Wake of the Perdido Star (9 page)
Read Wake of the Perdido Star Online
Authors: Gene Hackman
The rail was slick from the rain; salt crusted on the worn wood. Jack was tired, his legs weak from the constant motion of the boat. The deck was practically deserted, except for the helmsman and a few hands on watch. Still, he knew he had to get some sleep.
Going below was still difficult. As he made his way among the bunks, he heard a moan. That survivor's bodyâPaul, was itâwas entangled in a blanket, stained with use. Jack stopped at the chesthigh berth. The man stank of urine and was drenched in sweat. His bright blue eyes were open, focusing at the bottom of the bunk above him. He seemed to be about his own age but smaller, and delicate-looking; Jack could tell he was handsome, although right now forlorn. It's the seasickness, Jack surmised.
“The cook has told me there be salted cod and bits of cheese for supper,” he said. “If you like, I'll fetch you some.”
“Speak to me not of food, for I am soon to die.” The words came out gravely, spoken between chapped, broken lips. There was a long pause. Jack waited expectantly. Finally, Paul's ashen face turned slowly to him.
Jack snickered but immediately felt ashamed, as he had also been sick and knew of the nausea brought on by the sea.
“I'm sorry to laugh, but you're a long way from death's doorâfifty years or so, I'd say.”
Annoyed, the limp sailor peered at Jack, daring him to continue.
“You'd be the fellow they fished out of the sea two nights ago, wouldn't you?”
“Fished would be the proper verb, yes.”
“You looked more dead than alive. But you seem to be with the living now.”
“What of Martin? My mate? Is he . . . dead?”
“Yes, I'm afraid so. His burns were severe.” Jack didn't know if it was his place to tell the young man this news, but it was out and so be it.
With a sigh, the pallid seaman tried to cover his head with the blanket.
Jack moved closer and snatched a corner of the cover. “Get out of your bunk and come up on deck with me. Now.” Jack knew he was taking a chance with this stranger, but there was something intriguing about him, and he was sure sternness was the right approach.
“What do you want of me?” Paul's voice was weak.
“Do as I say. Move your wet behind out of this sodden mess and we'll take a stroll.” The order seemed to startle the young man.
“Are you mad? Can't you see I'm sick?”
“Nevertheless, arise, Matey.” Jack scooped up the body and pulled him to his feet while Paul weakly clutched the blanket to his chest. Once upright, the ailing young man promptly began to sink to his knees, whereupon his new friend quickly grasped him around the waist with one arm, then trooped him through the bunks up the companionway, out to the fresh sea air.
“I'm going to be sick.”
“So be sick over the side.” Jack guided him toward the rail and stood with his charge as he retched.
“Why are you doing this?” the fellow asked, gasping for breath.
“I thought you'd feel better with fresh air smacking that freckled face,” Jack laughed and waved a casual hand of dismissal. “By the way, you look a proper mess, sailor.”
“Please do not call me sailor. I am of late a student who in my misguided fantasy thought the sea a proper place to drown my sorrow. No pun intended. Actually, I came close to accomplishing just that.” With a shiver he turned to look at the horizon. “My
name is Paul Le Maire.” He paused. “Thank you for your help. I'm feeling much better. But please, in the future, try not to be so abrupt. It is exceedingly rude.”
name is Paul Le Maire.” He paused. “Thank you for your help. I'm feeling much better. But please, in the future, try not to be so abrupt. It is exceedingly rude.”
Jack studied this pitiful waif, who was a full head shorter than he, and explained with as much sincerity as he could manage, “I'm Jack O'Reilly and you, sir, are as funny a sight as I've seen in a long time. Your arse is hanging out. You've vomit on your jumper, your hair is standing on end, and you smell like an outhouse in distress. So why, pray tell, shouldn't I call you sailor?”
“A sailor I am not.” Paul tilted his head. “I'd only been to sea two weeks on a training vessel when we attacked a privateer in the bay off Cape Hatteras. We chased and outgunned them, but we were by and large inexperienced and were shot to pieces and sunk in an inlet close to shore.”
