by Buzz Harcus
Unsteadily, he crossed to the desk, pulled out the chair and plopped down on it. Lifting the towel, his eyes feasted on hot, homemade vegetable soup, oyster crackers, a grilled cheese sandwich and a pot of steaming coffee.
He slowly pecked away at the food, alert to any sudden twinge that would send him dashing for the head. Nothing happened. He continued eating. The food stayed down. Before he realized it, he had devoured the sandwich, slurped down the soup and was downing the last of the coffee, all without the faintest inkling of nausea. With a sigh of relief, he let out a healthy burp, climbed back into his bunk, yanked the covers over himself and within a matter of minutes had dozed off.
Sleep was short lived, however, for he awoke to find Peter and several crew members standing beside his bunk. "Veil, how is der landlubber?" Peter grinned. "Yah," said Hans. "Ve vill haf to get a helicopter out here to ship you home. Vunce a landlubber, alvays a landlubber!"
"Yah, he has rubber legs, not sea legs," another chimed in. "Maybe ve keep him for shark bait."
The good-natured ribbing continued at Harry's expense. He took it in stride. He deserved it for he had been through it before, every time he had sailed. Even he was guilty of mocking seasick shipmates when they had spewed their guts out.
A knock on the door interrupted their fun. "Come in," Peter called. Osa's smiling face peeked inside. "I came to get der dishes -"
The smile disappeared at seeing all the men around Harry. Of a sudden, she realized they were harassing him.
"Shame on you!" she exclaimed angrily. "He is sick. You are picking on him. Out! Get out! All of you!" Like a protective mother hen she moved quickly into the cabin. "Out! Out!" she cried as she shushed them out the door, amidst their laughter and half-hearted protests. Slamming the door shut after them, she turned only to see Peter still standing by the bunk, grinning like a Cheshire cat. "You, too," she glared. "Out!"
"But Osa," he protested. "Dis is my cabin. I live here!"
"Oh! Dat's right!" She snapped acknowledging the fact. "Vell, den, don't pick on Harry." She waggled her finger under his nose. "You should know better dan dat."
Peter backed off, still grinning. "Okay, okay, I behave myself, honest. I von't pick on poor Harry."
Harry watched, amused at her sudden defense. Her anger dissipated when she saw the empty tray. "Good!" she beamed. "You haf eaten all der food. How do you feel now?"
"Good. The food was good. I even kept it down."
"Good! Good!" she exclaimed. She went to the bathroom, grabbed up a washcloth, wet it, wrung it out, then returned and gently wiped the perspiration from his face. The moistness felt cool and refreshing to him. Her hand was soft, gentle, as it moved over his unshaven face. He closed his eyes enjoying the attention. "You stay in bed. I vill bring dinner down to you later. You must build up your strength." She tucked the covers around his neck as she spoke.
Gathering up the tray of dirty dishes, she started for the door.
Peter stepped to the door opening it for her. As she passed him, she said, "Und if I hear of any more shenanigans, you and dem vill get bread and vater for a veek!"
Peter laughed heartily closing the door after her. "Dat Osa. She is vun fine voman. Vun moment she is cool und aloof; der next a clucking mudder hen. I tink she likes you, Harry But his words fell on deaf ears, Harry had fallen back asleep.
Harry woke to the fanning of pages. Glancing over the edge of his bunk, he saw Peter sitting at the desk glancing through a Swedish girlie magazine.
"Don't wear out the pages," Harry admonished.
"Oh, Harry, you're avake. Good." Peter dropped the magazine back in the desk drawer and stepped over to the bunk "You look trough dose pages at all dat young stuff. Whew! I don't know vat I vould do if I ever had such an opportunity vis vun of dos girls."
Harry laughed. "Sex sells. Women are getting bolder, want to show off their charms, what better way than in a magazine that caters to men."
"Yah, but I guess I am getting older. I like der old fashioned morals. I like it der vay it vas vis my wife, dating, kissing, long walks, an occasional touch. Save it for der vedding night."
"World's changing, Peter. Some colleges are even encouraging guys and girls to live in the same dormitory. I don't like it, but what the hell. I'm just one voice. But, then -" He stopped, for the thought of Sandy suddenly came to mind. She had been in college during that period, had spoken about the crazy times in her co-ed dorm. The sexual revolution had happened. She was emancipated; she was a part of the revolution. In fact, she had changed him. She had an aggressive appetite for sex. Would he ever find another jewel like her?
