After the Storm (9 page)

Owen rowed Kim back to the boat and she carried the fresh vegetables and fish down to the galley. He followed her down there and put the new batteries into the GPS. He turned it on and it worked.

‘GPS is back up,’ he said.

She said nothing in response.

‘Are you OK, Kimbo?’

‘That storm got to me,’ she said in a tight voice.

‘It would take a bigger storm than that to knock us down.’

‘I’m not sure I agree.’

‘You’re on edge, I can see that.’

‘Anna thought we were done for. She looked out of her mind with fear.’

‘She’s not a natural sailor.’

‘She was scared, Owen. I’m sure she’s regretting coming on the boat and that’s creating an atmosphere about the place.’

‘It was a rough night. She’ll get used to it.’

‘She’s kinda straight and I find her difficult to talk to.’

‘She’s what my aunt Cally would call a still-waters-run-deep kinda person.’

‘You think?’

‘Yeah, I think she means well,’ he said.

‘Maybe it’s me, but I’m finding all this tougher than I used to, sharing our lives with strangers.’

‘What are you worried about? You didn’t say anything about my father did you?’

‘No. You know I wouldn’t. I did say to Rob that you had a falling out with your family and don’t like to talk about it.’

He put his arms around her and hugged her tight. She was a little woman and only came up to the middle of his chest. She pulled away from him and looked up at him.

‘But it’s not about that Owen. I’m missing having our own home; just you and me and nobody else.’

‘You’re my best Kimbo,’ he said.

He took off her clothes and stroked her pretty little bottom and they lay naked on the double berth in the saloon. He knew that his insomnia and his inability to spend his nights next to her were impacting badly on their sex life. They used to have sex a lot. He regretted how seldom they did these days and he wanted sex now, to make them close again.

When the sun was low in the sky Owen rowed over in the dinghy to pick up Rob and Anna. He had managed to sleep for a couple of hours after the sex. As he moved through the water he found himself thinking about his aunt Cally, his father’s older sister. She was a brisk efficient woman who worked as a secretary at the Marina in Clearwater. She had a flat in the Marina and it was her pride and joy, a light white flat always spotlessly clean. He reckoned she washed the drapes every three months. You didn’t need to do it that often. His mother hadn’t. She had given him the back bedroom, her guest bedroom, when he moved in with her. It was a single room and the furniture was all new and modern. The single bed had never been long enough for him and his feet stuck out at the end if he stretched out fully. He had never said anything to his aunt about this. He would have days when he felt completely numb and had to remind himself that when his aunt spoke to him she would expect a response.

He remembered the night of his fifteenth birthday. Aunt Cally was making him fried chicken because she knew it was his favourite meal. She was going on about how his teachers had told her that he was real clever and could get into college no trouble. He told her he didn’t plan to go to college. He was gonna leave high school at sixteen and work in the boatyards. She said there was plenty of time for him to be working when he was older. He said nothing to that. She had no idea what it was like for him at high school. He was the boy they pointed at. He was the boy they whispered about.

He saw Rob and Anna entwined beneath a palm tree and rowed over to them.

‘I’d like to go for a last swim if that’s OK?’ Rob said as he sat up and stretched.

He felt refreshed by his sleep and his body was vital again, fully recovered from the seasickness. He waded out into the warm sea.

Owen had brought some of the small yellow mangoes with him, which Kim had bought that morning. He offered one to Anna and showed her the best way to eat it. You pressed the mango hard, you rolled it between your palms and squeezed and squeezed it without breaking the skin until the fruit had been turned into a pulp under the skin. Then you bit off the top and sucked out the sweet mango pulp like a drink.

‘Oh that’s heavenly,’ Anna said after following his instructions. Her mouth was filled with the honey sweetness of the mango.

‘Have another one.’

‘I will; thanks.’

She repeated the process and bit off the top of the mango and sucked happily at it.

‘I think Owen is a Welsh name isn’t it?’ she said.

‘Yeah, my granny was Welsh, on my mother’s side, from Pontypridd.’

‘Have you ever been there?’

She knew she was starting to probe, as Rob had told her she must not.

‘No, never.’

He reached for another mango which he pressed between his palms.

‘I hate America,’ he said.

It was a strong statement and it had come out of the blue.

