Mermaid

13

When Cleo woke up, the boat was rocking slightly with the rising tide. She wasn’t ready to wake up yet, so she kept her eyes closed and rolled her head back and forth on the pillow and thought of the baby inside her rolling back and forth, too, rocking, rocking, rock-a-bye baby. She held another pillow clasped tight against her belly. This second one was made of foam rubber and it felt smooth and yielding like flesh. Sometimes, in a foggy moment, she believed it was real flesh, her own real baby. But usually she knew it wasn’t, that her real baby was deep down inside her, very tiny, hardly bigger than a grain of sugar.

Once she tied the pillow around her waist inside her dress and went downtown, walking along the streets and into the stores. People looked at her oddly.

Some were pitying: “Why, you poor child, you’re scarcely more than a child yourself. How far gone are you?”

“Quite,” Cleo said solemnly. “Quite far gone.”

Some were contemptuous. “Don’t they teach about contraceptives in school? Look at her. Probably on welfare. That brat of hers will probably be on welfare, too. And we’ll be picking up the bills.”

One woman reached out and touched Cleo on the stomach.

Cleo drew back, surprised and frightened. “What did you do that for?”

“For luck. Didn’t you ever hear that?”

“No.”

“Whenever you see a woman big with child you touch her on the stomach for luck.”

She went back to the motel near the beach and told Roger about the woman who touched the baby for luck, only it wasn’t the baby.

“Why did you do a thing like that?” he said, turning red with anger. “People will think you’re crazy.”

“But there really is a baby deep inside. And you’re going to be the father and I’m going to be the mother. You promised, Roger. That very first day when I came to you and told you what happened with Ted and me, you said you would take care of me. You said you would see to it that Hilton wouldn’t take the baby away and have me fixed like he did our cat. You promised, Roger.”

“Yes.”

“And after this one, we’ll have some more. Boy, girl, boy, girl, or two boys and two girls, whichever you think is best. It wouldn’t be fair to have just one child. It would always be lonely, the way I am.”

“What if we can’t make it, Cleo, if things don’t work out?”

“You’re always telling me that people can work anything out if they really try, that people can make things work out. You told me that.”

“Yes.”

“You weren’t lying?”

“I didn’t intend to lie, Cleo. Perhaps I only spoke too soon, too optimistically.”

She began to cry then, and Roger held her in his arms, trying to soothe her, stroking her hair, brushing her tears away with his mouth.

“Come inside, Roger,” she said. “Come in and visit our baby. Come inside.”

“Not now.”

“Why not?”

“The dog,” he said. “The dog wants out. I have to go and walk him.”

“Oh, I’m sick of that dog. He’s always interfering like this. He’s not my friend anymore... Will you come back soon?”

“Yes.”

Roger was gone a long time. When he came back he told her he’d arranged to have the dog returned to the Jaspers. He was very pale and smelled of liquor.

“Are you going to visit the baby now, Roger?”

“I want to.”

They lay down again and she clasped her legs around his and held him tight against her. She could feel him struggling to get away and pretty soon he began to cry.

“God forgive me. I’m sorry, Cleo. Sorry, sorry, sorry.”

Roger always said things three times when he really meant them, so that was the night she found out that things sometimes didn’t work out no matter how hard people tried.

This time when Roger left he took his clothes with him and that was the end of the marriage.

She phoned Ted at the house the next morning and told him a sort of lie. She said Hilton had kicked her out just the way he had kicked Ted out and she was staying at a motel because she had nowhere to go. She asked him to help her find a place to live. He said he’d be right down, though he sounded rather peculiar.

She waited for him outside the motel.

His first words were, “That story you gave me on the phone was a lot of bull, wasn’t it?”

“A little,” she said. “Not a whole lot.”

“So what actually happened?”

“I ran away. I ran away because they kicked you out and I didn’t think it was fair.”

“Why’d you do that?”

“Because I like you.”

“Oh, come off it, kid.” But he sounded flattered. “You shouldn’t have run away. You know you can’t look after yourself. What do you intend to do?”

“I was going to get married.”

“What changed your mind?”

“I found out he was already married.”

“Hang in there. He might divorce her.”

“It’s not a her.”

“So why did you drag me into this?”

“I don’t know.”

She did know, though she hadn’t known for long. When she telephoned him for help she had only a vague idea in her mind, but now she was perfectly sure. Ted had nice features, he laughed easily, he played games well, he surfed and skied, and he could teach all these things to a son the way a good father should.

They walked along the waterfront. Ted told her his mother had given him enough money to live on for the summer, and that if his father hadn’t relented by next fall she intended to sell some bonds to finance his senior year in college. Cleo asked him where he was going for the summer. He wasn’t certain.

“Aspen, maybe,” he said. “It’s not as lively as it is in the winter but there’s still plenty of action if you look for it.”

“I was in Catalina once.” She recalled the trip vividly because it had been the only real experience in her life, with no Hilton or Frieda around, no Mrs. Holbrook or counselors, just the waves and the sea birds and a pleasant little man who ran the boat. She even remembered his name, Manny Ocho, because there weren’t many names in her life to remember. She saw the little man once in a while because on her free afternoons she sometimes took a bus down to the harbor and looked for the boat. If it was there she waved to the skipper or whoever was on board. But usually it was gone and the space where it was supposed to be was empty. She felt left out, like a little girl not invited to a party.

She said, “Do you think I’d like Aspen?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“I’ve got a thousand dollars.”

Ted laughed. “That’s about four days’ worth in Aspen.”

This was a shock. She thought a person could live for a whole year on a thousand dollars. “Where is Aspen?”

“In the mountains in Colorado.”

“Is it healthful?”

“In some ways, I guess. In others, no.”

“I mean, does it have a healthful climate? I need a healthful climate.”

“Look, kid, the most healthful climate for you is right here. You’d better call my parents and tell them you’ll be home pretty soon. Will you do that?”

“If you want me to, Ted.”

“Listen, what I want has nothing to do with anything. It’s simple logic. You know what logic is, common sense.”

“If you’re driving alone someplace and I wanted to go to the very same place, wouldn’t it be common sense to take me along?”

“No,” he said. “No, no.”

“Why do men always say things three times? Why not two or four?”

“Okay, well make it four. No.”

“I didn’t really ask anyway. I just said, wouldn’t it be common sense?”

“Listen, you wanted me to help you find an apartment or someplace to live. I can drive you around and we’ll look for vacancy signs. And that’ll be the end of it. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes. But let’s keep walking. It’s such a neat day and you and I haven’t ever really talked before.”

“All right. We’ll walk and talk. But don’t start getting any funny ideas. You and I are going our separate ways.”

She gazed up at him wistfully. “But Aspen sounds so pretty.”

“It’s not that pretty. Besides, I may not go there. It’s the first name that occurred to me, is all. I may go to Borneo.”

“I never heard of Borneo. Does it have a healthful climate?”

“Jeez,” Ted said. “Let’s walk.”

“But does it have a healthful climate?”

“It’s a jungle infested with giant snakes and rodents.”

“Then why are you going there?”

“To get away from people who ask dumb questions.”

“I have to ask dumb questions,” she said. “I’m dumb, aren’t I?”

“Come on, come on, come on.”

She didn’t move.

“Now what’s the matter?”

“You did it again, Ted.”

“Did what?”

“Said something three times, instead of two or four.”

Ted said, “Move it, kid,” and gave her a little push. They began walking out toward the breakwater, past the Coast Guard headquarters, the marine accessories store and yacht brokers’ offices, a fish market, and finally the breakwater itself. The tide was low and a small group of children were picking up mussels off the rocks on the sea side. On the other side, between two rows of marinas, a western grebe was diving for dinner. It came up with a fish in its beak and maneuvered it around until the fish could be swallowed headfirst. The bird’s long thin neck bulged for a moment or two. Cleo didn’t like to see creatures eating other creatures, so she closed her eyes and clung to Ted’s arm to help keep her balance.

When she opened her eyes again, there was the Spindrift, sky-blue and white, with dark blue sail covers. At first she thought there was no one on deck; then she saw Manny Ocho about three quarters of the way up the mainmast, inspecting some rigging.

She called to him and waved. “Manny, it’s me, Cleo.”

He waved back. “Hey, Cleo, why you not in school?”

“I’m on vacation.”

“Pretty soon, I’m on vacation, too.”

“Where are you going?”

“Ensenada, see my wife and kids, make sure everything’s okey doke. Who’s your friend?”

“Ted.”

“Want to come aboard?”

“Oh, yes, I’d love to.”

“Better go the long way round. Too far to jump, too dirty to swim.”

They walked back to the entrance ramp of the marina, with Cleo pulling Ted by the hand to hurry him along.

“Who the hell wants to go on a boat?” he said. “I thought I was supposed to help you find an apartment.”

