by Langdon, L.
Finally, he reached a tiny, hidden lagoon and tied the boat to a float which was little more than a couple of logs. “We have about a mile to walk.”
Gerri was happy to have a chance to walk through the woods and impatient to see what was at the end of the trail. Sven was carrying a backpack that looked full. Gerri tried once more. “What’s in the backpack?”
“You’ll see.”
Then they came out on a rocky beach. There was a shack—no, two shacks—a ways up the beach. That must be the surprise, she thought, but she couldn’t see anything special about them. As they got closer, she could smell a faint scent of sulfur, and she thought she heard the faint burbling of a stream.
Finally, Sven stopped, put down his backpack and looked around expansively. Gerri followed his gaze. The smell was stronger, and there was a trickle of water coming out of a pipe on the beach between the shacks and the ocean. Oddly enough, it appeared to be steaming, even though the temperature was only in the sixties.
“OK, Jerry, here’s your fondest wish.” He gestured expansively in the direction of the shacks. “This is White Sulfur Hot Springs. All the hot water you could ever want. There’s a pool inside—not large enough to swim in, but plenty large enough for several people to bathe in. I brought soap and towels. You’re not the only one that is aching for a bath.”
Gerri stared at him in shock as she tried to assimilate this information. Bathe? As in undress and bathe? Sure enough, as she stared, Sven started unbuttoning his shirt. She looked around desperately, hoping to get some inspiration—some way out. This was ‘peeping Thomasina’ to the tenth power.
Sven saw her dismay and misunderstood. He had already decided that the kid was shy. “Don’t worry; there’s nobody around. I’ll bet there’s not a woman within ten miles of here. Hell, there’s probably not a single other person within ten miles.”
Gerri ventured another glance at him. His shirt was entirely off and he laid it beside the backpack. She couldn’t help but notice his muscular physique—but somehow appreciating it made her feel even worse. She could see no way out. With a moan, she crumpled to sit on a large rock, turning away from him and putting her hands up to frame her face and prevent her from seeing him. “I can’t! I’m sorry, I just can’t,” she wailed.
Sven was angry now. He knew the kid was a bit weird, but this was too much. “I’ve gave up an afternoon of fishing and a wasted fair amount of fuel just so you could get your wish. Are you crazy?”
Gerri felt his contempt as his words lashed her. A feel of utter hopelessness descended over her. An hour ago, she had been on the top of the world. Now she felt like dirt. Sven had gone to all of this trouble to surprise her…
“I’m sorry,” she repeated. In her dejection she did something which just added to her shame—she started to weep.
Sven saw the tears falling on her jeans and turned away in disgust. Truly, a head case! Well, he decided, at least he’d get a bath. He picked up the backpack and his shirt and walked toward the larger shack. As he got there, he turned and looked back. Then he shrugged. “I’m taking a bath—a nice long hot bath. You can sit out here and sulk if you want.”
Gerri sat there after he disappeared, steeping in her misery. She frantically tried to think of something that she could say that would make this all right—to restore his good faith in her. She was surprised to realize how much that meant to her. But it was useless. There was nothing she could do to fix this up. Besides, she remembered her mother’s words: one lie begets another, and that begets another, and so on. It was better to avoid going down that path in the first place.
And Sven deserved better than that. He was a kind and gentle man who had been unfailingly supportive of her. And he can melt me with a smile… But that didn’t count, she chided herself. Could she dare to confess? That was the honorable thing to do, but would that make him even angrier? She heaved a sigh. At least he was enjoying his bath. He deserved that enjoyment, just as she deserved her unhappiness.
Sven was not enjoying his bath. He had been as anxious to soak and bathe as Jerry had seemed to be and, after he was inside the shack, he automatically finished undressing and slipped into the pool. But, even as he sat there soaping up, his mind roiled with anger. He replayed the last parts of the conversation over and over, looking for a rational explanation—some sort of exculpatory interpretation. Because he liked the kid. Jerry was the first deckhand whose company Sven could actually enjoy.
