The Plover: A Novel (6 page)

*   *   *

Birds! she is thinking. Birds come back! And as if called or lured and drawn to something riveting or masterful or beloved the terns did come back, by the dozens and then the hundreds, this time lining not just the cabin and the rigging but the railings and indeed every open space on the boat big enough for their strong gray feet and dainty black claws; they mewed and mewled and stared at Pipa as if waiting for something to be said, a lesson to be delivered, a message conveyed; but she only sat there under her fluttering white hat, her hands fluttering like wings, wearing a hint of a hint of a smile. And not only the terns were drawn to the
Plover
as if to a home they did not know they had—boobies, sanderlings, shearwaters, petrels, ducks, curlews, plovers, gulls, hawks, and a dozen tiny bright birds of every color and many names swirled over and around the boat as if they were trying to write a complex story in the brilliant air, all of them talking at once in their myriad languages, their sounds their names,
io
and
ulili
and
hoio
and
ao
and
uau
and
koloa
and
ewaewa
and
ukeke;
but above them all, like a dark god, soared
iwa,
the frigate bird, king of thieves; and when his shadow passed over the birds below they scattered, his shade slicing through them like a knife. Even Pipa was frightened and she mewled so loudly that Declan ran up on deck from below to see if she was okay. She stared at him, fluttering her hands like wings, and she did not calm down until Piko heaved himself over the side, dripping, and put the braid of his beard in her hand so she could feel the rope that bound her to him. Mess of fish in a mesh bag there, Dec, he said quietly, and Declan spent the next hour cleaning the fish, salting some for the road and soaking some filets in lime juice to cure; just as he finished, tossing the detritus overboard for the cleaning crews, he noticed the horizon darkening to the north. Nuts, he said to Piko. I thought we could dry out here awhile but we better get some water under us before the hammer drops. Don’t want to be around these shoals in serious weather. You might want to buckle down the pipsqueak. That’s a storm with hair on it, I think. Nuts. I was looking forward to doing a lot of nothing in the sun for a while. I haven’t seen the sun since I was a little kid the size of your baby girl. I heard
rumors
of it, sure, big hot thing people worshipped and all, but it’s new to me. Don’t know what to do in a world without mud and moss, brother. I was really looking forward to some dry time. Nuts. Always the way it is, whatever it is. Inordinate expectations, says old Ed Burke. Lovely phrase. I agree with old Ed. All expectations are doomed to die. So I expect nothing and then whatever good happens is good, you know? And whatever bad happens is normal. That’s the way it is. Tie everything down, yes. You want to double-lash those boxes, yes. That’s fuel, we need the fuel, can’t lose the fuel. Ready? Haul up anchor. Let’s run west by south and beat this thing if we can. You got the pip tucked in tight? Let’s gun it a little and beat this thing. Where did all the birds go? Man, a minute ago we had a crew of a thousand and now it’s just us again. Here we go. Hang on, brother.

*   *   *

The
Tanets
was registered in Liberia as the
Tanets,
or the dance. It was also registered in Oman as the
Volchitsa
(the she-wolf), in the Maldives as the
Cherypaha
(the turtle), and in Indonesia as the
Sokol
(the hawk). In all cases the boat was listed as having a Russian owner, a crew of four, and papers to ship lumber from one side of the ocean to the other; in actuality the
Tanets
had not carried timber for years, since Enrique had taken possession of the boat from its late owner, and it carried a crew of three: Enrique, the pilot, and a massive impassive crewman with no name at all. In actuality the
Tanets
was a fishing vessel, in a manner of speaking; a nomadic enterprise, a commercial entity with the widest possible definition of commerce, or, as Enrique had once phrased it, hunting and gathering in the most ancient and traditional manner. In actuality the
Tanets
had no fixed abode or port of call, and rove at will. It was not a pirate ship, having never sunk another ship; it was not a merchant, as it did not sell nor buy in any orthodox manner; it carried cargo only briefly, as the general rule imposed by its master was immediate consumption or exchange; it was not a gunship, although there were guns aboard; and it belonged to no navy or nation, despite its plethora of identification papers of various nationalities, produced as situations demanded. In actuality the
Tanets
was nothing that it seemed to be, and something of a shadow in legal and maritime terms; as soon as it was reported to be seen in the east it was gone into the west, and many people who were sure they had spotted it from ship or shore almost immediately doubted themselves when no record of a rusted dark gray mystery ship could be easily found. Also Enrique preferred to move at dusk, when the boat blended into the sift and shawl of darkness, and on moonless nights, when the
Tanets
would emerge silently from the lees of islands, or the shoulders of lonely jetties, or the tangled mouths of isolated rivers, and slide quietly into the long dark sea like a shark. From long practice each of the three members of the crew held the same position when they set out to hunt and gather—the pilot in the cabin, Enrique behind him with charts and binoculars, and the impassive crewman in the stern, making sure no one saw them leave.