“That can wait. I still have the room at the motel where Roger and I were going to spend our honeymoon.”

“Has it occurred to you that I might have affairs of my own to settle?”

“Oh, Ted, you don’t really want to go to Borneo, do you? Maybe Manny might let us ride along with him to Ensenada. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

“I doubt it.”

“I bet it’s a lot nicer than Borneo,” Cleo said. “I bet it’s not infected with snakes.”

When they reached the Spindrift the gangplank was down, and they went on board as Manny Ocho slid down from the mast on a rope like a circus performer.

“I show off,” he said, examining the palms of his hands. “Hurts like hell. Cleo, you looking good, happy. This your young man?”

“She’s my aunt,” Ted said.

“Your aunt, ho, ho. A joke, no?”

“It’s no joke.”

“You’re a big boy to have such a cute little aunt. Me, I got nine, ten aunts, all old and fat and ugly.”

Cleo giggled, hiding her face against Ted’s sleeve. He didn’t seem to mind. She really was cute.

Manny showed them around the Spindrift with great pride. In a sense it belonged more to him than to Whitfield, who merely held the owner’s papers and couldn’t have taken the boat out of the harbor by himself.

The captain’s quarters occupied the entire forward cabin. It was spacious and luxuriously furnished, but its teak paneling was marred by Whitfield’s collection of pinups, some of them signed, and its thick, red wool carpeting bore the stains of too many spilled drinks. A television set that projected its picture on a large screen was turned on to a baseball game, and a crewman was sitting in the captain’s swivel chair, watching the game and sipping Coke out of a can.

Manny explained the crewman. “Mr. Whitfield, he at his place in Palm Springs, not expected for a couple more days. Maybe sooner, maybe longer. I think he looking for a new chick.”

“I wish Donny could get away from school and come down here,” Cleo said. “We could have a party. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

Manny laughed. “Aunts not supposed to like parties. And why you want Donny?”

“You need a lot of people to have a real party and I hardly know any.”

“Donny not a real people. He a pig.”

“He gives me chocolate bars and imitates Mrs. Holbrook and makes me laugh.”

Manny moved his mouth around as if he intended to spit in the ocean. Then he remembered he was below deck and he swallowed instead.

“Besides,” Cleo added, “if we were having a party and Mr. Whitfield suddenly appeared, it would be okay because Donny would be here... Don’t you think so, Ted?”

Ted didn’t even hear the question. He was busy examining the pictures on the wall with the air of a connoisseur.

“Okey doke,” Manny said, and showed her how to open the red leather case where the phone was concealed. Then he and Ted went to see the boat’s navigation room.

It took about five minutes and considerable lying to reach Donny at Holbrook Hall.

“Hey, Donny, it’s me.”

“Who’s me?”

“Cleo. Guess what. I’m on the Spindrift.”

“What are you doing there?”

“I’m with Ted. You remember Ted, who picks me up at school sometimes. He’s the one that drives the car you like, the kind your dad’s going to buy you if you ever get off probation.”

“That’ll be in about a million years,” Donny said bitterly. “Maybe more.”

“Oh, don’t be so gloomy. Come on down and we’ll celebrate.”

“Celebrate what?”

“I’m getting married.”

“Why?”

“Because of the baby.”

“No kidding, you’re going to have a real baby?”

She didn’t like the question. “Of course it’s real, dummy. And I’m sailing to Ensenada on my honeymoon. You can come along if you want to.”

“Sure I want to. A lot of good that does. You know how they watch me around this joint, like I was public enemy numero uno.”

“Dream up something. Like the laundry truck. Remember when you stole the laundry truck?”

“I got caught.”

“That was just bad luck, hitting the tree,” Cleo said. “Why don’t you try again?”

“I’ll think about it.”

He didn’t have to think about it very long. That was the morning Aragon left his car keys in the ignition.

The party had all the elements of success, beginning with the people: Manny Ocho and the crewmen about to visit their families for the first time in weeks, Cleo ready for her honeymoon, Donny, who’d finally escaped from Holbrook Hall and didn’t intend to go back — “If dear old dad shows up we’ll throw him overboard” — and a footloose young man who’d been kicked out of his house. In addition, the Spindrift carried plenty of booze, and one of the crewmen, Velasco, had purchased a quantity of hashish from a lower State Street bar, using money he had collected from the others on board.

The party began with lunch: guacamole prepared by Velasco and served with corn chips, and beluga caviar which Whitfield kept in a supposedly foolproof safe. None of them actually liked caviar but it had such an impressive price they felt duty bound to eat it. Cleo tried to pretend it was black tapioca but Velasco kept talking about “feesh eggs. Nearly three hundred dollars a pound for feesh eggs,” and Ted sang a song about virgin sturgeon needing no urging. Ocho sprinkled his share with Tabasco sauce and rolled it up in a tortilla.

When the others had finished eating, Donny scooped up everything that was left on their plates and piled it on his own — guacamole, corn chips, caviar — until it looked like a heap of dog vomit. Eventually he had to go on deck to throw up. Cleo went with him, and being very suggestible, she threw up, too.

Then she and Donny sat side by side in the bow, watching the gulls quarreling and listening to the music coming from the cabin, Velasco playing the harmonica and Ted singing dirty fraternity songs. Cleo couldn’t make out the words of all the songs because the cabin was tightly closed to prevent the odor of hashish from reaching the wrong noses. Donny was sweating so much his hair was wet and water rolled down from his forehead onto his cheeks like tears.

“Your face is very red,” Cleo said.

“What do I care? I can’t see it.”

“Is my face red?”

“I dunno. I can’t see that either.”

This was such a hilarious joke that Donny doubled up with laughter. Cleo wasn’t amused. Throwing up had made her feel quite sober.

“Donny,” she said. “Do you ever have foggy moments?”

“Foggy? Naw. I get flashes, great big bright white flashes. I see things never been seen before. It’s a blast, man.”

“Why do you call me man?”

“It’s just an expression. Besides, you got no boobs.”

“I’m going to grow some when the baby comes.”

“Naw. You’re built like a man.”

“Oh, I am not. Look.”

Cleo took off her T-shirt.

“Pimples,” Donny said. “Just a couple of pimples.”

“Roger liked them.”

“He would. He’s gay, stupid.” Donny looked at her sharply. “Don’t tell me you ever made it with that creep.”

“Practically. We were even supposed to be married, but suddenly it wasn’t such a good idea. I’m going to marry Ted instead.”

“When?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t told him yet.”

“Oh, wow. You really are a kook. I thought you were related to him.”

“We’re only sort of related. Anyway, he was away at school most of the time and I was at home so we hardly knew each other so we’re practically strangers. He’s the father.”

“Father?”

“Of my baby.” She giggled. “Me and Ted, we made it, right down the hall from where Hilton was sleeping. Only it turned out he wasn’t sleeping. He came charging in and made a horrible fuss.”

Donny threw up again over the railing. This seemed to give him extra insight into the situation. “You can’t have the kid. There’s no such thing as being sort of related. If you and Ted are related, the kid will be even more half-witted than you are.”

“I’m not half-witted,” Cleo said obstinately. “And I also got boobs.”

“You should have an abortion.”

“Well, I won’t, so there.”

“Okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. Wait’ll the kid comes out with two heads and one leg... Oh, for Christ’s sake, don’t start crying. I’m just trying to get you to face facts. If Ted doesn’t want to marry you he won’t, and you can’t force him.” Donny had one of his bright white flashes. “Unless he’s stoned. That’s it. We can get him stoned and drag him to a preacher.”

“We don’t need a preacher,” Cleo said. “I saw this television movie where as soon as the boat left the dock the captain began marrying two people.”

“My old man wouldn’t go for that. He’s against marriage.”

“Then how about Manny? Or you?”

“Me?” The idea had instant appeal to Donny but he refused at first to admit it. “I couldn’t do that. I’m not the captain.”

“You’re the owner’s son, you could just make yourself the captain. You could proclaim it. You got rights, Donny. As soon as the boat leaves the dock you can say, ‘I proclaim myself captain.’”

“‘I proclaim myself captain.’ Hey, I like that.” Donny stood up straight and assumed a Napoleonic pose. “I proclaim myself captain.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” Cleo said.

The party ended early, with everyone going to bed wherever they lost consciousness. Festivities were resumed the following morning when Ted and Velasco went ashore for fresh supplies. They didn’t bother with caviar or more avocados for guacamole; they went directly to the bar on lower State Street where Velasco had purchased the hashish. It was closed, so they made a buy from a man standing outside a pawnshop and then returned to the boat.

Throughout the day Cleo tried to persuade Manny Ocho to cast off without waiting for the arrival of Donny’s father. Ocho, who despised Whitfield, would have liked to oblige, but he had too strong a sense of survival. Jobs like his didn’t come along very often. Rich men were getting stingier, learning to skipper their own craft and picking up unpaid crews here and there, mostly teenagers and restless young men like Ted who wanted travel and adventure more than wages.

