The Peter & Charlie Trilogy

by Gordon Merrick

  “Things are sort of a mess up there,” he reported. “I’ll have to get that thing out of the way, won’t I?”

  “Yes, if you can.”

  “Well, my bowknots might not be very nautical but I can certainly tie it up for the time being.” He returned to the dinghy and grappled with it. He managed to ease it back up onto the roof and tie it on.

  “Great,” Charlie called. “Let’s have the jib. We’ve got to make it snappy.” He got hold of the end of the sheet and as soon as Peter was at the mast and had gripped the halyard, he turned the wheel and they went pitching up close to the wind. “Get it up fast,” he shouted. As soon as the canvas was at the top of the stay, whipping in the wind, he fell off again and hauled in on the sheet, steadying the wheel with his knee. The rope was pulling hard; it made him realize how close to total exhaustion he was. “Get back here,” he shouted angrily.

  Peter looked back and then dropped what he was doing and came running to him. “I was just coiling the line,” he explained.

  “I’m sorry, baby. Take this damn thing. It’s pulling my arms out.” As Peter grabbed it, Charlie let the wheel take its normal course and they pitched up into the wind again. “There. Get it in. OK. Tie it off with the slipknot Jack showed you.” When Peter was done, he eased the bow off, the added canvas took the wind, the bow fell and lifted and they leaped forward with a great surge. Charlie laughed exultantly, his exhaustion forgotten. “Now we’re going somewhere, by God!”

  Peter fixed them coffee, which they both laced liberally with whisky. Charlie let Peter take the wheel again, sitting beside him and giving him pointers. As the sun’s heat intensified, they both stripped to the waist. Charlie slipped his arm around Peter’s back and under his armpit and put his hand on his chest, stroking the puckered nipples and feeling the muscles working. Peter giggled.

  “Sailing is sexy,” he said.

  The sun was quite high in the sky when the first of the pair Charlie had begun to think of disdainfully as “the passengers” appeared in the hatch. Martha looked haggard and disheveled in the bright morning light. Charlie’s hand was still on Peter’s breast. He let it drop, but deliberately, without haste, and left his arm where it was. Martha climbed on up onto the deck and lurched aft and slumped beside them on the windward bench. She looked around with stricken eyes. “Aren’t we getting to Corsica?” she asked.

  “We’re getting there. We weren’t exactly speeding last night.”

  She shuddered and straightened and hugged herself. She looked at him with something like awe in her eyes. “You got us through it,” she said.

  “Peter helped.”

  “Ha!” Peter exclaimed. “Some help. I slept up here for a few hours.”

  “You were here to help if I needed you.”

  Peter noted the steel in his voice and remained uneasily silent. Was he going to give the Kingsleys a rough time? Martha had apparently caught his point. “Jack was terribly sick,” she said defensively.

  “It could happen to any of us, I guess. Still, if your boat’s sinking, I should think you’d want to try to do something about it.”

  “What could I do?” she pleaded. The awe was still in her eyes. “You saved our lives.”

  “I’m not talking about you. But never mind. I had a lovely time. Thank God for Peter.” He lifted his arm and ran his hand over Peter’s shoulders and gripped his neck with a little squeeze and left it there.

  Peter concentrated on the compass. His cheeks were burning and his heart had begun to beat trippingly. Charlie was in a dangerous mood. He trembled for Jack, but Charlie had the right to throw his weight around after what he had been through.

  “It’s so rough still,” Martha said piteously. “Are we running into another storm?”

  Charlie laughed. “Good lord, look around you. It’s a beautiful day. Where would a storm come from?”

  “Is it normal for there to be this much wind?”

  “I don’t know. All I know is, we’re really moving.”

  “It’s terrifying. After last night, I know I can’t go on. I’d just be a burden. I’ll leave you in Corsica and you three can go on without me.”

  “Oh, no.” Charlie smiled and shook his head firmly. She was part of his command; he wasn’t going to tolerate desertions. The next they knew, Jack would want to go back. He hadn’t saved their boat for them for that. “Last night was a freak. You’re not going to be a burden. You’re going to do your share with the rest of us.”