“Yes,” Jack said. “I saw most of the battle.”
“We were on fire and sinking. In the smoke and confusion I ended up in a small boat with Mr. Martin, who was the third mate, and a couple of other hands I didn't know. I tried to take care of Mr. Martin the best I could.” He bowed his head, continuing with effort. “The other men must have slipped over the side and swum for shore. With the tide and all, I guess we just drifted out with the current.” He paused, reflecting. “They'll report me dead at sea, won't they? Maybe that will make my father smile.”
Jack raised his brow at the last comment but said only: “What's done is done. You can either go on with us or go over the side. If you feel like you won't be missed, go over the side. If not, let's carry on.”
Jack took the soiled blanket and shook it vigorously over the rail. The wind caught it, snapping it like a sail. The brown wool stretched straight out from Jack's hands, and freshly aired, he wrapped it around Paul's shoulders. “If you feel like talking later, I can usually be found forward by the bowspritâtrying to be the first one to Cuba.”
F
IRST BLACK, THEN dark green and sandy white, Cuba appeared as a saddlelike hump on the horizon. It assumed different shapes during the course of the day as the
Star
beat toward it through turquoise waters, wrestling a contrary headwind. For the better part of a week there had been “nothing to see but the sea itself” ” as Jack had announced to the uncaring salt spray. Sea, and an occasional glimpse of low-lying sand and coral reef.
IRST BLACK, THEN dark green and sandy white, Cuba appeared as a saddlelike hump on the horizon. It assumed different shapes during the course of the day as the
Star
beat toward it through turquoise waters, wrestling a contrary headwind. For the better part of a week there had been “nothing to see but the sea itself” ” as Jack had announced to the uncaring salt spray. Sea, and an occasional glimpse of low-lying sand and coral reef.
The vessel was cautiously skirting what the sailors called the Floridas. Jack noticed the lookouts were particularly wary of hazards to starboard, or west of them as they continued on their southern course. Old Hansumbob told him the trick was to keep west of the northerly push of the Gulf Stream and yet stay far enough east to keep off the shallow cays.
By evening, Cuba, off the port side of the ship, dominated Jack's vision. His eyes were riveted on the tropical island, revealing itself in greater detail each time the ship's bow leaned toward
shore. It struck Jack that the ship's progress was rather like that of an inebriated man heading doggedly back to his favorite pub; tacking first to the left, then reversing his bearing and staggering to the right.
shore. It struck Jack that the ship's progress was rather like that of an inebriated man heading doggedly back to his favorite pub; tacking first to the left, then reversing his bearing and staggering to the right.
Close up, Cuba was a painter's canvas, dominated by bold, verdant strokes, yet spattered unevenly with warm reds and browns. Mountain peaks seemed to attract a halo of both white and ominously dark clouds. There were thick plumes of smoke as well and Jack caught the sharp scent of something being burnt in the fieldsâa sailor said it was the chaff from the harvest of sugarcane.
A steady offshore breeze allowed them to tack unusually close to land as they made their way to the port of Habana. Palm trees swayed like dancers on the shore, and the light green waters of the shallows shimmered in rhythm with the trees. This same breeze made entry into the harbor difficult, but Jack enjoyed the wind's recalcitrance: being forced to approach this new world with baby steps allowed him to absorb it completely.
Finally, as night fell, they crept into the lee of the island and slipped into the harbor, dropping anchor in waters so calm that even Ethan and Pilar were able to climb on deck, beginning to breathe the fresh air of their new home. Jack noted the emergence of another figure who had been appearing with more frequency on deck during the last two daysâa somewhat less bedraggled Paul Le Maire.
Jack was pleased to see the young man but fought down the urge to approach him. Paul was obviously wrestling with demons that could only be faced on one's own. Jack thought it best to grant him his solitude until he chose to leave it of his own will.
