Tashtego
by
David S. Elder
TASHTEGO
….you would almost have credited the superstitions of some of the earlier puritans, and half-believed this wild Indian to be a son of the Prince of the Powers of the air…
Herman Melville – MOBY DICK
Prologue
MAKAIRA NIGRICANS. The deep black of the ocean’s waters turned to a dark purple as the blue marlin pushed her way from the silent pressure to the light of the liquid sky. Old for her kind and with much wisdom, her huge bulk demanded food to fill her hollow belly. The massive harpoon head turned from side to side searching for some prey to satisfy her ancient hunger. Seeing nothing, she propelled herself forward with a muscular twitch, sending her through the water with a minimum of effort. Unblinkingly, she searched the surrounding water for any movement. A small red grouper drifted too high above its natural feeding zone, becoming disoriented by the absence of the familiar pressure that spelled security. Suddenly, it became impaled by the four-foot sword of the old master as it found itself struggling feebly for freedom and breath.
Backing away effortlessly, the old fish swallowed the grouper whole, feeling the momentary fullness that came with the meager meal. For most fish of the sea, the grouper would have lasted for hours but the old one required more fuel to fire her unrelenting engines.
She found herself attracted to the lightness above, searching for the smaller top fish that frequented these waters. She had hunted these regions for longer than she could remember. But the prey was becoming harder to find with each passing season. In her primitive mind, she longed for the times ages ago when the game thrived in these saline waters before man had reduced their number both by his ferocious harvesting and his mindless pollution.
She also wished there were more of her own kind left even though the competition for food and the availability of suitable males left the weaker of her species dying before they could reach her maturity.
She still bore the scars of vicious fights between herself and her rivals over luscious feeding grounds burgeoning with game fish of all sorts. She also wore the battle scars of duels fought with monstrous sharks, her ancient rival, although their numbers seemed not to be affected by the influx of man’s encroachment.
The mollusks and squid had fed her always, but now too, their numbers were being reduced by the bottomless appetites of her new rival in the sea. She sank further to the bottom as she looked for new feeding beds, not tired, but confused by what was happening to her world.
Feeling the urge to rise hours later, she approached the whiteness above feeling the water become looser around her great flanks. Speeding up by moving her massive tail from side to side, she pointed her head directly for the surface. Always thrilling, she pushed into the great light immediately feeling the curious sensation of being both light and heavy at the same time. For just an instant her world changed to intense brightness and heat. She felt herself hurtling through a great nothingness for just a moment before she crashed into the sea once again amidst a profusion of swirling white bubbles. Sometimes, if she pushed very hard, she could see into the great whiteness making out the shape of mysterious things. The look was always a fleeting one, but it revealed things she could never understand.
After pushing through the looser surface water for some time, she came across a school of flying fish, scurrying to escape her presence. They darted in every direction trying to escape her massive shape and at first their profusion confused her. Singling out the more slowly moving fish, she moved up directly behind them taking several in her open mouth with a slight roll of her great body. Once again she moved her powerful tail regaining her momentum from the feed. She was into the main body of fish now as several of the rapidly swimming fish disappeared into the whiteness above, only to fall into her mouth when they reappeared in the sea. She moved through the fish faster now gathering up huge numbers of the hapless creatures. She was through.
Feeling satisfied, she let the school escape into the distance while she turned slowly through the deep blue water. A familiar sound carried through the dense water entering her cranium just behind her long jaw. It was the dreadful sound she identified with man, but it seemed far away and of little danger to her.
Ahead, moving slowly through the water, a single mackerel bobbed erratically as if it were lost from its main body of companions. She could easily handle this lone mackerel. Knowing the scarcity of food, it was always a wise thing to take advantage of such situations. Why did the fish swim in such a pattern? She was directly behind it now but still it did not waver from its path. She ignored the warning signals flashing in her primitive brain as she rolled over to take the weak fish into her mouth. Instantly, she remembered why she had felt leery of this fish. The texture was all wrong. She knew that she should spit the fish out immediately, but it refused to leave her mouth. Puzzled and feeling the panic rising within her, she moved off rapidly still carrying the stubborn fish in her protesting mouth.
Her small brain raced to solve the mystery. Once many seasons ago, such a thing had happened to her but she had survived. Survived what? The pain. Yes, that is what it was. She remembered the pain.
She dove deeply towards the security of the dark waters below. As she descended, fire suddenly erupted in her mouth turning her head in agony. Yes, it all came back to her now. The throbbing sounds from above accompanied the pain; it was man who had come to harvest her at last.
She tried to vomit out the fish but it resisted all her efforts. She had escaped once long ago, but how had she done it. There was a way.
With all her strength, she hurdled herself up—up into the great whiteness. Yes, the object lay there, just as it had in her youth. The dark spot on the water that meant death was somehow connected to the fire in her mouth. She must get away. She must try and go deep to escape the sound and pain. The thing pulled at her but she pulled even harder. Using all her stored strength, she was able to pull the fish through the water, deep… deep… deeper.
It was tiring—so tiring. No matter how hard she pulled, the tiny fish fought back just as hard, threatening to pull her back to his master above. She hurt… she hurt so bad… but still she dove deeper.
She was down very far now where all was dark and quiet. She turned her body from side to side to shake out the pain, but she could not. She paused to rest but the fish in her mouth tugged her back sending red-hot barbs of agony through her entire mouth. She fought back, but she was losing strength. She was growing weaker, while the water grew looser around her body.
