by James Jones
As if he sensed this in them, Bonham said, “Of course, we’ll fix all this interior stuff up eventually before we really start chartering her out. Anyway the insides don’t matter much. She sails like a son of a bitch. I’ve been out on her. I think what we’ll probly do, once we got the money, is rebuild the whole interior by another plan. I’m workin on a plan for it now.”
“Will that be soon?” Lucky said pleasantly. Bonham stared at her with his cold eyes before he grinned. “Not bloody likely,” he said in an English accent, then reverted: “We can’t even pay for the real structural, necessary repairs yet, right now.” It was a war to the finish with them, she could see that, and had been ever since she had been so bold as to tell him what she thought was wrong with him. “That’s a shame,” she said pleasantly.—“Yeah,” Bonham smiled, “aint it? It sure is.” Both of them watched Grant moving around touching things with a rapt, gone expression on his face.
He really had it bad. The bad smell, the cracking varnish, the peeling paint, the moldy gear, none of that had any effect on him at all. He seemed instead even to like it. More, he somehow seemed to feel curiously at home in it. He did not know whether he had gotten it before, up in Ganado Bay before he had even seen the boat, maybe he had. Maybe he had come all prepared to fall, already brainwashed. In any case he had it now. He would give anything in his life except his wife—and the success of his next play—to be the owner of this boat. This ship. And failing that, to be a part-owner, even a tiny-piece-owner, of it. He crawled and scrambled over the whole interior of it again, his third complete tour. And Bonham watched, him happily. Triumphantly.
Bonham took him outside in the still-falling rain, though falling less heavily now, to show him the dryrot area starboard forward, and pulled aside the tarp that had been hung over the hole to keep out the weather. Lucky, peering out through a saloon port, watched them and thought later that it must have been then that Bonham talked to him about the loan. In fact it was not. Bonham talked to him back at the hotel, after they returned when, having showered hurriedly, he went down to the bar ahead while she was making up and dressing. Bonham had, without ever having said he was going to, waited on him all that time down there in the bar, and Bonham was not about to miss his chance now, and both he and Grant knew it. But of course she was not there for that.
“Well,” the big man grinned from the bar, and raised his glass of whiskey and bottled soda. His wet clothes had practically dried on him by now. “So you liked her, hunh?”
“Christ!” Grant said huskily. “She’s a real beauty.” And to him she was, though he knew nothing about boats. “All that inside stuff can be fixed up and redone anytime.”
“Sure,” nodded Bonham. “Though once she’s all cleaned up and you throw a little paint and varnish on her, you’d be surprised how nice and comfortable she’ll be below. Without changing anything.”
“Yeah,” Grant said. They two were alone at the bar, except for Sam, René’s Jamaican barman and one of the witnesses at the wedding. “Gimme a double scotch with a splash of soda, Sam,” Grant ordered and then turned back to the big diver who was leaning on his forearm on the bar and smiling. It had been a big day for Grant. Since coming down in the morning and finding the bad weather, he had had a sense of vast relief that today he would not have to go out, not have to dive, not have to swallow down all his fears still another time. It was like having a day off from school. And as always, around sea ports and sea resorts, the advent of bad weather had brought with it a sort of gala feeling of vacation and vacation-excitement. Perhaps that influenced his feeling about the schooner also. But he would have loved it anyway. It was the first time he had ever been this close to somebody who could and would own a boat like that. And more, who would put his whole everyday professional life on the line for it. Looking at him he wished he had ever wanted anything in his life as much as Bonham wanted that schooner. The only thing he had ever wanted that badly was to be a great writer, a great playwright. But that was not a concrete object like the schooner. That was something he would never know about, in his own lifetime. But Bonham, with his concrete, wood-and-rope-and-canvas schooner, had a dream to live on that any man could envy.
“’Course,” Bonham smiled, “I can’t do that work now. Shit, I can’t even pay for the repairs, like I said.” He paused and sighed, still smiling. “They stopped work on her yesterday, you know.”
“No!” Grant said. “I didn’t! Why?”
