“Fuck off, Bob. This is Havard’s local watering hole, not mine.”
Bob’s face curled. Pat flicked his head towards the door. “His hotel’s right around the corner.”
Havard put his arm around Pat’s shoulders and squeezed him tightly.
“Hey! Mind the bod’ there, Havard.”
“Hahahaha! This is a funny man. He is keeping me in stitches all the time. All the time.”
“Yes, Dr. Roche keeps us all in stitches,” Bob grunted. “You know, there are much nicer places than this, and not very far away, Doctor Troelson. I could take you—”
“Don’t tell me you are afraid of a few microbes, Doctor?”
“Afraid? Who said anything about being afraid? I don’t see the point in ruining one’s clothing, and—”
Havard closed his eyes tight as if to shut him out. “Ummmph!” he said. “Have a drink. What will it be?”
“Ah, how about a nice pinot greco? And do you think we might take a table?”
“For God’s sake, have a beer, Bob,” said Pat.
Bob’s mettle was no match for two grinning drunks. He resigned himself to a beer. With a twitchy glint of hope in his eye, he said, “Well, Doctor Troelson, have you managed to organize any sailing? All work and no play, after all,” and chuckled weakly as he inspected his glass.
“Why yes, Dr. Scholl. In fact I have procured the loan of a boat for this weekend. I have an arrangement with several sailing friends around the world, and we exchange boats when we travel.”
“Well, that sounds like a wonderful way to spend a weekend.”
“Do you sail, Dr. Scholl?”
“Well, yes, I have done a little. Mostly on a day-sailor down in Cape May. Nothing big, not in your league, but I enjoyed it.”
Pat muttered into James’ ear, “Bet his family were ready to feed him to the sharks after twenty minutes.”
“Have you, now, Doctor? Do you wish to crew for me this weekend? She is a rather large boat, and an experienced deck hand would be an immense help, you know.”
“Why, thank you very much, Dr. Troelson; I accept. Or should I say, Captain Troelson?” Bob winked. He picked up his beer in salute and fidgeted in his chair, pleased as punch.
“Dr. Troelson is fine, Dr. Scholl. You will be most welcome. Patrick has already declined, I am afraid.”
“If the Titanic wasn’t safe, then there’s no hope at all for that bathtub of yours.”
Havard shook his head. “Hahahah. In stitches. But if you change your mind...”
“I won’t, but thanks,” said Pat, and pulled his face into mock terror.
Havard turned to James. “And you, young man, do you fancy a nice sail?”
“Well, I don’t think I’d be much help, to be honest.”
“Oh, but you would, dear boy! Your mother has been invited, and I think it will make up her mind if she knows you are coming also.”
“Ah, I have to study.”
“Jesus, Jimmy, you’ll be with three fucking doctors!” Pat rolled his eyes, pulled a nearly-full glass to his lips, and didn’t remove it until he could be seen through the bottom. He waved the empty over his head until the bartender waved back.
Havard said, “That’s right, James. We can help you with your homework.”
Pat slapped the bar. “Jimmy, you could learn more chatting with Havard, here, over dinner than you would with your nose stuck in a book for a month.”
James’ eyes narrowed. “I suppose that’s true.”
Havard’s mustache twinkled. “It is settled, then? You will come?”
“Yeah, okay,” said James reluctantly.
Bob’s peacock-like posture slumped as his quality time with the great representative of the WHO shrank by two-thirds.
Twenty-eight
The two brothers arrived in JFK, arguing. They’d argued through the long flight from London, onto the Jetway, down the maze of moving walkways, and right along to the baggage belt, where they argued about Joseph’s traditional multicolored, flowing agbadas and cap. Hyacinth wore jeans and a T-shirt.
“When traveling to the United States, it is best to emulate the Americans,” proclaimed Hyacinth.
“No, no, my brother, you must show pride for your nation.”
“This is the way to show respect for your ancestors? You make like goat? Eh? No, not me.”
Joseph folded his arms and turned away. “Ah, there is no talking with you.”
“Look now, your garments are making police wan’ give us problem.”
