Submarine Outlaw

by Philip Roy

  Well, it turned out, he hadn’t found it; he had built it. Now I learned why I had not been able to reach him all this time — he had been busy building a winter home for the sub.

  At periscope depth we glided gently between the jagged rock until we reached the end. Then, slowly, we surfaced. I kept a lookout through the periscope, to make sure we didn’t come up beneath anything. It was a narrow enclosure. I saw Ziegfried standing on a wooden platform next to us. Then, I felt him land heavily on the bow. He opened the hatch.

  “Anybody in there?”

  “You bet!”

  I climbed up and received one of Ziegfried’s great bear hugs, which is what I imagined a bear would really feel like. He stared at me for almost a minute and his eyes were watery with excitement and emotion.

  “Well, didn’t you have an adventure? And come back all famous and everything. Boy, have we got a lot to talk about!”

  “We sure do. But . . . where did this place come from?”

  I looked all around. The boathouse was plain but cozy. In one corner was an old wood stove I recognized from the junkyard. Against one wall was a row of firewood. There were just two windows, and they both faced the sea. The frame was resting on thick wooden beams that had been cut right into the rock.

  “I built it,” said Ziegfried, proudly. “I bought the land for next to nothing and told people I was building myself a cottage. You know how I don’t particularly like to work with wood?”

  “I know!”

  “Well, this time I actually enjoyed it. I had a heck of a time out here. Wait till you see the upstairs!”

  “There’s an upstairs?”

  “Come and see.”

  “Wait! I want you to meet the crew.”

  “Oh yah, the seagull.”

  “Not only.”

  I went down and got Hollie and carried him out. Ziegfried took one look at him and his face went soft. It was funny to see the heart of such a strong man melt so easily. I handed Hollie over to Ziegfried, and Hollie licked his chin.

  “Well, this little fella and me are going to become good friends.”

  Then Seaweed appeared.

  “Hah! Now don’t tell me he climbs the ladder himself?”

  “All the time.”

  “Well . . . I just don’t know what to say. Come upstairs and have a look.”

  I followed Ziegfried up the stairs into a small, one-room loft. There was another wood stove, a fridge, table, desk and chair. In one corner was a sleeping cot. There was a bay window with a great view of the sea.

  “Wow!” I said. “It is amazing! It is the nicest boathouse anyone ever built. I just love it.”

  “Well, I’m glad you do, Al, because this is going to be your place when you’re not at sea.”

  “Really? You mean, you built it for me?”

  I didn’t know what to say. Then I thought of something else.

  “Well . . . I’ve got something for you!”

  “For me?”

  “Something really special. But you have to come into the sub to see it; it’s too heavy for me to carry out by myself.”

  He frowned the way he did when he was trying to figure something out.

  “Something for me?” he said, confused.

  “Well, actually, we get to share it — fifty-fifty.”

  “I can’t imagine what it is,” he said as he followed me back downstairs and into the sub.

  “This place looks familiar,” he said, crouching down.

  I showed him the chest. His mouth dropped.

  “Was there anything inside?”

  “Yup!”

  I lifted the lid and showed him the cutlery. He whistled.

  “Wow! Look at that!”

  Then I picked up the small chest and handed it to him.

  “This was underneath that!”

  Ziegfried opened the small chest and burst into a beaming smile.

  “Oh my stars, will you look at that? Al, you found a real treasure!”

  “Fifty-fifty!” I said. “Like real treasure hunters.”

  “Oh no, Al. You found it; it’s all yours.”

  I took hold of Ziegfried’s arm and looked right into his eyes. This was very important to me.

  “If you won’t share it with me, half and half, I will sail out tonight and dump it all in the ocean!”

  And I meant it.

  He took a long stare at me and could see that I really did mean it.

  “Well, that would be kind of a waste now, wouldn’t it? Okay. Fifty-fifty.”

