“When the boat was ready my grandmother sewed the sails and late at night when it was dark I took the boat down the river to a secret place and picked up Maria and my grandmother. Maria was already very big with the baby and I knew it was a bad time to go but Maria said that she did not care, she would rather die than to have her baby born in that country with those people. She wanted her baby to be born in Key West and to be an American. That was what Emilio and my father had wanted more than anything and she said she had to do that for them.
“So I took them in the boat and we got away but even though we were very quiet someone saw us and they shot at us from the wall and then they sent a patrol boat after us but because we were only a little boat under sail and very quiet they could not find us and so we got away. For two days we sailed very well and I thought that even though it was only a little boat and the caulking had worked loose and we had to bail all the time we would still make it. But then the storm came along and broke the mast and we were finished. And that was how it was when you found us.”
“Then that’s the reason why Maria doesn’t want to go to Nassau? Because she promised Emilio the baby would be born in the United States?”
The boy nodded. “But of course, Mister Capitan Robinson, we cannot ask you to go out of your way.”
“I’m sorry it means so much to her,” Robinson said. “I would like to do it if I could but it’s impossible now.”
The boy nodded. Robinson sat at the wheel with his eye on the compass. The seas were beginning to moderate and Senegal was heeled over and making knots in an easterly heading. Robinson opened his chart case and plotted a course to Nassau. With the yawl moving as she was now at close to ten knots he could make Nassau in roughly twelve hours and unload his passengers and be back at the reef to pick up Gwen at dawn. It would mean the devil of a lot of sailing plus the strain of worrying about the pregnant girl but it could be managed. On the other hand, going back to Key West would mean losing an entire day. It would also mean another crossing of the Stream, and this time with a passenger who might go into labor at any moment. It was out of the question.
But the thought continued to nag at him. They wanted the child to be born in the United States. That was all they had left now and it was tremendously important to them. He had not known Lorenzo Robaina too well but he knew the boats he bad designed and they were sound boats and he had respect for, and a certain kinship with, Robaina as a fellow seaman. There was really nothing the dead man could ask of him now but somehow he was asking it. Or perhaps it was only in the boy’s eyes and in the girl’s white face. Or was it in his own mind? Was there a feeling that he had come by Senegal in a way that was not quite honest and that there was still an obligation to be discharged?
Don’t be a sucker, he told himself. Don’t build this thing up into some sort of half-assed morality play. You’ve already done enough. You saved three lives, four counting the baby, and that’s plenty. So let the kid be born somewhere else. What does it matter?
But it did matter. It had mattered to Lorenzo Robaina and it mattered enough to these people now to have risked a crossing in what was really no more than a leaky rowboat.
And Gwen is still sweating it out on that sandbar. An extra twenty-four hours to her now will be like twenty-four years. You can’t treat her like a lump of stone chucked over the side on the premise that you just might come back for it at your convenience. If you play it that way you’ll be playing Clare’s game after all. She may be picked up and raped or murdered. Come off it now, rapists and murderers don’t go sailing around the Bahamas. Don’t they? You slept with her yourself and may have damned near murdered her at that. She’ll be all right. She’s safer there then she would be in New York’s Central Park. Anyway she can take care of herself. She and her precious Dino. The damned pimp will have to wait another day for his reward. He’ll have his hands on her soon enough as it is.
Although he was hardly aware of it, it was probably that last sour note of jealousy that brought about the decision. It was more powerful than any nobility of purpose he felt regarding the refugees. Why should he rush back to throw her into Dino’s arms? Perhaps with an extra twenty-four hours in which to think it over she would realize how impossible it was.
He had a good excuse but a poor motive. He felt a little ashamed of himself as he put the wheel hard over and steadied the yawl on a southwesterly heading.
“Hector, go below and tell your sister to hang on with everything she’s got. With a little luck that kid will be born in the States after all.”