An airport security guard was shadowing them, but the guard saw different types of dress all day, every day. It was their behavior that caught his attention. He followed them to immigration, where their animated discussions over nearly everything they had done, were doing, or were about to do irritated everyone around them.
When it was their turn to meet the immigration officer, the security guard signaled to her as the brothers stepped up to her booth together. “I’m sorry, gentlemen, one at a time,” she said.
“But we are brothers; we must enter the United States together.”
“Okay, okay, you just stand there and let me see your passport first,” the officer said, pointing at Joseph. She looked his British passport over and asked him, “What is the purpose of your visit to the United States?”
“To do work for Ezembe.”
“Is he your employer?”
“No, we do work for Ezembe. A white man, he is our employer.”
Hyacinth shoved into the counter. “Anh-anh! Do not say this to the immigration lady.”
“Excuse me, sir, please back away from the counter and be quiet.”
“But my brother, he does not know what he say.”
“Oh yes, I will say what I will say. You be quiet.”
“You be quiet!”
“Both of you be quiet, please, and you…” The officer pointed to Joseph. “…just answer my question. Who is your employer?”
Hyacinth shoved in again. “We have no employer. We have a holiday in United States.”
The woman dropped her pen to the desk and pointed at Hyacinth. “I won’t ask you again, sir; please step back and allow me to talk with your brother. Now, sir, is the purpose of your visit in the United States business or pleasure?”
“It is not pleasure. I did not wan’ come, but he said we must come to United States.”
“Who said that, sir?”
“The Oyinbo,” Joseph said.
“And you are being forced to work for this Eczema you mentioned?”
“Not ex-see-mah, Eh-zehm-bay! I always work for Ezembe,” Joseph boasted.
“Anh-anh! You must not say this thing!”
“Sir!” The immigration officer held the palm of her hand up to Hyacinth’s face. “Now, you work for Ezembe; all right, then. I just want you to tell me this: are you working for him here in the United States, and do you have the relevant work permit?”
“No need work permit to work for Ezembe. He does not pay!”
“Is this a work program? Does Ezembe have an address here in the U.S.?”
Joseph laughed. Hyacinth fidgeted uncomfortably.
“No, no! Hahahhah! Ezembe is not a man! He is not an employer. He spirit!”
“A spirit?”
“Yes, you see, Ezembe is a saint for our people.” Joseph smiled heartily, in the hope that he had educated the woman at last.
“I see. So you are here for religious reasons?” The officer pulled the database for proscribed political and religious organizations, and did a search for Ezembe. No match. She motioned for Hyacinth to hand her his passport as well, and cast her eye over it. She stamped them: thump, thump. “Welcome to the United States, gentlemen. You enjoy your stay, now.”
~* * *~
James pointed out that evening gowns and high heels were not suitable attire for a nautical weekend.
“But it’s a yacht,” Karen said.
“Sounds like it’s more of a tub—rough and ready, Mom. You’ll break your ankles in tho
se heels, for one thing,” he said and handed her a shoebox. She opened it, and inside were a pair of metallic silver top-siders. “That’s what you want.”
“Ooow! Thank you! How glam!” Karen kissed him, and returned to turning her wardrobe inside out.
“So what’s the deal with this guy? You got a thing going with him?”
“No, no. He’s just nice.”
“Good thing. Denmark is a long ways away. How old is he, anyway?”
“I haven’t asked, and neither will you.”
“Relax. You’re a big girl. I’ll let you make your own mistakes.”
Karen wrapped her hair in a scarf and slipped on some expensive tortoise-shell sunglasses. In tight jeans, she could pass for forty-something.
When Havard arrived, Karen bounced eagerly up to his car. James followed, less enthusiastically. “Cheer up,” Havard told him. “You will enjoy this.”
“I suppose it will be an experience, anyhow.”
“I can absolutely guarantee that much,” Havard said with a cheery wink.
In an hour, they were off the highways and on to country roads. The route covered a reasonably unspoiled area, with only the occasional wooden house or vegetable market interrupting the view. The tang of dying leaves set the air crackling in their noses. James found it strangely energizing.
