Hunting the Dragon (12 page)

He felt that Christmas-morning excitement. Could it be a fishing rod, or maybe a baseball bat? He peeled back the wrapper and saw the red-and-black Winchester Repeating Arms logo printed on the top of the brown cardboard box. “What’s this all about?”

He worked the top off the carton and inside lay a gleaming lever-action .30-30 rifle and two boxes of cartridges. He lifted the rifle out of the box and sighted on a seagull sitting on the harbor railing. His father had taught him to shoot a .22 rifle long ago and the Winchester felt familiar in his hands. He levered the breech open and checked to make sure the rifle was unloaded. The chamber and magazine were empty. He turned to Sarah. “Hey, thanks. But, how come a rifle?”

“Benny thought you might need to protect yourself,” she said evenly.

“A gun on a boat. Well, uh, I might get depressed from too many granola bars and kill myself, and if I ever had to shoot at anyone, they’re gonna have guns too and shoot back.”

He sensed she was hurt by his rejection, but Sarah covered her feelings with a smile and said, “Billy, please take it along. And stow it where you can reach it quickly.”

“Sarah, you’re hustling me. It’s like I’m some ancient Greek warrior going off to battle…but I’m not slaying a bunch of Trojans for you or anyone else.”

She moved closer to Billy and looked into his eyes. “Billy, it’s not for me. You’re doing this for Chatter, and all the other dolphins, remember?”

He let that sink in. Yeah, for Chatter, he thought and looked across the harbor for her. As if the dolphin sensed his thought, she surfaced and swam alongside the sailboat, click-ticking at him. Her nearness brought his boyish grin back. He turned to Sarah and said lightly, “Okay, I accept the rifle, and thanks. Have dinner with me on the boat. It’ll be my last night ashore….”

“I’ll bring the food. I’m an excellent cook,” she said happily.

Candles set on the engine cover glowed romantically in the sloop’s cockpit and cast their soft glow on Billy and Sarah. She really
was
an excellent cook, Billy thought as he took another bite of the grilled ahi she had cooked on the boat’s tiny hibachi. He complimented her, and Sarah said, “It’s fresh from the fish market.”

He wanted to tell her that the fish steaks labeled as Hawaiian ahi were often filleted from yellowfin tuna caught with dolphins. Instead, he said, “I’m going to miss you, Sarah…especially on those long, lonely night watches.”

He slid closer to her and she leaned against him. For a long moment they looked toward the night sky and the Southern Cross twinkling overhead. As if her thought had come from far away, she asked softly, “What time are you leaving in the morning?”

“Right after the market opens. I want to take on a few more fresh goodies, and put a chunk of ice in the box.”

She turned to rest her head against his shoulder. He moved to kiss her, but they were interrupted by Chatter’s squawking coming from alongside the hull. Billy pulled away from Sarah and leaned over the railing. “Not now. Get out of here. Go catch a fish or something!”

He turned to Sarah and said, “It’s getting chilly. Want to go into the cabin?”

“It’s lovely out here…and your friend seems to want to keep an eye on you.”

He looked over the side again, gave the dolphin an annoyed glance, and turned back to Sarah. “I think I’m falling in love with you.”

“When you’re really sure about that, let me know.”

She stood and began clearing away the dishes. He moved to help and said, “I’m sure.”

“Who’s going to break the news to the other woman?”

He stood on the rail and looked down at Chatter. “Hey, Chatter. This is going to come as a surprise. I love you a whole bunch, but there’s someone else….”

Still feeling a sense of fun, Billy turned back to Sarah. She was standing on the dock staring at him and looking serious. “Good night, Billy. Be very careful out there.”

She turned and walked off. Billy watched her vanish into the darkness and shook his head in bewilderment. Whatever he had done to displease her was a mystery to him. He turned to look for Chatter.

The dolphin eased silently out of the water. He stroked her head and thought, What was that all about…?

T
he cultured accent of the British Broadcasting Corporation’s nightly news announcer set Benny’s teeth on edge. He much preferred the rapid, self-assured style of CNN’s reporters, but that news program didn’t provide the international coverage he was listening for. He had been pacing
Salvador
’s dark bridge, waiting to hear the results of the latest international trade agreements and learn how the U.S. Congress would respond. The countries that had signed the General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade were meeting in New York. One of the subjects on their agenda involved lifting the embargo that the United States had placed on tuna caught with dolphins. Benny was hoping the BBC’s economic reporter would include news from the GATT meeting, and his expectation was fulfilled.