Hector grinned and darted below. Robinson could hear the babble of excited voices. He took in a little on the main sheet to urge the yawl to an even faster speed. She was flying now, a bone in her teeth and the wake streaming clear.
By mid-afternoon they were halfway across. The seas were still running big but the wind was hard on the beam and the yawl was responding with everything she had. As her bow sliced through the seas, clouds of spray flickered in the shining air. Much of the time the lee rail was covered by foam. Her sails were taut as a drumhead and the rigging sang under the strain. There was tremendous exhilaration in handling a boat that was driving forward with such power and now and then Robinson would find himself and the boy grinning at each other out of sheer enjoyment. It was one of the best days of sailing he had ever experienced. It was almost as if the yawl knew that she was in a race for life and that each minute lost might be the fatal one.
When Senegal was well established on her new heading he turned the wheel over to the boy and went below to fix lunch. It was a harrowing experience for him. The girl was in a great deal of pain. She lay moaning on the bunk while the old woman wiped her face and tried to comfort her. Childbirth was a new experience for Robinson and he was unprepared for the violence connected with it. He took a bottle of aspirin tablets out of his medicine kit and offered it to the old woman to give to the girl but the grandmother shook her head. Unable to understand her Spanish, Robinson told the boy to stick his head below long enough to translate.
Hector listened to his grandmother and then grinned at Robinson and said, “She says you know much about boats but nothing about babies. God has willed that a woman must suffer before bearing a child. It has always been thus and always will be and the women and the children survive. The suffering is God’s will and it is good for her. She says also,” Hector went on, “that it is something a brave man cannot stand and that if it bothers you too much you should go away and let her cook the lunch. She says you know no more about cooking than about childbearing.”
“It’s fine with me,” Robinson said. “Tell her she is captain of the cabin and that I will stay up above where I belong.”
The old woman nodded with satisfaction and took over the galley.
All through the day the yawl plunged on. Once, even above the rushing of the seas, he heard the girl scream. The sound sent a chill down his spine. He cursed himself for having been fool enough to let himself be talked into this maniacal expedition. He should have followed his first hunch and taken her to Nassau. What if she died on board the boat before he could get her ashore? The only reassuring thing was Hector’s apparent indifference to what was happening below. When Robinson questioned him he said that he had seen many babies born and that the women always screamed and that his sister was a strong, healthy girl and that he himself would rather have a baby than a toothache.
At dusk they were still forty miles from land. The wind had freshened again but the yawl was carrying every stitch of sail she could bear. She drove steadily westward over seas the color of purple ink toward the last red glow in the sky. The girl’s pains were coming with increasing force and regularity. The old woman called for towels and a big pot of hot water. Robinson went below just long enough to show her where they were. Maria’s face was as pale as the sheets and her brow was beaded with sweat. Robinson fled.
The Rebecca Shoals light was clear against the night sky now and to the northwest he could see a dull glow c
ast by the lights of Key West. The yawl drove forward with tremendous power. Robinson could only hope that everything would hold. Twenty minutes later he could distinctly make out the lights of the naval air station on Boca Chica Key.
They were coming into the lee of the keys now and into somewhat calmer water. The yawl still had the wind in her sails and was still moving forward with marvelous speed but the seas had moderated. In the comparative silence that came with smoother water he was aware of a sudden rush of noise and excitement from the cabin. The girl’s cries tore him apart. He knew now that they would not make it after all. He could hear the old woman praying. Even the boy, who had been so ebullient throughout the trip, now looked gaunt and worried. Robinson tried to force himself to concentrate on the tricky channel that led into Garrison Bight but he could not close his ears to the dreadful sounds from below. He remembered the Hemingway short story about the Indian who had cut his throat while listening to his wife in labor in the bunk below. He could understand it now. He thought that in another minute he himself would have to leap over the side.
He slowly became aware that for the past ten minutes there had been comparative silence. Then he heard the thin squeak of a baby’s first cry. He and the boy stared at each other wordlessly. The old woman thrust her head out of the hatch and for the first time her lined face was creased in a smile. She said something to the boy and then her head disappeared.