‘Why do you say that?’

‘It’s a country that looks after its businesses but doesn’t look after its people.’

She pondered this for a moment. It was the sort of thing her granddad would say to her, that society cared more for its corporations than its citizens.

‘But you’re going back there?’

‘Yeah we are. Kimmie wants to open her café and it’s her turn now. We won’t go back to Clearwater though. We’ll find ourselves another place.’

‘It’ll be a big change for you both after living on the boat for three years.’

‘A big change…’ He looked out at the sea.

‘We’ll find a place on the coast and I’ll get work in a boatyard. I need to be around boats. I’m not equipped for anything else.’

‘I’m sure that’s not true,’ she said.

‘It is. Boats are the only things I know anything about.’

‘Are they your books I saw in the saloon?’

He nodded.

‘I read a lot in down time,’ he said.

‘I saw you had some by Stephen King.’

‘Do you like him?’

‘I do, he’s a brilliant story-teller. I saw you had
The Stand
. That book terrified me. Rob was away and I remember being so spooked… the sound of those worn-down cowboy boots tramping along the road telling you the dark man was coming. I had to keep the lights on all night.’

‘But that wouldn’t have helped. The dark man came to those folks in their dreams.’

‘Yes he did.’

‘King understands the dark stuff,’ Owen said.

‘For most of the book you think evil is going to triumph. You think how can they ever beat him? It seems like he’s got all the power and all the weapons.’

‘But it’s not enough, not in the end.’

‘No, because all he can offer ultimately is fear and dread,’ Anna said.

‘And because evil is inherently unstable,’ Owen said.

As he came out of the sea Rob saw a lone fisherman pulling his boat onto the beach. He went over to take a look. The man had caught some grouper, a few grunt and he had some oysters too. On an impulse Rob decided to buy a dozen oysters.

‘Please wait and I’ll get some money,’ he said to the fisherman who looked up at him not understanding what he said but guessing that a sale was in the offing. Rob walked up the beach to where Owen and Anna were sitting and took a few dollars out.

‘I’m getting us some oysters for tonight, my treat,’ he said. ‘What should I pay for twelve?’

Owen told him the price that locals would pay and said he should offer a bit more. Rob went back and the fisherman counted twelve oysters into an old plastic bag. They got into the dinghy and Owen rowed them back to the
El Tiempo Pasa
.

Rob went down to the saloon to prepare the oysters. Kim was down there going through the lockers, tidying the books and maps. She was always tidying up he had noticed, keeping the boat neat and clean. He squeezed past her and peered in the drawers beneath the sink. He could find no knives anywhere. There were just forks and spoons lying in the drawer. He asked to borrow Kim’s knife so he could open the oysters. She seemed reluctant at first. Then she unzipped her belt, took out the case and handed over her small knife.

‘Be careful though Rob. It’s very sharp.’

He started to prise open the oysters. He opened five successfully and placed them on a large plate. He was pleased. They looked succulent. The sixth one would not open. He pressed the knife hard into the tiny opening of the hard shell and the knife skidded and he cut his hand.

‘Shit…!’

Kim spun round and saw blood spurting out of his palm. She reacted quickly, grabbing the first aid box from an overhead locker. There was quite a lot of blood and she held his hand over the sink. She cleaned his wound efficiently, stemmed the flow and tied a bandage tightly around his hand. She washed the blood off the sink and the surfaces and rinsed the cloth repeatedly until the water ran clear. He noticed that she was trembling slightly.

‘You’ll be OK. It looked worse than it is,’ she said as she wrung out the dishcloth for the last time.

‘Are you scared of blood?’

She looked up at him.

‘No…’

‘You seemed scared just now.’

‘I’m not scared of blood but you have to be super careful in a boat, that’s all.’

‘Sorry, I’m a clumsy idiot.’

‘Don’t worry. The oysters were a great idea. Let me open the rest.’

Kim opened the rest of the oysters with her knife and laid them on the plate. She was thinking it was strange how when you feared something on behalf of another person it made you even more frightened. She had never been scared of blood. Rob’s question had made her realise how much of Owen’s terrible fears she was carrying within her. She sliced two lemons in half, wiped her knife carefully and put it back into its case and into her belt. She called to the others as she carried the plate of oysters up into the cockpit. Rob held up his bandaged hand.