  “But I hate it. I always have. I can’t reason with Jack about it.” Her eyes filled with tears. “That’s why I wanted so much to have people I like with us this time.”

  Charlie looked her in the eye and let his expression soften. “Well, here we all are. Pull yourself together. Be the nice, sensible girl you’ve always been. After all, you sold us on this trip.

  “I don’t know. I’ll try. After last night, I know you can do anything. That makes it a little less terrifying.” She looked across at him adoringly. Now I’m a father figure, Charlie thought.

  “Well, how about—” he began.

  “Don’t tell Jack what I said,” she interrupted in a low aside. She had apparently caught movement out of the corner of her eye, for now Jack emerged from the hatch. He braced himself against the opening and looked around him. Charlie removed his hand from Peter’s neck.

  “Who put the jib up?” he demanded testily.

  “Peter did,” Charlie replied. He found Jack looking unexpectedly well and remembered that he’d had a nice long rest.

  “We’re carrying an awful lot of sail for so much wind.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. We’re sailing beautifully.”

  “That’s easy for you to say, but Peter and I have to get it down if we run into trouble.”

  “I can, Jack,” Charlie said evenly. “I want Peter on the wheel as much as possible today. I think we’ll all agree after last night that the more of us who can handle the thing alone the better. That OK with you, Pete?”

  “Sure. I’m beginning to really enjoy it.” He held his breath, waiting to see if Charlie would let Jack off so easily. He was taking over; if he didn’t push it too far, there wasn’t much Jack could do about it.

  “There’s one thing I think we all feel,” Jack said, settling on one of the cockpit benches and speaking in a man-to-man fashion. “Judging from what was going on below, you must’ve done an absolutely superhuman job last night. You get all the medals. I’m sorry I was so knocked out. I don’t know what hit me.”

  “A man can’t help it if he’s sick. The worst of it happened during my watch, or Peter’s anyway,” Charlie said magnanimously. “Would you mind checking the lashing of the dinghy? It broke loose last night. We almost lost it. Let me know if you need any help.” Charlie’s command was established. He ran his thumb unnoticed back and forth along Peter’s side at a ticklish spot as Jack went off to do his bidding. Peter leaned over the compass, suppressing laughter. Charlie turned to Martha. “I was going to ask you, can you rustle us up some food? I don’t care whether it’s breakfast, lunch or dinner. I could eat all three.”

  She smiled at him adoringly and left. Charlie and Peter remained together at the wheel. After securing the dinghy, Jack checked the mileage and questioned Charlie about the timing of the events of the night and went off to do his notations and calculations. Charlie slipped his arm around Peter again and caressed his chest and abdomen and held him close against himself. He had come through the night, tempered by terror, feeling reckless and impatient of weakness or incompetence of any sort. If either he or Peter had behaved like Jack, he could imagine the Kingsleys saying, What can you expect of queers? He hoped he had shown them what they could expect: a sense of duty, some courage, and tenacity. In the Kingsleys’ eyes, he had nothing to be ashamed of. He had earned the right to hold Peter if he wanted to. They had endured the night together; Peter had stuck by his side. He could feel all of Peter’s body responding to his hand now. Why shouldn’t he express the se
nse of deep, indivisible comradeship that he felt for him? He dropped his head behind Peter and kissed his back and put his other hand on him and pulled him back against his naked chest. Peter made little murmuring sounds of pleasure.

  Charlie didn’t shift his position when Martha reappeared, although he stopped the caressing movement of his fingers. When she reached the cockpit carrying plates, he removed his hands from Peter and took the plates, meeting her eye and smiling up at her. “Here, baby. Go ahead and eat,” Charlie directed, offering a plate to Peter. “I can manage the wheel with my feet.”

