by S. E. Hinton
"Perhaps you'll see him again sometime."
"I don't think so," Jamie said. "It's just a feeling I got."
North Atlantic November 1964
"Your friend, Quinn, he's really funny," Steve Malloy commented.
"Yeah," Jamie said, proud that on a ship full of yarn spinners and bullshitters, Kell still stood out.
"That story he tells, about you and the shark and the pirates—is that true?"
"Mostly," Jamie answered. Kell had a couple of different versions of it by now. One gave you nightmares, one made you wet your pants laughing.
"How about the one where you get raped by a royal princess?"
Jamie clenched his jaw. Goddamn Kell, I'll kick his butt.... "He don't tell that one around me."
Steve quickly changed the subject. He'd seen Jamie in a fight. He didn't know it was almost routine for Jamie, a fight on every ship. Because he was small, someone usually thought he could be bullied—he'd correct that misconception and everything would be peaceful again.
"You're lucky you've got your military over with. You see any action?"
"I was in the South China Sea, you had to be battle-ready, but no, nothing you could call action. There's always a bunch of guns there, though. Every goddamn country in the world wants to claim that sea. There's all kinds of gunships strutting up and down, playin' 'who's got the biggest dick.' Lots of trade routes. Me and Kell went back there after. Same ol' stuff going on."
Jamie dealt another hand of cards. He and Steve had to be the worst card players on this ship, so they usually played each other and kept a paper score. Even in the mess room it was bitterly cold, and Jamie had his navy watch wool cap pulled down tight on his head and folded back over his ears.
Jamie usually kept to himself on a ship. It was easier that way. Besides, he had lived most of his life with a complete lack of physical privacy—the orphanage, the navy, close crew quarters; he tended to overcompensate with intense personal privacy. He had no need to get close to anyone. The usual banter of insults and brags that passed for conversation on a ship was fine with him.
Still, there was usually one guy or another you hung around with more than the rest, eating, playing cards. He wasn't seeing much of Kell this trip. Kell had grown up with some of the crewmen; they were full of old stories and in-jokes. One minute they'd sing songs so sad you'd want to throw yourself overboard, and then they'd dance a damn jig the next.
Steve Malloy, who was the closest to his own age, seemed determined to be his friend. It was okay with Jamie. Steve was a nice guy. This was his first time out as a deckhand. His father had told him to make sure he liked it before joining the merchant marines.
"You like the navy?" Steve asked.
"Learned a lot, but I got sick of taking orders. You get a bad officer, it's hell. Regulation haircut, regulation shoes, felt like people were watching to make sure you took a regulation piss. Soon as I got out of there I went to the South Pacific. Didn't cut my hair for a year, went barefoot, and pissed anywhere I damn pleased. You ever been to the South Pacific?"
"No."
"You'd like it. The girls are real friendly. Real friendly. Great place to surf. Kell got bored there, but I liked it. Gonna go back sometime, restore a little ketch, do some trading island to island." Jamie was having doubts about he and Kell ever scoring big enough to get a yacht, and anyway, you'd probably have to hang around with rich people, and Jamie had had enough of those bastards.
"I wouldn't mind going back to the South China Sea, either. I had a job on a cargo liner there for almost a year. Best job I ever had—best captain. Captain Harvard. He was Dutch, most of us couldn't say his name—we called him Captain Harvard. Most of the crew was Kiwis. Harvard said sea captains went back in his family four hundred years, and I believe it. He sure knew what he was doing. It was a hell of a fun route—if you could load it, Harvard would carry it. And room for about eight passengers, too. You got a lot of odd ducks in that part of the world."
"Why'd you quit?"
"The ship caught fire and sank. We all got off, thanks to the captain."
Jamie wished he could tell the ship's burning like Kell could. Sometimes Jamie forgot Kell hadn't been there.
"We were waitin' around in Borneo, to see if Harvard was getting another ship, when Kell shows up with his bright idea about smuggling jewels outta Burma. You heard how that turned out.... They still got cannibals in Borneo, you know that?"
