by Buzz Harcus
She glanced at the clock on her dresser. "Oh!" she gasped. It was time to go and serve dinner.
Harry found himself outside the galley early. He glanced at his watch. It was stupid being here so early. Dumb. He started to walk away but bumped into Peter.
"You are hungry, too?" Peter chided, rubbing his stomach. "I am famished. I had to come down und get in line early. I don't know vy but tonight I am really hungry."
"You took the words right out of my mouth," Harry replied. "For some odd reason I really worked up an appetite"
"Dere's someting about you -" Peter said staring at him. "Yes. You are all dressed up." His eyes took in the length of his friend. "Are ve dining formal tonight?"
Harry gave an embarrassed grin. "Naw. I just got dressed up now so I won't have to change for watch later." He hoped his little white lie was acceptable, and then they pushed through the galley doors.
Surprisingly, there were quite a number of the crew in the galley already enjoying hot coffee and a chance to get out of the cold weather. Just then, the mess boy stepped behind the counter and announced the food line was open. There was a sudden rush as men dashed to the starting line grabbing up trays and utensils. As a ranking officer, Peter stepped to the head of the line, pulling Harry with him. Salty protests erupted about cutting into line but were met with equal fervor by Peter. "Don't complain," he admonished. "Vhile you sleep tonight, ve will be guiding der ship. If ve don't eat now der ship may accidentally sink." His comment was met with more good-natured, salty remarks.
Osa came out of the kitchen concerned about the sudden noise. At seeing Peter and Harry first in line, she stepped to the counter and started serving.
"Vell, Osa, dis is a surprise, being served by you," Peter commented as she dished out food. "Und don't ve look lovely dis evening? Is dis some special occasion? You look absolutely beautiful, so radiant," He glanced back at Harry. "Und Harry, too, he is all dressed up tonight. I feel out of place. Maybe I should go und get on my dress uniform, yah?"
Osa's face had turned crimson. Harry's face, too, had turned a shade of pink. Neither looked at the other.
"You should get dressed up vunce in a vhile, Peter," she snapped back. "It makes you feel human." She turned to Harry. "Don't pay any attention to him. He is jealous because some people get dressed up. I tink you look nice."
"Thank you," Harry replied. In spite of a full white apron, she did look radiant, as Peter had said. There was a certain sparkle to her blue eyes as she smiled at him, full lips slightly parted. "And you look terrific, too," he added. "Just terrific."
"My, my," Peter interjected. "Mutual admiration. I'm sorry dat I mentioned der two of you ver all dressed up at all. Please excuse me." He feigned an injured look.
"Oh, Peter!" Osa exclaimed apologetically "I didn't mean to hurt you. After all, I am a voman und I do like to get dressed up vunce in a vhile to remind me dat I am a voman. All you tink of me is a cook, just a cook!"
"Und a darned good vun at dat!" Peter retorted.
"Oh! You men!" Osa snapped with a tone of exasperation. "Here," She slapped food on Peter's tray. "Go und eat. Get fat. Go! Go!" Peter roared with laughter as he walked away.
"Und you, too," she said turning her attention to Harry, slapping food on his tray. "You men are all alike! Go! Go get fat like Peter!" She turned moving to the next man, slapping food on his tray with the same admonishment.
"Ahhh, dat voman," Peter commented as Harry joined him. "She is a vunderful person. I hope she don't take me serious. I like to tease her. She needs her spirits bolstered."
"She's a fine lady," Harry added. "I met her while I was getting oriented to the ship. I guess I didn't realize women were allowed aboard ship -"
"Just dis vun." Peter interrupted. "In her case, it is different, special."
"Yeah. I kinda gathered that," Harry replied. "She's more than a cook; she's the Captain's niece."
"Dat is right. He brought her along on dis trip because he vanted her to see der vorld. Und vat better vay dan on his ship?" he said and gave a slight chuckle.
"She's more than just an ordinary cook, though," Harry said. "I noticed she's wearing a wedding ring. Is she married to an officer or one of the crew? Except for you and the Captain, the rest of the crew seem a little young for her. No offense intended, ya' understand."
Peter laughed. "No. She is not married to any of der crew. She is a vidow. She lost her husband last year in a terrible auto accident."