But now, he was rethinking that. He had no desire to be around a head case; that was barely better than being around a drunk like Mike. But most of the time Jerry seemed perfectly normal. And he was sharp. So what set him off? All of a sudden, he had a total meltdown. As soon as Sven talked about bathing—no, as soon as he started undressing—Jerry hid his face, his voice went all falsetto, and he started crying like a girl…
Something clicked into place in Sven’s mind. Could Jerry be…? That would make me the dumbest S.O.B. in all of Alaska! He hastily finished his bath, thinking over the past week as he did so. Could he have been fooled? Jerry took forever in the head—that would fit. There had been that incident: Jerry had been taking so long using the head that Sven had gotten tired of waiting, so he had peed off the side of the boat. He had heard a noise behind him. But when he had turned around, Jerry was nowhere to be seen.
But what about that hair? Surely a girl wouldn’t wear her hair like that. And what about a figure? Most women didn’t have exaggerated hourglass figures like Laura, but still…thinking back, Jerry didn’t seem to have much of a shape. Of course, as he (she?) said, ‘I can’t help the way my body is.’ Then too, Jerry always wore such baggy clothes—who could tell?
All things considered, the notion that Jerry was actually female was as good as any other idea that Sven could come up with. Of course, it made Sven feel like a fool and he didn’t like that one damn bit.
After Sven finished dressing and repacking the backpack, he paused in the doorway. Jerry was still sitting on the rock, head in hands. How to find out his/her real identity? And how to find out his/her underlying motive? Unless there was a convincing, benign reason for all of this, Sven wasn’t going to stand for it. He used to be easygoing, but over the years, Mindy’s attacks had worn down his tolerance.
He came up behind Jerry and squatted down on the rock. “What’s your real name?”
“Gerri is my real name.” She spoke barely above a whisper.
Sven glared at the back of her head. How could he have thought that was a male’s voice? It was rich and melodious—and very female. He had been so distracted by Jerry’s age that he assumed his voice hadn’t finished changing. He shook his head in self-disgust. “What’s the name on your driver’s license?”
“Geraldine. But please don’t call me that. I hate that name.”
Sven quirked a smile at that, but it was humorless and short lived. “Let’s start walking back to the boat. We’ve wasted enough time.” He followed Gerri silently for a few minutes, feeling foolish as he pondered her masquerade. Finally, he couldn’t stand the silence.
“Why? No, what made you decide to do this? Did you really think you could get away with it forever?”
“I don’t know. It seemed like a good idea when we talked about it.”
“We? Who is ‘we’?”
“My roommate Mindy and I. She thought it would be funny to…” She stopped. She wasn’t going to blame it on someone else.
Sven directed a disgusted look at the back of her head. He’d heard all that he needed to hear. Mindy was trying to make a fool of him again. She would doubtless be relating this story for months. He wanted to think about how to handle this before he spoke any more. “We’ll talk about it back when we’re back on the boat.”
Sven didn’t speak until he had maneuvered the Glacier Gal back out into the open ocean. By that time, he had decided that Jerry (Gerri, he reminded himself) probably wasn’t aware of Mindy’s obsession. Not that that made any difference: he still didn’t like
being duped, and Gerri was still guilty of that. But he wouldn’t mention Mindy to Gerri. They could sort that out for themselves.
“I don’t feel comfortable about having a woman on my boat,” he finally said. “And, more importantly, I don’t like being duped. Working with someone on a fishing boat makes for tight quarters, and I don’t want someone that I can’t trust completely. So here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to stop in Pelican and let you off. You can take a flight into Juneau from there and do whatever you want. Maybe you’ll find another fisherman to take you on. I don’t really care.”
He glanced at her. She looked stricken. Unconsciously, he softened his words. “You were a good deckhand, but I just can’t abide this.”
“I don’t have the money for an airplane ticket. I sent it all to my parents.”
Damn! I refuse to accept a guilt trip. “I’ll buy you a ticket to Juneau. Now, go pack up your stuff.”