“What does she say?” Robinson asked.
“She tells me that Lorenzo Robaina lives again.”
“And your sister?”
The boy made a negligent gesture and said, “I told you she was strong and healthy.”
Robinson said nothing. He felt too exhausted to speak.
After a while the boy said, “It is too bad we did not make it.”
Robinson clapped him on the shoulder and said, “Hector, you’re a hell of a seaman but you still have a little to learn about navigation. We did make it. We were inside the three-mile limit when he was born. Lorenzo Robaina’s grandson is as much an American as if he had been born in the middle of Kansas. And by the way, how does it feel to be an uncle?”
“Uncle?” The boy’s eyes widened in wonder. “Me?”
“Of course. Uncle Hector.”
“Holy sheet,” the boy said in grave tones. Then he turned and looked to the southeast where his homeland lay, and spat over the side.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The immigration people were very efficient. They were accustomed to handling Cuban refugees. Maria and her grandmother and the baby were taken off to the hospital. Hector had fallen asleep in the cockpit and Robinson did not have the heart to wake him. When the customs officials in their khaki uniforms had completed their investigation he made his way forward and slumped down on one of the vee bunks. He was asleep almost before his head had touched the pillow.
He awoke to the first light of dawn and pulled himself stiffly off the bunk. The odor of fresh coffee came from the galley. He looked aft into the main cabin and saw that Hector had set the table for two and had coffee and bacon and eggs going. Maria’s soiled bedding and towels had been neatly rolled into a ball and the bunk was freshly made. The floor had been swept and the dishes that had been used the day before had been washed and stowed in their racks.
Robinson pulled his clothes off, and climbed through the hatch onto the forward deck and turned on the hose from the dock and let the water pour over him. The fresh water felt icy in the pre-dawn coolness. When he had finished washing himself he pulled on a pair of clean khaki trousers and ran a razor over the stubble on his jaws.
When he came into the main cabin the boy held out a mug of steaming coffee to him and said, “Good morning, Capitan Gus.”
“Hello, Hector. When did you do all this?”
“While you slept, sir.”
“Good boy.”
“Do you like your eggs this way, sir?”
“Any way.”
They ate in silence. While Gus finished his second cup of coffee the boy did the dishes. The cabin was immaculate. The boy gestured at the pile of linens and said, “As soon as the sun comes up to dry them I will wash these things for you.”
Robinson shook his head. “Thanks anyway, but there won’t be time for that.”
The boy’s grin faded. “No time?”
“I’m getting under way in ten minutes.”
“You are moving to another berth perhaps?” the boy asked hopefully.
“No, I’m putting out to sea.”
“So soon?”
“Yes. I must.”
The boy swallowed hard and looked serious. Robinson could see the way his heart jumped in his naked brown chest.
“Take me with you, Capitan.”
“I’m sorry but I can’t, Hector. I’m going a very long way.”
“It does not matter where you go, sir. Go to the moon if you like. This is a big boat. You will be glad to have help. I can cook and clean and handle the wheel. Also I can paint very well. My father taught me everything. You will see, Capitan Gus. You will not be sorry if you take me.”
The words came out in a rush. The boy’s eyes were like those of a spaniel Robinson had once owned. The only thing the dog had ever asked of him was to be with him. When he had gone ashore and left it on the boat it had pleaded with him with its great liquid eyes. The dog had been washed overboard in a wicked storm off the Azores. That had been two years ago but its eyes continued to haunt him.
“It wouldn’t work, Hector,” Robinson said gently. “You have to stay here and go to school.”
“School? What do you learn of the sea in a school? On a boat one learns. With a man like you or a man like my father one learns. With no one else.”
“That isn’t true. And there are other things besides the sea.”
“What other things?”
How could he answer? He had made his own choice a long time ago and how could he explain now to the boy that it had not always been the best choice? “What about Maria and your grandmother?” he said, hedging.