She had fought this struggle once before and won, but how had she done it? She was close to the source now, so close that the sound infuriated her sensitive hearing. Gathering herself up, she pulled at the pain once again. Ever so slightly, she was gaining distance from the sound, as it grew dimmer. She was hot with pain and effort. She realized as she tugged, that a thin, black line was leading past her eye back towards the source of the sound. She was somehow attached to the object by this thing that threaded past her into the distance. Agony!
Anything to shake this pain from her mouth. Yes, maybe up into the whiteness again. There seemed to be less resistance now as she raced upwards… upwards and out of her world. She jumped higher than she could ever remember jumping before. As she floated in space, the fish in her mouth pulled her head around causing her to land sideways into the sea sending a cascade of water high into the light.
She was losing now. Tired… pain… exhaustion. She discovered if she swam towards the sound, the fire did not burn so hotly in her mouth. Yes, that was it! Go to the pain. Stop fighting long enough to gather her strength for one last struggle. It was there, but yet not there. Go to it… faster… faster.
Using her anger to push herself, she swam faster than she had ever gone before. The throbbing was getting closer now, so close that she could see it up ahead. The line between herself and man was loose, loose, and trailing back behind her.
She was under it now. Under the menacing turning blades that spelled death to all who came too close. Speed… speed the other way… more speed and yet more. Strain to go as fast as she could… faster! Suddenly the pain became enormous as the fish tore from her mouth with a fury so intense she nearly blacked out. All became red as she fought with the last of her energy. Her massive head sprang away with a jerking motion as the tension was relaxed. Had she done it? Go deep… deep down to safety once again.
There, there was the bottom, but where was the pain? Confused, she waited for it to come once again. Nothing. Nothing except the numbness around her mouth where the fury had been. Now up… up to the light. She was free at last.
She broke the surface with a huge arch surveying the surroundings. There was the hated object, but far away; so far away it seemed unthreatening, but her ancient senses told her to flee and remember. Remember the sound and the closeness of death.
Part I
. . . . So strongly and metaphysically did I conceive of my situation then, that while earnestly watching his motions, I seemed distinctly to perceive that my own individuality was not merged in a joint stock company of two; that my free will had received a mortal wound; and that another’s mistake or misfortune might plunge innocent me into unmerited disaster and death….
Herman Melville – MOBY DICK
Chapter One
Florida Keys, U.S.A. – 1984
The twin 1300-horsepower diesels on the Makaira gurgled pleasantly in the deep blue waters of the middle of the Gulf Stream, some fifteen miles off Islamorada, Florida. Sol Epstein pulled his favorite fishing hat lower over his eyes to help keep out the scorching sun that threatened to blind him. Never being one to wear sunglasses because they were strictly cosmetic to him, he regretted his stubbornness for one of the few moments of his life. The skinny lawyer from Cleveland, Ohio, seated next to him in the cruiser’s fighting chair, seemed totally oblivious to the knife-like reflections shooting around the boat’s afterdeck like so many painful darts. They had been fishing in large circles for several hours now and all they had to show for their efforts were a few Bonitos and a small mackerel. The attorney’s eight-year-old son sat transfixed next to his father seated on a folding canvas chair provided by the captain of the boat. His brown eyes scanned the water behind the boat’s wake as he occasionally wiped the perspiration off of his forehead with a dirty left hand. His dark hair tousled in the salty air as the negligible breeze pushed across the deck every now and then. Much like the boy, the father’s expression was one of total concentration as they exchanged few words with each other in the way that boys and fathers do.
The fishing boat normally carried a paying party of four, but his generous pension as vice-president of the Great Atlantic and Pacific Tea Company allowed him to pay for three-quarters of the bill, while the lawyer picked up the rest. It was more pleasant this way as the boy and his father were an affable pair that struck him immediately as he strolled along the fishing dock the evening before. He enjoyed their sincere company much more than a rowdy couple of pseudo fishermen that he met so often on these trips. It was a fine arrangement and he was more than satisfied to fork over the few extra dollars.
He glanced over his shoulder at the captain and owner of the Makaira perched high up on the boat’s tuna tower. The man seemed as happy as any individual he had ever seen doing his job for a living. Clad in khaki pants and shirt, the sunglasses-covered eyes twinkled back at him over the wide grin exposing a perfect set of large white teeth that would have been the envy of many a Hollywood jet-setter. The large tanned face wore just a trace of a graying beard but it didn’t seem at all scruffy like most men’s several day old growth. A worn pair of topsider deck shoes poked out of the cuffless pants exposing sockless tanned ankles. A military baseball cap lay back on his head threatening to fall off at any minute but it never seemed to come unglued. Muscled forearms draped over the chrome steering wheel, effortlessly turning the boat in circular patterns that only he seemed to think made any sense at all. Salt and pepper hair lay in a disheveled pattern under the cap poking out here and there in a rumpled pattern that seemed almost crazily symmetrical. Sol guessed he must have been about forty-six or seven but his obvious ease at life made him appear much younger.