  Peter couldn’t believe his ears as he relinquished the wheel and took the food. Martha sat on the bench beside them. The preparation of food seemed to have rescued her from the odd disintegration that had begun almost as soon as they had left port the evening before. She had arranged her hair and put on lipstick and was once more the pretty, comfortable woman they knew. Only the way she looked at Charlie was new; it told him he could do no wrong.

  The plates contained ham-and-egg sandwiches on slabs of French bread and hamburgers, sensible food under the circumstances, easy to eat. They pushed it into their mouths, laughing a great deal at their piggishness. When they had finished, they licked their fingers and groaned with pleasure and exclaimed about how good it had been.

  “You’re so wonderful to be with,” Martha said, looking at Charlie. “You always seem to be having such fun together.”

  Charlie ran his hand through Peter’s hair and gripped it and rocked his head back and forth.

  “What do you expect with a nut like this? God, you’re absolutely solid with salt.” He leaned toward him and, holding the back of his head with one hand, licked the forefinger of the other and began to wipe salt delicately from Peter’s eyelashes. “Your god-damn furry eyelashes.” He glanced at Martha. “Have you noticed them? They’re amazing.”

  “I know. I’ve been green with envy,” Martha said, her eyes not wavering from Charlie.

  Peter’s blushes came and went, happily concealed, he was sure, by his tan. He had longed so for everything to return to normal between them; he had dreaded any new or unexpected shift in Charlie’s moods, but this was so thrilling that he succumbed to it without making any attempt to understand it. He supposed that to Martha there might seem nothing sexual about it but he knew that Charlie was putting their relationship on display in a way that was a defiance of everything he knew of his nature. Even “baby” might seem innocuous enough to her, but it was Charlie’s most secretly intimate term of endearment and he had said it aloud in front of a third person. Had it been a slip of the tongue? No. Charlie didn’t make slips of the tongue, and the way he was putting his hands on him made it clear that he had wanted to say it. Peter had resumed control of the wheel and he was glad that he had something to hold onto so that he couldn’t be tempted to respond in kind. God knows what they might end up doing.

  “Scoot forward just a bit,” Charlie said. “If I could get a leg up here behind you I could sort of stretch out a little.” Peter edged forward and Charlie put his leg up on the cushion. He put his hands on Peter’s waist and pulled him back close in between his open legs so that Peter could feel his sex begin to stir behind him. “There How’s that?” Charlie demanded with a tremor of laughter in his voice.

  “Great,” Peter managed, hoping the gasp couldn’t be heard in it. He gripped the wheel, waiting for his heart to calm down. Charlie laid a hand on his shoulder and began to instruct him further in the handling of the boat. He put Martha to work trimming sheets as he had Peter head into the wind and fall off and taught him how to come about. There was too much wind to attempt to jibe. When Charlie leaned forward to check the compass, Peter could feel the aroused sex shifting about until it was thrust up hard against the small of his back. The sides of their heads brushed against each other. Charlie had obviously decided to drive him mad with desire. When something was said that gave him an excuse to laugh, Peter released his pent-up, enthralled excitement in peals of laughter. Charlie joined in. Martha sat back and watched them with an approving smile.

  “You really are marvelous together,” she said. “I’ve never seen two more attractive men.”

  Late in the morning, when he was confident that Peter was capable of handling the boat under stable conditions, Charlie decided that he ought to get some rest.

  “Just stay on the wheel,” he told Peter when he had sent Martha forward on a manufactured errand. “If you get hungry, let Martha bring food up to you. If there’s any change in the weather, shout for me. I want to show them that we can manage this by ourselves.”

  “By ourselves!” Peter murmured. “If only we were. I suppose you know I’m apt to tear your clothes off at any moment.”

  Charlie chuckled and rose and let his fingers stray along Peter’s shoulder for a moment, and then went below. He picked his way through the debris in the cabin and dropped onto a bunk and slept.

