Sea of Lost Dreams: A Dugger/Nello Novel

by Ferenc Máté

  Guillaume rang the bell in exultation, and Nello and Kate reached down over the side and hauled the helpless Dugger, by the arms, over the rail. He lay on the deck as limp as a wet doll.

  Guillaume stopped ringing the bell when he noticed the empty sea. The nun was gone. The water was a lifeless sheen that melted into darkness.

  Chapter 20

  With no strength left even to shout, Darina floated and watched the ketch sail slowly away. She closed her eyes. There was only the wind moaning between the waves. She took comfort in the warmth of the sea. All her life the sea had been icy water on her skin, even in the summer, even in the stony shallows at the north end of the bay, where the sun warmed the stones and they in turn the tide as it came in slowly around the point. She always jumped in dreaming of warm water, and now here she was in the warm water of her dreams. She felt a languid pleasure, as comforting as Nello’s arms when he had warmed her that night.

  She let her head fall back and heard the engine of the ketch thudding through the water like a giant heart. Then it stopped. No matter how hard she tried, she could no longer hear the sound. She looked up. Among ragged clouds shone a lone bright star. She treaded water and stirred swirls of phosphorescence. In its light, she saw her legs move through the sea, and below them the water dark and darker still, down into the yawning, beckoning deep. In a fearful rush she sensed the miles of sea below her. She treaded harder. “Thank you, Lord,” she whispered. “For the warm water of my dreams.” Then she recalled the prayer she had uttered an hour ago, begging God to bring back Dugger and take her in his stead. “Thank you for hearing my prayer,” she said.

  She heard a bell. It was a sweet, rolling, reassuring sound, of whose direction she could not be sure. When she rose atop a wave it seemed to be below her, when she sank into a trough it tumbled from the sky. Her first day as a Penitent flooded over her, the bell calling to mass, the long echoing halls with the sun slanting inside, and the sound coming toward her as if floating on the light. She remembered the sad pride she felt in her new clothes and her new shoes squeaking softly on the stone. She had felt she was on her way to an audience with God. But later, sitting in the scrubbed pine pew, she remembered her brother, and through that long first mass she could not look at the man hanging on the cross.

  She stopped treading water and for a moment sank. Maybe God is sending me straight down into hell, she thought. Too late, I’ve been there. Among the loving sisters. With their awful smiles. She recalled the damp horrors of the laundry with the girls and women lined up along both sides of the long trough like shorn sheep. The sisters forbade them to help each other. Or make friends. They used to line us up naked, she remembered, and laugh at our pubic hair. They bound our breasts so we were no longer women, and beat us, and made us stick things into ourselves, and said that’s your lover: Satan. And tore up any letters ever sent to us. Except for Sister Claire, who must have been there to remind us we were human. But the others, my God, the others. Demons who would not even tell our parents we were there. And especially Sister Phyllis, who told poor Mary she would help her escape. One night she put the gardener’s ladder against the wall, and Mary climbed up, and when she was at the top, Sister Phyllis yanked the ladder away. And there was Mary, twenty feet in the air, wildly wailing, impaled on shards of glass.

  Sister Phyllis said that should teach us all a lesson.

  Then there was the morning when Sister Phyllis came to talk to the short girl who used to cry endlessly because she wanted to find her mother. Sister Phyllis stopped beside her at the steaming trough. She told her in a flat, bored voice that her mother had died. The short girl replied that she’d never known her mother. And Sister Phyllis said yes, you did; you’ve been washing clothes across from her every day for thirteen years. And she pointed at the empty post across the rising steam. That was the night Sister Claire brought her Michael’s letters, and whispered that, with the next shipment of laundry, she would help her flee. She fled.

  From hell. That was hell. So you can sink me all you want; it won’t hurt a bit. Then she struggled to the surface and thought, Don’t abandon me now, Lord, not when I’m so alone.

