China Marine: Tsingtao Treasure

by Buzz Harcus

  No! He cajoled himself. There is no place for her in your thoughts. Retrieving the money is the most important, singular thing that should be on my mind. Any thoughts of her, any thoughts about sex shall be stricken from my mind!

  Opening his sea chest at the foot of his bunk, Harry pulled out his winter jacket, held it high and examined it. In the short space of time he had available to him he had already been able to accomplish certain changes in its outwards appearance. He had slit the inner nylon material and carefully pulled the alpaca lining out of each pocket. Each pocket was just a shade larger than the size of a dollar bill. When completed each pocket would be able to hold a packet of bills about two inches thick, hopefully all large denomination bills. Once the pockets were filled, they'd be sealed with the Velcro tabs, and then the jacket would take on its original bulky appearance. Now he was involved in the tedious task of sewing Velcro strips to the opening of each of the pockets.

  Sewing had become a time-consuming part of his task. He found himself constantly on edge, fearful of Peter popping in on him, asking questions that he preferred not to answer. Yet, of late, he noticed Peter was extremely busy off running about the ship. He sensed the man was under a lot of tension and he did his best to stay out of his way.

  He had only been sewing a short time when his thoughts strayed to Osa. Dammit! She looked so gorgeous standing on deck by the rail, the bare shoulders, rise and fall of her breasts under the clinging material of that sexy dress, and that look in her eyes. There was a message there, an invitation.

  A sound outside the cabin interrupted his thoughts. Peter! Quickly he gathered up the Velcro, sewing kit and jacket and was stuffing everything into the bottom of his sea chest just as the door opened.

  "Hello," Peter said stopping just inside the cabin, doffing his cap and sailing it across the room where it landed on his bunk. "Haf you lost someting?" he asked seeing Harry kneeling at the foot of the bunk

  "No. Nothing. I was just checking for something in my sea chest." His fingers passed over the covers of his banjo albums. "I thought I'd give the crew a treat tonight," he said pulling out the albums. "Just a few good banjo recordings."

  "Banjo music?" Peter asked quizzically.

  "Banjo! You mean to tell me you've never heard banjo music before?" Harry held the albums up for him to see. "Why it's the native musical instrument of America, mom, apple pie, fun and happiness, sing-along and hand clapping music." He closed the lid on his sea chest and stood handing the albums to Peter. "These are my favorite albums. Think the crew would like a little American culture?"

  Peter laughed as he glanced at each of the albums. "Yah. Good idea. I know of der banjo. Come. Ve go to der galley und play dem." He tucked the albums under his arm and together they headed for the galley.

  The room was somewhat subdued, a sharp contrast from the hubbub at mealtimes. Crewmembers were relaxing, playing cards, reading, writing letters and involved in any number of lively discussions. Harry was surprised at finding Osa socializing with them. It was the first time he'd seen her in the galley in the evening. She had changed to gray slacks and a soft, pale blue pullover sweater Her face lit up at seeing Harry enter.

  "Your attention, please," Peter called out. "Ve haf a special treat tonight. Harry has brought along some of his American banjo records vich he vill play for us. I tink you vill enjoy dem." He turned, thrusting the albums into Harry's hands. "Tell dem."

  Harry stood awkwardly for a moment trying to think of what he could say about the music. "Well, there's not too much to say about the banjo. It's a different kind of instrument, a different kind of music. I think the best thing I could do would be to play the albums and let you decide for yourselves if you like it or not."

  Turning to Peter, he asked, "Where's your record player?"

  "Come," Osa said jumping to her feet. "I vill show you ver der record player is." She led Harry back to a small room on the far side of the kitchen. "Dis is my office und dis is our record player," Osa beamed. The smile on his face faded as he looked toward a corner shelf unit on which stood a record player that had obviously seen much better times. There was a stack of worn albums, most sans jackets, next to the unit. A cursory check shocked him; it looked like they had been through the war, their covers battered and scratched. Harry cringed; the albums he held were some of his prize albums.

  "Ve haf der music piped into der galley to a couple of speakers. Dey vill hear it ven you put on your records."