  We both burst out laughing. No amount of money could ever have touched the joy I felt then.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  In December, we hoisted the sub out of the water and hung it in the air with cables. Storms lashed the roof of the boathouse and ocean ice creaked and whined like demons outside, but we kept the wood stove roaring and the radio blaring. It was cozy inside the boathouse. Hollie, Seaweed, and I stayed there full-time, sleeping upstairs in the loft. We were inside most of the time, except for our daily walk, when Seaweed took to the air to stretch his wings and Hollie ran around chasing invisible rabbits. But living in the boathouse was a little like living outdoors. Because the ocean did not freeze indoors, Seaweed could paddle in the open water below, and the wooden boardwalk around the sub allowed Hollie to run round and round. This led to a few interesting encounters when curious seals swam inside, poked their heads up and barked at the little dog and seagull looking down at them.

  It was Ziegfried’s intention to make the sub faster and further ranging. Myself, I was happy with it just the way it was.

  “Really, Al,” he said, “you want to be as fast as you possibly can. There’s no telling what you’ll run into when you leave our waters. Look at this.”

  He held up a magazine with a picture of a rifle.

  “What’s that?”

  “The Kalashnikov assault rifle, or, Ak-47. Says here it is “. . . reliable, easily cleaned, cheap and deadly, making it the weapon of choice for Third World armies, terrorists, and . . . pirates.”

  “Pirates?”

  “You’d better believe it. You cannot imagine how happy pirates were to get their hands on machine guns, speedboats and radar. Stealth is great, Al, for sure, but even pirates could figure out how to use sophisticated sonar. I want to know that you could outrun them if you ever met up with them.”

  To this end, he fashioned a dolphin nose and welded it to the front of the sub.

  “Don’t laugh, Al, nature is master designer. Dolphins are the fastest things in the water.”

  I had to smile when the nose was attached. If you drew a couple of eyes on either side, the front of the sub would look just like a dolphin. I wondered what the real dolphins were going to think.

  Other modifications he had planned included replacing the old Beetle motor with a turbo-charged diesel engine which would be more fuel efficient, powerful and noisy; exchanging the propeller for one with more aggressive torque; adding another fuel tank; and doubling the number of batteries so that the sub could run twenty hours submerged. He also wanted to add more bicycle gears, since, in three years, I had doubled my pedalling strength. He even had visions of inserting the propulsion systems of two secondhand jet-skis into the stern of the sub on either side of the propeller so as to add a powerful burst of speed for emergencies. That gave me visions of the sub plowing through the water like a rocket. In fact, by “burst of speed,” Ziegfried meant about five knots per hour faster.

  But all of these modifications would take time and work, and that left no question as to how the winter would be spent. I only hoped that, come the summer, when the crew was restless and the sea beckoning for another voyage, the sub would be ready to sail.

  On Christmas Eve, in the early morning, we climbed into the truck and drove to Grand Falls. Hollie sat in the front and Seaweed rode on top. In Grand Falls, we parked the truck at the bus station and went inside to look for someone. We found him curled up on the floor, asleep, his head on his
jacket.

  “Is this him?” asked Ziegfried.

  “Yup.”

  “He looks so young.”

  “He’s the same age I was when we started building the sub. How did you know then that I’d be worth all the trouble?”

  “Easy. You were the only person ever brave enough to sneak into my yard. I figured you’d be brave enough to go to sea in a submarine.”

  He reached down and tugged at Daniel’s collar. Daniel woke with a fearful look — it being the first time he had ever set eyes upon Ziegfried.

  “Quick,” I said, “grab your stuff. We’ve got a long ways to go before dark.”

  “Are we really going to see the Queen of Sheba?” asked Daniel in a sleepy voice.

  “Sort of.”

  We had left Ziegfried’s birds in the care of my grandmother and grandfather. Ziegfried had been right. Once they learned that the submarine was not just a fanciful dream they were able to accept my decision not to become a fisherman. My grandfather even asked me questions about being at sea, which was the biggest compliment he could ever have given me.