His helper on the other hand seemed almost the opposite. A thin, nervous boy of about twenty, the youth shuffled back and forth between himself and the lawyer providing soft drinks for the boy and beer for the men. His internal energy kept him in motion constantly soaking his Syracuse t-shirt in large rings around his neck and arms. Blond, long hair streamed down around his skinny throat but was kept out of his eyes by a red bandana tied around his forehead. Bobby, the boy, seemed to idolize Royal St. Vincent, the man. Sol noticed immediately that the captain was referred to always as Royal and never Roy, as he would have supposed. It was a pleasant setting indeed and he was thoroughly enjoying every single moment. He noticed the thin jutting hairs from his own skinny legs sticking out from under the towel that Bobby had draped over his exposed thighs to keep the sun from burning them into raw meat. His age-freckled hands held the huge rod up at an angle from his lap, although there was very little weight since the butt of the pole was set into the cup provided in the specially made fishing seat. Somewhere out behind the bubbling wake, his baited hook lay just below the surface of the water racing along at the same speed as the boat. The effects of the sun, beer, and low constant rumbling sound of the boat’s engines were causing him to become drowsy as he caught himself nodding against his chest. Maybe for just a few minutes he would let himself go as he felt himself succumbing to the numb feeling of sleep. Just for a little while…
“Dad!”
The boy had whispered intently waking him up from a very definite sleep.
“Dad, did you feel that?” the boy asked, more excited this time.
“Just a minute, Danny, I don’t know, maybe something…” answered the pensive lawyer. Suddenly the large Penn reel sang out as the heavy line started tearing off the spool in a madding speed.
“It’s a big one!” screamed the captain as he started to straighten out the boat. An orderly chaos seemed to break out all at once aboard the Makaira. Bobby jumped up quickly and gently but insistently grabbed the now useless pole from Sol’s hands. He reeled in the long line that lay behind the boat faster than Sol thought possible with the boy’s skinny red arms. When the line and bait lay entirely in the boat, Bobby moved over to the now struggling lawyer and began to strap both him and his pole into the fighting chair. Beads of perspiration lay all over the young man’s face as he now began to put some tension on the rapidly disappearing line by using the drag lever on the side of the reel. The boy had somehow managed to stay next to his father’s side during the entire proceedings. He stood with his small hands wrapped around his father’s expanded bicep. His eyes were alive with excitement as they moved back and forth from his father’s face to the still empty water behind the boat. Now the lawyer was completely strapped into the chair and the pole was held against his body at about a forty-five degree angle by the twin leather straps attached to the restraint. The butt end of the rod was still in the stainless steel swivel cup between the man’s legs. The contest was now ready to begin.
“How big you think Royal?” shouted Bobby over the roar of the frothing engines up to the still silent man up in the bridge.
“Don’t know yet, Bobby,” yelled back the captain. “We’ll have to wait and see what she does.” Sol had played this role many times before but it never seemed to bother him. On the contrary, he was always fascinated by watching the others fight against these fish to see how they would react after a period of time. Many fishermen tired quickly and complained almost immediately for the captain to cut the bastard loose. Some laughed endlessly to relieve the tension that mounted almost as fast as the physical contest between man and fish. He exited the now useless fighting chair settling for the more remote bench seat next to the tinted glass window that separated the afterdeck of the boat from the main cabin.
As suddenly as the reel began to spin, it now turned silent. No one spoke a word. The silence that gripped the boat seemed almost as loud as the turmoil that had existed only moments before. The up-till-now silent St. Vincent broke the barrier.
“Take up on the line a little bit, Bill, see if she’s still with us.” Before the perplexed lawyer could take up on the spool, they were all stunned by one of nature’s more spectacular sights. The huge blue marlin leapt from the sea in a profusion of spray and dazzling color. As it rose higher and higher it began to arch in midair. By the time it was at the zenith of the display, it was bent double so that the long bill touched the deep blue of the tail. The just visible Dacron line ran up from the water in front of the fish into the air splaying itself into a snake-like pattern reminding Sol of a cowboy’s lariat. The huge marlin swung its head back the other way as it began to fall back into the sea. Acting like a huge hand, the motion of the reaction caused the fish to strike the water with a smack, sending water up into the hot sunshine in a rainbow of spray going as high as the tallest portion of the Makaira herself.
“Jesus H. Christ on a crutch!” said the skinny blond deck-hand. Sol was almost as impressed with the boy’s reaction as he was with the fish itself. He had been out many times but it was the first time he could remember the crew of one of the boats being impressed by a fish. But, understandingly, in this case he could see why. It was by far and away the biggest marlin that Sol had ever seen in his twenty years of fishing off the Florida coast. He didn’t know if it would have set any records but still it struck him as being magnificently awesome.
From up above the steady voice of Royal St. Vincent brought the boat back to order.
“Bill, bring in the slack, you don’t want to let this girl get away, do you?”
“Dad, did you see that?” asked the dutifully impressed boy.
“I sure did, Danny, and I’m going to land this fish if it’s the last thing I do. That’s the most beautiful damned thing I’ve ever seen in my life. You think so, son?”
The boy didn’t answer but shook his head and gripped his father’s arm even tighter, if that was possible. By now the man’s arms began to ache so that he was relying more and more on the retaining straps to bear the weight. St. Vincent, some time ago, had exchanged places with Bobby and now stood next to the lawyer gazing back at the stretched-out line behind the boat.
“What do you think, Royal? Was that a big fish or not?” asked the tiring lawyer.
“Bill, I’ll tell you what, if you land this fish it’ll make a trophy for your office wall that will probably pay for itself ten times over. Remember one thing, no fish makes only a good story so keep tension on that line at all times. That big girl out there is getting tired too, remember that.”
“Yeah, I’m trying, too,” said the attorney.