Sometimes Jamie thought about going back, seeing if he could sign back on with Harvard. There hadn't been a man onboard who didn't trust that guy with his life, and some had crewed the ship for fifteen years ... but there was always a list of people wanting those jobs. The only reason Jamie got on in the first place was that Kell knew someone....
"You're shittin' me, man." Steve wasn't hard to please.
Jamie liked that about Steve—for once Jamie got to be the talker. And he didn't have to make anything up, just told the truth. Steve hadn't been around too much.
"I'm going to get a little powerboat for the weekends. Tracy likes boats."
Tracy was Steve's girlfriend. He was planning on getting married. Between the powerboat and the marriage idea, Jamie decided Steve was about the most boring person he'd ever come across, even if he was a nice guy.
"Oh man."—Steve voiced his most common worry—"I hope I don't get drafted. It just don't seem fair, something can swoop down and change your life like that."
"Aw, join the navy—at least you know you don't get seasick. You'd be surprised how many guys have a real problem with that. I heard they might get the New Jersey outta mothballs. I could even stand to take a few orders, if I got a chance to be on a battleship."
"You ain't hearing me, man. I don't want to be in the navy, I don't want to be at sea. I'm quitting after this voyage. Glad I listened to Dad, no way I could do this the rest of my life."
"Why?"
"I get homesick. Don't you ever get homesick?"
"Never had a home to get sick for. Grew up in an orphanage."
In a way, Jamie thought, the ocean was like home to him. If be was away from it for very long, he missed it. And no matter where in the world he was, he felt at home when he saw the sea. Homesick...
A grim smile passed across Jamie's face.
"That place burned down while I was in high school. Wish the fuckin' nu—"
"Now, Jamie."
Kell came in with his good pal First Officer Alan Gregory. "That's no language to use about nuns. It's bad luck on any ship, and I won't hear it, besides."
Most of the crew would soon be drifting in. The mess room was the evening gathering place.
"Aw, Kell, you don't believe in that cr—stuff, do you?" Jamie had often seen Kell cross himself in dangerous situations. He thought it was habit or superstition or something. Even for a seafaring man, Kell was very superstitious. Jamie himself took note of omens—you had to, if you wanted to live at sea—but that was about as far as it went with him.
"It's mother's milk to some of us, lad," said Gregory. The captain was half drunk, half nuts; First Mate Gregory ran things on the ship. Kell thought he was very clever. He set Jamie's teeth on edge.
"Hasn't stopped Kell from much," Jamie pointed out.
"Yes," Kell said. "No doubt I'll spend a good long while in purgatory. If I go first, Jamie, light a candle for me, say a prayer for my soul."
He laughed and went to get a cup of coffee.
Jamie said nothing. He hadn't said a sincere prayer since he was eight years old; it was unlikely he'd start now, even for Kell's soul.
Gregory paused for a minute, studying Jamie. He had cold eyes, Jamie thought. The color of guns.
"I see who 'tis you're remindin' me of now—it's the coloring that fooled me. Young Timothy, Kell's brother."
Jamie said nothing.
"He was a quiet little hothead, too."
When Gregory was not quite out of hearing, Jamie remarked, "He's so full of shit."
Steve looked ner
vously after Gregory.
"God, be careful, Jamie. You don't want to piss that guy off."
"He can kiss my ass," Jamie said.
"I heard stories."
In spite of the cold, Jamie began to sweat. He wiped his hands on his sweater. What did Steve suspect? "Stories like what?"
"Like he's killed people, back in Ireland, and one on the docks in Boston and was too smart to get caught."
"Yeah. Maybe so," Jamie said. He relaxed a little. Obviously Steve didn't suspect about the guns. And he was really naive if he thought Gregory was the only man aboard who'd killed someone.... Jamie had never seen such cold-eyed killers.
"You don't believe in God?" Steve asked.
"No," Jamie said. "Do you?"
"Well, I'm not a Catholic like a lot of these guys, but I believe in God."
"Why?"
"I don't know, I just do."
"That is so dumb. When you're dead, you're dead."
"I don't think so, Jamie."
