Sea of Lost Dreams: A Dugger/Nello Novel

by Ferenc Máté

  “I think we’re still in the north,” Nello said. “The swells are coming from the southeast. That means, to escape the eye, we have to keep running south.”

  He went to the aft deck to check the direction of the wind, before it was deflected by the sails. Facing dead into the wind, he spread his right arm slightly more than ninety degrees and pointed. “The storm is somewhere there. It’s blowing less than force six, so the worst must still be a couple of hundred miles off. At least ten hours before it hits us.”

  “Well,” Guillaume said, “if you have no objections—I have a feast in mind.”

  “Sure,” Dugger grumbled. “Why not a last supper?”

  KATE SAT AT THE DESK under the deck prism, writing in the notebook she had received from Darina. I think there’ll be a storm, she began. Through the skylight she heard voices, mingling with rustling from the galley. She didn’t really listen to what was being said, until she heard a strange voice from above. It was low and agitated and stirred unease in her. It was Nello. She wrote,

  Something is wrong. I have never heard Nello sound worried before. The day feels strange, the light is so gloomy, and the wind is blowing harder but in spasms. The sky looks awful. Even the bird has gone away. It feels lonely now. Having him here was almost like seeing land. The writing stirred her and she wrote quickly, with passion.

  We have been gone eleven days. Dugger said the voyage might take thirty; it scares me to think that we have . . . She stared blankly at the paper, trying to do her sums. For God’s sake, Kate, common arithmetic, she snapped in frustration. How can you forget something so simple? Are you doing this on purpose? Act dumb so they’ll look after you? But they don’t even know. So what’s it all about? Think. Sums. You were good at sums, remember? Jesus. How can you remember you were good at sums and not remember how to do them? Are you insane? You start with thirty open fingers, you close eleven. How many are left? Use your head. Use your fingers. I don’t have thirty fingers. Damn, damn, damn!

  The door of the cabin opened. She slammed the book shut. Dugger came in.

  “Sorry,” he said. “We need you at the wheel for a bit. The weather’s changing and we have to batten down the ship. A great excuse for Guillaume to cook a feast.” And he stood before her chair and touched her head. “You look tired. Is it the motion?” and he held her head gently in his hand. “I miss you like crazy,” he said. Then he gently wedged her legs apart with his knee and smiled. “Mostly your thighs.”

  She held his hand. “You don’t like so many people aboard, do you?” she said.

  “It’s all right.”

  “We’re lucky they’re so nice.”

  “Nello thinks she’s intriguing. Do you?”

  Kate tied the string around the book and said, “She’s the most intriguing woman I can remember.”

  A rogue wave slammed the bow, the ketch veered, and they grabbed for handholds. They headed up the ladder. “Dugger,” she began, then fell silent as she climbed. “If the

  storm comes . . . How far is the nearest land?” Dugger tickled her bare foot. “About two miles,” he said. “Two miles?” she exclaimed. “Why didn’t you tell me?” And

  she stuck her head out the hatch and spun around, looking but

  seeing nothing. “Where?” “Under us,” he said. “Oh, sweet Mary,” Kate whispered. “Two miles of water?” “Don’t worry.” He smiled. “After six feet it’s all the same.”

  Book Three

  The Storm

  Chapter 16

  They prepared for the storm. First they lightened the bow, so when hurtling down a wave, the ketch wouldn’t bury her bowsprit and foredeck in a trough and pitchpole, surely shredding sails, breaking masts. Dugger slipped the anchor from its chocks and Nello reached down, grabbed the fluke, and hauled it onto the deck. He drove his marlinspike into the eye of the shackle pin, then beat it with a winch handle to turn it. With the anchor freed, they hauled it aft and lashed it in the lazarette.

  The overturned skiff they put behind the mainmast and secured it with a crosslash to the grab rails on the house. Below decks they hauled the anchor chain from the forepeak and coiled it behind the mast step in the bilge. Then they dogged down the hatches, skylights, all the ports, so only the two cowl vents now piped the tepid air below. Anything loose they stuffed into drawers or lockers; cabin doors were hooked open, books tied in, only Guillaume’s galley where he whirled among pots and pans remained an untouched mess.