“The trick is to tire her out before she does it to you,” continued the captain. “If the line goes slack for even a minute, take in on it if you can. If it gets too much to handle, let the line out as slowly as you can, but make her fight for every inch of it. You’ve got to bring her to you when she’s resting. If you gain a little bit on her every time, eventually she’ll be next to the boat. When that happens, I’ll get the gaff hook and we’ll bring her in… you got that?”
“Yeah, I think so,” answered Bill, “but does she know all the rules too.”
Sol could see that this was going to be a long fight as he glanced at his Timex. Goddamned Gladys had bought him a new digital model and he never could get used to telling time by the little square numbers in the window. Now a regular watch, all you had to do was glance at it and it told you what time it was by where the hands were pointing. Some changes Sol decided were definitely not for the best.
The party waited for some time for the fish to make the next move. The perspiration rolled off of the skinny lawyer’s forehead and plunked onto his shirt causing a large brown stain to spread out from the point of impact.
Surprising everyone, the reel sang out again with an added fury, clicking away like a roulette wheel gone insane.
With another display of speed, Royal St. Vincent jumped from the cockpit of the fishing boat landing three rungs up the perpendicular ladder leading up to the boat’s tall tuna tower.
“Bobby, get down here and help Bill out with this motha fish!”
The boy and the man exchanged places as they passed on the chrome ladder. The captain threw the Makaira into reverse causing Sol to bang his head against the glass of the interior cabin. A huge flat wave was forming behind the boat as it picked up speed in reverse. To Sol it seemed like the boat was now going as fast backwards as it had when heading out into the ocean this morning. The square stern of the boat was not designed to handle the mounting seas, causing the craft to pitch and roll in a sickening fashion with each successive wave.
“You’re keeping up with him, Royal!” shouted Bobby as he stood flexing next to the open mouthed lawyer.
“Keep that line coming in, Sir!” yelled Bobby to the still stunned attorney. The roar of the engines seemed to mount as the boat fought against the sea. After what seemed like an eternity Bobby shouted again, “Starting to go slack now, Royal.”
The Makaira now was pushed into neutral as her momentum stopped dead. With the stiff six-foot pole now bending in half, the lawyer struggled to reel in a few more precious inches of line. To Sol the fishing line now seemed to angle straight down from behind the boat and disappear into the deep blue water. From high atop the tower he heard St. Vincent shout.
“He’s sounding Bill… give her more line if she needs it!”
Bobby reached over and adjusted the drag on the trembling reel. With a look of total dismay, the lawyer watched as slowly the hard fought line once again spun off the Penn 12/0 reel. All was quiet except for the gurgle of the boat’s engines. To Sol it all seemed to be happening in slow motion, so he was flabbergasted when he looked at the Timex again. The fight had been going on for almost an hour and a half.
He looked over at the boy. He was standing behind his father but trying to keep out of the way of the ever-moving deck hand. The look on his face was even fiercer than his now tiring father’s.
“You want Bobby to take the rod for a while, Bill?” shouted down St. Vincent.
“Hell no!” expressed the attorney. “I’ve fought this bastard this long, there’s no way I’m giving up now… I’m okay.”
Sol noticed that the boy smiled for the first time since the ordeal began. “All right, Bill, it’s your fish. We’ll stay out here all day if that’s what it takes.”
Sol now remembered that four-thirty was usually the time that the boats headed back to the dock. It was a credit to this captain that he wasn’t going to cut the fish loose.
The battle raged back and forth for some time more. That the lawyer would gain, the fish would take back. St. Vincent constantly had to move the boat forwards or backwards depending on which way the tireless monster took the line. Nobody aboard the Makaira seemed to mind as the time passed by swiftly. The constant chatter on the marine radio died as the other boats headed in to call it a day. Whereas before they could see other charters occasionally dotting the horizon, they now had the ocean to themselves. The hot overhead sun now began to drop into the western sky causing the temperature to drop slightly. Shadows appeared on the boat as pockets of the craft now ducked out of the sun’s direct rays. The lawyer seemed to gather strength rather than fade as the war dragged on. On several occasions the huge fish leapt into the air, trying to fight its way loose. Each time it leapt, the passengers on the boat would stare in awe at the fish’s dimensions. They grew to admire the marlin rather than despise it.
Time passed by. With no particular warning, the line went dead. As the men and boy watched, the blue marlin put on the most spectacular display yet. Rising wholly out of the water the beast twisted in mid-air with unbelievable fury. It landed with a smack sending large loops of loosened line back to the boat. Hurtling itself directly at the boat with incredible speed, the men could only watch as the fish approached. Passing under the boat, even the skilled captain couldn’t react in time to take in the sagging line. With an amazing singing sound, the loose line flashed around the boat in the dwindling sunlight. As it came to the end of the reel it simply snapped off. The lawyer sat numbly clutching the now useless pole. The only sound came from the bridge.
“Son of a bitch.” The sound was made with reverence.
Royal watched the lawyer as the boy slept in his arms. From inside the boat all looked dark on the outside world. The small red flag whipped in the rigging denoting the fact that they had tried, but failed. Royal could detect no sense of failure about the party. The older man who had footed most of the bill stared at the approaching lights of the Key, lost in a world of his own. The lawyer turned the beer can in his hand as he rubbed his chin against the sleeping boy’s head. The conversation came slow.
“That was a hell of a try today, Bill,” Royal spoke. “I know, Royal, I know,” answered the attorney looking at his beer can.
“How do you feel about it” asked Royal trying to judge the man.
