I stepped off the bus at 12:03 p.m. and at 12:05 p.m. Hal let me have the haymaker. “Mickey, half the check is mine and I've earned it. I big-talked Mr. Decker into paying us ten grand, you would have settled for a grand or two, so...”
“So you'll be half owner of a fine boat that....”
“No, Mick. I would have told you sooner if I'd known where to reach you. I'm using my five thousand for college, making something of myself.”
“Look, we buy this boat and you still finish college under the G.I. Bill. I'll run the boat with a kid and you help on weekends and during the summer.”
“Mick, I'm going to one of the Ivy League schools. Wally told me the deal. With the money and the G. I. Bill, I can go first class, develop the right contacts. And James —Mr. Decker—is interested in me—after he heard about me being an ensign.”
I must have looked sick for Hal said, “I know you think I'm crossing you, but Mick, my name is on the check and opportunity only knocks once and...”
“Shut up!” I walked on to the bank and he followed. We had the money a few days later. Hal took his five grand and I never saw him again until now, in Haiti.
I hunted for a cheap boat, but there weren't any worth a dime. The Sea Princess seemed to have been abandoned. Only the top of her cabin showed. When the Coast Guard threatened to tow her out and sink the old babe, I paid to have her pulled up on the ways. I found Decker's address and wrote him a couple of times but never received an answer. Then I wired I wanted to buy the boat back. Finally I hitched a ride to Chicago. He wouldn't even see me but I collared Wally and left a few hours later for home with a letter stating I had bought the Sea Princess for one buck. It took $3100 of the $4200 I'd left to refit her, and it wasn't until a half a year later I was back to charter fishing again.
By then there were so many boats in the racket I barely made coffee and cake money—even though the Sea Princess was a better sea boat than most of them. But she still looked like hell.
IV
In the long twilight the sky was a thin, milky light spotted with a few pale stars on the horizon. The sea was running choppy but it looked like a good night. Tuning in some fair music on the radio, I lit a cigar and sprawled on my bunk again to read a New York City paper I'd bought in Port-au-Prince. It was only three days old. I'd hardly started the sports section when I heard the slight splash of oars and a rough voice calling, “You here, mister?”
I went on deck and there was my old man buddy I'd had on board earlier. He held up a pint of cheap rum and gave me a large grin. I motioned for him to come aboard and he tied up, careful not to bang against the Sea Princess. I didn't mind company. We sat in the cockpit and he wanted to know how the radio ran. I explained about the Diesels charging the batteries when I was under power. I wasn't giving a very clear explanation and he didn't understand a word of it, but he nodded and patted the knee patches on his pants, as if agreeing with everything. I changed the subject by asking if I could drink from his bottle. He said most certainly. The junk burned on the way down and then made a blast furnace of my stomach. And I'd only taken a polite sip. It was like guaro, the coarse sugar cane rum of Central America. I knew what the old guy was sucking around for, and that was okay, too.
I asked if he would care to try some of my whiskey? After the proper hesitation he said he would—as a favor to me—and slipped his bottle into his pocket. We had several shots of Canadian with crackers and sharp cheese. The old man discussed my boat, and the advantages of whiskey as against rum. We were quiet for a short time, drinking more whiskey. Islanders love to talk and soon the old man pointed at the cloudless sky and said it would most certainly rain by morning. I told him he was wrong, gave him the radio weather report. But he rubbed his knees, said his joints knew better than any radio.
He had been eating steadily at the cheese and crackers so I broke out another tin and he insisted I have a shot of his rum. It didn't burn as much this time. I tried it with ice, and so did he, and it wasn't too bad. Then we went back to the Canadian and he told me about fishing in his youth.
By the time we'd finished the Canadian, and the rum, I realized we were both drunk. The old man assured me he could row ashore with ease despite the choppy sea. Outside the cove it was really blowing. But I pulled in my dinghy and tied it to his heavy boat. While he was admiring the teak planks of the dink, I got the outboard over without falling on my face and attached it to the stern of his boat. He was delighted and I let him steer and we made an extra run around the cove, taking on spray and water, before we hit the beach. While I stood in water up to my can and fastened the outboard to the dink, the old man staggered around in the shallow water and asked how much the motor cost, what was the best make, and the amount of gas the tank held. I answered him with drunken carefulness, as if he would ever be able to buy one. I helped him beach his boat and we shook hands solemnly and he said he would bring me some mangos and fresh fruit in the morning. That he had meant to ask if I had an extra pair of old pants I could spare?
I said I was sorry but I didn't. I waved and headed back for the Sea Princess. The dink was full of water and even though I was soaking wet, I was still drunk. I hadn't been this high in a long time.
I tied the dink securely, put the outboard in its rack, and checked the anchors. I went below. Usually liquor is a sleeping pill for me—not that I need anything to make me sleep. But now I was feeling wide awake and I dried myself, stretched out in the bunk and went back to reading the paper. Not the news, but the ads. The show and Broadway ads, the pictures. I'd never been to New York and I wanted to see it. Right now I wanted to very much.
It didn't make sense, night life never meant a thing to me. But with Rose's money and her looks, I had this desire to taste big time spending. The feeling had come up several times in the past months.
Of course that was out—at least until I knew what kind of trouble Rose was in. It wasn't anything that worried me. I had no lack: a woman like Rose, the Sea Princess, money. Only I'd get to thinking we weren't putting the money to its fullest use. If I only knew what she'd done, we might be able to see New York, Canada, maybe even take a crack at Paris.
I studied the few pictures of Broadway in the paper, read the gossip column. I turned to the sports section again, then the news. There was a piece about some slob who had knifed his girl friend because she hadn't given him money. The paper said he didn't deny he was a “kept man.” As I folded the paper and put it away carefully—Rose loved to read the papers but flew into a temper if they were torn or wrinkled—I turned off the light and wondered if I was a “kept man.” I didn't give a damn if I was. But I told myself I was really working hard for whatever I spent. For one thing I would be an accomplice to whatever she was jammed over. Yeah, I was earning my keep... and it certainly was damn nice work.
The boat was bouncing when I awoke. It was dark out and I had a big head. My wrist watch said it was a few minutes after five. It was raining hard. I listened to the rain awhile, then sat up. I felt creepy. Then I noticed the hatch door was pulled shut. I went up on deck and even the cove was full of white caps rolling before a strong wind. The rain felt good on my face and chest. As I turned to relieve myself over the side, I saw the old man's boat tied to the dink. I looked around and he was crouched up near the bow, wrapped in part of the jib sail, watching the anchor ropes.