Thoreau in Love (12 page)

“Shouldn’t be long now,” said the captain.

Henry opened the
Odyssey
, but there wasn’t enough light to read by. All he could think about was Ben. “Like I’m nobody to him.” More than anything, Henry hated being ignored.

After a few moments, Mrs. Hawke barked, “Where’d you hide my rum?” The captain mumbled something. Then she demanded, “And you, get your ass out of here. I’m tired of you.”

Someone—obviously Ben—clambered out of the captain’s cabin, through the hall and onto the deck. Henry started to follow, then thought, No. If he cared, he would have looked in here when he stepped over my open door. I don’t want to see him, not if he’s going to behave like I don’t even exist. He sat back, vacantly staring up into the hall, unable to focus on anything but Ben and how terse he’d been. After a few minutes, the shadows in the hall shifted; a lamp appeared.

“Take it, will you,” Ben whispered.

For Henry, it was dawn, calming his nightmares with its clear, cool light. He climbed up, took the lamp and held it up as Ben lowered himself into the room. Ben put a finger to his lips, then with all his strength he pushed the door up until it shut, and bolted it. After an awkward moment, he said, “I’m sorry I acted so poorly at dinner.”

“All day I was wondering where you were,” said Henry. “Your eye looks terrible. What happened? Are you really all right?”

“My eye’s fine. It’s my heart that aches. But now you know how I feel.”

Hanging the lamp, Henry said, “What do you mean?”

“Cupid Wounded”? said Ben, then, from memory, recited,

“Love once among roses

Saw not

A sleeping bee, but was stung;

And being wounded in the finger

Of his hand cried for pain
.

Running as well as flying

To the beautiful Venus
,

I am killed, mother, said he
,

I am killed, and I die
.

A little serpent has stung me
,

Winged
. . .

Ben paused, searched his memory, then . . .

Winged which they call

A bee—the husbandmen
.

And she said, If the sting

Of a bee afflicts you
,

How, think you, are they afflicted

Love, whom you smite?”

Cupid Wounded
was one of the Anacreon poems Henry had translated from the Greek. After a moment, Ben said, “Can’t you see how afflicted I am?”

Not knowing what to say, Henry choked out, “I was so worried.”

“You were?” asked Ben, his voice rising high. He eased closer to Henry, his eyes sparkling brightly.

“Yes, I was. Where were you?”

“Let’s sit.” And when they were happily settled beside one another against the hull, Ben said, “Captain knew I was in here last night. Bashed my eye this morning, told me to get out of his cabin. He gets jealous. Then I hid. After we went aground, I went to the galley, to secure everything so when the ship listed, nothing fell. And the whole time my heart’s in my throat, thinking about you, wondering if you care about me at all.”

“I do care about you.”

“That’s the difference, I guess. You care about me. Me? Well, all day, as I was nursing my eye, I was thinking of you. When I was hanging the bucket of stew, securing the pots and the stores, I was thinking of you. And the stories my mother used to tell came into my head—she knew right from when she met my father, that she was in love with him—and I realized fully that I’m in love with you, Henry Thoreau.”

Henry couldn’t find his tongue, and he got so nervous he fumbled with the lamp. Ben went on. “It hurts.”

Just then they were interrupted by the most awful sound, like a huge animal in suffering, as
Dahlia
began to right itself.

Henry jumped. “Oh my God!”

From above, the call, “All hands!”

“Damn,” said Ben. He grabbed Henry’s arm. “Come up on deck with me.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not staying here!” Before Ben could open the door, Henry pulled him back, wrapped his arms around him, squeezed him hard.

Beaming, Ben pulled away, far enough to look Henry in the eyes. “I think it’s more than care.” Henry smiled broadly. Ben said, “You hold the door while I unbolt it.” They carefully let the door open, and then laughingly climbed up into the hall and out the hatch.