  She heard the bell again. She thought she saw the ketch rising among the waves, with Nello at the helm rushing to her rescue. She kicked hard and a wave slapped her face, and when the water had run from her eyes the ketch was gone. She lay back on the sea and looked up at the stars. She used to dream about a small stone house, its walls whitewashed bright, on an island with warm waters and countless trees. And there she was with a tiny baby at her breast, and a good wood fire blazing in the hearth. And the sound of his footsteps coming to the door, and in he would come and hold them both in his arms.

  Oh, how she had dreamed of having that baby. Weeks after her brother’s fever, her monthlies didn’t come. The first two days she had been terrified. Then little by little she began to love her child. She planned to hide her belly when it grew, with a big shawl into winter, then spend much time in Connally’s barn, warm among the sheep. She could deliver it as she had done with the lambs. She would build a little nest in the warmest manger, of curly wool she’d combed out of the sheep. Then one night they would carry it, wool-lined nest and all, down to the harbor shore, and set off in a curragh across the starlit sea; the three of them, alone, for a beautiful, distant place, where the water was so warm.

  But then one day, running home, she felt wetness on her thighs, and with a rush of blood the loving dream had ended.

  Too late to dream now, she thought. There comes a time when it’s too late to dream. Then you have to make do with your memories.

  The clouds parted, and stars spilled out, but they were strangers to her, as strange as the warm sea in which she’d soon be dying. She said a Hail Mary. Then, calmly treading water, she began to give thanks, to her parents for her life, Sister Claire for her brave kindness, Maeve Flynn’s mother for the dress, and her brother for all his love. And then she thanked God for a breath of peace in the last moments of her life.

  Chapter 21

  They sailed all night in ever-expanding circles from one tattered patch of moonlight to the next, through foaming crests that exploded into spindrift, in long dark troughs that seemed to never end.

  When Guillaume had stopped ringing the bell, he held the braided bell rope frozen in his hand and said in a voice so low the others barely heard him, “I can’t see her anymore.”

  No one looked up. They were propping Dugger against the cabin side. “We got him back, didn’t we?” Nello said with a laugh, and Kate embraced him, kissed his face, embraced him again. Then she knelt and, with a mother’s love, she cradled Dugger’s head.

  Guillaume stared at the empty sea in disbelief. “She’s gone,” he repeated louder, until Nello turned his head. As if jolted by a shock, he leapt to the rail. He searched the layer of foam along the ketch, then, finding nothing, looked at the empty sea. “Porco Dio,” he whispered. “How can you do this?”

  He ran below and shut off the engine. Back on deck, he ordered everyone to silence. They listened. There was only the wind in the rigging and the sea rushing against the hull. He roared, “Sister!”

  There was no reply.

  He sliced the lashings on the skiff, flipped it right-side up, and stuck the boathook handle down into the hole made for the mast. He unclipped the lantern from the main boom and hung it on the hook. Holding the stern, he slid the skiff over the rail and lowered it into the sea. The lantern swung wildly as the skiff tripped over a wave. He jumped in and stood on the starboard gunwale, tipping the skiff and letting the dark water rush in and fill it. When it was so swamped only the gunwales and boathook stuck out of the sea, he grabbed the lifeline of the ketch and pulled himself back aboard.

  The ketch sailed off. The skiff stood like a fixed buoy in the dark, the lantern a tiny beacon in the vast gloom of the night.

  THEY BEGAN THEIR SEARCH by sailing around the skiff. They pulled down the torn main, raised the storm trysail in its place, a
nd sailed steadily in ragged but everwidening circles. The first one was tight—a boat-length from the skiff—and they watched, yelled, and listened for her. Halfway around the first circle Nello rang the bell. No response came from the night. When he closed the first circle he rang the bell again. Dejected, he eased the helm and widened the circle to more than two boat-lengths. At times he lost sight of the lantern and had to wait until a wave lifted the ketch before finding its glow.

  He steered watching the compass, counted to ten, then changed course five degrees. But it was impossible to sail any reliable circles. With the erratic wind the ketch sped up, slowed, then sped up again. When heading into the wind they made little headway, then downwind they rode the waves at well over ten knots.

  Hours passed.