*   *   *

The
Plover
ran. The storm was boiling from the north and northeast at a terrifying rate, and Declan knew from painful experience that the savage wind and mammoth swells would hit at the same time, so they ran, all sails set, engine at full roar. Make sure the leeboard in her bunk is up! he shouted at Piko. What? The leeboard! keeps her from bouncing around! The ship tore through the water faster than he could ever remember the old bird whipping before. The water grew gray and then black. Clip yourself on the jackline! he shouted at Piko. What? The jackline! this rope! it’ll save your ass! The storm loomed and brooded and filled the world. For an instant Declan thrilled in the speed and flow of the boat and then he knew they could never outrun the storm and they were utterly and thoroughly screwed. Sea anchor! he shouted at Piko. What? The drogue, the chute! This they had actually practiced setting once, and now Piko flung it off the bow perfectly just as Declan slewed the boat around to face the hungry storm. They whipped down everything but a storm sail so Declan would have steerage if necessary, paid out line to the drogue chute, and stared at each other. The wind hit first and then a series of swells so big even Declan felt bile in his throat. Let’s go below! he yelled, but no voice could outshout this storm, and he grabbed Piko’s elbow and gestured.

Down below Pipa was mewling in terror.

Stay with her unless I call you. Put your life jackets on.

She’s in there tight. I can help, Dec.

Nothing to do. We either ride it or sink. If it sinks, stay together.

You staying down here?

Yup. I’ll check the chute here and there.

Can we ride it out?

We can’t run away fast enough. The only thing to do is face into it. If we try to run we’ll get pitchpoled for sure. The chute should hold us facing into it. If we go sideways we sink. If we get rolled we sink. This is a serious bitch and we basically just have to endure it. The boat will float if we stay facing the storm.

How long will it last?

Hours. And it’ll get worse than this.

Nothing I can do?

Stay with the pip. If I need you I’ll call. The wind will start to scream and she’ll be really scared. Just stay with her unless I call you.

Okay.

Isn’t this great, Piko? Happy you came?

Sort of.

The bucolic South Seas, said Declan. Serene and tranquil vistas that please the eye and calm the roiling soul.

The wind started to scream. Declan estimated forty knots, maybe fifty. It went on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on. Pipa puked on Piko. Declan went up three times to check the chute the first hour and four times the next hour. The swells grew to ten feet, fifteen. The thrash and smash of water were such that he wore his snorkeling mask on deck. On and on and on and on and on and on. The wind snapped the rigging like a bowstring, a thread, a strand of web. On and on and on. The mast snapped with a crack like a cannon explosion. Piko leapt up from the bunk and ran on deck. No no no! shouted Declan. Go below! The pip, the pip! But all Piko heard was the last word and he slid back down the stairs to her bunk just as the ocean punched a hole in the hull to starboard and water shot howling through as if from a fire hose. He grabbed Pipa and ran on deck. No no no! shouted Declan, horrified to see the girl, and in the worst nightmare imaginable he watched as Piko reached for the jackline, lost his grip on his child as a tremendous wave hit them like a hammer, and Pipa rode the froth of the seething wave over the bow and into the maw of the sea.