That night Ocho had a telephone call from Palm Springs. Whitfield said he would drive up the next morning, check in at his condo for an hour or so, then come aboard ready to sail.

Ocho broke the news to the others that this was to be the last night of the party. They cheered themselves up by opening a case of Johnny Walker and starting a series of toasts: to the Presidents of the United States and Mexico, the Los Angeles Dodgers, the man who invented scotch, and the Spindrift, “the greatest ketch ever caught.” This was Ted’s contribution.

“When you catch a ketch,” he said. “The ketch is caught.”

Donny laughed, but neither Cleo nor the three Mexicans understood the pun, even when Ted repeated it with emphasis and gestures.

“When you catch a ketch, the ketch is caught.”

“Aw, the hell,” Velasco said, and proposed a toast of his own, to Señora Pinkass and her girls of Tijuana.

The final toast was proposed by Ocho to Whitfield, or rather to “his money, which keeps us all afloat.”

But the party lacked the festive spirit of the previous day and night. The imminent arrival of Whitfield cast a pall over the deck as thick as a summer fog. In addition, the stuff that Ted and Velasco had purchased from the man outside the pawnshop turned out not to be hashish but ordinary marijuana mixed with tea leaves.

They smoked it anyway, of course, and eventually Velasco played his harmonica, though Ted declined to sing. He was pretty confused by this time and wanted to go ashore. But Cleo sat on his lap and Donny brought him another tumbler full of Johnny Walker.

“Come on, Ted,” Cleo said. “You’ll spoil the party if you don’t sing.”

“I don’t remember the words.”

“Sure you do. What about that one, ‘Dirty Gertie from Bizerte’?”

“Madame,” he said with great dignity, “I am not accepting any requests from the audience.”

“Not even from me?”

“And who are you?”

“Me. Cleo.”

“Aw, leave him alone,” Donny said. “He’s got a lousy voice anyway.”

Donny remained the soberest of the partygoers. He dreaded meeting his father and trying to explain how he’d gotten away from Holbrook Hall. He might be able to convince him that Mrs. Holbrook had given him special permission to go to Ensenada on the Spindrift. But then his father might remember that the school wasn’t allowed to do anything like that without an investigation and report by the probation department and a lot of other crap. No, words weren’t going to work, none that he’d thought of so far.

At six o’clock Manny Ocho turned on the radio to get the news and the weather report. It was then that Cleo found out about Roger Lennard’s death. Roger Lennard, thirty-three, had been found dead, possibly a victim of foul play. A description was given of Lennard’s visitor, who had been heard quarreling with him. Cleo knew at once it had to be Hilton and she phoned the police and told them. Then she went back to sit on Ted’s lap again.

But there was no lap. Ted had passed out on a couch and was lying on his back with his mouth open, snoring. Cleo listened to him for a few minutes, frowning. She wasn’t sure she wanted a husband who snored; it might keep her and the baby awake.

Manny Ocho and the two crewmen watched an old movie on television which Cleo had seen half a dozen times before. She went up to join Donny, who was sitting on the bowsprit, brooding.

“Do you snore, Donny?”

“You ask the stupidest questions. How the hell would I know?”

“You don’t have to shout.”

“You don’t have to listen. Go away and leave me alone.”

“I have nowhere to go. Ted’s asleep and the others are watching a movie with a lot of cowboys which I don’t like in the first place.”

It was dark by this time and everything on board was wet, even Cleo’s hair. She shivered with cold and sadness.

“Poor Roger,” she said. “He wouldn’t be dead if it wasn’t for me. Does that make me a sort of murderer?”

“You did the poor slob a favor.”

“Maybe they’ll put me on probation like they did you.”

“Lay off, will you? I’m trying to think.”

“I hate to be alone.”

“You’re not alone — you got the baby. So why don’t you and the kid go below and have a nice heart-to-heart talk?”

“You can be real nasty, Donny.”

“Bug off.”

She watched the rest of the movie with Ocho and the crewmen. Then all four of them went to bed after a final nightcap.

Donny sat on the bowsprit for a long time trying to straighten out his head. He feared his father’s power but he wanted the same thing for himself. He despised Whitfield’s collection of young women, yet he lusted after every one of them. He hated the sound of his father’s voice, but he wanted to hear it.

He watched a lone star trying to break through the overcast. When it was no longer visible Donny went below to the captain’s cabin and took the phone out of the red leather case and called the house in Palm Springs.

It was eleven o’clock. Donny let the phone ring a dozen times in case his father was drunk or in bed with some chick or asleep.

Eventually Whitfield answered and he didn’t sound drunk or sleepy. “Who the hell’s this?”

“Donny.”

“Donny? What are you doing up so late?”

“I couldn’t sleep. Anyway, I wanted to talk to you.”

Whitfield was immediately suspicious. “Listen, son. You know the school has a limit on spending money.”

“I don’t want any money.”

“Well, that’s a switch. Don’t tell me you simply wanted to hear my voice.”

This was so close to the truth that Donny couldn’t speak for a minute. No sound could get past the sudden lump in his throat.

“Son? What’s the matter, son?”

“Nothing.”

“How’s school going?”

“Fine. I’m even taking stuff like — ah, Latin.”

“Latin? That’s terrific. Amo, amas, amat, right?”

“Listen, Dad, I heard the Spindrift is going to Ensenada.”

“Now where did you hear—?”

“I’d like to go along. The school will give me special permission because I’m doing so well in my studies like, you know, Latin, I’m working real hard.”

“Yes. Well, you realize I’d like to take you, son, but the fact is I’ve invited other company.”

“You wouldn’t have to tell them I was your son. I could pretend to be one of the crew.”

“You’re putting me in a bind, son. I’d certainly like to reward you for your change in attitude and behavior but I honestly can’t. This is very special company, if you know what I mean.”

“Sure. It’s okay.”

“Donny, you remember that BMW you wanted me to buy you as soon as you get your driver’s license back? I’ll get one for you, how about that?”

“Thanks.”

“Now Donny, it’s obvious that you’re disappointed. But be patient. Wait a few more years until you’re off probation and you and I will take the Spindrift all around the world. Tahiti, Bora Bora, Fiji. How’s that for a deal?”

“Screw you,” Donny said and hung up. By the time he got off probation he’d be an old man.

He went to bed alone in the captain’s quarters. Getting up at dawn the next day he showered and dressed for the new role he was about to assume. The clothes came from his father’s mahogany wardrobe.

The white tailored slacks were too small, so he wore his own jeans, threadbare at the knees and seat. The navy-blue blazer didn’t come close to buttoning but he put it on anyway. The captain’s hat was too large, so he stuffed some toilet tissue in the back to make it fit. Then he opened one of the drawers of the rolltop desk and took out the two guns his father always kept there, a Smith & Wesson .22 and a German Luger. Donny used his limited knowledge of firearms, gained during a short session at a military academy, to make sure the guns were loaded and the safeties in order. Then he dropped the .22 into the pocket of the blazer and tucked the Luger in the waistband of his jeans. Already he felt like a new person, and the image in the mirror beside the wardrobe reaffirmed the feeling. It was a captain who stared back at him, a commander, a leader of men.

He went back to the galley.

Velasco was at the stove, mixing up a batch of huevos rancheros in a large iron frying pan. “Hey, Donny. You looking good all dressed up.”

“I am your new captain,” Donny said.

“By golly, no kidding. You hear that, Gomez? We got a new captain.”

Gomez, who had gone back to sleep with his head on the table, was not impressed. Donny kicked him on the butt and Gomez woke up with a moan of pain.

“Salute me, you bastard. Salute your new captain.”

“What the hell, by golly,” Velasco said. “What you doing, Donny?”

“Call me captain and salute me.”

“Maybe later. The eggs, they burn if I don’t stir.”

“Screw the eggs.”

Donny went over and pulled the iron frying pan off the stove and dumped its contents on the floor. The mixture oozed red like a fresh kill.

“Hey, Donny, what the hell, Jesus Christ, what you doing?”

“Salute me, pachuco.”

“Not pachuco. Last night you and me, all of us, amigos. Amigos forever.”

“Forever just ended,” Donny said. “You got that?”

“Sure, sure.”

“Mix up another batch of eggs and serve them to me in my quarters.”

“Okay, Donny.”

“You don’t say ‘okay’ to a captain. Say it right, dammit.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

“That’s better.”

He went in search of Cleo and found her in one of the guest cabins, lying on a bunk with a blanket pulled up to her chin. The outlines of her thin body could hardly be seen under the blanket, so she appeared to be a severed head.

“Cleo, wake up.”

“How can I wake up when I’m not asleep?”

“Then open your eyes.”