  THE WIND GAINED FORCE. They dragged out the storm jib and storm trysail, leaving them in their canvas bags, pulled out the head of each, and lashed it to the mast, ready for the track.

  Guillaume hurried. “Five minutes,” he called. Darina set the table in the cockpit with tin plates and cups. Kate steered. With the sails straining, she tired fast. Nello came aft, smiling, looking calmer now with the ship battened down. “We might just outrun the bugger,” he said, and took the wheel.

  Kate tried to sound calm. “Will it be like the storm off Oregon?”

  “It’ll be a lot warmer,” he assured her. “A warm rain. In a blow, that makes all the difference.”

  “And we could use a bath,” Kate said.

  “Dinner is served!” Guillaume called out, and came up with a mound of chopped tuna garnished with sliced mangoes.

  Dugger poured rum in the cups and raised his. “To the equator,” he said.

  “Wherever it may be,” Nello said.

  “Le bienvenu!” Guillaume offered. And the tin cups clanged.

  Dugger slipped the sling over his head and stretched his arm with care.

  “To a two-armed captain,” Kate toasted.

  Darina said a quiet prayer, then picked up her fork. “Oh, my, this is good.”

  “Heaven,” Kate said.

  Guillaume’s next plate was covered with small rolls. “Bonito wrapped in bacon,” he said proudly.

  “My God,” Dugger exclaimed. “And what is this?”

  “Pommes frites. French fries,” Guillaume said apologetically. “Made of sweet potatoes. It was all we had.”

  “To pommes frites,” Dugger toasted.

  “To the chef,” Kate said.

  “To good company,” Darina said softly, and everyone murmured, “To good company.”

  “Eat hearty,” Dugger advised. “With a full stomach, you won’t feel queasy.”

  The ketch caught a wave and surged across the face. Nello hung on with force, but tried to hide his straining from Darina. Thrilled with the fresh speed, he said, “At this rate we’ll be in Tahiti before cognacs.”

  Dugger took the helm. Nello ate.

  Guillaume returned with a plate of fried plantains. “May I waste some rum?” he asked, then doused the plantains and set them aflame. They ate and drank and chatted like excited children about the food, the bird, even the coming storm. Only Dugger eyed the sky and steered the ketch.

  Nello pulled out his harmonica and began playing an Irish air. For the first time since they had known her, Darina blushed. Then she began softly to sing.

  There’s a tear in your eye,

  And I’m wondering why . . .

  Guillaume rose and bowed before Kate. “Madame, may I have this dance?” he asked.

  They danced with fluid steps, and twirled around the cockpit. Darina sang with more heart and the others joined in.

  When Irish eyes are smiling,

  Sure, ‘tis like a morn in Spring,

  In the lilt of Irish laughter

  You can hear the angels sing ...

  When she got to the refrain they all joined in; their voices drowned out the wind.

  And when Irish eyes are smiling,

  Sure they steal your heart away.

  A hard wave slammed the ketch. Cups leapt. Plates slid. Kate and Guillaume lost their balance. They stopped singing.

  A gust hit, and the boat heeled.

  They washed up in a silent hurry.

  Nello helped Darina carry down the dishes. She thanked him with a smile that van
ished quickly behind worry. “You must have

  seen bigger storms on Inishturk,” he said.

  “Many,” she replied.

  “If you begin to feel queasy, it helps to sing.”

  She glanced at him with gratitude.

  “And remember,” he went on, “all storms end. And when it’s over, you’ll have had the time of your life. You’ll want to go and do it again.”

  “Especially if you’re crazy,” Dugger added.

  “We wouldn’t be out here if we weren’t,” Kate said.

  “I’ll drink to that,” Darina replied, emptying her cup, then finished washing.

  “Sister,” Dugger said, “you’d be safer wearing pants.” When he saw her hesitate, he added, “Captain’s orders. We might need you at the helm.”