Over the shortwave radio’s loudspeaker came the BBC report, “In a recent decision against the Americans, the GATT panel ruled that the United States had violated international trade agreements when it banned tuna imports because the fish were caught using methods that kill dolphins. In Washington, the U.S. Congress has directed the American president, through the U.S. trade representative, to renegotiate the treaty to recognize domestic environmental laws—”

Benny swore, “Why in the hell doesn’t the president take a stand? The Mexicans and the others are going to get their tuna into the country again, and there goes another half a million dolphins!”

He turned his attention back to the BBC as the reporter added, “The United States, under pressure from environmental groups, will require a certificate of origin for all tuna caught in large drift nets in the South Pacific. This is yet another example of the conflict between U.S. environmental laws and international trade agreements.

“It appears that the U.S. is tightening its restriction against the use of high-seas drift nets by Japan, Korea, and Taiwan, while at the same time relaxing its embargo against Mexican-caught netted tuna. The rationale behind this policy inconsistency appears to be the administration’s push for an expansion of a Latin America/U.S. free trade bill—”

He wanted to discuss the implications of the news with Sarah and left the bridge to find her. He knocked on her cabin door. There was no response. Benny turned the handle and looked inside. Her bunk was empty.

Far to the east, Louis Gandara stood on the bridge of his clipper enjoying the night and
Lucky Dragon
’s steady progress toward Costa Rica. He was remembering long-ago days in Africa until he was distracted by BBC’s nightly news transmission. The distant signal was amplified and sent to the bridge speaker. He had been waiting anxiously for the news. With the report that the GATT panel held the United States in violation of trade agreements, Louis Gandara smiled knowingly.
I think I’ll register
Lucky Dragon
in Mexico. With a few more years of good fishing, perhaps I’ll return to Mozambique. Per
haps the new government has forgotten, and if not, perhaps they can be induced to forget, if my contributions are sufficiently well-placed.

He missed Southern Africa, and the power his family once held.

The Gandara estates had been vast, measured in hundreds of square kilometers. He remembered riding his horse along the deserted beaches facing the Indian Ocean. He recalled galloping for miles on the hard-packed, sparkling white sands and never seeing a footprint. With a frown he thought, I wonder if there are hotels there now.

His musings were interrupted by the bridge radio watch. The seaman reported, “There’s a message for you on the company frequency, captain.”

Gandara nodded and thought, They’ve been listening to BBC as well. He stepped onto the bridge and glanced at the radar scope. Except for sea clutter and low clouds to the east, the screen was empty of returns. That was a blessing. He would sleep well tonight and dream of Africa.

What
Lucky Dragon
’s radar and sonar didn’t reveal was a pod of nearby dolphins heading in the same easterly direction. The pod’s new leader sent out a burst of echolocating sound from his bulbous forehead. An instant later he detected the familiar metallic shape of the clipper. He had learned and began veering away from the threatening object. The dolphins, and the tuna accompanying them, were ravenous, but soon they would feed. The leader’s keen senses had picked up a faint decrease in salinity levels that told him the pod was approaching a landmass where freshwater rivers flowed into the sea. His biological memory was guiding him on as surely as
Lucky Dragon
followed the electronic navigation signals broadcast from satellites orbiting under the same Southern Cross, far, far overhead.

T
he stalk of green bananas hanging from the sloop’s mast had started to ripen, and Billy began counting them. There were seventy-two in all. Billy noticed that the ones at the top of the stalk were showing a hint of yellow. The first would soften and be ready to eat in about a week.
After that
…
It’s bananas three times a day. Maybe I can dry some, or make banana bread.

Billy had discovered that after the first hours of sailing alone his tension eased, and he let the sloop have her head. By day’s end, he would be out of sight of land. He glanced back for a last reassuring look at the gray-green forested hills of Fiji already receding into the distance. He wondered if he would ever see trees again.