"I'm sorry to hear that," Harry replied, his attention perking up. "Was she badly injured?"
Peter hesitated, holding his forkful of mashed potatoes before him, and then motioned Harry closer. "I vill tell you dis," he said in whispered confidence. "Der tragic part of her husband's death vas dat he vas killed vis a beautiful young girl - how you say it - vis a hooker? Both ver killed instantly."
"With a hooker?" Harry frowned in disbelief. "Why chase young stuff when you have a woman like Osa at home?"
"I don't know. It vas tragic. Der deaths und der publicity about her husband, who vas a prominent attorney in Stockholm, just about killed poor Osa. She had to get avay, und Captain Andress asked her to sail vis us. Our cook had retired dis past year und it vas good timing. Der trip und der job of cooking for dis crew vould keep her occupied und her mind off her troubles."
"Good thinking," Harry responded thinking of his situation. "Hard work gets your mind off your problems. I know."
"Yah. Und to top it off, ve got us a darned good cook." Peter laughed patting his stomach.
"I agree," Harry replied with a grin. "I'm going to have to exercise twice as hard to work off all these calories."
"Und remember," Peter cautioned, shaking his fork in Harry's face, "all dis information is strictly confidential. Don't say anyting to Osa. I don't vant her to know I told you"
"Not a word. Scout's honor," Harry said crossing his heart with his index finger. "I have a better appreciation of the lady now. Not a word."
"Dat's der ticket! Dat's der vay Captain Andress vants her treated, a lady. He is very fond of her, and voe to der man who hurts her. He is extremely protective of her. I should varn you dat der section of der ship ver her cabin is located is off limits to all crewmembers. No man dares enter dere visout der Captain's permission. No sir, he is very protective of her. He vants to help her overcome her grief from der tragedy. It must hurt to lose somevun you ver so close to, somevun who shared your life und den to lose dem under such tragic circumstances. Tch, tch," he added with a forlorn shake of his head.
Harry laid his fork down. A lump the size of a baseball had suddenly formed in his throat. It still hurt; it hurt like hell. Every time he thought of Sandy he choked up. What a senseless waste of life. The Chink should burn in hell.
Peter was staring at him.
"Uh, I'll see you later on watch," Harry said. "I guess I'm not as hungry as I thought." He picked up his tray and left.
Peter looked after him momentarily, shrugged, and then continued eating. Osa glanced up from where she was serving, surprised at seeing Harry leave so abruptly. She hurried over to Peter wiping her hands in her apron. "Is Harry sick? He didn't finish his food, und I have prepared cherry pie for dessert."
"I don't know. He seemed suddenly upset. I don't know if it vas someting he ate or someting I said. It certainly couldn't be der food. It is excellent, as usual."
Osa smiled at the compliment. But it bothered her that Harry left so abruptly, and without even a nod or word to her.
Chapter 32
HEAVY SEAS AND SEASICKNESS
Nightfall found Nurad steaming up the St. Lawrence Seaway making good time in spite of the continuing foul weather. Harry stepped on deck for a couple of minutes for a breathtaking view of Quebec, its lights shining brightly through new falling snow, neon signs gaudy, the streets bustling with activity. Sandy would have liked this city with all its hustle and bustle. It was the kind of place she would have chosen for a romantic, getaway weekend: laughing, smooching over
a delicious meal, teasing, feeling the sexual tension building and knowing they'd end up in the sack wrapped up in each other's arms, grunting and groaning in ecstasy. He shook his head; it was all gone now. Grimly, he turned and stepped inside the first hatchway; it was time for duty on the midnight watch.
A new pilot had come on board. Unlike the previous pilot, this one was all business. He worked closely with the command officer guiding the ship along the last leg of its journey up the St. Lawrence river. At the helm, Harry responded attentively to commands, keeping the ship on an even northeasterly course toward the Gulf of the St. Lawrence and the Atlantic Ocean.
Harry's thoughts turned to Osa. Her husband must have been some kind of jerk. She was one sweet, classy lady. Classy. She had an outgoing personality and good looks. Why cheat on someone like that? She deserved better.
"Keep your eyes open, now, Harry. Ve vill see more traffic as ve get closer to der Gulf of der St. Lawrence," Peter said easing close to him.