The little fishing town of Pelican was in sight by the time Gerri returned to the pilot house. “I left my fishing gear in the cabin. I don’t want it anymore.”
How could she make him feel as though he was in the wrong? “You aren’t going to try to find another boat?”
Gerri didn’t answer immediately. Even if she could find another fishing job, it wouldn’t feel the same. Sven was larger than life to her, and she couldn’t stand that she had disappointed him so. “No, I guess I’ll try to scrounge enough money in Juneau to buy an airline ticket to Seattle. From there, I already have a ticket back to South Carolina.” She wouldn’t mention that it was a bus ticket—that would seem too much like a play for pity.
Finally, the moment came. Sven handed Gerri a ticket as the small Grumman Goose taxied up to the float. She hoisted her bag on her shoulder. “Thank you for the experience. I appreciate it. I’m sorry that I disappointed you.”
Sven eased the Glacier Gal out of Pelican’s harbor. He had a bad taste in his mouth. He almost wished that Gerri had gotten angry. Sven was a sucker for a woman’s sorrow. Laura had never realized that. When they had argued—and it was frequently towards the end—she would immediately get angry. Her anger met his anger and brought out the worst in both of them.
He had to remind himself that he was the wronged party as the Glacier Gal steamed back out to the fishing grounds. But it wasn’t satisfying. He’d only known her for a week, but the boat seemed empty without Gerri.
Chapter 10
Sven fished alone for the next week. No big deal—he’d done that numerous times when he was ‘in between’ deckhands. When the fish weren’t biting, he didn’t really need anybody. When they were biting, he needed the help. He had 10 lines and numerous hooks spaced out on each. They were controlled from two wells (small cockpit-like work areas), one for the lines on the port pole and one for those on the starboard pole. The wells were on opposite sides of the boat so, even with the power gurneys to bring the lines to the surface, he couldn’t grab the fish off quickly enough to keep all of the lines in the water. But he worked steadily and kept long hours to make up for it.
Solitude had never been a problem. Sven had always been comfortable in his own skin. He could use his short wave radio when he had the urge to chat or to share fishing tips with other fishermen.
On this trip though, he found satisfaction to be elusive. His thoughts kept sliding back to Gerri. Had he been too hard on her? Was she really a co-conspirator to Mindy, or was she just a handy tool for Mindy’s revenge? Was she going to be able to make enough money in Juneau to pay for her trip south?
He tried to tell himself that it wasn’t his problem, but that fell flat. She was young and, from what she had said, was on her first long journey. There were a lot of things which could happen to a young woman travelling alone. And, though Sven didn’t claim to be knowledgeable about racial issues, he was pretty sure that it would be even more dangerous for a Negro woman.
Oops, make that a black woman. He smiled as he remembered one of their many conversations during the week she was aboard. He had used the word ‘Negro,’ and she had—ever so gently—corrected him. Her ensuing explanation of the current preference for the term ‘Black’ was convincing—it wasn’t meant to be hostile, she had said, but rather served two purposes. First, it was empowering to choose your own label, and, second, it represented pride in one’s skin color—previously treated as an object of shame. He missed those conversations now.
Her work habits were excellent. And even when she didn’t know something, she was eager to learn and she caught on quickly. With Mike…well forget him. Even without his drinking problem, Mike hadn’t been a good deckhand.
It was therefore not surprising that Sven didn’t stay out on the ocean on this trip. He found himself working his way back through the Inside Passage toward Juneau. As long as he was in the area, he told himself, he would sell his current catch in Juneau and, maybe, while he was in town, he would discretely reassure himself that Gerri had made it onto the plane all right.
After he had sold his fish, he tied up in his slip at the boat harbor. Surprisingly, Wally was there to meet him. Sven cocked his head in puzzlement. “Why aren’t you out fishing?”
Wally scowled. “Engine’s acting up. I’m waiting for parts.”
“Sorry to hear that. How long?”
“Northern Marine ordered them from Seattle. They’re supposed to be coming by air in the next few days.”
Sven shook his head in sympathy. Days stuck in the harbor were days when you weren’t making any money. And that was trouble—after all, you had only a few months of fishing to make enough to live on for a year.
