I went from Solo Hill to the Communications Office. Yes, sir, we have had the call for the Trepid on all the traffic lists. No, sir, no response. We'll keep trying. If there's any word at all, we'll get in touch with you at the hotel.
Then the slow walk back to the hotel, if it wasn't raining. I would pause at a small boatyard and see how much they had done since the last stop. Never very much. There was a small cruiser, a workboat with a broad beam, heavy construction, that I liked. It was named Au A Manu. I never asked what it meant. I was afraid it would turn out to mean Windward or Kitty Kat or Buster's Folly or Me Too.
Change to swim trunks and go down to the pool area and sit with a book at a table under an umbrella and have two very good rum drinks. They were good because I was finally able to convince the house that I wanted no sugar at all in them. Swim hard for thirty minutes. Go up and change. Take the book to the dining room. A light lunch. Back to the room. Siesta time from two thirty to four. Afternoon swim. Then a walk to the park and the waterfront, if it wasn't raining or about to rain, back to the upper-level bar for one of Henry's drinks. A late dinner, in no hurry. More of the book. Early to bed.
When my head cleared, when the jet lag was gone, I was repositioned on the underside of the earth, and everything around me became ever more real and ever more unremarkable.
On Saturday, the twelfth day of the new year, as the first trip of the cable car moved out over the bay I looked down in my habitual, methodical search of the harbor and saw the Trepid tied up to a floating platform around the corner of the larger commercial dock. I had been looking for her so long, I had to look at her three times before I could believe that I was seeing her. The slight side-to-side movement of the cable car plus the movement along the cable made it difficult to hold the tenpower lens on her deck Sails all neatly furled and lashed. Fenders in place. No one on the deck. And I was heading away from it.
It was an interminable trip up and back. I waited by the cable car. The only other people aboard had been a Japanese couple, with a basket of lunch. The attendant topside felt he had to keep the car for his full allotted-time, and he kept holding up fingers to tell me how many minutes were left. I stood leaning on the hurricane fencing which enclosed the huge pulley wheels for the great length and weight of braided wire cable. One turn constantly. There was some sort of clutch arrangement to disengage the other one. At last he called to me and I went down and got in, and he sent me down through the air, down to the final knowing. And suddenly it seemed that it was happening too quickly. I needed more time up there at the top, thinking about it.
I started in sunlight. The last third of the descent was through heavy rains, and winds that tugged at the car. Five minutes after I got out of the car, the rain stopped, but by then I was soaked through and I was halfway down Solo Hill, taking long strides in my sodden spongy sandals.
There was a man sitting on a keg on the floating platform. He was beefy and authoritative. He had a blue cloth cap and a Spiro T. Agnew wristwatch. No sir, the boat was private property and nobody was to go aboard except official persons. It had come all the way from Hawaii. Where the rail is smashed, there and there, a bad storm did that. The launch was washed away. The windows of the pilothouse are smashed. There is bad weather out there on the sea, and this is a small boat.
"How many people were aboard?"
"I think he did not turn to. I think with a sea anchor she would have been fine. No damage."
"Was there a woman aboard?"
"The lines are good for a sea boat. What? Yes, the woman is ill. He helped her off. They went in a taxi to the clinic after the inspector looked at their papers."
He told me where to find the clinic. They were doing a good morning business in pregnant women. There were two sturdy young Samoan women in white. They looked like identical twins, but one was a nurse and the other was the doctor. Dr. Alice Alasega.
Dr. Alasega could not spare a minute for anyone who was not either unwell or with child. I waited forty minutes before she could see me in her small office.
"You were asking about Mrs. Brindle?"
"Yes. What is wrong with her?"
"What's your relationship to her?"
"A friend."
"Then shouldn't you ask her husband?"
I hesitated. "I am going to ask Howie about it, of course. But I want to make sure that... he isn't kidding himself."
"I don't understand."
"Do you think Linda Brindle should continue this kind of deep-sea cruising? The Trepid really took a beating on this run. I mean, is she well enough, in your opinion?"
She studied me, while I tried to look earnest and reliable and concerned. At last she said, "I am not a psychiatrist. I don't know what to say. She seems to me to be in an acute depressive state. She's listless and unresponsive. Blood pressure low. Reflexes minimal. She made a determined effort to do away with herself a week ago today. Cut her wrist before her husband caught her. He did a good job of dressing it. It's healing nicely. She doesn't really remember very much about it. But she seems to believe she'd be better off dead. She said she would rather be dead than crazy. I put her on a psychic energizer, an amphetamine compound recommended for persistent depression. I told him I want to see her again on Monday. They seem to have all the money they need. I said it would be better for her to stay at the hotel than aboard their yacht."
"Some married couples are bad for each other."
"I know. In this case, I don't think so. He is obviously very much in love with his wife and very concerned about her. And she is very dependent on him, very subservient to him. I told them to relax and try to forget their problems and try to enjoy our beautiful island. It is a very romantic place."
"That's what the brochures all say, Doctor."
"You don't find it so?"