Bonham shrugged. “No money. They want at least a thousand bucks right now, tomorrow, to continue work. I haven’t got it. So, no work. She sits there till I get it. And after a week they’ll start chargin me rent.” He had timed it beautifully, and had read the lines just about perfectly. “I shot off a wire to Orloffski this morning. But I’m worried about him, I got a hunch he won’t come through with anything.”
“Yeah.” Grant nursed his drink a moment, then finished it off and motioned to Sam for another. “I’m convinced that he stole my camera up there in GaBay, you know that?”
Bonham’s face was bland. “Well,” he said. “I don’t think he did.” He paused again. “We searched the whole damn house when we got home, you know. Doug was with us.”
“Hell, he wouldn’t hide it in the house if he stole it.”
“No,” Bonham said. He took a drink. “But what would he want to do a damned thing like that for? Christ, he knew I was tryin to interest you in our operation. It’s crazy.”
“Maybe he can’t help it. Maybe he’s a klepto.”
“Naw,” Bonham said, and grinned. “I don’t hardly think that.”
“I’d be damned careful with him as my partner, I’ll tell you that.”
“I told you before,” Bonham said. “I need him. I got to have him. To swing this deal. Without his cutter Finer would back out.” Then, suddenly, he was silent. He studied his drink.
Grant nursed his own drink, jiggling it and watching the ice swirl.
“A thousand dollars,” he said finally.
“Yeah,” Bonham said. He did not look up.
“Just to get them started back to work.”
“Yeah.”
“Well, look,” Grant started, then stopped, and rubbed his jaw vigorously.
“Yeah?” Bonham said.
“Look. How much do you think you could get by with—the absolute minimum—to get her fixed up and back into the water? I mean, the absolute minimum!”
“I don’t know,” Bonham said. “Like I said, I figured five to six thousand, probably six. But certain things aint absolute necessities. I mean, they don’t have to be done to make her run. Oh, I guess. Say four thousand, maybe. Say forty-five hundred. To be sure.”
Grant took a deep breath, and blew it out in a sigh. “All right. I’m going to loan it to you. You got to get that boat in the water.”
Bonham’s face and eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. “You wouldn’t! You really would?”
“You got to get that boat in the water,” Grant said again. It was more as if he were explaining his decision to himself than to Bonham or somebody else.
“But you don’t hardly even know me. How do you know I’m—How do you know I’m good for it?”
“Oh, I guess you’re good for it. But look. This isn’t anything easy for me. I don’t have that kind of loot just layin around. It’s gonna put a big hole in me to loan it to you. So be sure. Be sure you can do it on that.”
“Oh, sure,” Bonham said. “I can do it. She won’t be pretty maybe. But she’ll run just as good. She’ll run anywhere in the world.”
“All right,” Grant said. He looked as if he was not sure he was not crazy, as if he were still surprised to have heard what his mouth had just said. “We’ll fix it up tomorrow. I’ll cable my lawyer in New York.”
Bonham drew himself up to his full height, with his face delighted. “But that’s not enough! You got more than that coming to you! To do a thing like that! Look. I want you to know first, right now, that when we take our maiden cru
ise you and Lucky are invited to go. As my guests. You don’t pay a nickel.” He held up his hand for Grant not to interrupt him. “More. I want you to accept ten percent of the company. I’m sure I can get Orloffski to give you five of his forty-nine percent, and I’ll give you five of mine. But if Orloffski doesn’t, I’ll give you the whole ten out of mine. I’ve only got twenty-nine percent right now myself because I signed twenty percent of mine over to my wife. To Letta.”
“Why did you do that?” Grant asked curiously.
“Oh, taxes. And some stuff like that. But I also wanted her to feel part of it, feel like she was in on it.” Grant could not help remembering what Lucky told him Letta had told her about their sex life. Very carefully he made himself not lower his eyes, or look away. “But aside from all that I want you to accept ten percent.”