  When he awoke, after performing a summary toilet in the cramped head and putting on fresh shorts, he climbed up and stood in the hatch and looked around. A long, green, wooded island ahead of them pierced him with a thrill of incredulous delight. Corsica. They had found it. Land looked solid and hospitable. The sea was calmer and the wind had dropped a bit. They were still moving along smartly. He looked aft where the three were gathered in the cockpit. Peter and Martha greeted him with happy smiles. Jack seemed to come to attention slightly, as if he wanted to look his most alert and competent. Charlie moved around behind the wheel and touched Peter’s shoulder.

  “I’ll take it now,” he said. “You need some sleep, too.”

  “Actually, it’s my watch coming up,” Jack said.

  “I’ll let you take it in a while. I want to check everything on deck.”

  “I figure we’ll be in before six if the wind doesn’t poop out. I wouldn’t want to come in here at night.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Jack. We’ve got the pilot instructions. According to the chart, there’s a big open bay at Calvi with plenty of anchorage. There’s nothing to it. How about getting the mizzen up?”

  “Do you think it’s worth the bother?”

  “If you want to get in before dark.” He looked at Peter and winked. “Go on below and get some sleep.”

  “You’re indestructible,” Martha said to Charlie. “You’ve had barely three hours.”

  They sailed into the bay at Calvi not long after five o’clock. The still water was a shock to all of them; their bodies had become forcefully conditioned to the pitch of the sea. They brought the three sails down and Charlie switched on the motor and headed into the quai. When they were close enough, he cut the motor back and glided into position to drop anchor.

  “Let her go,” he called to Peter and Jack in the bow. The harsh rattle of chain rang out over the peaceful water. The stern swung around. Charlie put the motor into reverse. His maneuvering with the unfamiliar motor was less skillful than his sailing; he engaged in a good deal of backing and filling, cursing to himself.

  Jack had come back and was standing beside him. “I’d better take over,” he said.

  Charlie cursed him silently. “I have to get the hang of it, Jack,” he said reasonably. Loungers had gathered on the quai. When they were within reach, Martha and Peter threw stern lines to them. Jack was once more in the bow playing out chain. As they were pulled in, Charlie cut the motor. In the stunning silence, his body was caught by a deep, shuddering breath. He felt safe. He hadn’t known it was possible to feel so safe. He looked across the still water at the wide sweep of the bay and the towering peak that rose above it, still bearing traces of snow on its summit, and felt totally enclosed and protected. He could understand Martha’s reluctance to leave harbor. Yet there was the big sense of achievement, too. He had done something important. He wanted more of the same. He couldn’t imagine nature having anything worse in store for them; he wanted to explore and extend the satisfactions of his command. He stirred himself and looked astern. Peter had leaped asho
re and was securing their lines. Charlie unlashed the gangplank and hoisted it aft and eased it over to Peter and coupled it to the deck. When Peter came aboard, they all went to work furling the heavy sails. It was hard work and they were sweating when it was done.

  “I could use a drink,” Jack said.

  Naturally, Charlie thought. “I could, too,” he agreed. “Then we’ll run along.”

  “You’re going ashore?”

  “Of course. There must be a hotel here.”

  “There’s still a lot of work to do. Everything’s a mess below.”

  “Now, come on, Jack. You haven’t had what could be called a strenuous time of it so far. You can surely stow things below.”

  “As you wish.” Martha produced glasses and ice and whisky and brought up the shaker of martinis. When they’d had one drink, Peter and Charlie went below to gather up their toilet kit and fresh shirts and trousers.

  “Listen,” Peter said when they were out of earshot. “Maybe we should stay with them tonight. It’s our first stop. They seemed to expect it.”

  “Hell, no. It was clearly understood that we’d go ashore when we were in port. I’ve had enough of them for the moment. I want to be with you.”

  Peter couldn’t argue with that. They climbed back up on deck and said goodnight to the Kingsleys and left them, Martha looking lonely, Jack resentful.

  There wasn’t much to the town. There was a row of low buildings across the street from the quai. There was long, white building across the bay that looked like a grand hotel, but they didn’t want to go that far. They found a restaurant with rooms above it and went up to wash and change for dinner.