"I find it an unforgettable travel experience, Doctor. It is unspoiled and unhurried. And picturesque."
There was an unexpected crinkle around her eyes. "How about the intoxicating scent of white ginger on a moon-drenched tropical evening?"
"Mmmm. Yes. And rain-fed waterfalls cascading over glistening rocks after a tropical shower."
"The incredibly blue Pacific?"
"One should never leave that out."
"Never, Mr. McGee. On Monday I'll find out more about the conditions aboard the boat, how demanding it is on her, and how she adjusts to it."
"Thank you, Doctor."
The sun was bright and hot and the streets were steaming as the taxi brought me back from the clinic. I happened to look down toward the hotel pool area and saw big Howie in red swim pants, with a white towel over his shoulder, heading quickly along one of the walkways toward the pool. He was burned a deep red-brown, and his long hair, cropped off straight across the back of his neck, was bleached almost white.
I caught up to him just as he was hooking his toes over the edge of the pool. He turned, squinting in the brightness, and his face lit up. "Hey! Trav! I'll be damned! What the hell are you doing way the hell and gone out here!" He pumped my hand, banged me on the shoulder. "Son of a gun! Gees, I'm glad to see a friendly face."
"You look very healthy, Howie."
"I've been outdoors a lot. That's a long haul down here. We did a lot of it under sail. Good winds. Too much wind for a while. How come you're here?"
"Pidge wrote me from Honolulu."
"No kidding! You came way out here just to meet us?"
"Among other things."
"Hey, how about ordering me a beer while I get in a swim?"
He dived in. The outdoor bar was just setting up. I went over and picked up two Fiji beers and took them to a table that caught the breeze. I watched him make some laps, splashing and blowing, using a clumsy choppy stroke that moved him at a better speed than I would have expected.
When do you open it up? And how? Soon he came padding to the table drying his face and hair on the white towel. His brown eyes were merry and friendly. He sat down and took a deep pull at the beer, tasted it, trie
d again. "Not too bad."
"How is Pidge?"
He frowned. "Not so good. She started to come around pretty well back in Hawaii. After you talked to her. You know, she seemed a lot better after you talked to her, Trav. It got to be more like old times. There was just one flippy idea left, and that was her idea we should split. Sell the Trepid right there and split. That doesn't make any sense at all. I love that little lady. I really do. If you know we were bringing the Trepid down here, I guess she must have told you I had a buyer for it."
"I came down to make a better offer. A hundred and thirty is too small."
"Hell, Travis, I wouldn't let Pidge sell the Trepid for small money like that! I was just fumbling around finding some way to keep her near me until she gets over this bit about splitting. I found a Samoan fellow who backed me up in a little white lie."
"I've talked to Luther."
"You have! Then you know all about my little trick."
"You said she's not so good?"
"I had her to two doctors in Honolulu, and this morning I took her right from dockside to a lady doctor at a clinic. A week ago Pidge cut her left wrist pretty good. Blood all over. Scared hell out of me. The doctor said it's healing fine. The thing is, she has severe depression. She's very... I can't remember the word. Like nothing means anything to her."
"Lethargic?"
"Right! I think what we'll do, we'll stay right here while I get the Trepid repaired from the storm, and we'll stir around and see the sights and get Pidge back to being herself again."
"I'd like to talk to her."
"Sure! She'll want to see you. She's resting right now. We're in one of those huts. Number eight. Grass roof. Nice-layout here, isn't it?"
"Very quiet this time of year."
"That suits us fine."
"I'll make a deal with Pidge on buying the Trepid."
"We don't want to sell her!"
"Well, suppose Pidge does want to sell. It's her boat to do with what she wants. Once repairs are made, I'd like to go over to the Society Islands and the Marquesas, then maybe Easter island, and run from there to Santiago and up the coast, back through the Canal, up through the Straits of Yucatan and home."
He tried to laugh. "Hey. You're confusing me. She isn't for sale, McGee. No way."
"Here's what I'd like you to do, Howie. I've got an open airplane ticket back to Lauderdale. I can turn that over to you. Then Pidge can help me sail the Trepid home."
"That's a pretty dumb kind of joke there. It really is. I could get sore about something like that. You're talking about my wife."
"And that offends your sensibilities, Howie? That inflames your sense of righteousness and rectitude?"
"Well... why wouldn't it?"
"No more games, Howie. No more pretend. I got interested in you. I checked you out."
"Checked me out? For what?"
"Shut up, Howie. You are right at the end of the line."
"Line?"
"Shut up. I don't have to go into how and when and why. I couldn't get very far into why because only you would, know why. But there are some names I know. Meeker. Rick and Molly Brindle. Dr. Fred Harron. Susan Fahrhowser. Joy Harris. There are a lot of names I don't know, but it doesn't matter, because any one will do. Fred Harron will do. You put that killing on tape, for Tom Collier. Why don't you just fly home on my ticket and talk to Tom?"