"Look," Jamie said, "all I ever heard at the orphanage was 'You're going to hell, Jamie,' 'God loves you, Jamie.' Okay—I'll go to hell and if God loves me He can come and get me. Maybe I'll believe something then."
More men were coming in, a poker game starting, someone trying the radio. Everyone was griping about the cold.
"Well, boys," Kell said, "it's cold—but I've been colder. Almost froze to death, in fact."
The men paused in their griping, coffee drinking—even the poker game slowed. They recognized a story coming. Kell rarely told one, they were always anxious for more. Jamie grinned. He knew this one.
"Yes, faced death in the snow in Switzerland with a good friend of mine, it's amazing what you can find out about a man in a time like that. And I'm speaking of your own first mate, Greg."
Greg glanced up and nodded. Jamie was surprised. He didn't know the guy in the story was Gregory.
"It was during the war, Greg and I had some business in a little village in Switzerland, never mind what now. It was dangerous, but we were harebrained young scamps in those days— exchanging information, finding out things, letting things be found out—that sort of thing."
You could see Kell being a harebrained young scamp, but the men were glancing sideways at Greg. He wasn't known for a sense of humor. Except for a tight little circle of pals, most of the crew was afraid of him; he was hated by a few.
"Anyway, we concluded business, and a few pleasures, and started back to Zurich in our jeep. We'd stocked up on a few essentials, mostly wines and cigarettes, for friends, of course. It was cold and snowy and night but we were already late so we set out anyway. We knew we were in trouble, hoped to buy a little favor—leaving relative luxury, going back to relative hell. Didn't work though. They shipped us off to Africa soon after... but that's a different story.
"We were testing the wine, making sure it was good enough for our friends, and became somewhat befuddled, took the wrong road, and ended up in the mountains. Of course we ran out of petrol and blamed each other. But I remember distinctly, Greg, that was your job."
Gregory said, "No it wasn't," in his oddly toneless voice.
"Well, we remember it differently, then.... We soon realized cursing each other wouldn't save our butts—in fact we sobered up enough to realize we might die. Nothing will sober you up like cold.
"Was it you or me, Greg, who remembered passing a shack of a cabin? Might have known you'd say that. But you were as muddled as I was, no use pretending for the sake of the crew."
Greg's thin-lipped mouth twisted into his weird little half smile that always made Jamie think of sharks.
"So we salvaged what we could from the jeep and started trudging back. It was the kind of cold that ate your bones from the inside out, felt like a knife in your lungs. The wind lashed tears from your eyes and then froze them into icebergs, and the shivering sapped all your strength, there was none left to walk. You wanted just to curl up and get it over with. Greg kept saying his dick was froze—I lost a couple of toes, myself.
"I tell you, boys, the sight of that cabin was as welcome as if it had been a home for wayward girls. There was a stove, a bed, a little wood, and more outside—it was like we'd stumbled into heaven. Soon had a fire going, the mattress thrown down next to the stove. Neither of us had slept for days; we were tired to say the least.
"Well, me and Greg grew up together, it wasn't like snuggling with a stranger. Pretty soon we were huddled up, just getting ready to doze off, and Greg says, 'Kell, would you care to hold my wiener?'"
The room went silent.
"Well, this startled me, to say the least, but we were both tired and somewhat muddled, since we'd celebrated our near escape with another bottle of wine, so I say, 'No thanks, Greg, the only wiener I care to hold is my own, and it's so cold I couldn't find it with a flashlight.'"
Someone choked on a laugh but quickly recovered.
"Well, we're quiet and nodding off and Greg says, 'I wish you'd hold my wiener, Kell, it's froze.'
"I was thinking all kinds of things by then—but I didn't want to run out in the snow. I really didn't even want Greg to move, he was as warm as a horse blanket—I'll overlook the odor comparisons. I'm thinking, I'd managed to get laid back in town, but poor Greg was an ugly turd even those days.... I'm so tired and muddled I even think, Well, I'm wearing gloves, perhaps it wouldn't count... but I say again politely, 'No thank you, Greg.'"
Jamie looked at Gregory. He was bright red, even his scalp under his close-cropped silver hair. The crew was starting to shift uneasily. Just the hint of something like that on a ship was dangerous—in the navy Jamie had known it to end in murder.