Though
Dahlia
was slowly righting itself, the deck was still at a thirty-degree angle. Ben and Henry made a game of trying to walk a straight line across the inclined deck, colliding into each other again and again. Their merriment was contagious—even Susan joined in—and soon all but the captain had joined them in chaos. One old salt, who said he’d gotten his sea legs rounding Cape Horn, scoffed at everyone’s efforts, then marched forward without the help line as if he were walking on flat ground. They all cheered. Ben put his hand on Henry’s shoulder, elbowed him gently in the ribs and burst with the laughter of relief. They were together again. They were in love. And then Henry burst with a laugh of love, and said, “I’m so happy. This is why I left Concord. All my doubts are gone.”

The tide, as it does, continued to rise;
Dahlia
creaked and groaned and shifted until the deck was nearly level. The captain called orders and then said, “Wickham, foresail!” Under his breath to Henry, Ben said, “Bastard,” then went running toward the bow. The wind was up but not the sails; the moon reflected off the water and lit the night so it was easy to see faces, though not in detail. Henry looked for Ben but didn’t see him. Then from above, he heard Ben call a long “Whoooooooo,” and there, hanging by his legs and one arm from the forward mast, a silhouette in the crook of the moon, was Ben. Henry waved and whoooooed back, and then someone else forward whooooooed, and Ben whooooed again, and someone aft whoooooed, and Henry whoooooed, and it was as if the whole ship knew their secret and the excitement they felt. Henry became giddy.

“What’s so funny?” said Susan, and the captain called out, “All right! Enough of that!”

For a moment the only sound was the light whoosh of the wind through the spars and the rigging. Then Henry let loose a giggle and from the bow and from aloft came more stifled laughs. Ben slid down and shinnied himself out to the end of the bowsprit, and there was another groan from the depths. The ship jerked. Ben yelped and the captain called an anxious, “You all right, Wickham?” Ben said he was and the captain yelled for him to hold tight. Then came another groan, less severe, and Ben called, “We’re off it, Captain. We’re adrift!”

A cheer went up. The captain shouted, “Steady, hold, hold, hold,” then, “You back, Wickham?”

“Secure, Captain,” said Ben.

“Jib!” Following the captain’s order, the crew pulled the sheets, the foresail rose and caught the wind and
Dahlia
lurched forward. When the captain seemed sure they were off the bar, he called for the hoisting of the mainsail, which flapped about and filled with a zephyr, and they were again on their way, west through Long Island Sound.

The winds blew steady from the south;
Dahlia
made great speed, cutting through the calm water like a steam-powered vessel. Ben’s upside-down antic had caused his black eye to swell painfully. Cook gave him a rag and told him to keep soaking his eye with cold water. Henry and Ben sat in the bow, with Henry every few minutes drawing another bucketful of icy seawater for Ben’s rag. After a while, Mrs. Hawke came on deck, obviously drunk, singing in her mellifluous deep croak, “I’ll break the lock with my cock, said Barnacle Bill the sailor.” She staggered around to the mainmast, where she leaned back and sank to the deck.

“He can be charming,” said Ben.

“Who?” asked Henry.

“The captain. He puts on that smile. Then he gets what he wants and you’re shit to him. Only reason he married her was to get this tub.”

“But why is he so jealous of our friendship?”

“Friendship? Is that what you call it? Why is it everyone else knows what’s going on between me and you but you? Sometimes, you’re infuriating.”

“Ben. What are you talking about?”

“Forget you and me. I’m his cabin boy, Henry. I have to do everything he wants. He takes advantage of me. . . . You really don’t get it, do you? Like he’s teaching me to read charts. I’m leaning over the chart table, and pretty soon his hand is on my thigh and then it moves up to my bum.”

Thinking of Susan’s words, Henry said, “The captain? A pederast? But he’s married. His wife, she’s—”

“She’s passed out. And it’s not just his hand gets my bum.”

“Ben!”

“You and your Puritan ideas.”

“I don’t have Puritan ideas.”

“About screwing you do. But I like screwing. It makes me feel good.”