He looked at the white wake spilling off the bow. Chatter was there like she was chained to the boat. Billy realized that the dolphin hadn’t left her position since they sailed out of Suva Harbor. He thought about that. Chatter usually foraged widely, but today she wouldn’t leave the boat. That troubled him. He knew that whenever she changed her behavior pattern it was for a reason. “What’s she trying to tell me? Maybe I’d better take a look forward.”

He engaged the autopilot. Before moving to the bow he connected a line from his safety harness to the stainless steel cable railing. He knew that this procedure must become habit, and that no matter how tired or sleepy he was, his life depended on his connection to the boat.

Billy stood on the bow holding the forestay and stared at Chatter. She glanced up at him, and then with a loud click-ticking, pointed her beak at the bow. He called down to her, “I know that look. What’s going on, Chatter?”

When the dolphin repeated her signal Billy began an inch-by-inch inspection of the bow area. He couldn’t find anything amiss and sat on the anchor locker hatch trying to puzzle out the dolphin’s odd behavior. On impulse, Billy pulled the hatch cover off and peered inside. With utter amazement he swore, “What the hell are you doing in there?”

Sarah stood and grinned at him. Her white sweatshirt and jeans were streaked with rust from the anchor chain, and her skin had that yellowish pallor that suggested seasickness wasn’t far away.

She reached out for him and said, “Don’t be angry, Billy. I couldn’t let you go after
Lucky Dragon
alone.”

He took her wrist, and none too gently hauled her out of the cramped anchor locker. Fighting back his anger, he turned and retreated to the cockpit. Then he shouted at her. “What do you think this is? Some kind of Beverly Hills fund-raiser for sweet little dolphins?”

He shoved the tiller hard to come about, and she demanded, “What are you doing?”

“Taking you back to Suva.”

“Billy, you can’t steer, watch the radar, listen to the radio, shorten sail, cook your meals, navigate, and stay alert twenty-four hours a day for the next five weeks!”

“You have no idea what you’re getting into. Gandara’s a killer—”

“If you get sick or hurt out here, who’s going to sail the boat?” Sarah glanced over the side and added, “Certainly not your friend Chatter.”

“There’ll be storms, you’ll get seasick, and there’s only enough food for one,” he shot back.

“Says you. I stowed provisions for both of us, with two weeks extra, in case we’re becalmed. Yes, I was planning to be with you all along. And I can cook.”

“So you said…”

“And I’ve been doing a lot of reading about boats and seamanship, and I can steer.”

“Yeah, a boat with an engine. Under sail, you can’t always point in the direction you want to go. We’re heading east-northeast, but the wind’s coming from that direction, so you tack back and forth, keeping track of how long one way, how long the other.”

Billy saw she looked bewildered. “Okay, we’ll start with the basics. And that’s an old sailor’s saying…one hand for yourself and one for the ship. Then it’s knot tying and…”

She looked around the deck, spotted a length of braided rope used to secure the tiller, and snatched it up. With a grin, she put the line behind her and shut her eyes, then said teasingly, “Bet you can’t tie a bowline behind your back with your eyes closed.”

He couldn’t ignore her challenge and snapped back, “Bet you I can!”

A moment later Sarah opened her eyes and handed him the line, now tied in a loop with a perfect bowline.

He took the rope and she could see he was impressed. She watched him untie the knot and place the line behind him. “You have to shut your eyes, remember?”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” he muttered, closing his eyes. She watched him struggling with the rope. A minute passed and Billy’s face grew red. She knew she had him. Then he relaxed and handed her the limp strand of nylon that dangled untied like overcooked spaghetti. With a shrug, followed by his innocent grin, he said, “Welcome aboard.”

“Thank you, Billy.”

“But you have to remember, there’s only one captain, and that’s me. And there will be times when I tell you to do something without an explanation, and you have to do it, no questions asked. Do you get that one hundred percent?”

“I understand clearly, Billy,” she answered, remembering Benny Seeger saying almost the same words.

“Now the first rule on this boat is…under sail, you never move out of the cockpit without hooking your safety line to the cable.”

“Even when it’s calm, like now?”

“Do you want to go back to Fiji?”