  It was twilight by the time we reached Sheba’s island. Bundled up in parkas, hats and mitts, we steered through choppy water in a small outboard motorboat while a light snow fell all around us. The sun had gone down and the night looked foreboding, but we were merry with Christmas spirit. Still, the closer we came to Sheba’s, the more nervous Ziegfried became. He even suggested just dropping us off and picking us up.

  “But if you don’t come, she’ll be terribly disappointed. She said she would throw herself at the mermaids if we didn’t come for Christmas. She really said that.”

  “Well, I suppose we don’t want that to happen.”

  When we came around the last island we saw the glow of Christmas lights. Sheba had strung rows of lights all around her little cove. As we entered the cove we saw her emerge with her grand array of animals. She was wearing a red and green dress and was glittering with jewelry. Her hair was flaming red and dancing with sparkles. I could see that Ziegfried and Daniel were as bewitched as I had first been.

  “Welcome! Oh, welcome!” Sheba cried, with a song-like voice. “Oh, Alfred! You have come back, just as you promised!”

  She came down and hugged me as I stepped from the boat. Then she saw Hollie in my pocket and exclaimed, “Oooooohhhh! Such a treasure!”

  I introduced Daniel. She bent down and looked deeply into his eyes and took hold of his hands. She must have really looked like a queen to him. Then Ziegfried stepped from the boat. I had never seen him looking so uncomfortable, but Sheba offered him her hand and he took it with tremendous care. Their eyes met and she spoke to him, but Ziegfried could not get a word out, even though he tried.

  “Come, friends! Come into our home and be happy!” said Sheba.

  We followed her up the path, while the dogs crowded around us.

  We stayed for three days. It was absolutely wonderful. While Daniel and I followed Sheba around and helped her prepare meals and fabulous desserts, Ziegfried set about making every possible repair. As soon as he finished one, he searched for another. I told him to relax, that Sheba’s cottage would not fall apart without another repair, but he wouldn’t listen. I saw Sheba steal quick glances at him as he moved gigantically about her cottage. The dogs and cats climbed all over him while he made his repairs, but he never flinched. He worked as if their presence was a necessary part of the job. In Sheba’s world, it was.

  When it was time to go, we were all feeling a little bigger around our bellies. Ziegfried said there were important repairs to make to the foundation of Sheba’s cottage, and they had discussed his returning to make them. I don’t think Ziegfried had spoken more than a handful of words to Sheba directly but now it seemed to be his mission in life to return as soon as possible. Her final words to him were, “I will keep the stove warm.” And her eyes twinkled.

  On the way home, Ziegfried was silent. I couldn’t get more than one-word answers out of him. Daniel was also quiet. When he did speak, he showed that he was thinking deeply about something.

  “Do you think,” he said, breaking the silence in the truck, “do you think that maybe there are places on earth that nobody has ever seen?”

  I smiled. It seemed like a pretty good question to me.

  Our next stop was my grandparents’ house. My grandmother had prepared a traditional fisherman’s Christmas feast for us, which included fish chowder, baked fish and fish pie. It was delicious too. My grandparents didn’t talk a whole lot but I could tell that they were glad we had come. My grandfather even surprised me by taking an interest in Daniel. Halfway though our supper he suddenly turned to him, “So . . . Daniel, you’re gonna be a fisherman, are you?”

  The question caught Daniel by surprise.

  “Huh? Oh,. . . no. No, I’m gonna be an explorer.”

  “An explorer ?”

  “Yah.”

  My grandfather stared at the floor for awhile. Then he raised his head and took a deep breath.

  “Well,” he said, “I suppose we could always use some more of those.”

  About the Author

  Philip Francis Roy was born and raised in Antigonish, Nova Scotia. He grew up beside the ocean, and it now features in many of the stories he writes. His university studies included music and history, but he also knew from an early age that he wanted to write novels. Submarine Outlaw, his first published novel, is the result of a lifelong fascination with submarines and a secret desire to build one. “If teens enjoy reading Submarine Outlaw half as much as I enjoyed writing it,” says Philip, “I will feel very rewarded indeed.” Philip has many other stories waiting in the docks, including an exciting sequel to Submarine Outlaw, coming soon.