  THE LAST CLOUD had receded from the sky and Darina floated in a sea of flickering stars. She heard no wind or breaking seas, only the sound of a distant bell. I must get to vespers, she thought, or I’ll disappoint Sister Claire. She hurried toward a yellow glow distant in the darkness, where, in the humid chapel, the candle at the foot of the cross was lit for prayer. She felt the candle pulling her, pulling her into its light.

  It struck her that she wasn’t running but swimming in the sea. I do have to swim, she thought, I have to try or I’d be committing the greatest sin of all. She swam with the jerky, choppy strokes of exhaustion, murmuring, “for thine is the Kingdom, the power, and the glory . . .” and she slowed because the glow was gone and she was no longer sure whether she was swimming straight or swimming up or down, down toward the bottom of the inky sea. All of her felt limp, incapable of motion—but she swam.

  She swam gasping for air, praying for an ounce of strength to lift once more an arm, once more move a leg, then again and again. She tried to turn her head to breathe but she was too tired and inhaled water.

  She was out of air. The stars dimmed. She flailed feebly and felt wind on her face but had no strength left to breathe it in.

  Then right before her burst a gleaming light that seemed to come nearer and nearer among the stars. She felt herself moving slowly toward it, so close she could almost touch it, and she reached up for it, up out of the dark. She raised her arm, but it fell back lifeless into the sea.

  Far away, she heard her own voice say, “Amen.”

  THEY STARED WITH WIN-DRIED EYES into the night, changing posts each half hour to stay alert. By the eighth circle, the lantern seldom showed. By the ninth, it vanished. Dugger thought it had run out of oil, but Nello was sure he had made an error at the helm.

  She’s drifting at the same speed as the flooded skiff, he told himself. Just remember that. She has to be nearby. If she’s not in this circle, she’ll be in the next. If she’s not in the next, she’ll be in the one after.

  But by the next circle he lost all concentration. He couldn’t recall at what heading he’d started, and couldn’t decide whether it was best to keep widening the circles or to start tightening them now, or perhaps to sail right back to the skiff and begin the search again. But the skiff was gone.

  He hauled up a bucket of water and poured it on his head. She’ll be all right, he told himself. She’s from Inishturk. Tough as a rock. You saw her swim, saw her row.

  Tighten the circle. Tighten the circle and you’ll find her as sure as . . . Nothing is sure. It’s all a guess. Except for her big white forehead. That was for sure. And the veins at her temples. He had felt them against his cheek when he held her that night. He had felt them pulse. He had felt her heart. That’s not crazy, he thought, I felt her heart. And she leaned hard against me with her whole body. And what did you do? Instead of holding her with all your strength and never letting go—haven’t you learned that nothing else counts?—you let her go. You pushed her away, told yourself she can’t love you because she’s a nun, told yourself a lie. You just couldn’t believe that someone might really love you.

  Now find her.

  He tightened the circle, rang the bell, and sailed on. He leaned close to the compass, whose candle flame lit his eyes, and the madness etched by shadows in the creases.

  DUGGER STOOD AT THE HELM, staring at the compass for no reason. The ship’s bell chimed. Six hours in the sea, he thought. I almost died after one. Her secretiveness gone, her mystery gone.

  KATE WAS SO EXHAUSTED she slept where she stood. She held on to a shroud and her head drooped as she dreamed. In her dream she heard a chime ring out three times. It was the doorbell—an odd time for the postman so late in the day—and she knew right away it was news from the war. She looked down at the official letter and she knew: her father.

  She walked past her sleeping mother to her room, pushing her finger under the envelope’s flap. She opened it at the window without turning on the light, so the words would look less harsh. She read long phrases, and then her father’s name. Near it the words that almost stopped her heart: in the line of duty.

  The lamp man lit the gas lamps on the street. Kate watched him. Everything has ended, she thought. There’s no reason to do anything now. She put the letter back in the envelope and went to bed. The envelope she placed on the pillow beside her. She put her hand over it gently and closed her eyes. She didn’t cry. She remembered a day her father swept her up and held her on his arm. She stroked his dark mustache down toward his mouth. He pretended to eat her fingers with a growl. He was hers. All hers. Then she felt her tears between the pillow and her cheek.