Grant held up his hand, and found he was grinning foolishly, was embarrassed. He looked for a long moment out through the big French doors at the sea, where the rain had stopped now and some sun was showing through, enhancing the dim dark and shade of the bar. Tropical Jamaica, and the Caribbean Sea, and a strange old chic hotel bar, and he was lending a professional diver and ex-professional sailor almost five thousand dollars. To save a ship. “I don’t care about that. I’d love to accept the invitation to go on that maiden cruise, though, on behalf of Lucky and myself.”
“But you got to accept the ten percent,” Bonham insisted. “This aint gonna be any bum deal, you know. We’ll make money.” Then he paused and looked all around the empty bar suspiciously, then moved closer to Grant. “Look. I’ll also let you in on something else.” Again he looked around. There was no one there but Sam up at the other end of the bar, studiously polishing glasses. But Bonham was talking almost in a whisper. “How would you like to go in on a salvage operation with me? Half and half.”
“Where?” Grant said.
“Off Ganado Bay. I discovered a wreck. Just a few days ago. Right after you left. Day I was out by myself.”
“You mean, like, treasure?”
“Naw,” Bonham said scornfully. “Nobody ever found any ‘treasure’, except Teddy Tucker. These are brass cannon. Bronze cannon. Twelve of them. All stretched out and laying there on the sand in the same oval shape the ship that carried them had. I seen them.”
“Where?”
“Off the western end of my deep reef, where you’ve dived, outside of GaBay. I’ve swum over them a thousand times. The only thing I’ve figured out is that currents must have just lately swept the sand away that covered them. Mid-Eighteenth Century bronze cannon.”
“But what if they get covered back up again?”
“So much the better,” Bonham grinned. “Then nobody else will find them. But anyway it’s deep. Nobody ever dives out there except me.”
“Are they worth anything?”
“Hell, the bronze alone must be worth six, eight thousand bucks. As relics they might even be worth more. We’ll split it. Half and half. Just you and me.”
Grant found himself beginning to feel a little leery. It sounded too good. “How much will it cost me?”
“Not a dime. Oh, we may have to rent a boat with a winch heavy enough to haul them up, but that’s peanuts. And they’re just layin out there right on the sand. If currents cover them up we’ll just dig ’em out. I know where they are now.”
“When would we do all this?”
“Anytime you say. I got nothing to do now until that schooner gets out of the yard. We could do it now, this week. Next week.”
“How long will it take?”
“Oh, a week. Maybe two. Not more. You see, salvage law most everyplace is, now, that the government whose coast the salvage is found on gets a cut. Half. Usually. But we might be able to hide these and wait till the schooner’s out, and take them to Mexico or the States and sell them black market. Shit, museums buy that stuff black market all the time.”
“I don’t want to get caught breaking any laws,” Grant said.
Bonham shrugged. “Then we’ll declare them. I don’t give a damn.”
Grant was thinking. “Well, it might fit in with our plans,” he said finally. “We were thinking of spending a week or so at Evelyn de Blystein’s before going on back home.”
“You were?” Bonham said. He looked surprised.
“Yeah. Why not?” Grant demanded.
Bonham moved his head, guiltily. “No reason. Is Mrs Abernathy still there?” he added.
“Yeah, that’s the point. Listen,” Grant said, to change the subject. “Why didn’t you pull up these cannon to pay out your schooner?”
“That’s what I was going to try to do,” Bonham said, “until you came up with the money for me. Hell, you might even make back what you’re loaning me. But I doubt it if we have to declare them to the government.”
“I’d like to do it,” Grant said thoughtfully.
“Okay, we’ll do ’er.”
“It’s an idea. Just for the diving experience, if for nothing else.” Then his heart skipped a beat, and sank. Shit, here he was getting himself back into more goddam fucking diving again.
“It’ll be diving experience all right,” Bonham grinned.
“And you’d really do that for me? Just give me half just like that?”
“Why not? You’ll be doin the work. Half of it. And it’s hard work. And you’re puttin up the money to get the schooner out, aren’t you?” Bonham had straightened up again. Lucky was just coming through the French doors. “But don’t tell anybody about the salvage. Don’t even tell Lucky. Not yet.” They had had two more drinks apiece while they were talking and Bonham looked at the bar. “Uh have you got enough cash to take care of these drinks for me?”