“They are here now in the States. They have friends who will take care of them. And besides, they have the baby to play with.”
“Didn’t your father tell you to take care of them?”
“Yes.”
“Then that is what you must do.”
The boy saw that it was hopeless. His face took on a resigned look. His eyes were wet and he chewed his lip. “All right, Capitan. If you say so.”
“For myself I would like to take you, Hector. But for your father I say no. For your father I say you must stay here.”
The boy looked at him with the spaniel’s eyes.
“Besides,” Robinson went on, “there are many boats here and later on you will have plenty of time for sailing.”
The boy looked around at the moored boats and said, “There are boats here, sir, but no capitans like you.”
Robinson suddenly felt lonely. He stood up abruptly and said, “I’m sorry, Hector, but I can’t take you. You must stay here and go to school and study to be a naval architect. That is what your father would have wanted and that is what you must do.”
The boy did not answer.
“One day we’ll meet again, Hector.”
“Yes, sir,” the boy said, his disbelief written clear in his eyes.
Robinson went below to start the engine. The boy’s shirt was on the bunk. On a sudden impulse he took out the rest of the money Clare had given him and thrust it into the boy’s shirt pocket and buttoned the flap. He was glad to get rid of it. He came back on deck and tossed the shirt to the boy. As he edged away from the pier the boy gave him a rigid salute. He was still holding it as the yawl turned seaward.
Robinson did not look back. He had learned a long time ago that for a man who sails alone it is unwise to look back.
An hour before dark he saw the fringe of pines that stood up from the sandy skull of Spanish Cay. He altered his course to the southeast and headed for the reef. Twenty minutes later,
through the binoculars he was able to make out the hump of sand and the rickety framework that held the tarp. As he closed the reef he saw that her things were still there, stacked neatly under the tarp, but that there was no sign of life.
She must, he decided, have been picked up by a ship and taken back to Spanish Cay. There was a sour taste of loss in his mouth but he told himself that it was just as well. That way he didn’t have to see her again and go through another painful scene. Still, it would have been nice if they had been able to say good-bye in a civilized manner. Civilized, hell. What you really wanted was another roll on that blanket. Anyway it’s over now and someday you can send her a postcard from Funafuti. Mrs. Dino di Buonaventura, care of The Stork Club, El Morocco or the Tour d’ Argent Weather lovely, wish you were here. Christ, how he would wish she were there.
Something stirred on the far side of the sand spit. A wisp of black followed by a flash of gold. He moved the binoculars quickly. The top of her head and her bare shoulder. He felt himself grinning wolfishly. She had been swimming on the far side of the reef and now, as she emerged, he could see that she was naked. Her beautiful, honey-colored body shone in the dying rays of the sun like wet gold. The tilt of her breasts and the gently curved pubic mound knocked the breath out of his throat.
At that moment she must have noticed the yawl for the first time. Although he was too far off to hear it he could see by her face that she had let out a startled yelp. She dropped back into the water like a shot rabbit.
It was several minutes before her head was again raised above the level of the ridge. By this time he was close enough so that when he stood up in the cockpit and waved at her he needed no binoculars to see the smile of delight on her face. She made a wild dash for the shelter of the tarp and drew the blanket over herself and waved back at him.
He let the main and mizzen drop and ghosted in with just the jib, pulling to within fifty yards of the beach. At that point he was in the lee of the reef and over good-holding ground in four or five fathoms of water. He put the tiller hard over and brought her up into the wind and as she hung there, jib flapping, he dropped the smaller of the two patent anchors from the foredeck and saw the flukes dig into the sand. He gave the anchor rope plenty of scope and let the yawl ride well back on the line before he took a turn on the post. He had been too busy with the anchor to keep an eye on Gwen and now as he looked back at the ridge he was a little disappointed to see that she had already gotten into her shirt and dungarees.
Virgin Cay Page 15