“Well,” he answered distantly, “I guess I feel a little cheated but in a way I feel kind of funny.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I keep thinking of that fish. It’s still out there somewhere. Right now I don’t know how it feels, or even if it feels, but I have to guess that it does. Maybe it’s better that things worked out as they did. She was so… so beautiful that I would hate to think of her any other place than where she is right now. Do you sort of know what I mean?”
The two men’s eyes locked for just a second. Royal felt that this man knew what it was all about.
“Yeah, Bill, I know just what you mean. Listen, I have to relieve Bobby at the wheel until we get tied up. After we get things squared away, why don’t you meet me somewhere for a drink?”
“Thanks, Royal, but Danny’s pretty pooped and his mother is probably worried about us. I appreciate it, but I’m going to have to pass.”
“Okay,” answered Royal getting up to take over the boat. He paused just as he reached the door to the cabin and looked back at the lawyer. “By the way, Bill… that was one hell of a fish this afternoon.”
The lawyer looked up at Royal and smiled, “Thanks.”
* * *
Windly Key is not unlike any of the small islands scattered along the extremity of Florida extending down into the Gulf of Mexico. The Key is basically made up of dead coral formations mixed in with a dry gray limestone. To the east lies the Atlantic Ocean, while to the west, beyond the swamp-like estuaries, lies the Gulf of Florida. The Key itself is only about a quarter of a mile wide and some three or four miles long. Shaped like the flukes of an anchor, the center of the Key is split by small channels between the ocean and the Gulf. The mangrove trees extend down into the rocky soil trying to gather nutrition from the rising and falling of the tides. Their finger-like roots helped to form much of the island thousands of years ago, but unlike thousands of years ago, US-1 now travels the length of the Key and extends from Key Largo down to Key West. Most of the hotels and bars that are scattered on either side of the highway cater to the tourists that travel the busy road.
Some small bars, however, lie back away from the asphalt freight train and are frequented by the local establishment. The owners of these small businesses prefer it that way as do the customers. Most of these rare places are located on the estuary side of US-1, away from the prying eyes of the passing motorist from Ohio or New Jersey. Cripple Pete’s was just this sort of place.
Royal St. Vincent sat nursing his Millers watching the smoke from his cigarette curl up into the webbing of the ceiling above. The smoke wrapped itself around the red fishing net float in an oval pattern before it went to wherever it was that old cigarette smoke goes. It had been one hell of a day. The fish his client had hooked today had been the largest blue marlin he personally had ever seen. He didn’t want to tell the guy what he almost had done, but he probably wouldn’t have cared anyway. The thrill of the fight had triggered the lawyer’s imagination so that knowing that it was a possible record would have made very little difference. It wasn’t often that he took people out that he genuinely liked. It wasn’t that most people were bad, or anything like that, it’s just after a while they all kind of became the same. Most he never even remembered. Too bad. It would have made one hell of a trophy. In a way, though, the guy was right. Maybe the fish did belong in the ocean. It would have been a shame to see the big girl dangling helplessly, while people snapped her picture at the dock. Yes, definitely, the customer was right.
“What you thinkin’ about, Royal?” asked Bobby.
“Thinkin’ about today, I guess, Bobby.”
“Nice people weren’t they?” asked the boy.
“Yeah, they were all right,” he answered taking the last swig of warm beer. “Pete, one more for Bobby and me, and then it’s time for bed.”
Cripple Pete wasn’t really crippled; he just called the place that. As a matter of fact, Pete was anything but crippled. He was a young man from the South somewhere who had come to the Keys and just stayed. It took a long while to make the transition from out-of-towner to local, but Pete had managed.
He ran a quiet bar for quiet people. The bar was nestled right up against a small bay from the larger estuary, but small boats could tie up against the dock. Adventuresome sail-boaters that knew of the place anchored out in the larger bay just out of sight of the bar for weeks at a time. There was peace and solitude back away from the ocean and the highway.
“Royal?” Bobby asked surprisingly meekly.
“What, Bobby.”
“I was thinkin’ of asking you a pretty important question?”
“Go ahead and shoot, Bobby, if you think I can help.”
“Ah, I don’t know how to ask this but there’s something I’ve got to find out. I’ve been thinking that you and the Makaira have been one of the best things in my life you know. Well, fall’s coming up again pretty soon and Mom and Dad are expecting me back at school… right.”
“That’s right, Bobby, just like we said.” Royal was beginning to get the drift of what was coming next.
“Royal, I was wondering if you’d mind if I just sort of put off school for a year. I don’t feel like going back and well… I really don’t want to leave the boat.” Royal sighed as he took the first sip from the cold can.
“Bobby, we’ve talked this over before. You know I’ve never had a better mate than you, but that’s not important. Let me put it this way. You know those two guys on the boat today?”
“You mean the lawyer and the market guy.”
“Yes, the lawyer, and the market guy. But they weren’t just a lawyer and a market guy, they were successful people. Both of those men worked damn hard to get to where they are right now. It takes work and it takes education. Bobby, I’d love to keep you on for another year but believe me, I would be hurting you in the long run.”
“Ah, come on, Royal…”
“Don’t ah come on me, Bobby, I’m serious. But I’ll make you a deal. You’ve got one more year to go at Syracuse, right?” “Right.” “Well, I’ll tell you what. You finish that last year of school. If you still feel that way next June you can come back and work with me. Once you’ve got that education, they can’t take it away from you. Get that sheepskin, Bobby, and maybe we can do some business. Okay?”