  Harry looked the archaic record player over carefully, then took one of the records that sat behind it, an album by ABBA, slipped off the jacket and placed the disc on the turntable. "I'll just check it first," he said to a watchful Osa. He turned on the power; the turntable began revolving. That was a good sign. Placing the needle down in the first grove, he adjusted the volume and tone, and then listened to the sounds of ABBA. The needle was good, good enough to use on his prized albums. "Good," he grinned at Osa, "good."

  He stripped off the old record and replaced it with his Harry Reset recording. He set the needle down and banjo music suddenly flooded the room. He glanced up toward Osa only to find she had left. Disappointed, he turned back to his task, stacking the albums on the holder, and then headed for the galley.

  Those in the galley were listening and smiling. Peter winked giving him a thumb's up. Several others nodded and gave the thumb's up sign of approval. Osa, too, was smiling. Harry acknowledged their approval, grabbed a cup of hot coffee and sat down next to Peter, across from Osa. "Dis is fine of you to share your music vis us," she said. Harry flushed. Was it the music or the way she looked at him with those warm, inviting eyes.

  "Are you a musician?" she asked.

  "No. I'm not," he replied somewhat apologetically. "I love the banjo, in fact had tried to learn the instrument one time but gave up, all thumbs." He laughed. "So, I buy banjo albums and play them. These are some of my favorites. I really dig banjo music."

  "I like it too," she said, her smile broadening.

  With hot cups of coffee, they settled back with the others listening to the music. When the album, "The Happy Sounds of the Flint Banjo Club," dropped onto the turntable and the first stirring sounds of "Alabama Jubilee" filled the room, the mood of the listeners became even more festive. Everyone was smiling now, clapping hands, tapping toes. Those who knew the words sang along.

  "I really like dat music," Peter grinned. "It is happy music. I really like it."

  "That group is just down the road from Saginaw in Flint, Michigan," Harry said. "I used to go and watch them perform quite often. A really great group, probably fifty banjoists."

  "Are you a musician?" Peter asked. Osa laughed. He hadn't heard her ask the same question only minutes before.

  "No. I play the radio, television and record player," Harry replied with a grin. "I was just telling Osa that I tried to play one once but I couldn't read music, didn't know what a chord was and couldn't fit my fingers to the strings. I think the instructor was relieved when I quit. Anyways, I always buy banjo albums. I play the music as background for parties and other fun times."

  Soon another album dropped onto the turntable. Harry's eyes lit up, one of his favorites: Johnny Ford. As the distinctive artistry of Johnny Ford filled the air, the room became silent. Harry smiled. It always happened when Johnny played. The proverbial pin could drop and be heard in the silence of the room.

  "He's a young fellow with a black patch over one eye," Harry whispered across to Osa. "I met him. He's the greatest. Best banjo player I've ever heard."

  Osa sat back listening to Johnny Ford, a far away, pensive look on her face. Harry studied her features. Beautiful, he thought, absolutely beautiful. A flustered, embarrassed smile broke across her face when she glanced up catching him staring at her.

  "Dis is nice," she whispered as the last strains of Johnny's record faded. She reached across patting Harry's hand.

  Warmth spread through him as her hand gently came to rest on his rubbing lightly. A message? Naw, he
thought; don't go getting any funny ideas about her. She's nice, but not your type. You want the dark-haired, dark-eyed, buxom, lusty brunettes with the ready smile and body to match. Still, her hand felt good as it had come to rest on his.

  The evening flew by with those present asking him to play the records over several times. Harry obediently obliged, pleased they liked the music.

  Peter looked at his watch, and then turned to Harry. He pointed to his watch. Harry got the message, time for the night watch. He turned to Osa. "I have to go on duty. If you don't mind, I'll leave you in charge of my albums. Okay?"

  "Yah. No problem," she beamed.

  "You'll guard them with your life, right?" he said grinning at her. "They're collectors items, very difficult to replace."

  "Yah. You can count on me," she grinned. "Vis my life."

  Harry laughed. "Good."

  "Vere are der jackets?" she asked.

  "Back by the record player," he replied.