She opened her eyes and saw Donny looking terribly funny in an oversized hat. “What are you all dressed up like that for?”

“I was thinking over what you said last night, about how I got rights, so I’m proclaiming myself captain.”

“That’s nice.”

“Being as I’m now captain, I can marry you.”

“I thought I was going to marry Ted.”

“Sure you are. But I’m going to be like the minister as soon as we leave shore.”

Cleo threw off the blanket and sat up. “Then this is my wedding day.”

“Yeah. You got anything to wear besides those crummy jeans?”

“No.”

“Come on and we’ll search through my dad’s — that is, my quarters and see if some chick left a fancy robe, you know, something flimsy.”

Ted was asleep on the opposite bunk, lying on his stomach with his arms at his sides and his head twisted to one side. His mouth was open and he was making snorting and whistling sounds.

They both watched him for a minute. Then Donny said, “Are you sure you want to marry that?”

“I guess so. I mean, he looks better when he’s awake.”

“Give me your shoelaces.”

“Why should I?”

“Follow orders.”

“But my shoes are the only decent thing I have on. They’re practically new from Drawford’s.”

“I need the laces to tie his hands in case he wakes up and tries to mutiny.” Donny showed her the Luger he had tucked in his waistband and the .22 in his pocket. “There’ll be no mutiny on my ship.”

“Where did you get those?”

“From my dad’s — from my quarters.”

“Are you going to shoot somebody?”

“Maybe. If I have to.”

“Even me?”

“We’ll see. Give me your shoelaces.”

She took the laces out of her shoes and Donny tied Ted’s hands behind his back. At one point Ted’s snoring changed pitch and rhythm as if he was about to wake up, but he didn’t. Cleo watched in silence, deriving some satisfaction from the fact that Ted didn’t look like a bridegroom any more than she looked like a bride.

She followed Donny back to the captain’s quarters, where they had breakfast served by a mute and sullen Velasco. The change in Velasco and in Donny made Cleo uneasy.

“Maybe this isn’t such a good idea,” she said when Velasco had left. “Maybe we don’t have all those rights Roger said people had.”

“We got rights same as everybody else. Now we have to make plans. You know how to use a gun?”

“Point it at somebody and press the trigger.”

“No. First you fix the safety.” He gave her the .22 and showed her how to do it. “There. Now you’re ready to shoot someone.”

“What if I don’t really want to?”

“You obey orders. On a ship the captain is God.”

“You don’t look like God to me. He doesn’t wear a hat.”

“How do you know? Nobody’s ever seen him. Maybe he looks exactly like me, fat as a pig.”

“Well, I bet when you pass people on the street they don’t say, ‘There goes God.’”

“Oh, cut that crap and listen. The crew might try to jump ship or sound an alarm. It’s up to you to keep them quiet by holding the gun on them.”

“What if they won’t keep quiet?”

“You shoot them.”

“I don’t think I’m going to like that part. I’ve never shot anyone.”

“You won’t have to. It’s nothing but a threat, see? If they try to pull anything, you shoot a hole in the floor to warn them.”

“That might make the boat leak.”

“It won’t make the boat leak, stupid,” Donny said. “Now there’s one more thing you got to do. I could have saved us a lot of trouble if I’d decided to take over the ship last night. We’d be far at sea by this time. But I didn’t, so here we are, no use crying.”

“You can’t anyway,” Cleo said reasonably. “God never cried.”

“Oh, can the God bit and let me think a minute.” He pushed the cap back from his forehead and the toilet paper padding fell out on the floor. His face was very red and all screwed up like a fretful baby’s. “Now here’s the problem. When my dad drives up from Palm Springs he usually leaves very early to avoid the desert heat, so he may be arriving at his condo any minute. If he should look out the window and see the Spindrift missing, he’ll call the Coast Guard and they’ll send the cutter after us right away. So we have to buy time, an hour at least, more if we can get it.”

“I’ve got an idea. Why don’t we wait for him and invite him to come along?”

“You loony, don’t you know the first thing he’d do? Send for the cops to take me back to that goddamn school. Yes, and you, too. You got that? You, too.”

“I don’t want to go back. I want to get married.”

“Then cooperate. As soon as he arrives he’ll check in at his condo. It’s on the beach and you can see it from the bridge through binoculars. I’ll stand watch, and the minute he arrives I want you to make a call to the condo. I’ll give you the number.”

“What am I supposed to say?”

“Tell him that you’re Mrs. Holbrook’s secretary. Then you ask him to come to Holbrook Hall in order to discuss his son’s curriculum.”

“Curliculum. What’s that mean?”

“Never mind what it means. Just say it right. Cur-ri-cu-lum.”

“Curriculum. Okay, then what?”

“Then he goes to the school and I order the crew to cast off.”

“What if the crew won’t listen to you?”

“They’ll listen.” Donny patted the Luger in his waistband and laughed. “We’re all amigos, all of us. Amigos forever.”

Manny Ocho knocked on the door and entered without waiting for permission. Though he had a well-deserved hangover, he was freshly shaved and uniformed.

“Hey, Donny, what’s going on? What you say to my crew? And what you doing wearing your father’s clothes?”

“They’re my clothes. I’m your new captain. Be ready to cast off when I say the word.”

“You don’t give me orders.”

“I give you orders.” Donny took the Luger out of his waistband. “And you obey them.”

“You crazy boy, Donny. You mixed up in the cabeza.”

“Don’t bother rolling your eyes at Cleo for help. She’s on my side and she has a gun, too. How do you like that?”

“It’s bad,” Manny said. “Very bad.”

“So don’t make it worse by trying anything funny. You stay down here with Cleo while I go up on the bridge. Cleo will entertain you. She does a great striptease. She has nothing much to show, but she shows it anyway.”

“This very bad, Donny.”

“I’m not Donny. I’m your captain.”

After Donny left, Cleo picked up the .22 from the table and began clicking the safety catch off and on for practice. She forgot about Ocho until he spoke to her in the voice he used to shout orders to his crew:

“Stop that.”

Cleo was so surprised by his tone that she almost dropped the gun. “I’m not doing anything.”

“Maybe by accident.”

“No. Donny showed me how to use it.”

“You going to use it?”

“Not really. I mean, I guess not unless Donny wants me to.”

“You reaching for big trouble, Cleo,” Ocho said. “This Donny, he a bad boy, you a nice little girl. You stay nice, you stay away from him.”

“I can’t. I want to get married.”

“You going to marry Donny?”

“No. It’s... well, it’s like this.”

She tried to reconstruct the movie she’d seen where the captain married two people as soon as the boat left the dock. But Ocho kept shaking his head and muttering to himself.

Up on the bridge Donny kept the binoculars focused on his father’s condominium on the beach. The binoculars were too heavy to allow continual observation, so he raised them every three or four minutes on the lookout for his father’s silver-grey Cadillac. He spotted it shortly before ten o’clock, parked in its slot beside the condo. There was no sign of his father or his companion, if any.

He hurried down to the cabin where Ocho and Cleo had turned on the television set and were watching a children’s cartoon, Ocho from the captain’s swivel chair, Cleo from the table with the gun in front of her.

Ocho switched off the television set and stood up. “Hey, Donny, you listen to me.”

“You got nothing I want to hear,” Donny said. “Cleo, make that call now.”

“I can’t remember the number.”

“Jeez, I’ve told you twice: 9694192. Now have you got it?”

“I guess so.”

“You remember what to say?”

“Sure. I’m the secretary and then that business about Donny’s curliculum.”

“Cur-ri-cu-lum.”

“Okay, don’t scream. Curriculum.”

“You listen now, Donny,” Ocho said again. “This Cleo, she a nice little girl, you leave her alone, you put her ashore.”

Donny turned to Cleo. “You want to go ashore, kid?”

“No, I don’t.”

“In fact, you invited me here, didn’t you? You phoned Holbrook Hall and told me to come down. We were going to have a party, right?”

“Yes.”

“So you’re not such a nice little girl after all, are you?”

“I didn’t mean any harm, Donny.”

“I want Manny clued in on what actually happened. You started the whole damn thing, didn’t you?”

“Sort of.”

“You hear that, Manny? You’re not a hero trying to rescue a poor, innocent girl. She’s none of those things: not poor, not innocent, not a girl. She’s a rich woman, five years older than I am. So I’m the one you ought to feel sorry for.”

“I do,” Ocho said. “I feel very sorry for you, Donny.”

“Then get ready to cast off. As soon as my father leaves his condo we’re moving. We’re moving.”

Ocho shook his head. “I got my family to think of, my job—”

“You got your own hide to think of first.” Donny patted the Luger in his waistband. It was beginning to feel uncomfortable poking into his stomach, so he transferred the gun to his coat pocket. “Look at it this way. It’s your hide against my hide and I like my hide better. Isn’t that reasonable?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you’ll spell it out to the crew?”