“Okay, Royal, if you say so, but I’ll tell you one thing right now. Next year I’ll be back, you can count on it.”
“I will, but right now it’s getting late. Tomorrow I want to clean the boat from top to bottom so be there at eight o’clock, got it?”
“Got it.”
The skinny blond kid with red arms was up off the bar stool in less than thirty seconds, leaving Royal alone at the bar. He tugged at his baseball cap and caught himself in the mirror. Yeah, college, that was the answer. He had gone to college about a million years ago. Michigan State to be exact. Go Spartans. He had been an engineer then, working nine-to-five along with half of the rest of the world. Good grades had landed him at GM, first year out. God, how he had loved the cars. Especially the faster models that had started to appear around the early sixties. The GTO had been one of his babies. Well not exactly his babies but he had been a real part of it. Compact cars at first with huge V-8 are pushing them along in a straight line. It wasn’t until they proved that the public would buy the cars that they were allowed to work on the suspension and creature comforts. But the ball had started rolling, and rolling, and rolling until they accounted for one of the biggest shares of GM’s business (the Wide-Trackers). He could still see the posters making the cars seem even wider than they already were. It was beautiful.
Grosse Point was beautiful, too. So was Holly. Holly had been a stewardess for Eastern when he had met her. It wasn’t exactly love at first sight but damn close. He chuckled to himself as he remembered making an ass out of himself on the airplane. He knew that if he didn’t hit the first time that he might not ever see her again so he moved in full speed ahead with all guns blazing.
A redhead. God damn, he had never even liked redheads, but this one made him flip. He had almost gone into a panic when the airplane had emptied leaving him alone on the plane. Fortunately, she had seen the twinkle in his eye so she had agreed to meet him for a drink in the terminal. Love had blossomed on the vine bearing the fine fruit of a sixty-thousand dollar mortgage and two kids.
But like all perishables, the fruit had turned bitter with age, finally to wither and die.
It had been a fairly friendly divorce until Morten dropped in. Morten Crammer of Mutual, mutual, mutual, mutuals. Even the kids liked Morten Mutual. And why not. He was probably a nice guy, but Royal couldn’t stand his guts. Assault and battery with a lawn mower. It was funny now but at the time he had been dead serious. Holly and Morten had dropped by to let the kids off for the weekend when he had been mowing the small lawn at his friend’s house where he was staying temporarily. The path through the grass had woven crazily like a drunken snake where he had chased Morten with the lawn mower growling while the kids screamed and Holly ran along behind. He had been so goddamned mad that he, Morten and the lawn mower all wound up in the neighbor’s pool. The handle of the machine had hooked over his feet causing him to become entangled on the bottom of the pool. Morten Mutual had wound up saving his life and ruining his marriage.
It had taken the kids a long time to side up to pop after that so he had followed the path of so many other tortured souls and turned to the bottle. It wasn’t the bottle, it wasn’t Morten Mutual, and it wasn’t the EPA mileage standards that drove him over the edge, it was a combination of all three.
He had taken a long vacation in Florida to get away from it all. The vacation had turned into a leave of absence and the leave of absence had turned into a calling it quits. He had traveled down the coast invoking his own vendetta on the world and any unfinished bottle of anything. One day he had wound up in Miami with a hell of a hangover. He hadn’t gone completely insane yet but then he realized that he was getting close. He had stopped in the closest store and bought a bottle of cheap wine from behind the counter. He took the top off of the bottle and started south. Driving and drinking he had passed through the main body of Florida and entered the Keys for the first time in his life. At exactly one p.m. the bottle went dry. He was at Windly Key. To him the place looked as good as any so he decided to give up the crusade and join the human race again.
He still had some good money left over from the divorce, so he had purchased a small boat at the local marina. He had always loved boating even back in Michigan. The transition hadn’t been as difficult as most people thought, so after a while he was in. Hard work and a lot of luck had brought him to Cripple Pete’s about one hour ago. So… there he was right now and it was time to get home.
Although Royal preferred to keep pretty much to himself, the people from out-of-state provided him with his livelihood. The Makaira was moored alongside of fifteen or so boats at the hotel marina on Windly Key. The Key was not terribly large and the only city on the island was Islamorada so most people simply referred to the whole area as Islamorada. The marina was tied in with several gift shops along with a dive shop for those so inclined. The center of the whole complex was a large hotel complete with restaurant and observation deck. The saving grace of the whole operation was an outdoor bar protected only by a roof of plywood and dried palm fronds. The bar served any drink to customers as long as it didn’t require a blender. The favorite of the tourists was a rum-runner but the locals stuck mostly to beer. Every day and every night a new crowd moved into the bar as people either stayed in the hotel or stopped in on their way up or down US-1. The hotel itself was one of the biggest buildings in the Keys, rising to some seven stories. This of course didn’t count Key West, which was another story altogether. Along with the deep-sea charter boats was a vast array of smaller craft capable of navigating the estuaries in search of bonefish or tarpon. Additional stalls were reserved for boats passing through Islamorada on their way to Key West or the mainland some eighty miles up the coast. The stern of the Makaira was facing the small parking lot where poorly done plastic replicas of deep-water fish hung from poles to attract the passing cars.
Bobby was already on the boat by the time Royal arrived. As Royal shut off the aging pickup truck, he noticed the water running through the scuppers provided in the ship’s gunnels. Bobby stood on the hard part of the roof of the boat, just below the pole like tuna tower, hosing the boat down with his thumb depressed on the hose to provide an adequate spray. It was a constant battle keeping the salt spray off the boat’s immaculate bright work.