Ten days later the bananas all ripened at once. They had eaten as much of the yellow-and-black-spotted fruit as they could, Billy more than he should have. He was feeling the effect of the sloop’s constant pounding into a choppy bow-on swell, but wouldn’t admit he was actually seasick.

She sat down beside him and began slowly peeling the skin back from her fifth banana of the day. The fruit was already dark and fermenting. He watched Sarah gulp down a big bite. At that moment his stomach revolted. He mumbled for her to take the tiller and leaned over the stern. He forced himself to stare at the undulating horizon, but that did no good. A moment later he threw up. When his retching stopped, Billy saw that Chatter was swimming nearby and watching him. He forced a weak smile and said, “I’ll be okay.”

The dolphin swam closer, and Sarah saw Billy reach out to stroke Chatter’s head. With a slight quiver she came halfway out of the sea to quickly nuzzle her beak against Billy’s cheek. The dolphin’s fluid movement, and seeming compassion, disturbed Sarah.
It’s like they’re mates, or something. What’s really going on between them?

By noon the next day the seas had calmed and the surface lay smooth and oily. The wind that had helped them eastward some two hundred nautical miles a day had died, and the
Sarah
ghosted along under limp sails, barely making two knots. The sun beat down with a relentless harshness, reflected off the ocean’s mirrorlike cap, burning their bodies and eyes. Billy warned that ultraviolet blindness was a real possibility and nagged Sarah to wear her sunglasses. By three o’clock the remaining bananas were black and almost flowing out of their skins. They tossed them overboard, and Billy gave the okay to walk around the boat without hooking up a safety line.

Sarah watched him restlessly prowl the boat inspecting fittings, adjusting shrouds, peering into the engine compartment—checking, always checking. Since he had discovered her in the anchor locker, Billy had been friendly enough, but there was no sense of intimacy. Sarah wondered if he had hidden resentments or anger, or was his attachment to the dolphin stronger than her appeal? She observed that for the last twenty minutes his attention had shifted from the boat to the water, and his focus was on Chatter. She wanted to ask what was holding his interest, but she knew a question would annoy him. Billy tired easily of her questions, and once, when his patience wore thin he snapped at her, “If you’d just look and think a while before asking, you’d find the answer right in front of your nose.”

She did observe that Chatter kept surfacing off the bow to look at Billy, and for no apparent reason would turn away and swim off on a heading some degrees from their course. The dolphin repeated her pattern again and again until Billy announced, “She wants me to head in that direction, but why?”

Billy slung binoculars around his neck and climbed the mast with swift, strong agility. He stood on the crosstree and peered in the direction the dolphin seemed to want them to take.

Sarah needed to know what was going on, to have things explained, and called up to Billy, “Chatter’s trying to tell us something, isn’t she?”

“Yeah, but I can’t figure out what. If only we could really talk!”

He slid down a stay and dropped into the cabin beside her. Sarah said, “She probably senses other dolphins, or—”

“Or
Lucky Dragon
!”

“Oh, come on, Billy. We’re a long way from Central America. She’s bewitched you.”

“Well, maybe she’s picking up the stink of his garbage, or hearing something from a pod he’s setting a net on right this minute. Like distress calls or something.”

“Billy, she’s a remarkable animal, but—”

“Let me show you just how smart she really is…”

He dashed into the cabin and came back holding his sketch pad. She watched him draw a symbolic outline of a tuna clipper. When he was satisfied with his sketch, he whistled Chatter back to the sloop and showed her the drawing. To Sarah’s amazement, the dolphin emitted a series of agitated clicks and whistles that she now recognized as alarm signals. Abruptly, Chatter raced off on the same heading she had been taking for the past hour.

Billy faced Sarah and insisted, “She’s trying to tell me what course to follow to find
Lucky Dragon
, and we’re going that way.”

“If you say so,” Sarah replied softly, not wanting to anger him. “I suppose there’s only one way to find out.”

“Chatter says so,” he answered with conviction and pulled the tiller to put the sloop on the heading that Chatter had again taken. She saw the dolphin rise out of the sea and glance at them. Could she understand their conversation?

When the sloop was clearly on the new course, Chatter swam back to the boat and took her usual position off the bow. Sarah felt her annoyance rising. She glanced at Billy, who gave her a self-satisfied grin.