“Yes, sir.”

Donny returned to the bridge to watch the condo for any further signs of activity. As soon as he saw the silver Cadillac leave its parking slot he called Ocho, and the two of them went to the navigation room.

The engine wouldn’t start.

“Good,” Ocho said. “Stiff. Not used for a whole month.”

“Goddamn it, you’re supposed to keep the thing ready to go at any time.”

“You goddamn it yourself. I keep it good. I keep it the best.”

“Then start it the best.”

On the second attempt the engine turned over, but almost immediately Donny reached out and switched it off.

“The phone’s ringing. Answer it.”

“What you want me to say?”

“Just answer it.”

The call was from the harbormaster’s office and they both knew trouble was coming. That it came in the form of Aragon was the only surprise.

“Well, well,” Donny said when he jerked open the door and Aragon almost fell into the cabin. “Look who’s dropped in, my old pal that leaves his car keys in the ignition.”

14

It took a moment for Aragon to regain his balance and somewhat longer for his eyes to adjust after the brilliance of the morning sun. The curtains were closed and the cabin seemed relatively gloomy. Donny Whitfield sat at a rolltop desk with a gun in his hand, and standing near him was a short, wiry-looking Mexican wearing a blue-and-white diagonally striped shirt and a light-blue peaked cap. Aragon assumed this was Manny Ocho who had answered the phone.

He started to address Ocho in Spanish but was immediately interrupted.

“Only English spoken here,” Donny said. “Well, nice of you to drop in, pal. Now suppose you drop out.”

“Is the girl here?”

“What girl?”

“You know what girl.”

“Oh, her. Yeah, sure. She’s around someplace trying to find the bridegroom. You walked into a wedding. How’s that for luck?”

“The wedding had better be postponed,” Aragon said. “I intend to take Cleo back to her family.”

“You’re going to poop the party, right?”

“Right.”

“Uh uh. Wrong... Manny, you have your orders. Obey them.”

“Please, you wait,” Ocho said. “Donny, you listen a minute.”

“Hurry up.”

Ocho turned to leave, shaking his head. As he passed Aragon he muttered a warning about a gun.

“You can be best man,” Donny told Aragon. “Or Cleo might even want to change bridegrooms. You’re not bad-looking and at least you aren’t related. What’s your name?”

“Tom Aragon.”

“Cleo Aragon. Hmmmm, sort of a nice ring to it. Not that Cleo’s particular. She’d marry any guy that’s still breathing. Weird thing is, I never knew she was like that when we were at school together. Maybe it’s the sea air.” Donny laughed. “How’s the sea air affecting you, Aragon?”

“Who’s the bridegroom?”

“She calls him Ted.”

“You’ve got to stop this crazy thing, Donny. She’s his aunt.”

“If that doesn’t bother Cleo, why should it bother me?”

“Who’s going to perform the ceremony? Did they have the necessary blood tests? Did they take out a license?”

“Details. Screw details.”

“And did you know that you’re violating the terms of your probation by having a gun?”

“Screw probation,” Donny said. “Probation is for landlubbers. At sea it’s only a word.”

“What kind of stuff are you on, Donny? What did you take?”

“Nothing. I smoked a little pot last night and had a few drinks, but since then, nothing. Nothing from outside anyway. It’s the inside stuff that I’m on. It’s all coming from inside. There’s some pretty strong stuff in there, man, stronger than anything you can buy on the street.”

Aragon believed him. Whatever Donny’s body was manufacturing, it seemed as powerful and unpredictable as the animal tranquilizer the kids called angel dust.

He said, “Show me where Cleo is and I’ll take her home.”

“Home? Where the hell’s home for people like Cleo and me? A lousy detention school? Juvenile Hall or the slammer? Where the hell is home?”

“Drop the self-pity kick for a minute and pay attention. I want you and Cleo to come with me, and we’ll try to straighten out this whole business. I’ll even forget about the gun. I didn’t see it.”

“You saw it and you better not forget it. That’s my best friend. Him and me, we can go anywhere we want to, do anything we want to—”

“Cut the crazy talk, Donny.”

“Okay, suppose I buy that crap about you trying to straighten things out for me and Cleo. What then? We get sent back to Holbrook Hall or worse, so the rest of you can live happily ever after.”

“I can’t perform miracles, Donny.”

“No? Well, I won’t settle for less.”

“Is that your final word?”

“You got it. Come on, we’ll go up on deck. There might be someone you want to wave bye-bye to.” Donny laughed again. “Or didn’t you know we’ve left the dock?”

“No.”

“That’s the trouble with you brainy guys — you start concentrating on something so hard you’re not aware of an earthquake until a brick hits you on the head. We’re under way, man. We’re off and running.”

“There are a lot of serious charges against you already, Donny. Don’t add kidnapping.”

“Kidnapping? Nobody forced you to come along. Nobody even invited you. You jumped on board. You know what that makes you? A stowaway. I could file a few charges of my own.”

“The punishment for kidnapping can be life imprisonment.”

“So? With any luck I’ll get the death penalty. Meanwhile you and I are going for a little sail. Come on, we don’t want to keep Cleo and the bridegroom waiting.”

They went up on deck.

Manny Ocho was at the helm. He had the Spindrift going several times faster than the harbor speed limit of five miles an hour, and Aragon knew from the glance Ocho gave him that he was doing it in the hope of attracting the attention of the harbor patrol boat. But there was no sign of Sprague or the boat. The only protest came from a small sloop the Spindrift passed in the channel.

“Slow down,” a man yelled through a megaphone. “You damn near hit me.”

Ocho made an obscene gesture and yelled back, “Report me. Call Sprague.”

But the sloop merely rolled and pitched in the Spindrift’s wake, and the harbor patrol boat remained at its mooring in front of the office and the Coast Guard cutter was still tied up at the Navy pier.

Traffic was light. The fishing fleet had departed hours ago and the pleasure boaters seldom went out before the afternoon winds began. Even when the Spindrift reached the open sea there wasn’t enough wind to take over the job of moving the boat. Donny ordered the sails raised anyway.

Working silently and swiftly, Velasco and Gomez raised the sails and Donny pronounced the boat now ready for the wedding ceremony. It was a picturesque setting, but the bride and groom were missing.

“Cleo,” Donny shouted. “Where the hell are you? Time to get married.”

Cleo appeared on the starboard deck wearing a white chiffon nightgown she’d found in one of the cabin drawers. The gown was too long and she had to hold it up with her left hand while she carried the .22 in her right. Her hair was combed but she’d forgotten to wash her face and her cheeks were still tear-stained.

“I don’t feel like a bride,” she told Donny.

“You don’t look like one either,” Donny said. “Where’s Ted?”

“I couldn’t get his hands untied. You made the knots too tight.”

“Oh for chrissake, can’t you do anything right? You don’t have to untie them. Cut them with a knife.”

“I don’t want to cut them. They’re my shoelaces. They’re practically brand-new.”

“All right, all right, you hold the gun on our guest here and I’ll go and get Ted.”

“Hello, Cleo,” Aragon said. “Do you remember me?”

She stared at him, frowning. “No.”

“You came to my office not too long ago.”

“Why?”

“To ask me about your rights — how to register to vote, for instance. You told me about your brother and his wife and about your counselor, Roger Lennard.”

“Poor Roger is dead.”

“Yes.”

“I mustn’t think about that now. I’m supposed to be happy. It’s my wedding day.”

“No, it isn’t, Cleo. There’s no one on board qualified to perform the ceremony and you don’t have the necessary blood tests or license. And even if you had all these things, the marriage wouldn’t be legal anyway because you and Ted are related.”

“I won’t listen to you,” she said. “I think you’re a nasty man.”

Donny came back with Ted. Ted’s hands were free and he was rubbing his wrists where the nylon laces had bitten into his skin. He looked angry and confused and he’d wet his pants.

“What’s happening around here? I wake up and my hands are tied. My hands are tied, for chrissake. What for? I thought we were having a party.”

“That party’s over,” Donny said. “We’re about to start another one. Cleo has decided she wants to get married, and since she’s a little short of bridegrooms since Roger died, she picked you.”

“Me? For chrissake, why would she pick me?”

“Because she says you’re the father of her baby.”

“That’s impossible. There isn’t any baby.”

“Oh, Ted, there is so,” Cleo said reproachfully. “It’s still very tiny, maybe like sort of a grain of sugar or a grape seed.”

“There isn’t any baby, dammit. We had only started to make love when my father barged in. I didn’t even penetrate. You’re still a virgin.”

“Ted, you know that’s not true. We were doing it exactly like in the movies, no clothes and everything. So now we have to get married.”

Ted appealed to Aragon. “Whoever you are, they’re both crazy. We have to get out of here.”

“Stay cool, and play along,” Aragon said quietly. “That’s our only chance.”