The sun-silvered Chesapeake peeked out between pointed fingers of land as they neared the marina. “This is a beautiful place,” Havard, in his role as host and guide, declared. “There are so many beautiful places near the water—all over the world. A sailor’s world is blessed.” He winked at Karen.
There wasn’t much to the marina. Karen’s face dropped when she saw the beat-up wooden shacks and boats, all sorts, in various states of disrepair. James’ interest, on the other hand, was instantly piqued. An older, wiry man—bare-chested and smoking a hand-rolled cigarette—looked up from under the keel of a boat he was painting. He squinted and blinked as the smoke drifted into his nose and eyes.
“Hallooo, Pickin!” Havard called.
“Hey, Doc. Gonna do a bit of sailin’?”
“Indeed, indeed. Is she ready?”
“Yah, sure she is. Mr. Moore left her in good shape. Ya need anything?”
“No, no, we are fine, thank you, Pickin.”
“Ya need anything, I’ll be right here.”
Havard pulled the larger bags out of the trunk, and motioned for his crew to follow as he led them the length of the longest dock. At the end stood Dorabella. The bags dropped onto the dock with a thump. “Well, now, what do you think?”
Karen’s eyes traveled from the oiled wooden decks to the top of the mast. She nearly fell over backwards craning her neck. “It’s old!” she said.
“She, not it—never it—was built in 1946. But the design of these Skipjacks goes back to the nineteenth century. You like her?” Havard lit his long-stem pipe and stood back as his two guests gawked.
Karen said, “Are you sure she’s safe? She’s older than me!”
“Of course, of course. She is as safe as your house. She has become old because she is safe. If she were not a good boat, she would have sunk years ago, yes?”
“I suppose.”
“Come, let me show you.” Havard took Karen’s hand, and they stepped onto the deck. She wobbled as she gained her footing. Havard kept one eye on James as he walked the adjacent dock, examining Dorabella’s every detail.
“She’s beautiful, no?”
James nodded thoughtfully. “I like her.”
“Good!” Havard slid the hatch open and descended into the boat’s bowels. “Pass down the bags, James.” Those stowed, he offered his hand up to Karen. She took it without hesitation, and gingerly descended the steps.
“This is the main salon, which also is the galley, and will be my bunk as well.” The salon was of varnished mahogany, with a wood stove and a table for four. The brass fittings gleamed.
“Where is your bunk, Havard?” Karen asked.
“The table folds down to make a bunk. Forward in the bow here are two more bunks where James and Dr. Scholl will sleep, and in here is the head.”
“Head?” asked Karen.
“Toilet, m’dam. Here is a shower as well.”
“It’s very small.”
“But more than adequate, you will find.”
James ran his hands over the fittings, the drawers, the tiny, but usable galley, and the navigation table. “I have to tell you, I love this, Havard.”
“She is an excellent boat. My friend and his wife both live on her. They have sailed her all over the eastern coast. To Bermuda and the Caribbean, also.”
Karen’s jaw dropped. “Out into the Atlantic with this? Are you kidding me?”
“My dear lady, one can go around the world in a boat such as this. Though it is best suited to the waters of the Chesapeake.”
“If you say so. We’re not going to go far, though, are we?”
Havard’s eye twinkled. “As far as you wish, m’dam.”
James decided he had heard enough, and went exploring.
“And where will I sleep, Havard?” Karen asked.
“Ah, I have saved the master cabin for you, m’dam.” He moved her down the narrow passageway, and slid a door to reveal a queen-size polished teak bed. On the sides there were wooden drawers with brass handles, and a brass oil lamp on either side of the headboard.
“So, you approve?”
“Oh, it’s beautiful!” Karen jumped on the bed, and bumped her noggin on the low overhead.
“Careful!” Havard chuckled roundly.
A voice called from above, “Ahoy!”
“I think Dr. Scholl has found us!” Havard poked his head through the hatch. An awestruck Bob was on the deck, gaping. “Hello, dear Doctor. Had you a pleasant drive?”
“Oh, it was okay. This boat, Dr. Troelson, it’s amazing!”