"Do you tink you'll be up to vorking on the midnight vatch?"
Harry's eyes widened. "I missed the noon watch?"
"You ver sick. I took care of it. No problem."
"Shit!" Harry swore. "Yes, I will make it tonight. You can count on me." He tossed off the covers, stretched and dangled his legs over the edge of the bunk. Easing himself onto the deck, he stood quietly holding onto the bunk frame for support. After a moment, he began walking around the cabin. "I'm almost there," he grinned at Peter as he continued, picking up the pace. "I'm really feeling better." The nausea was gone. He twirled around and stopped, slapping Peter soundly on his shoulder. "No kidding. I'm gonna live after all." Peter chuckled at the remark.
There was a knock at the door. Harry grabbed the doorknob and flung the door wide open. Osa stood before him with a tray of food.
"Harry, vot are you doing out of bed?" she said, startled at seeing him standing before her. Then, as her eyes took in his total being, she gasped for he was dressed only in his undershorts. Just as quickly, her head turned, eyes suddenly transfixed on the doorframe.
"Oops! Sorry," he said at her embarrassment, and turning, he grabbed for his pants, pulled them on and zipped up.
"I'm going to live, I'm gonna live," he said, laughing, grabbing her around the waist, dancing her around the cabin.
"Stop!" she screamed balancing the tray precariously, fearful of spilling its hot contents across the deck. "Harry, stop it! I vill spill der food!"
"Hey, I feel a hundred percent better."
"You are crazy," she laughed, breaking free, quickly setting the tray on the desk. "Crazy!"
"Aw, Osa, I feel good, thanks to you," he replied, peering over her shoulder as she uncovered the tray. "Uhmmm." His eyes swept over the mouth-watering array: boiled fish, mashed potatoes, green beans, fresh-baked bread with melted butter on top and a pot of coffee. "Beautiful! And I am hungry!"
"Sit und eat," she beamed, pleased at the compliment, further pleased at his speedy recover.
Harry needed no urging. He sat down and began eating, complimenting her several times about the delicious taste, which made her glow. "Oh, and Osa, thank you for your personal service. It's greatly appreciated."
"You are velcome," she replied with a slight curtsy. "Dis is der first time I haf served a crewmember in his cabin, but den, dis is der first time I haf ever seen such a really seasick sailor."
The teasing remark elicited a sour look from Harry. "Funny," he said. "Funny."
"I suppose I vill haf to go to der galley if I vant to eat," Peter said wearing a pained expression.
Osa caught the remark. "You get sick und I bring you food, too. But don't tink I give maid service. Just food. I don't go to men's cabins. It is wrong. You get sick. I feed you, und no more!"
"I didn't imply anyting" You were an angel come to my rescue, Harry hastily interjected. "I thank you for arriving in the nick of time." He raised her hand and softly brushed it with his lips.
"Ohhh, Harry," she cooed. "You embarrass me." Flustered, she jerked her hand back. "I-I must go now und set out der food for der odders. Uh, you must get dressed for vork, yah?"
She scooped up the tray of dirty dishes and hurried to the door. As she opened it to leave, she gasped. The clenched fist of Captain Andress had just started down to knock on the door.
"Uncle Karl!" Osa exclaimed s
hrinking back, almost dropping her tray.
"Osa!" he said, astounded at seeing her. "Vot are you doing here?" He glanced beyond her at Harry, then saw Peter and was relieved that the two weren't alone in the cabin. "Are you tending to der ill now?"
"He vas too sick to go to der galley," Peter added hastily.
"Ahhh, so it vas easier to feed him in der cabin."
"Yes, uncle. It vas." Osa felt intimidated by her uncle's stern look. He wouldn't dare think that she, that she and Harry-heavens no!
"Und how are you feeling now, Harry?" the Captain asked turning his attention to him, stepping into the cabin as he spoke.
"Better, sir. Much better. This morning I didn't think I was going to make it, but through the grace of God and Osa's fine cooking, plus the spirited support of the crew -" he gave a sideways glance in Peter's direction - "why, it looks like I'll survive. I'll be ready for duty tonight."