“Why should I marry some half-wit because she thinks she’s pregnant? Whatever happened — and God knows it wasn’t much — happened just a few days ago. I tell you, she’s still a virgin. And even if she weren’t she’d have no way of knowing so soon that she was pregnant.”

Cleo was crying again. She cried as easily as a plastic doll with a water-filled syringe in her head. “He doesn’t want to marry me, Donny. What should I do now?”

“Ask him again, real sweet and polite.”

“Nobody wants to marry me.”

“Maybe he’ll change his mind.” Donny pointed the Luger directly at Ted’s chest. “Go on, ask him again, Cleo.”

“Ted, will you marry me?”

“No. Get it through your thick head, we didn’t have complete intercourse. You are not pregnant. You’re still a virgin.”

“But we had all our clothes off and everything exactly like the movies.”

“You’re crazy,” Ted screamed. “The whole damn bunch of you are crazy.”

The first bullet from the Luger grazed his right shoulder. He turned and ran toward the railing. As he jumped overboard a second bullet struck him on the left arm.

Two more struck the water at the same time that Ted did. Cleo began screaming with excitement and jumping up and down until she tripped on the hem of the white nightgown that was her bridal costume. The .22 fell out of her hand and slid across the deck in Aragon’s direction.

“Don’t move,” Donny told Aragon. “It’s a bad year for heroes.” And to Ocho, who was turning the boat around and heading back toward Ted, “Keep on course. Let the bastard drown.”

“Throw him a life jacket,” Aragon said.

“Why? A dip in the ocean will cool him off. Maybe he’ll have a change of heart and decide Cleo isn’t so bad after all.”

“He might be seriously injured. And if there are any sharks in the area, the blood will attract them.”

“I bet those sharks would be pleasantly surprised to find two guys instead of one,” Donny said. “Suppose you go in after him, amigo.”

“We’re at least a mile from shore. I can’t swim very well.”

“Learn by experience. That’s what they’re always telling us at school — learn by experience.”

“Give us a sporting chance,” Aragon said. “We need two life jackets.”

Donny took two life jackets from a forward hatch and threw them at Aragon. After removing his shoes and pants Aragon put one of the life jackets on over his shirt. Then, holding the other jacket in his hand, he jumped into the water.

Ted was some hundred yards from the boat, not yelling for help or trying to swim. His eyes were closed and Aragon thought he was unconscious until he saw that Ted’s legs were moving slightly to keep him from rolling over on his stomach.

The water temperature at this distance from shore and beyond the thick kelp beds that paralleled the coast was still well below sixty degrees. This might be low enough to slow the bleeding of Ted’s arm and help numb his pain. But it might also be low enough to cause both men to suffer from exposure unless they were picked up within an hour or so. Even without the complication of Ted’s wounds, hypothermia could be fatal without quick treatment.

The Spindrift was turning away, its engine accelerating as it headed southwest. Watching it pull away, Aragon had a moment of panic. He knew he would be unable to drag Ted over the kelp beds and in to shore, and their only hope was to be spotted by a passing boat or one of the low-flying helicopters that serviced the oil platforms.

Both were possible. The sea was calm, with a long smooth swell and no whitecaps to hide any floating object.

This was Aragon’s first attempt to swim while wearing a life jacket and he found it difficult to move his arms. He rolled over on his back and used his legs as propellants.

He shouted, “Ted, can you hear me?”

Ted opened his eyes. He looked dazed and terrified. “Shot me — arm—”

“I want you to help me get this life jacket on you.”

Ted kept saying, “Shot me — shot me—” as if he was more overcome by surprise than by a sense of danger or by pain.

“Put your injured arm through here first. Then I’ll pull the jacket around your back and get the other arm through. It may hurt but it has to be done.”

“Shot me — shot me—”

“Stop that. You have to cooperate. Understand?”

It took several minutes for the life jacket to be put on and fastened. Ted was gradually becoming more rational and more aware of the danger they were in. He asked about the Spindrift.

“It’s gone,” Aragon said. “Move your right arm and your legs as much as possible to keep your blood circulating.”

“Didn’t know — had any left.”

“You have lots left.” He wasn’t sure whether this was true or even whether he’d given the correct advice to Ted to keep moving. He only knew that the water was incredibly cold. His original estimate of being able to survive an hour or two without much damage now seemed ridiculous. He was already numb below the ankles and suffering from what was called in his boyhood an ice-cream headache. He’d never taken a lifesaving course or even one in first aid, and he wished now he had paid more attention to some of his wife’s lectures on practical medicine.

Ted said, “You shot?”

“No.”

“‘What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to cool off.”

“You got it.”

A great blue heron flew overhead, his neck folded, his long legs stretched out stiffly behind him like a defeathered tail.

Ted had closed his eyes again and the wind was picking up. These were both bad omens. The rougher the sea, the more difficult it would be for anyone to spot them, and the greater the chances of Ted choking on salt water.

“Ted, keep moving.”

“Can’t — tired.”

“A boat will come along any minute.”

“Tired. Leave me alone.”

Ted’s youth was a plus factor. But there were too many minuses. Before he was shot he’d spoken of a party on board, and it was obvious then that he was suffering a hangover from alcohol or drugs or both. Also, he probably hadn’t eaten in many hours and his resistance was lowered.

“A boat will come along any minute,” Aragon repeated. “We’ll be rescued. Do you hear me, Ted?”

If Ted heard, he didn’t believe it or didn’t care enough to open his eyes.

“Are you listening, Ted? By this time Whitfield will have gone back to the harbor and found his boat missing. He’ll send the Coast Guard out after it right away. They should be passing us any minute. Hear that, Ted? Any minute. Hang on. Don’t give up, Ted. Move. Try harder. Move.”

He kept saying the same things over and over like a coach pep-talking one of his players during a game.

The wind was still rising, and now and then his voice was choked off as a wave slapped his face. The increase in wind velocity would have the effect of luring the Lasers and Mercuries and Lidos and Victories, the Hobie Cats and Alpha Cats and Nacras. But these smaller craft usually stayed inside the kelp line. The larger craft, like the fishing fleet, had departed much earlier in the day, going out under power, some as far as the Island twenty-five miles offshore, to return in the afternoon under sail.

Aragon continued talking, using both his hands to hold Ted’s head as far out of the water as possible. The numbness had spread through his whole body and he was feeling hardly any discomfort. He remembered reading that people who froze to death didn’t suffer pain the way people did who burned to death.

He heard his own voice coaxing, ordering, questioning, demanding, and he wondered if it was all being wasted on a dead man.

“Cut it out, Ted. Now open your eyes. You’ve got to cooperate. Get in there and pitch. Keep kicking your legs. We’re going to be rescued. Any minute. Any minute. You hear? Open your eyes, dammit, open your eyes.”

But his voice was getting weaker and the numbness seemed to have reached his brain like a dose of Pentothal. When he finally heard the engine he was only mildly interested, and the men yelling at him seemed to be making a fuss over nothing. One of them had orange hair and looked a little like some woman, someone he’d known a long time ago. A long long time ago...

The orange hair emerged from the fog like a sunrise. It had a face in the middle, not a young face or a pretty one, but familiar and reassuring.

“You really blew it this time, junior,” Charity Nelson said. “I brought you some carnations. That’s how I know you’re awake. I put one under your nose and your nostrils twitched.”

He struggled to speak. His voice sounded as if it were coming from under water. “How — Ted?”

“Hush. The doctor told me not to let you talk when you woke up. How’s Ted Jasper? Still alive in the Intensive Care Unit and his mother’s with him. That’s all I know.”

He turned his head to one side and saw the cot beside the window, looking as if it had been slept in.

“Your doctor’s been with you all night,” Charity said. “I sent her out to get some breakfast. How are you feeling?”

“All right.”

“Smedler gave me the whole day off to help look after you. I was a nurse once. I don’t remember much about it but I can still plump pillows, give a bath and hold your hand. Want me to hold your hand?”

“More than I want you to give me a bath.”

“I’ll overlook that remark, junior. Are you hungry? Of course you are. How about something revolting like poached eggs and mashed potatoes? You’re supposed to be on a soft diet.”

“Why?”

“Beats me. If I were in charge of your case I’d give you steak and french fries. There’s nothing like a long cold swim to sharpen the appetite.” Charity leaned over and peered into his face. “Everything considered, you don’t look so bad. Maybe your doctor will let you have steak and french fries after all. She’s very sympathetic. Cute, too. In fact, a real knockout, with blue eyes and black hair and dimples. Dimples yet. I’ve always wanted dimples. When I was in high school I sent away for something advertised in True Romances guaranteed to make dimples. For one buck I received a little piece of metal I was supposed to stick in my cheek with adhesive plaster every night. I used it and in the morning I’d have a dimple for fifteen minutes. That’s the story of my life — none of my dimples lasted more than fifteen minutes.”

