boat. That’s it, Charlie. I’ll see you in three days.”
The yard was in so much chaos it would have taken too long to top off Spartina’s fuel tanks. Dick stopped at Joxer Goode’s. The Lydia P. was gone. Joxer hailed him and lugged out a sack. “Captain Texeira left this for you. It’s a survival raft. Strobe light, water supply, automatic distress transmitter.”
Dick said, “I see he expects the worst for me.”
“It’s for the regulations,” Joxer said. “If the insurance company asks if you were properly equipped …”
Dick signed for the fuel and stowed the survival raft in a locker in the wheelhouse. He backed Spartina’s stern away from the pier and made a turn toward the breakwater. He felt her squat down with the push, then come up. He’d keep her light for a bit. When the sea kicked up some, he’d take on sea water in the lobster wells.
Beyond the breakwater the sea was calm. There was a slight swell, the troughs so wide it was almost imperceptible.
He suddenly felt exuberant. Spartina was only a few knots slower than the Lydia, and maybe two hours behind. It was true that in a day they’d be a hundred miles apart, but Captain Texeira would have figured on at least that as a margin of safety.
In another hour Dick had left Block Island off Spartina’s starboard quarter. He could see Spartina’s bow shadow racing across the water. Behind him the sunlight was shot with red. The long mare’s tails overhead were soft pink ribbons. He’d be okay, they’d do fine—so long as the engine kept at it. Sounded fine.
So he’d burn a full tank. An expense with no return. Small dues, especially if he’d be one of the few boats still able afterward.
He fastened the wheel, made a mug of soup, put two Hershey bars in his pocket, and came back to the wheel. He decided to save his thermos of coffee for the long night. It was darkening in the wheelhouse, though the surface of the sea still shone. He could just make out Elsie’s picture on the thermos. His mood was still up. So he’d laid up for a week or two in Elsie’s bed. What man would have said no? For the first time in quite a while he thought of her with pure, dumb pleasure. The light through the trees falling across the room. Her compact body magnified by her energy. Who landed who? She’d wanted him, and he now felt the flattery of her wish. Why not?
She wasn’t helpless, she knew what she wanted. She liked him, for God’s sakes. He let that in too, not just flattery, some comfort. She was a tough cookie, abrupt and full of quick turns. And curious as a seal. But she’d been good to him, nice to him, coaxed him right into the middle of her life. Why stand off from her? She wasn’t going to cling, that was clear, she was one to take care of herself.
Dick switched on the chart light and got a loran reading. Good enough, rolling right along.
By midnight he was getting a little tired. The swells, still farther apart than any he’d ever run into, were bigger now. He couldn’t see them very well, but he felt them as Spartina took them on her starboard bow, chugged up them slowly and then slid over the top with a little pitch and roll.
After an hour he checked his position again. The swell had slowed Sparti
na considerably.
He called the Lydia P., got Captain Texeira’s nephew. Their position was well east of Spartina’s. The hurricane had grown. Lydia’s satellite picture showed that the two systems had linked up and had picked up some speed. The storm center was more than two hundred miles off Cape Hatteras and moving due north at about thirty-five knots, maybe more. If she didn’t curve, she would plow into New England somewhere between Old Lyme and the middle of Cape Cod. The Rhode Island shore was the bull’s eye between those two points.
It looked as though Captain Texeira had made a good guess and a good move. Dick saw that Spartina wasn’t in quite as good a position. The diameter of the hurricane was now almost four hundred miles. If she hit dead on the mouth of Narragansett Bay, Spartina would have to be at least two hundred miles to the east. Since midnight Spartina’s progress eastward was down to six knots. There was no wind to speak of but cutting across the swell was like mountain climbing. If the forward edge of the hurricane was now pushing past Hatteras at thirty-five to forty knots, it would reach Spartina in ten or eleven hours. Spartina would be, at best, 120 miles east of the eye. She’d get caught. Not in the fiercest winds—those were tucked in tight swirls around the center. But even halfway out to the edge, according to the reports that the Lydia P. had, the winds were full hurricane force, and since Spartina was going to be in the eastern sector of the storm, where the counterclockwise swirl was blowing in the same general direction as the overall movement of the hurricane, he could add those forty knots to the force of the wind.
If the two storm centers hadn’t linked up, he’d have been in dandy shape. Neither storm by herself had been bigger than 150 miles in diameter, and Spartina would have been forty to fifty miles east of the eastern edge. Sure—rough seas, some gale-force wind, but nothing to worry about. But now that the hurricane had doubled up, the eastern edge was reaching out for Spartina like a big paw.
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