Within a couple of hours Nurad was moving to a new rhythm. Harry sensed it at the helm, a different feel to the ship as it plowed
through large rolling swells, much different than the waters of the river or the Great Lakes. The rising, falling swells of the North Atlantic Ocean moved the behemoth to a new tempo.
Rounding Cape Breton Island, Nurad started its southward journey toward the Panama Canal.
Second Officer Helmstrund, their relief, mentioned that Osa was in the galley early this morning and had prepared an excellent breakfast. Surprised, Peter and Harry headed for the galley on the double.
Peter stopped momentarily on deck to gaze out across the dark, somber ocean. "Can you feel it?" he asked Harry, who had stopped by his side. "Der is a different feeling underfoot ven you sail on der ocean."
"Yeah," Harry replied. He was already aware of the change as the ship rose, dropped, pitched sideways and then rose again. Even at this moment he sensed a squeamish feeling grabbing at his stomach. He knew he had to get to the galley and get food into him quickly or he'd be seasick. Why, he never knew, but he always got seasick the first day on the ocean. Once having regained his sea legs he was all right.
"C'mon, Peter," he urged. "Let's go eat."
Hurriedly he moved through the serving line. Osa had prepared a sumptuous breakfast of eggs, bacon, fried potatoes, sausage and buttered toast. Harry failed to savor all the culinary delights but quickly filled his tray, giving Osa but a scant nod of recognition as he hurried off to a table where he began wolfing down his food.
"I didn't realize you ver so hungry," Peter said joining him. "Of course, I admit I am starved but you, you dashed right trough der line, und you hardly said a vord to Osa."
"Sorry," he said.
"Since ve get into der ocean und der rolling of der ship, I find I eat more. Is dat how you feel?"
Harry looked over at his friend and nodded, not missing a forkful of food. He knew he had to get food in his stomach. There was nothing worse than the dry heaves. A twinge passed through him; it was coming, that sick, nauseous feeling, the sudden perspiration, the gulping, trying to keep everything down. Glancing up, he was aware that Peter was staring at him. Then, he saw others were also staring at him, even Osa, who had stopped serving, a puzzled look on her face.
"Vat is der matter?" Peter asked. "You don't look too good."
Harry shook his head no. Already his stomach was doing flip flops. He grabbed up the sausage and toast, rolled them in a napkin and stuffed them in his jacket pocket. Then, amidst knowing smiles he bolted for the passageway and the main deck.
Peter found Harry leaning out as far as possible over the railing heaving his guts out. Harry knew from past experience that you puke cross wind or you got it back all over you. He retched until he thought his stomach was going to turn inside out and he could taste his asshole.
"Are you better now?" Peter asked, patting Harry gently on his shoulders. "Do you vant some dramamine? It helps —"
"Uh-uh," Harry moaned gazing down at the windswept waters. "It makes me sick." Unable to retch anymore, his stomach feeling like a boiling cauldron, he let Peter help him to their cabin. Weakly, he kicked off his shoes, shrugged out of his jacket and, with an effort, climbed up into his bunk totally exhausted.
"If you vant, you may use my bunk. It is closer to der head," Peter offered. "Just don't puke on it, okay?"
"Nooo," Harry groaned. "I'll be okay, honest" With a pasty look, he added, "I'll be all right in just a little while. Just let me rest."
Peter stood by the bunk grinning. He knew seasickness was no laughing matter. Anyone who had ever been to sea had experienced it. Anyone who said he hadn't been was a damned liar. "Remember, I'm in der bunk below you so, please, don't trow up wisout warning." With that, Peter stripped to his shorts, crawled into his bunk, pulled the covers up over his head, eased closer to the bulkhead and, shortly, was snoring.
Harry slept fitfully, changing positions often. Whenever his stomach started churning he rolled on one side or the other. There was nothing left to upchuck.
Damn Peter. Damn his snoring. How could he sleep so soundly
when I'm dying. He twisted about on the bunk then spotted his jacket. "Make sure you have plenty of food in your stomach," a former shipmate had once said to him. "Its the best thing for fighting off seasickness."