Captain Andress beamed at the remark. "Dat is good, Harry. Dat is good."
"Und did you do der honors of formally introducing Harry to my beautiful niece, Osa?" he said looking at Peter.
"Uh, dey had already met, sir," Peter replied. "In der galley earlier."
"Good." Captain Andress glanced at Harry, then Osa. "Osa is a vunderfiil, girl, Harry. I am very proud of her, except at der moment. I am disappointed in her -"
"Vy?" demanded Osa, surprised at the remark, looking askance at her uncle. "Vot haf I done?"
"Vell, you know dis part of der ship is off limits to females. You should not be here." Although his voice was stern, there was a twinkle in his eye as he winked at Peter. "You know how I feel about people being in off-limit areas."
"But Harrys sick," she protested. "He needed nourishment."
"True. All I said vas dis area is off limits, much like your part of der ship is off limits to men. Dat's all." He scratched at his beard for a moment, and then added, "Of course, I'm sure dere are circumstances dat occur ven rules might be broken, such as now, to assist a sick person."
Peter scratched his head. What was the man driving at?
Captain Andress turned his attention to Harry, taking in his unkempt appearance, mussed hair and swarthy whisker growth. "I suggest you get cleaned up before reporting for duty," he said as he headed for the door, "und dis time don't take a shower mit your clothes on." The door clicked shut behind him.
Osa almost dropped the tray of dishes. Her eyes darted to Harry, her uncle knew.
"Ven did you take a shower vis your clothes on?" Peter asked somewhat perplexed at the captain's comment.
"Uhhh, I stepped into the shower to check out a dripping handle. I accidentally turned it the wrong way and got soaked. The captain thought it was funny."
"Oh." Peter smiled, accepting the explanation. He glanced at his watch. "I vill see you later. I got tings to take care of."
As the door closed behind him, Osa looked at Harry. "I am so embarrassed," she said. "Uncle Karl knows you ver in my cabin. He vill tink I am not a nice girl."
"I doubt that. I think he understands it was an innocent mistake on my part." He laughed. "It was dumb and I'm sure I must have looked dumb walking down the corridor soaking wet.
"You did," she said, laughing. "You really did."
Their eyes met, locked on each other for a moment, and then her eyes shifted to the tray of dirty dishes. "Uh, I must go to der galley to serve dinner. I see you later?"
"Yeah, later. I gotta get cleaned up and ready for duty."
Once again their eyes met. Harry felt prickly warmth as he gazed into hers. Again, she shifted, breaking eye contact. What was it about her that bothered him? Here was a mature, fully blossomed woman, yet she wore the aura of innocence of a young maiden.
Osa, too, had felt a tingling warmth radiating through her and immediately broke eye contact. She didn't want to be accused of flirting. "Goodbye," she said of a sudden and quickly let herself out.
Chapter 34
TRAVERSING THE PANAMA CANAL
Foreboding snow clouds changed to fleecy white as Nurad moved ever southward leaving the cold, surging, wind-whipped swells of the North Atlantic for warmer, calmer waters and the soft caress of the tradewinds.
Huge masses of ice clinging tenaciously to the ship's superstructure broke free with sharp, cracking sounds, crashing into the ocean or shattering across the steel deck and spilling over the side. Many hours were spent by the crew chopping ice free and heaving chunks overboard.
Within a couple of days the weather changed dramatically climbing into the 70's, and Harry found himself digging into his locker to get out light-weight work clothes.
As they moved further south beyond Florida and into the Caribbean Sea on a steady course toward Panama Canal, Harry began seeing a greater variety of ships in the shipping lanes.
Duty watch became more demanding. He was constantly scanning the horizon, and then the radar scope, then back to the horizon for visual location of ships. Through his binoculars he distinguished ships of varying sizes and makes: tankers, freighters, containerized cargo ships, super tankers, passenger ships, small coastal freighters and countless colorful yachts of all descriptions happily sailing the placid waters of the Caribbean.