  “I’ll get you something,” Kate offered, and they went below.

  She pulled out a pair of threadbare cotton pants of Nello’s. Darina went in her cabin and came back tying a stiff rope as a belt.

  Kate beamed. “Now you’re a real sailor.”

  “Still feel like a washer woman,” Darina said, and her face went dark. “It’s as if the nuns took everything: my hair, my name, my youth.” Then, with a defiant smile, she said, “But I kept my demons.”

  The ketch lurched hard and there were confused footsteps above. Grabbing for handholds, they hurried out on deck.

  THE EAST GREW DARK with gnarled black clouds, a great clenched fist hurtling at them through the sky. Lightning flashed straight down. Thunder shook the sails.

  “Let’s drop the mizzen staysail,” Dugger said quietly to Nello right beside him. Then he grumbled, “What the hell kind of cloud is that anyway?”

  “If we were up north, I’d say hail. I’m not sure where we are, Cappy, but it sure isn’t up north.”

  “If it’s not hail, what is it?”

  “I’d guess cats and dogs.”

  “Maybe we should leave the sail and try and outrun it.” He steered with one hand and rolled the injured shoulder.

  Kate came out, with Darina following. She headed past the helm for the calm of the aft deck. The ketch lurched hard and Darina lost her balance and began, with a jolt, to fall over the side. She reached for the mizzen shroud but missed and went on falling. Nello grabbed the shroud with one hand and, with the other, her arm. Then, all in the same motion, he swung her back aboard. She fell against him. He held her there. Their faces almost touched, and, out of breath, stiff with fright, she wanted to whisper, Thank you, but her throat was so tight, her lips moved without a sound.

  “I like those pants,” he said. “Didn’t want to lose them.”

  “So you want the sail up or down?” he said to Dugger, stepping down into the cockpit.

  Dugger just looked at him as he tried to hide the blush. The black cloud grew taller, its dark ribs more dark.

  “Let’s run,” Dugger said. “I don’t want to know what’s in there.”

  Guillaume popped out of the hatch. He followed their gaze to the darkness in the sky. “Mon Dieu,” he exclaimed. “The devil’s angry today.”

  “Pull in your hook and line,” Dugger told him. “A fish will slow us down.”

  Guillaume hauled in the line. The day went dim like twilight. “I’ve never played Beat the Devil before,” he said. “This is even more fun than spying.”

  THE SEAS GAINED HEIGHT with steeper faces. Their tops curled dark. The spume glowed eerie white against the somber sky.

  Dugger called everyone back to the cockpit. “We’re going to double the watches,” he began. He tried to sound unconcerned, but his voice was flat and hard. “We’ll have two people on deck at all times, one to steer, one to give a hand. The others rest. Kate will start with me. Then Nello with Sister Agnes. After that, I’ll back up Monsieur Guillaume, that way Nello or I will always be on deck.” When he saw them stand in silent apprehension, he added, “These things always look worse then they really are. We just have to think ahead, that’s all. We’ll reduce sail little by little. Always early. Always in plenty of time. If we need to, we’ll run with just a jib. If you see something odd in the sails and rigging, or even if you just feel that something is straining too hard, tell us. The boat can take anything if we treat her right . . . After all, a storm is just air and water.”

  IN THE STIFLING GLOOM OF THE SALON, Nello and Darina headed to their cabins for a rest. As he hooked the gimbaled table to keep it from swinging wildly, she leaned close and planted a fleeting kiss on his stubbly cheek.

  Then she stepped into her cabin and closed the door.

  The air was steam. It clung to her skin in drops and streamed down her face like tears.

  Chapter 17

  The storm closed in. They tried to escape with all sails flying, but by early evening the low black clouds had caught them, swirling like molten lead, fusing with the darkness. As the wind grew, they reduced sail piece by piece, dousing the mizzen staysail, then replacing the yankee with a jib half its size, but the ketch still yawed wildly as she sailed down twisting slopes. They dropped the mizzen.