“Hiya Cap,” greeted the boy as Royal ducked from the torrents of water pouring down the ship’s upper cabin. Feeling the cold drops soaking his khaki shirt he darted into the main cabin to fix a first cup of coffee.
The Makaira proudly was the pride of the small fleet tied up in the marina. She was a sixty-foot Striker built in Sweden that was only three years old. She was made of aluminum, which set her apart from the fiberglass and wooden boats right away. Her length overall was sixty-foot-six inches while her beam was a roomy twenty feet. She was powered by two magnificent MTU 8-V diesel engines producing thirteen-hundred horsepower each. She carried forty-two hundred gallons of fuel, which enabled her to cruise just about anywhere they decided to go. She was also equipped with all of the latest navigational devices, including Loran-C, which made Royal capable of putting the boat on a dime in the ocean any time he cared to. She was the Cadillac of fishing boats and Royal treated her that way.
The aroma of fresh brewed coffee told Royal that the batch was ready. Rapping his knuckles on the overhead he shouted, “Bobby, coffee’s ready!”
He could hear the muffled reply through the raining of the water on the cabin. “No thanks, Royal, I had some at the bar before you got here.”
Royal pulled the chart out of the drawer and started to study where they had hooked the big marlin the day before. The Gulf Stream had been running far out beyond its customary range yesterday as he could see by the local government chart. The normal holes where they usually caught sails and mackerel lay about five miles closer to the shores of the Key. The big girl (any marlin over 700 pounds had to be a female) must have been a stranger to the region since he had never seen the fish before or heard any of the skippers talk of such a fish. The fraternity of charter boat captains and owners was a surprisingly close bunch considering they competed against each other every day. The best assurance of a dollar in your pocket was a good reputation of catching fish and each captain prided himself in the art. Royal wasn’t sure even to himself if he wanted to face the big fish again. As he studied the chart and drank his second cup of coffee he glanced up at the big back door windows which faced the parking lot. Through the smoky water splattered glass he was looking straight at a set of knockout legs stretching up into the unknown. In the warm climate of the Keys exposed women’s legs were an everyday occurrence but ones such as these were enough to startle even him. He was even more surprised when he heard a female voice calling out his name.
“Hello, is anybody home?” she was calling.
“Hello, Ma’am,” he could hear Bobby saying. “Captain St. Vincent is down below. I’ll get him for you.”
“Oh, never mind,” she said. “I’ll get him myself.”
The beautiful set of legs was joined by an equally exquisite set of hips that curved inwards to a tiny flat waist. As the girl stepped down into the boat, she exposed herself from bottom to top in a wholesome display of prime womanhood. The girl’s chest was held high up in the shirt without the aid of a brassiere. The soft bounce as she hit the deck denoted a sense of firmness only evident in well-exercised younger women. Long black hair cascading over the white shirt encircled a small sharp chin shooting up to incredibly high cheekbones. Royal simply sat as she knocked on the cabin’s closed sliding-glass door.
Catching his breath, he carefully got up to meet the apparition. When he slid back the door he was greeted by a pair of dark expensive sunglasses.
“Captain St. Vincent?” she asked.
“You’ve got him, lady,” he answered feeling foolish in front of this girl.
“Captain,” as she spoke she removed the sunglasses as if to save the best till last. Huge eyes of the deepest blue he had ever seen stared back at him on his same level. The girl was almost six feet tall. She continued, “I’m so glad I finally found you. You come very highly recommended.”
Not exactly knowing what to say was unusual for him. He had met his share of women before Holly and certainly his share since. None of them, though, had looked like this girl.
“How can I help you Miss ah…”
“Actually, it’s Cindy but everybody calls me Scotty.”
“Scotty, that’s a funny name for a girl.” Instantly he flushed knowing that she had probably been getting that same response from men for most of her life.
“Well, that’s my name,” she said laughingly, showing the most perfect set of teeth he had ever seen. If this girl wasn’t a beauty queen from somewhere, she could have been.
“Scotty’s actually because I’m Scotch and my friends called me that in school. It’s stuck ever since and I sort of like it, don’t you?”
“Yes, it’s great, I mean it’s well, it’s…”
She broke out laughing again which didn’t cause him to settle down one bit.
“Do you think you could spare a cup of that coffee?” she asked. “I’ve been driving all morning and I didn’t have time to stop.”
“Sure, have a seat. Cream or sugar?”
“No, just black, thanks. Sugar’s fattening.”
After he got her the coffee, they sat at the table before she spoke again. “Captain St. Vincent, I suppose you’re wondering why I’m here aren’t you?”
“It had crossed my mind now that you mention it.” The girl was positively alluring. The water from the hose above ceased and Royal knew that Bobby was trying to listen in.
“Mr. St. Vincent, I wonder if you would like to take me and several of my friends fishing on your boat next week?”
“Excuse me for asking Scotty, but you hardly strike me as being the fishing type, if you don’t mind me saying so.”
“No, that’s perfectly all right, really you’re right. It’s just that my friends and I heard about you all the way up in Miami. My friend has a visitor coming from up North and he wants to take him out fishing to sort of impress him, if you know what I mean.”
“There’s lots of good charter boats around the Miami area that would be more than glad to take you out Scotty, and really they’re a lot closer.”
“I know that, Mr. St. Vincent, but really all our client talks about is fishing in the Keys. Certainly you wouldn’t mind taking us out for one day, now, would you?”