“Laurie,” he said. “You were describing my wife, Laurie.”

“Of course I was. I called her yesterday afternoon as soon as I heard what had happened. Smedler himself went to pick her up at the airport. How’s that for a first?”

“Laurie.” He put his arm over his forehead so Charity wouldn’t see the tears welling in his eyes.

She saw them anyway. “Now don’t get sloppy and sentimental. Here’s some Kleenex. Or maybe you’ll need a towel if you’re going to pull out all the stops. Incidentally she seems crazy about you, too. She doesn’t see as much of you as I do — that may explain why.”

He wiped his eyes with the piece of Kleenex she handed him. “Who rescued—?”

“Don’t ask questions and I’ll tell you what I know. The harbormaster became suspicious when you didn’t come back from the Spindrift. He tried to contact the boat by phone and couldn’t. Then he saw it speeding out of the harbor and he notified the Coast Guard. They sent the cutter after you. Ted Jasper was in bad shape by that time, suffering from loss of blood and shock and hypothermia. You had some degree of hypothermia but they warmed you up and stuck a few needles into you and here you are.”

“What about Cleo and Donny?”

“They’ve both been arrested. That’s all I was able to find out.”

Donny Whitfield. He thought of the fat, morose boy he’d first seen outside Holbrook Hall. If it wasn’t for one small mistake, Donny might still be there, sitting under the oak tree eating corn chips and chocolates. It’s my fault. I made the mistake. I left the keys in the ignition. My fault—

“My fault,” he said and began shaking his head back and forth as if to shake off his guilt.

“Stop that,” Charity said, readjusting the oxygen mask none too gently. “Any more acting up and I’ll call the nurse to jab you with another needle.”

“Car key—”

“What do you want your car keys for? You’re not going anyplace. Now shut up or I’ll resign from your case. This Florence Nightingale bit is a drag. Where do you want me to put the flowers I brought you?”

He told her.

“Junior, that’s not nice. But since irritability is one of the first signs of convalescence, I’ll overlook it this time. I may, however, bring it up in the future when you’re asking for a favor at the office. By the way, congratulations.”

“What for?”

“You were hired to find Cleo. You found her.”

There was a knock on the door. Charity said, “Come in... Oh, he’s doing fine. Weepy, hungry, crabby. Can’t ask for better signs.”

“Thank you, Miss Nelson.”

The voice was pleasant and cool; the hand that touched his forehead was soft, the fingers on his pulse gentle.

“I’m Dr. MacGregar,” she said. “I’m in charge of your case and I don’t believe you need that oxygen mask on anymore. Mind if I remove it?”

“Laurie. Laurie. It’s really you.”

“Please don’t get emotional — Tom, you might have died. You might have died.”

They held each other close for a long time, unaware that Charity was watching from the doorway. She would be expected to describe the scene later to all the girls in the office and she wanted to make sure she didn’t miss any details.

Rachel Holbrook knew what was coming but she was not sure when or what form it would take: perhaps an invitation to appear at the next board of directors meeting in two or three weeks, or a formal letter from the executive committee, or a long-winded legal document full of whereases and therefores. What she didn’t expect was a phone call from Smedler, her only longtime friend among the directors.

Smedler didn’t waste time on amenities. “Have you seen today’s papers, Rachel?”

“No.”

“The reporters and photographers are having a field day with this. The L.A. Times has it featured as their leading story, and in the local paper there’s a whole page of pictures, a rundown on everyone involved and even a history of the school. There’ll undoubtedly be an editorial within the next few days crying for blood. Some of it is bound to be yours, Rachel.”

“That’s understandable.”

“For sure they’ll demand an investigation of the school and its policies. There’ll be suggestions ranging from your resignation to the complete closure of the school, all from outraged citizens, many of whom have wanted to close the place for years.”

“What do you propose that I do?”

“Anticipate. Get your licks in first and fast. Write a letter requesting an indefinite leave of absence until the matter has been fully investigated and steps are taken to prevent further incidents.”

“Indefinite,” she said. “That could mean a long time.”

“Yes.”

“I can’t be held responsible for what happened.”

“Whether you can be or can’t be, you will be. Harsh criticism is inevitable, perhaps a drop in enrollment and some defections among the faculty. There may also be a decrease in donations and bequests. You’re in for a lot of flak, Rachel. The only way you can avoid it is by leaving town for a while.”

“Perhaps I should change my name and assume a disguise.”

“Don’t be bitter, Rachel. This thing has affected a great number of people. Some of them will want your hide. So put it out of reach. Take a holiday.”

“Is that your legal advice?”

“It’s my advice as a friend. I hope it will be accepted in the same spirit.”

“Thanks. I’ll think about it.”

“Pack first, think later,” Smedler said. “There’s only one hitch to the plan. Should the police ask you to stick around, you’ll have to stick. You may be subpoenaed if and when the Whitfield boy comes to trial and there’s some kind of hearing concerning Cleo. But if I were you, right now I’d sit down and write a letter requesting an indefinite leave of absence. Bring it to my office and I’ll have copies made and hand-delivered to all the members of the board. Your request will be immediately accepted.”

“Thanks for your advice.”

“Honestly, Rachel, you don’t know how much I hate to do this to you.”

“Not as much as I hate to have it done.”

She hung up and reached for a sheet of the school’s best stationery.

I hereby request an indefinite leave of absence from my duties as principal of Holbrook Hall.

She signed her name, put the sheet of paper in an envelope and addressed the envelope to the president of the board of directors. Then she went outside by the back door.

Nothing seemed to have changed. There were the usual sounds: screams and laughter from the pool area, the whinnying of a horse, the excited barking of dogs.

Gretchen was polishing the leaves of a camellia planted in a redwood tub. Only such sturdy leaves as a camellia’s could have withstood her loving attack.

“Good morning, Gretchen. I see you’re working hard.”

“I always do,” Gretchen said brusquely, as if she’d been accused of laziness. “Somebody has to.”

The fig tree was dropping its fruit like small brown eggs onto the grass. As they fell, two boys wearing cowboy boots were squashing the eggs into little yellow omelets.

The round-eyed girl, Sandy, was shelling peanuts to feed to the scrub jay watching impatiently from the edge of the roof. Sandy would place a peanut on her head and the bird would swoop down, grab it with his beak and fly off to hide it. There were pounds and pounds of nuts scattered throughout the grounds, buried in the grass or the vegetable garden, stuffed in the crevices between flagstones and the hollows of trees and underneath the shingles of the roof, dropped into chimneys and even into the goldfish pond. The bird always tired of the game before the girl did and flew off to seek more challenging pastimes.

In the playground the quiet boy, Michael, sat in the middle of the teeter-totter, using his feet to pump it up and down. Bang thump. Bang thump. He wore a knitted headband which had fallen or been pulled down over his eyes.

“Michael, I’m going away. I wanted to say goodbye to you. I probably won’t be seeing you for a long time.”

Bang thump. Bang thump.

“Michael?”

“I hate you.”

“I know you do. I thought you might say goodbye to me anyway.”

“Goodbye,” Michael said. “Goodbye. Goodbye. Goodbye. Goodbye. Goodbye. Goodbye.”

“Thank you, Michael. That’s enough.”

“Goodbye. Goodbye. Goodbye.”

She walked away as fast as possible. But she couldn’t get out of earshot. The others had taken up Michael’s chant. Sandy and the two boys under the fig tree and Gretchen were all chanting in unison with Michael.

“Good... bye... good... bye... good...”

When she reached the corner of the building Rachel Holbrook turned and waved. They waved back, Gretchen and the two boys and Sandy and even Michael. It was an encouraging sign that Michael had responded at all. Perhaps as he grew older, under the guidance of a new principal... No, I really mustn’t think about any of them. I must go away and forget them for a long time...

“Goodbye,” she said firmly.

The room was small and bare except for three steel chairs and a table, all bolted to the floor. The door had a barred window through which a uniformed policeman glanced every few minutes.

A previous occupant had damaged the thermostat and the air-conditioning couldn’t be regulated. Cold air kept blasting in from a vent high in the wall, making the room as cold as a walk-in refrigerator. Donny sat on the table dangling his legs.

“How about that,” he said, gesturing toward the door. “My own personal guard. Man oh man, they must think I’m public enemy numero uno. Did you bring me any money?”

Whitfield shook his head. “They wouldn’t let me hand you any, so I tried to deposit some in an account at the commissary. But they don’t have that system at Juvenile Hall, just at the adult — ah, facility.”

“So what system are us poor jerks in here stuck with?”

“You have to earn points.”

“How?”

“Good behavior, doing work, et cetera. You earn so many points by doing such and such a job and then you can spend the points like money. If you work and behave yourself you’ll be able to get candy bars and cigarettes, things like that. The idea is to treat rich and poor alike.”

“Jee-sus.”