  With his shoulder strong again, Dugger took extra turns at the helm, tirelessly fighting the rising wind and seas. He feared the steepening waves but relished the exhilarating power of the ketch. Cleating the empty mizzen halyard, he glanced at the sea behind them. There were only waves and clouds—the bird wasn’t there. His heart sank, then he thought, Would you be here if you didn’t have to be?

  Night fell without the soothing lull of dusk. The light vanished suddenly from the sky leaving only the suffocating dark and the hiss of breaking seas. Now and then a pale smear flared up in the gloom as a wave convulsed into churning pools of foam.

  Dugger steered, with Kate close beside him. He followed no compass course, steered only by the angle of the wind that blasted across the deck, pressing on in the doomed attempt to outrun the storm. Belowdecks the others were wedged into their berths, Guillaume trying to read, Nello staring at the deck beams near his face, and Darina watching the gimbaled lantern steady on the bulkhead while the ketch rolled and heaved.

  Then the first gust hit.

  An atrocious blast of wind knocked the ketch onto her rails and covered her with flying sheets of water. She lay with port deck under in the stunning darkness, but even half submerged, she persevered and sailed.

  Dugger and Kate fell into a cockpit corner, but with an iron grip he held on to the wheel. The ketch righted herself, shedding the sea in streams. Dugger clutched Kate, but the feel of her wasn’t enough; he had to hear her voice. “Are you all right?” he shouted, but the wind and crashing seas blew his words apart.

  “Yes!” Kate shouted back. “Fine. Really.”

  The main hatch flew back and a glow shot into the sky. “Cappy! Kate!” Nello roared. “You still there?”

  He burst out of the hatch, the storm lantern in hand, his face strained with worry. He hooked the lantern onto a boom-bail and it swung with each lurch of the ketch, lighting the vaporous air and their faces.

  “Storm trysail!” Dugger shouted, and Nello went and crept toward the mast. Dugger slid Kate’s hands onto the spokes of the wheel. “Steer one hundred degrees! Then when I wave like this”—and he swung his arm back and forth as if shooing away a fly—“head up to two hundred so we can drop the main! Understand?”

  Kate repeated, “One hundred. Two hundred.”

  Dugger took the doubled mainsheet, wrapped it around her waist, and knotted it. “In case you decide on a swim,” he shouted. With his knees braced against the cabin, he inched forward to the mast to uncleat the halyard and wrestle down the main. Another gust hit and through the trembling light, streams of brine flew at him like hail.

  Just wind and water, he thought, but a bit too much of both.

  The halyard wouldn’t give. The salt spray had soaked the hemp, each tug of the sails had pulled the knot tighter around the cleat, and the sun baked the salt hard in the braiding, so he had to use the marlinspike to loosen it.

  Kate put
all her weight against the wheel, clutching the spokes, repeating, “One hundred. Two hundred.”

  Nello had the lash-downs ready and Dugger finished prying open the knot. Holding the halyard in one hand, he waved the other toward Kate. But with her eyes filled with brine, Kate didn’t move. “Two hundred!” Dugger bellowed. “Two hundred!”

  The next gust hit and the ketch went on her side into the churning sea. She struggled to right herself, but the gusts detonated one behind the other. A wave burst over Kate and forced her to her knees, but she clung to the spokes, gasping in the foamy air.

  The wave smashed Nello into the sail, his face into the canvas, and he swore if they made land alive, he’d never look at the goddamn sea again.

  Dugger slid overboard. He had been standing beside the mainmast waving to Kate to head the bow into the wind, when suddenly the ketch went over. He grabbed the rigging, but a surge of water lifted him and he was swept into the sea. The wind drove the ketch into him, and all he could do was hold his breath and wait. The sails were above him, so he knew the ketch hadn’t gone turtle but just lay on her side, and with the keel levering her, she was bound to right. Sooner or later.

  Down below, Darina and Guillaume were hurled across the salon. The world turned on its side, the bulkhead lamp went out, and they crashed into each other. They lay next to the port light that was now buried in the sea.