The girl was flashing that million-dollar smile again and Royal couldn’t help but feel himself getting lost in those eyes. He noticed several more things about her now that she was seated across from him. As she drank her coffee he picked up the flash of an expensive gold ring unlike any he had ever seen on a woman before. On most females it would have looked out of place but on this girl it only added to her magic. It was all masculine in design and size. A solid gold band widened at the top to hold a black round stone. On the smooth black stone, embossed in pure gold was the head of a king Cobra. He decided to plunge further in.
“And who is your friend from Miami, Scotty?”
“His name is Rick, Rick Sommerfield.” The girl’s voice almost purred.
“Well, do you have any idea what the going price is these days?” Royal could feel himself being reeled in like a dead mackerel.
“Oh, whatever you feel is fair will be okay with Rick, I’m sure. The trip is just a write-off anyway so don’t worry. Rick’s company has got mucho dinero to spend on stuff like this. Half the tracks in Miami are supported by Rick’s business lunches so I’m sure one fishing trip is not going to upset the accountants. And besides, maybe we’ll bring home a trophy or two.”
Royal couldn’t be sure but he got the feeling the girl was looking right into him as she curled her hand around the rim of the cup. Going over the edge crazily, Royal felt himself actually getting light headed.
“What day can I expect you and… well, that is to say Rick’s and your party to arrive?”
“We thought next Wednesday would be just super. How about it?”
“Okay. Wednesday at eight o’clock sharp,” he answered.
“Well, I guess that does it,” she said standing up to leave. “Oh, by the way, here’s something to hold the boat for us.” Reaching into the slit pockets of her white shorts she produced a one-hundred dollar bill.
“I’m sure that won’t be necessary, Scotty.”
“Take it,” she shot back. “Buy some good vodka for the trip. I’m sure we can have a little party while we’re fishing… all work and no play, you know.”
He followed her out of the back cabin door and helped her up on to the dock. The back side of the girl was understandably just as fantastic as the front. Waiting for her was a yellow Mercedes 500 SEC convertible with the top down.
“Nice car,” he managed to say.
“It’s Rick’s. He let me drive it down here to get some sun. I get so bored sometimes back at the hotel that the drive was actually fun. It was so nice to meet you, Mr. St. Vincent?”
“Please call me Royal, Scotty.”
The girl reached out her hand to shake on the deal. He was sure he felt more than the normal amount of pressure in her warm, smooth hand. It was sad to see the expensive sunglasses cover up the blue twinkling eyes. She got into the car and with a toot of the horn she was gone back up US-1.
“What did she want” asked Bobby, coming up to stand next to Royal.
“She wants to go fishing, Bobby.”
* * *
The rest of the week went by routinely. The Makaira went out two more times, catching several sails and a large dolphin, but Royal never saw the large marlin again. All through the week and into the weekend he couldn’t help but think of the strange party coming down on Wednesday. The girl had gotten into his blood so that he was starting to get a little nervous as to how he would act when the time came to take the trip. Even Bobby seemed on edge during the long weekend trips. On Sunday they took out an insurance company executive and his wife. Being in the mutual business, the man had two strikes against him before they even went out. The wife constantly complained about the rocking of the “little” boat so that Royal was tempted to cut her up for bait, but he was frightened that he would spoil the fishing in the area for the next thirty years. The man smoked cigars and constantly left the ashes on the deck. Besides all this, the fat slob had gas so bad that at one time Royal had to laugh to himself as Bobby wore the bandana over his nose to get rid of the stink. As luck would have it, the son-of-a-bitch caught the biggest sail of the season. Royal could feel his skin crawl as he posed at the dock with the agent, arm in arm in front of the lucky dead fish. Bobby made himself busy inside the cabin and didn’t even emerge for his customary tip. That night they scrubbed the boat down better than usual not getting done until after dark
Royal told Bobby to take the day off Monday so that he could take care of some business at the bank. The bank owned Royal St. Vincent. God knows the Florida banks had all the money they needed so why did they have to pick on him? The boat payments seemed to always be a month late but at the rate the principle was being paid off, it seemed to make so little difference. Even the battered pick-up truck was included on the note. The boat and the truck were all that Royal really claimed to own. His small house was rented and the furniture was pure Salvation Army. The Makaira was a different story. Everything on the boat was top shelf. Royal felt an obsession at providing the boat with the very best. Even the goddamn booze on board was always the very best. The cheap stuff was on the counter at his home.
Mr. Ford, that was the banker’s name, was a horse’s ass. It was amazing how people’s names invoked emotion in his soul. He still carried a soft spot in his heart for GM so that all Ford products seemed inferior. He knew it wasn’t so, but he couldn’t help himself. Mr. Ford sweated even in the air-conditioned office. The man was not only painfully overweight, he was bald to boot. The baldness was not his fault, the fatness was. Royal always referred to the banker as dumb, stupid, fat Ford.
“Now, Royal,” he hated it when people used his first name who really didn’t know him at all. The man was trying to relax him by being his friend. It wasn’t working. “We’ve talked about this before. In order for us to advance you additional funds you have to show us increased equity. Although you have a lovely boat, the cost escalation ratio just doesn’t allow us to lend you any more money on the craft. Another thing, in order for us to have a good working relationship with each other, it’s necessary for you to keep your payments up-to-date. I see by your record that you’ve been late several months in the recent past. That’s not good at all.”
“I know, Mr. Ford, but summertime is always slow.”