“Sure. I’ll just sign for them,” Grant said.
“Then I’ll see you tomorrow. Hello, Mrs Grant,” Bonham said politely, and tipped his white captain’s cap to her.
“What was he up to?” Lucky said after he left. “Up to no good, I bet.”
“Nothing,” Grant said. “Nothing much, anyway.” But it gave him a bad taste in his mouth to lie to her. So later, over dinner, he told her all about it all, all except for the salvage job. Certainly he told her about the loan. And she listened quietly. They were dining alone that night. Alone? With Doug, and with René and Lisa, and with Doug’s Frenchwoman. But at least Bonham was not there, and that made it seem alone to Lucky.
But René picked up on the loan business even before Lucky had a chance to say anything. “You just geev eet to heem? Like zat? No security nor not’ing?”
“Well, no. I don’t know. Maybe. I mean, I don’t know anything about banking and interest and all that crap.”
“Mais no-o, leeson! Ronnie, my friend, eet eez crazee, no?” René said. Then he shrugged. “Enough from ziz mishigas. Zat ees not ze beezness. You must not to worry. I weel taking care of ’eem tomorrow. You go for meeting him tomorrow, no? Ziz Bonham?”
“Well, sure. I have to wire New York for the money.”
“Hokay. I come weeth you. We talk to heem.”
“Okay, René. But he wants me to take ten percent of the company, you know.”
“Zat is different. Zat eez okay. Fine. But zat eez not zee security. We talk to heem.”
Grant had not expected such a swift and belligerent—or if not belligerent, aggressive—he had not expected such a swift and aggressive response from René. And he had expected Lucky to be angry. She was not. She had always had the feeling that once a thing was done it was done, like it or lump it good or bad it was done, a fact, and that was the way she felt about this. Besides, it was his money, he had a right to spend it how he wanted. “Maybe I was wrong about Bonham,” she said. “I don’t know. All I have to go on is my instinct. And the fact that he doesn’t like me. Anyway I’m sure he’s honest.”
“Eez not ze question of honest,” René said, “Eez ze question of security.”
“Why doesn’t he like you?” Lisa asked.
Lucky shrugged. René answered. “Perhaps eet
eez because ’ee eez afraid you go to steal Ronnie from heem?” he grinned.
“Steal him!” Lucky said. “How can I do that? I’ve already got him. I’m his wife!”
René shrugged. “Eez just ze idea.”
Lucky grinned impishly. “Well, I’ve got something Ron wants. Something that he needs. And I know for goddam certain sure that Bonham hasn’t got one of those!”
They all laughed. Doug’s blonde Frenchwoman despite her native coldness had begun to take to Lucky too, by now. No, it was not the loan that caused any trouble between them (even though he didn’t have that much money really to spare), the trouble was caused the next night, and it was caused by such a ridiculous thing, when he thought back about it, and when she did too, that the whole scene was completely stupid.
But before that happened in the evening, Grant and René had had their session with Bonham in the morning.
Grant’s telegram had gone off, in response to which the money should be arriving by cable the next day, by the time Bonham showed up at the hotel. There was still a good bit of sea running, though the storm had begun to fade, so they were not diving this day either. René came right to the point as soon as he had had Sam serve them drinks in the bar.
“‘Ow eez ’ee set up, zees compagnie of you?”
Bonham explained it
“Zees Fine-ér, ee ’as zee two percent, hein? An’ ’eez loan, eet eez hagainst ze compagnie? or hagainst ze schooner ’eemself?”
“Against the company. But of course the schooner’s owned by the company.”
“Ah, mais oui, cheri. But ze schooner ’ee eez clear, non? Bon! I not weesh make kibbitz. But I am ze lawyer—ze guard’ouce lawyer—for Ronnie ’ere, hein? Hokay? Hokay! W’at ’ee want eez thees: ’Ee want a first mort-gage on ze schooner ’eemself. Not ze compagnie, hein? Eez hokay?”
Bonham rubbed his chin for a moment and scratched his cheek. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s okay. If that’s what you want. But I don’t see what—”