Henry, who thought of himself as open-minded, was speechless.

“Look at you, uncomfortable even thinking about it.”

Henry took a breath, sat up. “I’m not accustomed to talking about it.” In truth, he was offended by Ben’s accusation. In an effort to be sympathetic, he said, “So you and the captain—?”

Ben cut him off. “I’m signed on to him, Henry. I have to do what he orders.”

“You’re not his slave.”

“Look, there’s
Somers
.”

Anchored just off their port, silhouetted in the moonlight was a two-masted brig with the U.S. Navy’s signature white stripe along the hull.

“That’s
Somers
? How can you tell?”

“They took her off the line. Every time I see her I think of those three boys hanging from the aft spar.”

“Jump ship. Come with me. I’m sure Susan—”

“Don’t you get, that’s why he calls me Somers? All he has to say is that I talked about mutiny and he can string me up.”

“He can’t do that.”

“They did it on
Somers
. Don’t you know about that?”

“Of course I know about it. Horrendous.”

“From what I hear, those kids were just having a lark, pretending they were pirates. They were kids, my age. One of them, his father’s in the White House with President Tyler.”

“Secretary of War. I know.”

“
Somers’
skipper didn’t care a damn. Hanged all three for mutiny. They’re my age and they’re dead. Skipper can do what he wants to me.”

They watched quietly as
Somers
faded into the dark, then Ben, pointing aft, put his hand to Henry’s mouth to keep him from speaking. And there was the captain. “Gale? Gale darling? Darling Gale? Where are you?” He’d reached the mainmast. “Oh, there you are, my sweetheart.” He squatted. “I’ve got something for you,” he said, and put a jug of rum to her lips. Mrs. Hawke fell to her side, onto the deck.

“Wickham? I know you’re out here. Did you see
Somers
?”

“Here, Captain.” Ben started up, said to Henry, “See you as soon as I can,” and went aft.

Henry watched the captain put his arm around Ben as he walked him to the stern hatch. After a moment, Henry followed. As he entered the hall, he listened for sounds from the captain’s cabin, but heard none. He left his door open and pricked his ears, to no avail. The only sounds were the soothing splashes against the hull. He dimmed the lamp and lay awake as long as he could, but he was soon in dreamland.

Ben coming into his cabin woke Henry, who shielded his eyes from the dim lamplight. Ben closed the door and said, “Sorry to wake you, but would you mind sitting up awhile?”

“Sure, no, not at all,” said Henry, sitting up and wiping the sleep from his eyes. Ben sat beside him; Henry pulled in his legs to offer more room.

“Are you all right?”

“Not really. Better now I’m with you.”

Henry and Ben sat looking at each other, then Henry said, “Would you mind if I touched the soft hairs on the sides of your face.”

“My whiskers?”

“They’re so soft, and I love the way they look like daggers.”

“My secret weapon. But do you mind not? I just feel, I don’t know. It’s not you.”

“Sure, all right.” Chastened, Henry sat back, afraid he’d gone too far.

“Don’t feel like that, Henry. Maybe if you hold me. Can we lie down”

“Of course,” said Henry. “There’s nothing I’d rather do.”

Ben snickered, said, “I don’t believe that for a minute.”

“I can’t believe you’re only sixteen,” said Henry.

“Is there something wrong with that?”

“No.”

“You think because I’m young I’m no match for you.”

“That’s not true.”

“You think I’m stupid.”

“I do not. Ben? What’s wrong?”

“Come on, you name a subject and we’ll talk about it.”

Henry, realizing he wasn’t going to win, said, “Okay, how about Emerson? What do you think of Emerson?”

“Emerson?”

“Emerson. Ralph Waldo? Susan’s brother-in-law?”

“I’ve never met him.”

“Ben? Ralph Waldo Emerson?”

“Not just a friend of yours I don’t know. Someone people know.”

“Emerson’s about as famous as any American writer. If he was in politics he’d be like, who? Like President Tyler.”