*   *   *

Piko dove for her instantly an incredible leap from the top of the stairs his head crashing against the railing with a terrible crack but he had her foot he caught her foot! and Declan dove for him and grabbed his clip just as Piko washed thrashing over the rail but Declan snapped the clip to the railing just in time the line went cruelly taut he saw Pipa’s wild face in the water her hands fluttering madly he saw Piko gagging but Piko would go to the bottom of the
sea
with that foot in his hand he would
never
let go and Declan hauled with all his might o god o god pull jesus blessed jesus he saw Piko’s braided beard whip in the seethe like a fish tail and he grabbed it with his left hand and hauled on both rope and beard with all his might and both Pipa and Piko came thrashing gagging puking over the railing he left Piko clipped to the railing and grabbed Pipa and ran down the stairs to her bunk shouting all right! okay! stay here! I’ll get your dad! don’t move! As if she could move the poor busted kid and he leapt back up for Piko who was a streaming gray huddle and sag on the deck. Unclipped him from the railing shoved him down the stairs. Piko! Stay here! Do not come on deck! Do you hear me? Stay here! It’ll blow over soon. One more hour. Piko! Listen to me. Stay here. I’ll take care of it. I’ll take care of things. You take care of her. Can you hear me, man? Piko!

A soggy mumble: Dec.

Jesus, man. You all right?

Pip?

She’s all right. Stay awake. Don’t come up. She’s okay. Jesus, Piko. Stay here.

And none of the three moved again for what seemed like hours, as the storm raged away to the west; the wind shrinking from shriek to howl to roar to shout to thrum to sigh, though the swells remained mountainous far longer; the birds returning to the world, although now they were jaegers, the dark falcons of the sea; and finally when the swells began to subside he hauled in the drogue, his arms heavy and burning. He examined the hole in the hull, the size of his fist, and plugged it with plywood and epoxy enough to keep the water out; he’d fix it better when he had time. The mast was a loss. Nothing to be done now. Cut and stored rigging for splicing and rerigging later. Both pumps going strong. Piko and Pipa asleep. He rolled them both out of their wet clothes and wrapped them in layers of blankets. Poor little pipsqueak. Course south by west. He could not turn into the still-powerful swells and beat back to the little islands, not with the muscular current and insistent mounds of water behind him; he would have to ride the current south and west and hope to hit Wake Island or the Marshall Islands, and stop there for repairs and refitting. Nothing to be done.
Our patience will achieve more than our force
. Burke. I don’t think I have ever been this tired, and Christ I been tired. They didn’t drown. Boy. They didn’t drown. Heck of a day. The Pacific Ocean, my butt. Total misnomer. They sure didn’t drown, though.
Great
day. Best day ever. I got to sleep a little. Just an hour. How come suddenly there’s no terns, why is that? Jaegers’ll eat your eyeballs. Wonder where that gull went? Abandoned ship. Absent without weave.
Heck
of a day. Just a little nap. Just.

*   *   *

Two days of warm sun and gentle breeze and work around the boat drying things and stitching things and repairing things and doubling the patch in the hull and splicing and rigging rope and fixing one of the pumps which gagged and gave out, waterlogged, and praising the other as the greatest tough little pump that ever was,
you
are going to pump heaven, little man,
you
are my favorite pump ever, we’ll make a little pump crown for you and have a ceremony when you are done returning the ocean to whence it came, my good little pump brother.

Late on the second day they rested, all sprawled in the merciful sun, Pipa asleep.

Tell me about the pip, Piko.

Not much to tell.

What works?

Her hands, pretty much.

That’s it?

All her
parts
work. I mean, she eats and grows and stuff, but she’s sort of trapped in there. She makes that cat sound but she can’t really talk. There’s days I think she’s making some tiny progress but then the next day I know she’s not. She got nailed by that bus, Dec. Hammered her head against the highway. She broke some bones but that’s not what’s broken anymore. The her of her broke, I think. I wonder sometimes if the her of her is in there or not. I don’t know which would be worse, her being all there and trapped inside or her not being there anymore and just her outside keeps going.

Can she make a comeback?

I don’t think so, Dec. Been four years. Doctors said no.

I thought I saw her smile a couple times.

Me too. I don’t know if it’s for real, though.

Her eyes work, right? She knows what’s going on.