  She woke with her tears running down Dugger’s arm. He cradled her head. For the first time since her father died, she cried for him. Dugger held her gently and let her cry.

  “The postman came,” Kate whispered.

  “It will be dawn soon,” Dugger said.

  Kate looked up and realized where she was. “She’ll be easy to find then. Right?” her voice thin, without hope.

  “Yes. With the seas down and the light.”

  DUGGER HELD HER and watched the horizon for first light. He stayed silent after that, afraid he might blurt out that the skiff was lost, that she was lost, that they had circled too often, confused by fatigue and turns—too many turns—and by the waves that grew more chaotic with the wind change in the storm. He didn’t want to blurt out that after a few hours in the water your mind begins to go. Especially so far from land, especially at night. Especially alone with all that water below you.

  DAWN CAME WITH PAINFUL BRIGHTNESS. It lit the crumpled sail, the tangled ropes, the cut lanyards of the skiff, and the haggard crew squinting at the tumultuous seas. The worst of the storm had passed, but great swells still remained.

  With shaky hands and his eyes burning, Nello put the binoculars to his face. But he looked without seeing, without hope, sometimes forgetting what he was looking for. The ship’s clock chimed four times.

  The sun exploded over the horizon, throwing a blinding shaft of light onto the sea. To the west it sparkled on the waves and seared their eyes. The only place of rest was in the shadow of the sail. He had never felt seasick in his life, but now a wave of nausea ran through him, and he had to lower the binoculars and look hard at the boom gallows and feel the screwheads in them: something solid, unmoving, with a clear purpose, a reason.

  Chapter 22

  They sailed into the sun for half an hour, searching the sea beside them as they went.

  Kate sat on the side deck, twisting her hair around a finger.

  “You should get some sleep,” Dugger suggested.

  “It’s too bright to sleep.”

  “You’ll be exhausted.”

  “I passed that long ago.”

  He walked back to the cockpit and took the wheel from Guillaume.

  “It’s too bright for anything,” Guillaume said.

  Dugger looked away from the light. “I wish I could think of a new way of searching,” he said so softly only Guillaume could hear.

  “You’ve done everything,” Guillaume said. “No one could have done more.”

  Dugger didn’t look up. “And now?” he asked softly.
/>   “I wouldn’t want to be you now.”

  Dugger looked north at the darkening blue sea. He stared at it with a hatred he had never felt before. He hated its movement, its sheen, hated the rise and fall of the swells, its color.

  “Someone should get some sleep,” he murmured.

  No one moved. Then, as a concession to the captain’s orders, Guillaume sat down. He buried his face in his hands and rubbed his eyes.

  Nello leaned back against the mainmast, rested his head against the wood, and closed his eyes, convinced he’d never sleep again.

  Dugger took a last look on either side of the blazing sun, but there was nothing there but shimmer and glare. We can wait till noon, he thought. Or until tomorrow. Or forever. He hung on to the wheel and let the ketch drift. Then he slowly turned the wheel until the ketch was back on course: heading south by southwest, pointed at Tahiti.

  “We need more sail,” he said.

  KATE RESTED HER CHIN on her hand and slept. She slept those precious moments of early sleep when every sound, every smell, each movement is amplified. She felt the deck rise up and press against her, she smelled the sea so strongly its pungency overwhelmed her, she saw the sun even through her eyelids, and she heard the sea crash against the hull and the sound of the rain-stretched halyards thudding against the mast as loud as drums. But over these noises she heard a new sound; the sound of air being beaten softly as if laundry were being shaken before being hung to dry. As it grew louder, she opened her eyes and saw a shadow moving.

  The sea shimmered so harshly she turned her head away, but on the edge of her vision, where the horizon touched the sky, she still saw the shadow. She thought it was so close she reached out to touch it, but as she did, it flew away and flapped its giant wings until it hovered against the blue sea just north of the ketch.