He kept the baffled look almost all the way. It slipped just once, and gave me a quick glimpse of what he was. I can remember exactly when I felt that same way before. I was eleven years old. My uncle sent me down to the lake shore for a bucket of water at dawn. My sneakers didn't make a sound on the packed dirt of the trail. The wind was blowing off the lake. The old sow bear was black and huge, drinking at the shore with a pair of cubs. She reared silently, facing me, blotting out all of the sky except the little bit around the edges. She did not move. She looked at me. I could smell her. My bones had turned to stalks of ice, and my heart was empty as smoke. Then she wheeled and dropped, grunted at the cubs, herding them ahead of her, along the shore and up into the alders.
I couldn't tell anyone how it was. They would think it was just a bear. It could kill you, but it was just a bear. It was more than a bear. It was something out of the blackness. It was night. It was evil. It colored that whole year of my life with a taste of despair.
The blackness was there in Howie Brindle, and then it was gone. "What the hell are you talking about, Trav? I mean. This is the weirdest conversation I ever heard anywhere. Tape? Killing? You've spent too much time out in the sun."
He looked up and past and smiled and said, "Hi, honey!"
As I turned my head, he hit me. I don't know how or what with. A quiet time of morning. A few people around, and doubtless he knew that nobody was looking our way. The sky spun over and around me, and there was a ringing crack of my skull against the stone, a dim and distant roughness against my cheek. Then there were gabblings, excited chatter, with the voices sounding as if they were down in deep barrels. I was jostled, tugged, shifted, then lifted into the air. "Just show me the way to his room," a huge voice said. It was a blurred voice with double images, like a badly tuned television set. I was jolted rhythmically as somebody walked with me. Stairs. A rap against the anklebone, which meant a doorway. All my wiring was ripped loose somehow, left in a listless dangle.
"Touch of the sun," the huge voice said. "See, he's coming out of it. A little rest is all he needs."
I was indeed coming out of it. I could wave my putty arms and open my fried eyes. The throng murmured from the bottom of their barrels. Through a doorway. Door slammed behind us. Sits me on the bed, holding shirt bunched in left hand. Glimpse of a big brown fat fist floating toward my face. Turned with it. BAM, with rockets and red glare and so forth. Hang on the edge of the world. Breathe in, breathe out. Stretched on bed. Undoing of buttons, undoing of belt. Sandals off. Secret giggling, tucked way inside of me, saying, But sir, we hardly know each other. Hoist naked and carried and put down thumpingly on the tile floor. Cool tile. Bathroom. Thunder of water into the tub. Very strong flow. Fills fast.
Hands grasping again. Take a deep and stealthy breath and let it all out and take another. Out, take another and the cool water closing over me. Hold breath. Legs all upbent, jammed against faucets. Big hand pushing down on the middle of my chest. Aimless thrashing of arms. Okay. Let some of breath out. Boinking of bubbles in tub water. Face probably a foot under water. Hold the rest of the breath but with mouth open, back of throat closed. Eyes half open? Yes. Wavery brown face above me, parched hair. Heavy pressure of hand gone from chest. Brown face further away. Brown face, brown chest, red pants. Hold entirely still. You can do three minutes, McGee. You claim you can. Don't let the chest start those involuntary heavings, trying for air.
At the very last moment, he turned very swiftly and left the bathroom. I resisted the urge to come lunging up out of the tub. I put my nose and mouth out into the air, into the sweet, delicious, beautiful air and lifted further, breathing deeply, until my ears were out. I heard him talking. "He's coming around fine, thank you. Just fine. I'll tell him you asked." A man answered, and I heard the door close, and I sank back to the same position as before, but this time good for three minutes more if need be.
I don't think the inspection lasted more than ten seconds. But I remained under. I sneaked up for air finally, then went under again. That little turn ahead of the slow-motion fist had softened the BAM just enough. Play it safe, McGee, or the bear will get you for sure.
It took time and courage to climb out of that tub. He was gone. I tottered out and locked my door and sat on my bed. I lay back on my bed. My head had begun to ache, the whole left side of it where it had been hit, twice by him and once by the stone of the terrace.
When I left his room he was just fine. I should have stayed with him. I guess he must have decided a cool bath would make him feel better. He got in and... passed out again. I blame myself for this. I thought he was perfectly all right.
.. Impulse and opportunity. The sow bear had had a chance at me and didn't take it.
What now, hero? Rescue the maiden. How? And did she want to be rescued, to be jolted miserably upon her caudal end against the silver-worked saddle of the rescuing knight as they hie away into the sunset?
First find the maiden fair. No. First identify that little tune he kept humming as the tub was filling. Bum-de-dum-bum, bum-de-dum-bum, BUM BUM BUM BUM BUM. Oh, hell. Of course. "On, Wisconsin." Also any high school which happened to steal the tune. On, Shamokin. On, Poughkeepsie.
Get up! Why? So he can get another chance to kill you, stupid!
Eighteen
AT FIVE minutes of noon, I finally discovered that the Brindles had gone out, that they were not in the hotel. Everybody asked me how I felt. I said I felt rotten. I said it had been one of those long mornings.
John D MacDonald - Travis McGee 15 - The Turquoise Lament Page 23