The wind freshened, and they sailed on. Billy raised the jib, and the Westsail’s speed increased another knot and a half. She observed that the closer they came to the Central American coastline, the more withdrawn Billy became.

Three days later an orange-red sun climbed out of the eastern sky and the wind died altogether. Without a breeze, the heat beat down relentlessly, frying their brains and creating an oppressive, blinding aura around the boat. She wanted to ask Billy how long they would float here becalmed, but hesitated, thinking he would regard it as another of her unnecessary questions. She needed to talk with him, about him, about herself, about life and deep-down secrets that she had revealed to no one.
Wasn’t this the time and place? Being out here, absolutely away from everything and everyone, without the slightest chance of interruption, should lead to us really getting a relationship going. I’ll ask him anyway.

“How long do you think we’ll be becalmed?”

“Days, weeks, ten minutes. How would I know? I’m not a captain like Benny. If I had a weather fax satellite receiver, we’d have the big picture. But, hey, your guess is as good as mine.”

He said the last with such resignation that her heart went out to him. She wanted to brighten the mood and asked, “Would it be safe to jump in and swim by the boat? We could play with Chatter.”

His grin came back. He said happily, “Grab your mask and snorkel. We’ll dive in, scrub the algae from the bottom, and cool off. Last one in cooks tonight!”

Holding his mask, snorkel, and fins, Billy threw a scrub brush overboard and dropped into the water a moment before she emerged from the cabin.

She stood on the deck watching his bare white bottom and called, “That’s not fair. I had to put on a bathing suit.”

“You had to?”

She dropped into the water and followed Billy as he swam along the hull scrubbing the fiberglass. Chatter immediately joined them and seemed curious at his interest in the hull. Billy kicked a few yards away from the boat and floated with Sarah until Chatter shoved between them. Sarah watched Billy grab the dolphin’s fin and descend with her. As they sank into the blue-gray depths, Sarah remembered snorkeling with Benny beside
Salvador
, and her first encounter with wild dolphins.

She watched them diving deeper and deeper, twisting and turning together in an animal-human ballet amid dancing shafts of light and bubbles, until Billy was forced to let go.

He kicked frantically for the surface and popped up beside her. Gasping in air he shouted happily, “In my second life, I’m going to be a dolphin.”

Chatter buzzed by them, turned abruptly, and came to a sudden stop before Billy. At the same moment came the familiar drumming bursts of echolocating ticks, chirps, and whistles. Sarah recalled the familiar dolphin sounds and fondly welcomed their arrival.

Billy looked wildly about and she saw his eyes grow wide with astonishment. Sarah called to him, “Dolphins.”

Then they heard Chatter’s rapid pinging. In a state of agitated excitement the dolphin leaped out of the water, spun, and fell back in beside them. An instant later, flashes of gray came racing for them. Suddenly, the dolphins were all around and Billy and Sarah were bombarded by an intense barrage of clicks, ticks, and whistles, intermingled with the beating of a hundred and more flukes. They whirled and dove, leaped and thrashed, until the sea became a seething explosion of foam. Some brushed against Billy and Sarah, one butted him roughly, another knocked her mask aside. Just as quickly, the pod vanished. Billy spun to search the sea. Once, twice, he twisted in a circle looking through the water. With a cry of anguish he called to Sarah. “Chatter went with them!”

“Billy, be glad that they found her. She’s with her own kind now.”

A soft breeze began, and they sailed slowly eastward. The searing heat and relentless sun beat down oppressively, adding to Billy’s dejected mood. He had been silent for the past three hours, holding binoculars and looking for Chatter. Sarah knew his loss was real, but didn’t try to comfort him. She felt rejected, and moved as far from Billy as she could. But she also felt compassion and remembered that the dolphin had been compassionate when Billy was seasick. Sarah stood and stepped into the cabin. Ten minutes later she set a tray in front of Billy: pineapple chunks, slices of tinned ham, crackers—his favorite lunch. She watched him reach for a slice of ham and wrap it around the pineapple. He was healing quickly, and she smiled inwardly. Gently, she placed her hands on his sunburned shoulders and said, “I’m truly sorry she went away, but it might be for the best.”