Reaching out, Harry grabbed his jacket and dragged it up onto his stomach. Fumbling through the pockets, he found the napkin with the toast and sausage. Lying back, he began nibbling at the food, feeling it moving slowly down into his rebellious stomach. He paused time and again, and before long realized he'd eaten all the food. Then he lay still waiting for that infernal, internal signal that would trigger his mad dash to the head. Surprisingly, nothing happened. Soon, sleep overcame him allowing his exhausted body to relax.
On wakening, he found Peter standing beside his bunk watching him. "You ver moaning und groaning so badly I could not sleep. How do you feel now?"
"Lousy. I don't know if I'm gonna die or live. I always get seasick the first time out, but I can't recall it lasting this long before." He gulped, feeling a churning in his stomach. Peter jumped back out of the way. "I'm really sick this time," Harry said. "Really sick!" Perspiration stood out across his face. He gritted his teeth. He couldn't throw up anymore; he couldn't!
"If you cannot make it, ve can send you back to der mainland vis der pilot boat," Peter said in a matter-of-fact manner, almost as though this was a common practice. "Dey vill be departing shortly."
Harry grimaced at the remark. At the same moment, his stomach churned with renewed fire. No! No! He couldn't leave the ship now. Not now! He was committed to his mission. To stop now was to face a life he didn't want to face, not Saginaw, not alone without Sandy. He forced a smile onto his face, a somewhat pasty smile, but a smile. "You can count on me, I want to sail with you, count on me."
"Dat is der ticket," Peter grinned. "I haf plans for you. You are a good man, Harry Martin. You rest now. I vill see dat food is brought down to you. I must report to der bridge now but I be back soon."
Harry heard the door close but his mind was contemplating the statement Peter had made - plans for him? He closed his eyes. He'd probably die of seasickness and never find out, and then he fell asleep.
Chapter 33
THE COOK TO THE RESCUE
The gray cement walls of his cell were overpowering. Harry lay in his bunk not believing the travesty of justice that had happened to him, to be accused and found guilty of the murders of Joe, Sandy and the Chink. The damned lawyers. They twisted his words, had turned the trial into a sham. Stan had sat there with a smirk on his face, star witness for the prosecution. Outside his cell he could hear the steady tapping of hammers as they constructed the gallows. "No!" he heard himself screaming. He was innocent; it was Stan. They had the wrong man! The pounding grew louder and louder. He closed his hands over his ears but the pounding continued. It was a bad dream; that was it, it had to be a bad dream. He had to wake
up. The pounding continued, growing in intensity.
Suddenly he sat bolt upright staring through glazed eyes at the wall, only it was a gray steel bulkhead, not a gray cement wall. Sweat beaded across his forehead; his whole body clammy wet. Gingerly, he reached out and touched the wall. Steel. Not a prison cell. He saw light. It was the porthole. A nervous laugh escaped his lips. Through the porthole he could see the rolling ocean and wind- whipped waves. It had been a dream, a horrible dream, but the pounding continued.
He glanced at the door. Someone was knocking. "Yes," he called out.
"Harry. It is Osa. I haf brought food for you," came her muffled reply.
"Come in, please," he called with a sigh of relief. So much for the gallows; so much for a very bad dream. Quickly he ran his fingers through his hair hoping to smooth down his tousled look, trying to
look a tad more presentable. Osa peeked inside, eyes bright, smiling. "Hi. I haf food for you. Are you hungry?"
The thought of food caused a momentary churning in his stomach. "I guess I could make a stab at it," he said, rolling over and resting on his right elbow, looking down at Osa as she stepped to the desk and set down a white towel-covered tray. She looked attractive in a white sweatshirt, the sleeves pushed up, and blue slacks. Her hair was pulled back into a long blonde pigtail. As she peeled back a corner of the towel the aroma wafted upwards. Harry inhaled deeply. "Smells good."
"You eat. I vill be back later, okay?" There was a sympathetic tone to her voice, a sympathetic look in her eyes as they met his.
He offered a weak smile. "Okay," he said, almost in a whisper.
She smiled, happy to see a more lively look on his stubble-covered face. "See you soon," she said and left.
The door closed and Harry shucked off his covers and rolled over the edge of the bunk slowly lowering himself to the deck. He held on tightly to the bunk frame for support sensing the pitch and roll of the ship. Although giddy, he felt a smidgeon stronger.