Bartholomew himself didn’t exactly run what would be called “a tight ship.” He cursed constantly. He alternately bullied, then commiserated with, his crew. He was profoundly overweight, smoked heavily, and drank more than he smoked; as a result, most of his crew also drank and smoked. He was long overdue for a major cardiac event. His ship was in much the same shape. The engines were constantly failing, and every voyage was plagued by episodes of drifting aimlessly in the shipping lanes while some further makeshift repair was done. His seamen seldom lasted more than one voyage, and the crew was undisciplined and usually intoxicated to the point of insolence, fighting, and uselessness. The ship took on water constantly, and the two functional bilge pumps were badly overworked.
Yousseff had always been astonished that someone as lazy and undisciplined as Bartholomew could possess the skills and wit necessary to smuggle large quantities of narcotics. Perhaps it was all because of his ruthlessness and the way he treated other men, including his crew. Although he allowed them undisciplined run of the ship, he was prone to random bouts of bad temper; he had shot and killed a fair number of his crew over the years. It was rumored that he had even pitched a few overboard into the waters of the Pacific in the middle of their voyages. The only reason he was able to maintain a crew at all was that he paid them well. Even with the money, though, talk of mutiny was never far from the lips of the men. Luckily, they were usually too drunk to follow through.
The truth was that Bartholomew’s only true assets were his connections on the other side of the Pacific, on the west coasts of Mexico, America, and Canada. Those associations were what Yousseff was after. It was for them that he made himself as valuable as possible on the newest incarnation of Bartholomew’s ship. He did anything and everything, from cleaning the decks and toilets, to preparing food, to assisting in the engine room. As with everything else, he learned rapidly, and had a voracious appetite for absorbing more. He acquired an understanding of the fundamentals of navigation, and learned how to read the stars and navigational charts, the radar (when it worked), and the sonar equipment. He worked from dawn till dusk. The rest of the crew thought that he was completely mad. If he could earn his keep working five or six hours a day, why work 18? Why clean a deck when no one had asked him to? Why stand knee deep in tepid water, with poor lighting, in a steamy, stinking hot hull to fix a pump, when there was no order to do so, especially when he was so mechanically challenged? Why work in the kitchen to help the chef? Why clean the kitchen from top to bottom when the chef told him not to bother? Before long, Yousseff’s hard work and diligence were earning him enemies rather than friends.
It was n the decks of Bartholomew’s ship that Yousseff first met Vince Ramballa. Vince was the first mate, and split his time between the engine room and the bridge, struggling to keep the aging engines going and the ship on course. He was the medium between Bartholomew and his crew, and through good people skills and clever negotiation, he had on several occasions prevented the crew from leaving en masse. Vince was the only man on the ship, aside from Bartholomew, who saw Yousseff’s value.
The rest of the crew took offense to Yousseff and his keen attitude and began to sullenly grumble about it. Late one night, things came to a head. Yousseff was on the bridge, with his proverbial bucket and mop, cleaning the floor. Most of the crew had been in a common room below deck, gambling and drinking heavily. They were on the third week of what should have been a two-week journey and were still a week away from Manzanillo. The voyage had been beset by breakdowns, storms, and misadventures. On the night in question, the seas were not calm, and moods were surly. Talk turned to Yousseff and his attitude.
“Trying to show us all up, him and that idiotic mop of his,” grumbled one man, reaching for the whiskey bottle.
“Trying to help out in the engine room when he obviously doesn’t have a clue how to hold a wrench or wield a hammer,” said another. “Just doesn’t belong on a ship.”
“Where is that skinny Pashtun bastard anyway?” chimed in a third. “Let’s teach him a lesson.”
“I think he’s on the bridge,” said the first. “Let’s have some fun.”
The six sailors, liquor in hand, proceeded to the bridge where, sure enough, Yousseff was cleaning the floor and the insides of the windows and doors.
“Hey, shit boy,” said one, “clean this.” He picked up Yousseff’s bucket, which was full of dirty water, and threw it at Yousseff, drenching him from head to foot with the grimy liquid. Yousseff did not look up, nor did he speak. He continued with his task as though the sailors weren’t there.
For a few seconds the sailors were perplexed. But the ringleader refused to be put off. He walked up to Yousseff, who was a mere 5′6″. The sailor was at least 6′1″. He gave the smaller man a mighty shove, throwing him hard into the rear bulkhead. Yousseff’s head cracked into the hard steel, and a trickle of blood ran from the wound, staining the floor on which he’d fallen. Still he did not utter a word. He simply got up, reached for the mop, and attempted to resume his mopping. While he did this with slow deliberation, his mind was racing. The situation was turning ugly. The sailors were in a foul mood, and there was no telling where things would go.
“Yo, the outside hull is filthy,” said the first sailor to one of his comrades. “Grab a rope. Let’s give this little bastard a real job to do.”
Within seconds, Yousseff was on his back on the deck, his feet tied together with a section of nautical rope. Three of the sailors picked him up and unceremoniously tossed him over the rail. He found himself hanging dangerously just over the side, suspended head first by a thin stretch of rope.
“Clean it, you little bastard!” roared one of the sailors. “Clean the damn hull! Never been done yet. It’s got to be filthy.”
A stiff wind was blowing, and there were 20-foot swells, cresting in whitecaps, raging below Yousseff. From what he could see, there were only two sailors hanging on to the rope. Two men keeping him from falling into the sea that raged below him. He glanced at the ocean and gulped; he’d never learned to swim.
“Hang on, you Pashtun peasant, you’re going for a nice little ride,” said the ringleader, as the sailors let the rope slide through their hands.
Yousseff, heart pounding, was buffeted by the wind, and crashed against the hull of the ship as the sailors played out more and more rope. He was starting to have visions of his own death. The tops of the waves began to catch his body, knocking him back and forth some 40 feet below the level of the deck. He was unable to brace himself and became totally disoriented, upside down, first in, then just out of the of the black, raging water. As the sailors let out even more rope, he heard the distant shouts of the drunken men above him. “Clean it, you little desert runt. Clean the hull!”
Yousseff’s head and torso were caught in the waves, which smashed him ever more violently against the hull. The salt water stung his eyes and burned his throat. It was one of the few times in his life that Yousseff felt the gnawing teeth of fear. Was this to be his end? Was this how he would die? The salt water was rushing into his mouth and nose and filling his throat. He gasped every time his head broke the water, desperate for the life-saving oxygen.
Just when he was certain that his death was near, Yousseff felt the rope being pulled, and his body being lifted upward, away from the black water and toward safety. He felt strong hands reach for him and pull his body back over the railing and to the security of the deck. He was completely disoriented, and had several gashes and bruises on his head and forearms. He couldn’t feel his feet or hands. It was several moments before he could breathe properly again. When his vision finally cleared, he saw Vince, pointing a revolver at the sailors and ordering them to untie the rope and get some towels.