The Otto J. Nurad arrived off the Panama Canal early one morning just after daybreak and waited its turn to enter the Port of Cristobal. On deck, having gone off watch and yet too excited at being at the Panama Canal to hit the sack, Harry stood watching the passing scene. He felt a big lump in his throat at seeing two large American aircraft carriers and four destroyer escorts move past them, old glory waving boldly in the slanting rays of the morning sun. Almost automatically, he snapped to attention as the ships passed. The red, white and blue never looked better.
Then it was Nurads turn to enter the Panama Canal and began its 51-mile, fourteen-hour journey to the Pacific Ocean.
Harry walked along the upper deck stopping periodically at the railing to observe the intricate task of moving the behemoth upward eighty-five feet through the Gatun Lock's three levels. He listened to the crisp commands of the pilots to the harried, nimble lock workers, themselves a sharp contrast to the slow-paced civilians ambling along the shoreline. Nurad’s 730-foot length and 75 foot beam was easily accommodated in the 1,000-foot length and 110 foot width of the locks.
The morning had turned hot and muggy. Harry perspired freely. Even the faintest of breezes was welcome although it had no effect on the humidity that hung heavily in the air. On glancing down at the main deck he was surprised to see the man with the angry scowl staring up at him. It was the man who had watched him as he frantically struggled to haul himself back aboard ship when he'd slipped on the ice and almost slid overboard. The scowl remained unchanged, the eyes dark, contemptuous.
What the hell is bugging you? Harry wondered, deciding the best thing to do was confront the man and settle any differences. Harry hurried down the steps to the main deck but the man had disappeared. He was nowhere in sight. Puzzled, Harry finally gave a shrug of his shoulders. So much for effort. One day they'd meet and then they'd settle any misunderstanding.
As the ship raised upwards in the lock, Harry watched fascinated, marveling at the powerful structure. This was truly one of the engineering marvels of the century and one of the great man-made wonders of the world.
Once free of the locks, Nurad started its slow journey across the twenty-five mile length of Gatun Lake. A sudden shower swept across the lake and Harry made a quick dash for cover under the back superstructure, almost bumping into Osa who was just stepping on deck.
"Oops!" he cracked. "We've got to stop meeting like this."
"But I just came on deck," she said, perplexed at his remark.
Harry chuckled. "Just an old American saying. Forget it."
They stood back under the overhanging deck out of the rain. Just as quickly as it began, the rain stopped. Already, the deck was steamy as the evaporating water rolled in a snaking fog across the hot steel plates.
"It is beautiful her
e," Osa said taking a deep breath, gazing out across the lake.
"Yeah, it is," Harry replied, studying her out of the corner of his eye, the golden blonde hair, and looking cool and comfortable in a white, lightweight, sleeveless cotton dress.
Harry wiped the perspiration from his brow. "It's too hot, too muggy," he added after several moments. "I prefer the northern climate. I like the changing seasons: spring, summer, fall and winter - and skiing."
"You ski?" There was excitement in her voice, in her eyes, as she looked at him.
"Yeah. Downhill and cross-country. Why?"
"I ski, too," she beamed.
"Really?" Harry's interest perked up. "Where do you ski?"
"My family lives in der middle part of Sveden at der base of a large mountain, a little town you vouldn't know. Dey operate a ski resort. It has become a very popular ski resort for downhill skiers. Ven I am home in der vinter, I am alvays skiing. I luf it!"
"You must be a good skier."
"Vell, I like to tink so. I am a member of der ski patrol."
"I'd say you're a good skier then. Me, I'm more the intermediate class skier, too advanced for the 'bunny hill' but not quite up to the mogols. Of course, the hills in northern Michigan can't compare with the mountains of Sweden. But, we do have a lot of fun."
"Yah. Ve can ski five, sometimes eight kilometers down der slopes of der mountain. You should come to Sveden. I vould be happy to show you how ve ski."
"Thanks for the invitation," Harry grinned. "Maybe I'll take
you up on it one day."
"I am serious. Der invitation stands."
"Accepted." His grin broadened. "And cross-country?"
"Oh, yes. Ve haf many kilometers of trails trouout der countryside. It is very healthy." She took a deep breath, and then laughed. "I sound like you. I, too, enjoy der changing seasons."
Harry laughed, wiping his forehead again. "Here we are both sweltering from the humidity in this 90 degree weather, in the shade, yet, and we stand here talking about skiing in the winter, the foul weather we just sailed out of. I think we're both crazy."