  "Show me, please," she said, a warm, come-hither look glowed in her eyes.

  "Sure," he responded. "Come and I'll show you."

  He ushered her from the galley back to where the record player was located. As he stood behind her, bending forward to show her the record jackets, his hand came to rest lightly on her waist. There was no protest. The faint, sensuous aroma of her perfume filled his nostrils. On a sudden impulse, he bent forward kissing her lightly on the nape of her neck. Osa flinched, glancing around at him, a surprised look on her face at his boldness. But before she could say anything, he pulled her close and kissed her, crushing her warm, full lips to his, and his arms encircled her pulling her tightly to him. In that moment, as he sensed her melting in his arms welcoming his touch, his tongue probed lightly against moist lips, and then, like a searing firebrand, slid deeply inside.

  Although startled, she had seemed to accept the invasion, even moaning as their kiss grew in intensity, and then his hands slid down encompassing her solid buttocks, pulling her hard against his burgeoning erection.

  It was then he realized she was struggling against him. "No!" she moaned. "No!" Jerking free, gasping, she pushed away from him. Her face registered neither anger nor passion, but abject fear. Wide- eyed, wiping the wetness from her lips, she stared at him with eyes which suddenly brimmed with tears.

  "Dis is not right," she said in a trembling voice. "You should not haf done dat. I'm not dat kind of voman."

  Harry thought she looked like a frightened schoolgirl who had just reacted to her first feel.

  "Osa, wait —"

  "I must go." She blurted, pushing past him.

  "Well, I'll be damned," Harry muttered looking after her, then at the swinging doors. "I read her message loud and clear!" He jammed his hand in his pocket to adjust his slowly deflating erection. "The widow sent a message then changed her mind. I'll be damned!"

  The galley seemed chillingly still when he returned. All eyes seemed riveted on him as though knowing of his dastardly deed. Already he was beginning to feel like a cheap hustler. If she had only stayed a moment longer, he could have apologized, could have told her he mis-read her "invitation." He was sure of one thing; he'd screwed up their friendship royally. Dammit! She was too nice for a cheap pass like that. What the hell had come over him to do such a stupid thing like that?

  He stopped at a table where one of his friends, Sven, was reading, and asked if he would keep an eye on his albums as it was time for him to go on duty. Sven agreed. Harry quickly left the galley and headed topside. Dammit, Martin, he chastised himself. She's got enough troubles without a middle-aged stud trying to make a pass at her. It was uncalled for. He had to apologize — and soon!

  In her cabin, Osa slammed the door shut, kicked off her shoes and threw herself across her bed. What gall! "I'm not dat kind of girl," she spat. "I did nossing to lead him to tink I vas dat kind of - dat kind dat Rudy vould chase after."

  Tears trickled down her cheeks. All she wanted was to be friends; was that asking too much? Yet, when their lips had first touched, the warm sensation it had triggered, the fulfillment of yearning to be kissed again after so long. True, she had felt herself melting in his arms at that moment. A tingling sensation still coursed through her body as she recalled the way he had held her, the feel of his hands roaming over her body creating a feeling deep in her loins that ached for release.

  She had felt dead inside for so long, so very long. Rudy had ignored her while he chased after young whores. She knew what he was doing. She wasn't stupid; she heard the gossip. She had turned away from him in bed.

  When Harry forced his tongue between her lips, it was as though he were treating her like the tramps Rudy chased after. She shook her head. She was not that kind of girl! Not a whore! Harry had to be taught a lesson much like she had taught Rudy. What he did, it couldn't happen again. Never!

  Chapter 36

  FINDING TROUBLE, EXPLORING THE NURAD

  Two full days, forty-eight hours, had passed and there had been no sign of Osa. Each watch began to weigh heavily on Harry, especially the midnight watch. Except for an occasional malfunction of the radar, which raised the captain's ire, nothing noteworthy happened, and he was left with his thoughts of the other night and his feelings of guilt. He had tried in vain to contact Osa to apologize. It was as though she had become invisible, at least to him. Others saw her, whether in the galley, along the corridor or on deck, but for him, she had seemingly disappeared.