“Well, you are very welcome aboard. Shall we get underway?”
“Underway?” said Bob.
“Yes, in motion, Doctor. We will leave the harbor, and then have a lovely moonlight sail to the other side of the bay. There is a wonderful cove on the western shore, and we can have a nice time at anchor.”
“Of course, Captain.” In the spirit now, Bob snapped a salute, then did a smart about-face and stumbled on one of the spring-lines.
Havard rushed to help him up. “You do not look well, Doctor. Are you all right?”
Plucking a handkerchief from his shirt pocket, Bob mopped his brow. “Well, the old tum-tum is a bit dickey, but I’ll be fine.”
“Are you certain? We will be some time to any harbor. You may be better staying ashore,” Havard suggested.
“I’m fine.” Bob tucked his hankie away and put on a brave, if pale face. “What do you want me to do?”
“If you can familiarize yourself with the rig while I prepare, please. I will call you to help cast off when we are ready.”
“Aye, sir.” In spite of his illness, Bob was evidently enjoying feeling part of a team—for a change.
In a few minutes, the Skipper was ready. “Stand by the bow line!” The small diesel banged into life. “Cast off!” Bob tossed the line, and Dorabella moved lithely away from the dock and down the estuary. The air cooled quickly as they entered the bay.
“Stand by the halyard!”
“The what?” shouted Bob.
“The cable in the winch on the side of the mast,” Havard said. “James, do you see the ropes wrapped around the mainsail?”
“Yep.”
“Please undo them.” James did so, and Havard turned the boat into wind. “Robert, raise the mainsail.”
Bob wound the handle, the main dutifully climbed the mast, and Karen’s eyes followed. “That’s large enough to cover a baseball field,” she said.
“Now with the jib.” James and Bob repeated the operation, Havard quickly adjusted the sheets, the sails snapped taut, and the engine hushed. Karen and James felt the magic of a boat under sail for the first
time.
“Oh, Havard! This is amazing!” Karen cried.
James agreed, “I could get used to this.”
Havard settled in at the helm, all business-like, and puffed at his pipe. “Now, the wind is from the west, from the direction we need to go, so we must tack across the bay. That means we do a little zig-zag, which takes a little longer.”
“Oh, you can take as long as you like doing this!” Karen said, her gaze fixed to the sunset.
Bob teetered down the deck to the cockpit. The instant he sat, James sensed that he was not well. Out of idle curiosity, he tried to zero in on the cause, but the breeze scattered any microbial signature. Sharing a bunk with Bob would give him plenty of opportunity, though, like it or not.
The moonlight snipped out inky silhouettes of wooded land as Dorabella glided to the far shore. Havard kept one eye on the markers and compass, the other on his chart, until the boat was at the cove’s entrance. The motor rumbled to life. “Stow sails, gentlemen.” Bob and James lowered them with surprisingly little fuss.
“Ready the anchor!”
Bob had some difficulty releasing the anchor. Dorabella drifted. James went to help, and the anchor splashed over the side. Havard gently reversed, and the anchor grabbed the muddy bottom.
Several modern boats moored nearby. The dim glow of their lights danced with the moonlight on the water. An occasional flutter of laughter drifted across. The stove had been lit about a half hour before, and Havard scooped a stew he’d brought along into a big pot.
“Mmmm! You can cook, too?” Karen said.
“No, no, this is just a stew. I have a bit of salad, and also a nice cake for after.” He clanged the top on the pot and selected two bottles of wine, and they joined the others on deck.
Bob was clearly miserable, and Karen asked him, “Are you sure you don’t want to go ashore?”
“Yeah, sure. I’m good. Just a little tummy upset.”
“We will look after you, don’t you worry, Robert,” Havard assured him. “I will give you some broth from the stew. I will put some ginger in it, also.”
“Thank you, Captain.”
“Ah! A captain must look after his crew!”
In spite of the cool evening air, Bob was dripping in sweat. Drawn and pale, he chatted and laughed weakly, doing his best not to spoil the fun. Karen leaned over to James and whispered, “Can you tell what’s got into him?”
Ezembe Page 19