"Pretty soon," Kell continued, "Greg's kind of rustling around. I hear him unzip his pants. I'm jolted wide awake at that, wide awake and drunk, becoming somewhat nervous, thinking, What the hell?
"And all of a sudden he grabs my hand, puts it on him—and it's up, and hard and cold! I'm paralyzed with shock ... you know how it is, your first time.
" 'Here,' he says, 'hold it while I take a piss' and rolls off the mattress. And I realize I've still got it! It's froze and broken off!
"Well, lads, you never heard such a yell as I let out as I threw the thing across the room.
"And then Greg says, quite mildly, 'I hope you didn't ruin that sausage, Kelly.'"
Kell paused. The whole room roared with laughter. Greg actually fell off his chair. Jamie laughed as hard as he had the first time he'd heard it, long ago.
After a bit, when they had quieted down, Kell finished up his story.
"The sun came out the next day, we got our bearings, and made it back without too much trouble. And it's a good thing, too, because I tell you lads, I'd have starved before I ate that sausage."
Up in the bow of the ship, on watch, Jamie didn't mind the cold. He could look at the waves for hours, not really thinking about anything. The vast expanse of sea was peace to him.
He liked night watch, too. He always volunteered. You got to sleep late ... and the ocean seemed different then, like a woman with the lights turned low, familiar but yet strange....
He recognized the footsteps coming up behind him, so he didn't bother to turn.
Kell leaned on the rail next to him. They remained silent for a while.
"Care for a nip, Jamie?" Kell pulled a pint of whiskey from his heavy pea jacket. "I'm on watch." Kell took a long swallow.
"Weather's changing. Look at the haze around the moon."
Jamie didn't tell him he already knew that—he felt it in the ocean, the way it was slapping the sides of the ship, like a person with the jitters. But it made Kell nuts when Jamie said he could feel things from the water. Kell always said the only way to know the weather was the sky. And they both preferred instruments....
He turned his back to the wind, huddled to light up a cigarette.
"Jesus, Jamie, you still smoking those Indian bedis? You'll have no lungs left the time you're my age."
"You really think I'll make
it to your age?"
"I don't think you'll make it another week, if this hostility between you and Greg continues. It's got me troubled, lad."
"It don't trouble me." Jamie shrugged and faced the sea again.
"Greg's being patient for my sake, but he'll not stomach insolence. He had to take too much as a lad. And he's not a man to run afoul of."
"I hate this fucking job," Jamie said. "I'm not a fucking deckhand."
"You're getting paid five times as much as the captain is, that ought to ease your pride somewhat."
"Look, it was okay when we were on that ship where everybody knew what was going on—but half these guys are honest. Who's gonna believe that if we all get caught?"
"I've never known you to shy away from danger, Jamie. That time we double-crossed Cahill's brother with the Philippine whores—we'd have been shark bait and you damn well knew it and laughed."
"I'll take my own risks. I don't mind that. You said we'd quit two trips ago."
"For God and country, Jamie. And you do owe me."
"Look, what's going on in Ireland's lasted a couple of hundred years. It'll still be going on a hundred years from now. Can't you guys find something else to think about?"
"No," Kell said. "And I've told you, you can't understand unless you've been bred to it, born to it, have it taint every breath you draw."
Kell sipped some more whiskey. Jamie muttered, "My nerves are shot, Kell. I keep thinking about what'll happen if some of the crew find what's in the cargo. We'll have to fight each other. I knew what I was getting into when I signed on ... but some of the rest of them..."
"Loyalty to your crewmates over the job, a fine thing, Jamie. But each man chooses where his loyalty lies. Sometimes the thing you're fighting for is not what it seems.... For all my fine war record, I haven't got a country—don't be begrudging me my God."
"I keep forgetting you were in the war, Kell. It seems so long ago."
"Seems like yesterday to me. And I was younger than you are now. It goes so fast, Jamie ..."
"What the fuck were you serving with the English for, anyway?"
"Well, Jamie, I was serving in the British merchant marine when the MI-6 hauls me in for a little talk.