  Time and again his thoughts strayed to her, the guilt he felt about his actions further compounded when Peter returned his albums. Sven had given them to Osa, who turned them over to Peter saying she did not want to be responsible for them. There was no reprimanding intonation in Peter's voice indicating anything was amiss between the two of them; she had merely asked that the albums be returned.

  Had Peter noticed anything different about Osa of late, Harry asked one night during their watch. Peter had thought for a moment, and then said she seemed pre-occupied in her work more than normal, probably some woman kind of thing. He shrugged it off. Woman are that way; unpredictable. Harry said he, too, had noticed it, that she seemed more aloof of late.

  Dammit! It was a stupid thing to do, he told himself for the thousandth time. You don't build lasting friendships that way. Had he mis-read her body language, the smile, the touch of her hand? She hadn't really resisted when he first kissed her. How the hell could he apologize when he couldn't find her?

  The thought occurred to him that maybe she was being serviced by one of the younger studs and she didn't want any complications in her life, but who? Hell, who knows! Even she had to get rid of her sexual urges, sexual frustrations, somehow. He did. All men did. Women must, too. Ahhhh, to hell with her!

  He peered ahead into the empty darkness, another boring night was ahead. Yet, time and again his thoughts strayed to her, the warmth of her kiss, the firmness of her buttocks. Damn, but she had a good body for her age and she was damned attractive to boot. Then he snickered; the longer he was at sea, the more attractive she'd probably become.

  At 0400 hours Second Officer Sigmund Helmstrund, a tall, blonde, steely blue-eyed Swede with sharp, chiseled features, joined them. He had a good physique, Harry noted, most likely from all the exercising he did. Every morning after his watch, Sigmund could be seen jogging around the deck. Harry decided the man was a bonafide health fanatic, always exercising, lifting weights and jogging.

  The thing that bothered Harry the most about the Second Officer was his youthful arrogance and aloofness. If he could be taken down a peg or two, he'd probably turn out to be a pretty decent person. Harry recalled his dad saying first impressions weren't always the most reliable, but more often than not, pretty certain of a person's character. Then, too, Harry recalled that dad had said to keep an open mind, that someone we might dislike or distrust at first might end up being one of our strongest supporters. Maybe by the end of the voyage things might be different. One could only hope. The thought suddenly occurred to him; was
Helmstrund Osa's lover?

  There seemed to be a subtle rivalry between Peter and Sigmund that Harry noted early on. A chance comment overheard in the galley by one of the crewmen further substantiated his belief about the rivalry. There was a strong possibility this would be the captain's last voyage, that he was slated for the front office with a major promotion and that a new master would be assigned to Nurad.

  The draw for command was between First Officer, Peter Selham, an older, seasoned veteran, and Second Officer, Sigmund Helmstrund, a younger, more aggressive officer, and who just happened to be the son of one of the largest stockholders in the shipping line.

  "I see you up and at 'em every morning after watch getting your laps in around the deck," Harry commented to Sigmund, glancing over at the man.

  "Yah," Sigmund replied, "six kilometers."

  "That's a lot of jogging. You must be in pretty good shape. Getting ready for the Olympics?"

  Sigmund laughed. "No. Just staying in shape. Und speaking of staying in shape, I see you vorking out almost every evening. You are in good shape for an old man. I haf noticed."

  "Old man! Old is a state of mind," Harry retorted looking askance at the young officer.

  Peter kept his eyes buried in his binoculars scanning the horizon, but a smile had broken across his lips at Sigmund's comment.

  "Oh,' he blurted, "I did not mean dat you -"

  "You know the old adage: healthy mind, healthy body," Harry interrupted, and then laughed at the embarrassed look on Sigmund's face. "Healthy mind 'cept in certain matters," he added.

  Peter could not contain himself. Lowering his glasses, he said, "Sigmund, vot he means is dat he is a healthy, dirty old man."

  "Oh." And then Sigmund laughed. "I see."

  "Harry is not like odder men his age," Peter continued. "He don't know how to slow down. You listen to his adventures some time. Dis man is someting else. His exploits vis vomen is mind- boggling."