Still, he cut an amusing figure. He wore a striped shirt several sizes too large, breeches so small that they had to be slit for proper leg room, and shoes. This last was surprising, since he had none when pulled aboardâthen Jack remembered Martin. He had been wearing shoes; the crew must have seen fit to let the lad have them.
Still self-absorbed, Paul claimed a perch opposite Jack on the starboard rail, out of the way of the men reefing sails and hauling what would seem to any landlubber a hopeless tangle of lines about the deck. There was obviously some arcane design to their effort, but even after all this time it eluded Jack. He noted that Paul was livelier on his perch today and the young man even started making eye contact, as if working on some inner resolve concerning Jack.
Suddenly, Paul stood and began taking a circuitous route around the busy seamen, in Jack's direction. He ventured a smile. “I decided to not go over the side, you see.”
“Aye, you even look like you could be mistaken for a human being.”
“Indeed. The cook let me take a pot of hot water to the scupper during that last squall and I devised a bath from the rainwater, followed by a warm rinse.”
“And the clothes?”
“The cooper and bosun rounded me up some discards that work well enough.”
“Well, it's easier talking to youâI mean with your not being dead and all . . . What do you think of Habana?”
“It's a balm for the soul. Hard to stay wrapped inside yourself when there's a world like that out there.”
“Yes,” Jack said. “It's night and still hotter than hell's hinges, but the place seems to not slow down when the sun drops.”
“There are lights everywhere. I trust that music I hear isn't coming from my own head.”
“No, indeed, me hearty. It's coming from one of those drinking establishments where there are beautiful, dark-eyed ladies who don't even know the resurrected Paul Le Maire has arrived. Aye, arrived to rescue them from their otherwise dreary lives.”
Paul grinned. “It's thoughts like that will make a person almost forget their troubles. When, think you, will the skipper let us ashore?”
“I believe there's inspections and quarantines that have to take place. Might be a couple of days, then they'll start lightering the passengers and cargo. Don't know about human flotsam picked up along the way, though. Might be weeks before they let you on shore.”
For the first time Jack heard a chuckle from his new acquaintance. Paul was coming alive and there was something in the fellow that Jack liked. He had a seriousness and intensity in his manner, offset by a twinkle in his eye, an eye that seemed to see the world in different shades of irony.
For the next three days, anchored tantalizingly close to land, the young men passed the time together, watching self-important officials strut about their ship and accept bribes from the officers. This ritual was usually followed by the crew hauling batches of cargo topside for unloading. Hides, tallow, whale oil, and what appeared to Jack to be machined tools and hardwood lumber all made their way out of the hold. The trade goods seemed to be released in increments more in proportion to the silver flowing under the hastily erected documents table than over the top, for payment of duties and port taxes. The latter, formal transactions, were accompanied by duly witnessed scratching of quills and impressing of wax seals on stiff parchment, first by the ship's captain, then the mustachioed Spanish port officials.
Standing at a respectful distance, Jack and Paul were unsure of the particulars of the transactions, but obviously the ship's manifest and what it actually carried in cargo were two distinctly different things. As Paul opened up to Jack during these days of bureaucratic captivity, Jack felt he was watching a fine instrument being unpacked from a sawdust-filled crate. Paul carried a source of knowledge and information hard to credit in one of so few years.
The night before they were finally given leave to disembark, a simple remark by Jack regarding one of the patterns of stars that looked like a sort of wide W started Le Maire on a soliloquy regarding “a celestial seat for Cassiopeia's shapely derriere,” and a
flood of wisdom followed. Paul explained the planets, the constellations, the heavens as myth and physical reality. Jack had no reason to doubt his own intelligence but he was smart enough to know he was in the presence of a truly remarkable intellect. Jack resolved that he would spend as much time as possible with his new friend when they went ashore.
flood of wisdom followed. Paul explained the planets, the constellations, the heavens as myth and physical reality. Jack had no reason to doubt his own intelligence but he was smart enough to know he was in the presence of a truly remarkable intellect. Jack resolved that he would spend as much time as possible with his new friend when they went ashore.
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