Wally, though, had other things on his mind. “Where’s that new deckhand of yours?”
“He turned out to be a she. I… I decided to let her go. I dropped her off in Pelican and she flew back here. I think she decided to go back South.”
Wally snickered. “I knew there was something wrong about that kid.”
Sven eyed him skeptically. “You mean you knew she was a female?”
Wally hesitated. He would love to claim omniscience, but… “Well, no.”
“So what was wrong?” This was a little late, but Sven wanted to call him on his earlier behavior. “Maybe the dark skin was the problem?”
Wally retorted indignantly, “I ain’t prejudice’. Some of my best…”
“Just shut up, Wally.” Sven was tired of this. Wally was many things—fiercely loyal to his friends, a procrastinator on his boat’s maintenance, and yes, a gold star, cranky curmudgeon. Was he a racist? Sven didn’t know. He had a feeling that that was—for anyone, not just for Wally—a complicated question, not one that had an easy answer. He remembered one time in high school—before Laura—when he had briefly dated a Native girl. Several classmates that he had thought were friends of both of them suddenly shunned the couple. And their parents? Neither set was happy. In fact, Ellen’s parents had sent her to Sitka to live. No, he couldn’t analyze Wally, and he really didn’t want to. But his behavior…
“Wally, I don’t know what you are or aren’t. But you know you were out of line when you met Gerri. You were purely rude. I don’t know if you or I will ever see her again, but I better not hear about your being that rude again. You’re better than that.”
Wally couldn’t meet his eyes. “Yeah, I guess I was a little rough on her.” Then a sly smile played around the corners of his mouth. “Mike said that there was a new waitress at the Arctic Saloon—a little colored gal.”
Sven frowned at him. Who else could it be? It’s not like there were a whole lot of black women in town. He swallowed his impulse to correct Wally’s inappropriate label for her. “That dive? Are you sure?”
“Mike’s sure there often enough; I guess he would know. Could be this Gerri person.” Wally grinned, relishing the chance to get Sven back for his earlier rebuke. “He said she had a cute little figure. One of the guys with him asked her if she wanted to make a little extra money on the side.”
Almost before Wally co
uld blink, Sven was in his face, glaring. Wally hastily raised his hands, palms out. “Whoa, buddy. Relax. I’m just telling you what he told me. Anyway, the way he tells it, she told the guy to get lost. And he had the sense not to push it.”
Sven blinked and stepped back. He couldn’t quite believe the force of his reaction. But Gerri didn’t deserve that kind of treatment. And Sven knew that he bore part of the blame. He had left her in a financially vulnerable position. “Sorry, Wally. I…” He just shook his head. He couldn’t explain his reaction to Wally if he didn’t completely understand it himself.
“Sure, man. No problem.” Wally was shaken. This was an unpleasant reminder of Sven’s speed and power. The old catch phrase ‘Toonder and Lightning’ that had been popularly applied to Sven during those heady days years ago flitted through his mind. Wally didn’t want any part of that—he had definitely pushed Sven too far. But how was he to know that Sven would be so defensive about her? “I didn’t mean to upset you. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“Yes, you should have. I want to know. I just wasn’t prepared.” Sven took a deep, calming breath. “She’s just a kid, Wally. Granted, she misled me, but she doesn’t deserve that kind of crap—from anybody.”
Sven seemed to have calmed himself, so Wally dared to venture his opinion. “You know what the trouble with you is? You’re stuck back in the fifties. Women nowadays think they’re equal to men—so why should you talk to them all special?”
Sven looked disgusted, but at least Wally had returned to his ‘normal’ crankiness. “Basic politeness, Wally. That works for both men and women.”
___
Sven spent the better part of the afternoon running errands and getting supplies for his next fishing trip. Thoughts of Gerri danced around in the back of his mind as he did so—her situation and his responsibility for it. Of course, he wasn’t giving Mindy a free pass—after all, Mindy had probably maneuvered Gerri into her charade.