‘I’m in the wars,’ he said.

‘Oh no…’ Anna said.

‘I cut myself.’ He said it ruefully.

‘Does it hurt a lot?’ she asked.

‘It’s throbbing a bit. I’ll live.’

They sat in the cockpit and ate the twelve juicy oysters with lemon juice and black pepper and watched as the sun set and the sky darkened.

That night lying curled up with Anna in their cabin Rob said:

‘There are no knives on this boat, except for Kim’s knife.’

‘I noticed that. She always gives us forks and spoons. It’s odd isn’t it?’

‘Yes, it’s strange…’

‘Why would that be?’

‘I don’t know. Unless…’

‘What?’

‘Well maybe they’ve had some odd types on the boat and they’re playing it safe,’ Rob said.

‘Do you think?’

He fell asleep. Anna lay and thought about it. Kimberly carried that knife around with her, always zipped up in its case in her belt. Why did she carry it with her all the time? Was she frightened she might get attacked? Central America certainly wasn’t the safest place to be living and she was a small woman. Perhaps carrying the knife on her person made her feel safer. Then she remembered Kimberly’s panicked reaction when she broke the glass on that picture frame of Moses. It had almost been as if she were in a trance.

Anna was in the habit of thinking long and hard about things that happened to her and trying to understand them, even the small details that might seem unimportant to other people. It was why she kept her journals and it was what she did in her job, piecing together what her old men were trying to tell her. Rob said she spent too much time looking inwards; that she needed to look outwards at the magnificence and variety of the world. Something was not quite right though. No knives on the boat and Kimberly’s reaction had been strange.

It dawned calm and bright. There was no wind at all and the sea was flat. It made for a day of frustrating sailing and they made little progress towards Roatán. Owen and Rob were in charge of the sailing. Anna lay on the hot deck in her bikini reading Dickens’
Bleak House.

‘I don’t get how you can read about foggy Victorian London when we’re here,’ Rob said opening his arms wide and gesturing at the brilliant blue sky and sea.

‘But it’s perfect holiday reading. The plot is so engrossing.’

She had read him the first page of the novel when they were on the plane coming over:

‘Smoke lowering down from chimney-pots, making a soft black drizzle, with flakes of soot in it as big as full-grown snowflakes – gone into mourning, one might imagine, for the death of the sun.’

He left her to it. There had been no recurrence of his seasickness and he and Owen were now sailing partners. In the afternoon the sky clouded over and it was one of those still pale uneventful days at sea.

They were about twelve hours out of Triunfo and Owen and Rob were looking for an anchorage for the night. The light was fading and they spotted a tiny Cay ahead. It was not much more than a cluster of mangroves that had taken root on a small circular atoll. It afforded some shelter so they decided to approach it. The atoll was so small it was not shown on Owen’s chart and sailing in was a challenge. They entered a complicated reef system and had to feel their way in to an anchorage. Owen sent Rob forward to peer over the bow and make sure there were no rocks below. There was no beach to speak of, just a small plot of mud that had been colonised by the ubiquitous mangroves.

Anna had gone below and was sitting in the forecabin in her bra and knickers writing in her notebook. She always kept a notebook on her holidays. It was her way of trying to crystallise experiences that mattered to her. She was trying to find the words to describe the storm they had endured and then the blissful day that followed in Triunfo. What a contrast that had been. The day after the storm had been an almost perfect day, except for Rob cutting his hand.

Kim was in the galley making a fish stew in her large stock pot. Rob had christened this her magic pot because he said she could make the most ordinary ingredients taste wonderful. She liked that: her magic pot. She sliced the large beaten up grunt she had bought in Triunfo with strong rapid stokes. It was an ugly brute all right. It would be tasty though. Anna had irritated her today. There was something about the way she talked to Owen as if he was so interesting and then talked to her as if she was not that was starting to rankle with her. Anna would hang on Owen’s words as if he was the fount of all wisdom and she wondered if Rob had noticed it. And Anna was still calling her Kimberly for Chrissakes. She’d said to her a few days into the trip: ‘You can call me Kim you know, most folks do.’ What had Anna’s response been? ‘Oh I think of you as Kimberly now and I’m more comfortable sticking with that.’ A typical buttoned-up response.