“Well, goddammit, son, this isn’t a hotel. And I didn’t put you here.”

“You sent the cops after your precious boat.”

“I didn’t,” Whitfield said. “I swear I didn’t. I would have let you take a little cruise, knowing you’d come back.”

“So you think I’d come back. Don’t kid yourself. I was heading for the moon, man, straight for the moon.”

Whitfield focused his eyes on a spot on the bare grey wall. This was his son, his only child, and he couldn’t bear to look at him, to touch him, even to be in the same room with him. “I didn’t put you here, Donny.”

“But I bet you don’t mind if they keep me here. It’s cheaper than Holbrook Hall.”

“Listen, son. I’ve hired a lawyer from L.A., the best money can buy. But he can’t get you out on bail. There’s no bail for juveniles, especially ones with a record like yours. And the charges against you are pretty bad.”

“Like how bad?”

“I don’t even know if I can remember them all. Kidnapping — that’s the worst. Then there’s grand theft, assault with a deadly weapon, assault with intent to do great bodily harm, assault with intent to commit murder—”

“Okay, okay.”

“Although you were brought here to Juvenile Hall because you’re not yet eighteen, the chances are ninety-nine to a hundred that you’ll be tried as an adult. That makes things even worse.” The room was so cold that Whitfield’s voice was trembling. “Donny, if you could only show remorse, if you could convey to the authorities that you’re sorry for what you’ve done, that you didn’t mean to—”

“I meant to,” Donny said. “And I’m not sorry.”

“Son, please.”

“Screw the son bit. It makes me puke... You got any chocolate bars on you?”

“I brought you two pounds of See’s candies but they wouldn’t let me bring them in.”

“Those stinking cops are probably gobbling them up right now.” Donny slid off the table. He looked impassive except for a tic in his left eyelid which he concealed by averting his face. “Well, I guess that’s all. You might as well leave. You’ll be late getting to Ensenada.”

Whitfield once more studied an invisible spot on the wall. “I was going to cancel the trip to make sure I’d be here for your trial. But the lawyer told me not to bother. He said there’d probably be one delay after another, so your case might not come up for as long as a year, and it would be a waste of time for me to wait around and...” His voice faded as if suddenly he knew he’d hit the wrong note but there was no right one. “I’m sorry. I’m doing everything I can, everything I possibly can.”

“Yeah. Sure.”

“Donny. Donny, couldn’t you at least pretend to be remorseful?”

“I’m remorseful all right when I think of those damn cops gobbling up all my candies. What kind were they? Any marshmints? Chocolate cherries? Peanut butter crackle?”

“For God’s sake, Donny, haven’t you anything else to say to me?”

“Marshmints are my favorites,” Donny said.

Cleo was still wearing the stained jeans and T-shirt and sneakers without laces when Hilton went to the county jail to take her home.

Bail had been set high, at twenty-five thousand dollars, because she would be charged as a principal in the case, which one of the lawyers said was the new term used for accessory to a crime. Hilton tried to explain this to her on the way home.

“You will be accused of helping Donny do some of the things he’s charged with. Do you understand?”

“All I did was hold the gun.”

“Did he force you to? Were you acting under duress?”

“It was hardly even a gun. It was only an itty-bitty thing.”

“Guns kill. That’s what they’re made for. Did you obey Donny because you were afraid for your life?”

“Heavens, no. Who could be afraid of Donny? He’s so silly.”

She sat beside him in the front seat, her legs drawn up and her chin resting on her knees. Her face was almost hidden by a beige curtain of hair.

“Where are your shoelaces?” he said.

She told him about Donny tying Ted’s hands behind his back as he lay on the bunk. Hilton listened, feeling the blood flow out of him as if each word she spoke was a puncture wound in his heart.

He ached with fatigue. He had been up all night, contacting lawyers, the judge who set bail, a medical doctor and a psychiatrist recommended by a bail bondsman. Every half hour he phoned the hospital for a report on Ted’s condition. He knew that whether Ted lived or died, Frieda would hold him responsible. His marriage had ended and his son was listed in very critical condition, yet he still knew almost nothing of what had happened since Cleo had walked away from the house with the basset hound on a leash. The psychiatrist had urged him not to question Cleo too closely. What good would it do anyway? A gun was an itty-bitty thing and Donny was merely silly.

“There was a nasty old doctor at the jail,” Cleo said. “He told me I’m not going to have a baby. How does he know anyway? He can’t see it if it’s no bigger than a grain of sugar.”

“It’s his job to know. He’s a gynecologist.”

“Long words don’t mean anything. Curriculum. Curriculum — what is that anyway? Donny had one at the school... Will I be going back there, to Holbrook Hall?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Oh, well, I don’t care. It wasn’t all that much fun.” She hesitated. “Will I be staying at home all the time like I used to?”

“That depends.”

“What on?”

“The judge will have to decide to what extent you were responsible for your actions.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong, Hilton. I just held that little wee gun.”

“Stop it. I prefer not to hear any more about it.”

“Oh, Hilton, you’re mad at me.” She peeked at him around the curtain of hair, wet-eyed and wistful. “Aren’t you?”

“No.”

“I’m glad. I didn’t really do anything much.”

His hands gripped the steering wheel as if they were trying to squeeze the life out of it. Nothing much. Roger Lennard was dead and Ted on the point of death. Rachel Holbrook’s life work was in ruins and Donny Whitfield would almost certainly be sent to the penitentiary. Nothing much.

“Everything can be the same as it was before,” Cleo said. “Frieda will read to me, and we’ll go shopping and to the movies, and maybe Frieda will teach me how to drive. Roger said that was one of my rights, to learn to drive.”

“Frieda won’t be living with us anymore.”

“Why not?”

“She doesn’t want to.”

The simple explanation satisfied her because she understood it. If you wanted to do something, you did it. If you didn’t, you didn’t.

“You can hire somebody to take her place, can’t you?” Cleo said. “Somebody like her, only nicer and more understanding.”

“I’m afraid I couldn’t find such a person.”

“That means there’ll just be the two of us, you and me? It doesn’t sound like much fun.”

“No, I don’t suppose it will be.”

“Valencia hardly speaks any English and Cook always chases me out of the kitchen because I interfere with the TV game shows. I won’t have anyone to talk to unless you stay home.”

“I can’t, Cleo. I have a job.”

“We have lots of money already, don’t we?”

“Quite a bit, yes.”

“Why do you want more?”

“To provide for your future. You’re only twenty-two. You may live another fifty or sixty years. You’ll require a great deal of money.”

“No, I won’t, Hilton. I’ll have a husband to take care of me. Won’t I?”

He didn’t answer.

“Won’t I, Hilton? Won’t I have a husband?”

“I don’t know.”

“I bet you don’t want me to. I bet you’re jealous. Look what you did to Roger.”

“You mustn’t talk like that, Cleo. There’s nothing in this world I’d like better than to see you married to a decent young man who will love you for your — your good qualities.”

“I don’t believe it. You told me I was never to let another man touch me. Don’t you remember, it was the night Ted and I—”

“I spoke during an emotional reaction. I didn’t mean it. After you’re married you will have an intimate relationship with your husband like any other girl.”

“But I’m not like any other girl, am I?”

“No.”

“I wonder why not.”

He turned into the long, winding driveway that led to the house. About halfway up, Trocadero was putting the finishing touches on a juniper sculpture, cutting the tiny needles as precisely as a barber. The basset hound Zia sat at his feet but came bounding out to bark at the car. Troc whistled him back and pretended not to see Cleo.

“Zia doesn’t like me anymore,” Cleo said. “I can tell. He wasn’t even wagging his tail.”

“We’ll buy you a dog of your own, any kind you like.”

“No thanks.”

“Don’t you want one?”

“I’d rather have a husband and babies.”

“Of course you would. But in the meantime—”

He couldn’t finish the sentence. It would be a long meantime, impossible to fill with dogs and movies and shopping.

He stopped the car in front of the house. “You’d better go up to your room and take a shower and put on some clean clothes.”

“I don’t want to. I like these ones.”

“They’re dirty. Valencia will wash and dry them for you while we’re having lunch. Please don’t argue with me, Cleo. I’m terribly tired.”

“I’m just as tired as you are. The jail was so noisy I couldn’t sleep.”

“Then we’ll both take a long nap after lunch. Right now I have to call the hospital again.”

She went up to her room and showered and shampooed her hair. Then she stood in front of the full-length mirror in her bedroom, letting the water drip down her body, tickling her skin. She liked the way she looked, a mermaid escaped from the sea.

Valencia came in without knocking to pick up Cleo’s clothes and take the wet towels away.

Valencia said, “Hija mala.”

“You’re mean to say things I can’t understand.”

“Wicked girl. You done wicked.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Troc say you wicked. Cook say you loco.”

“What do they know? They’re only servants.”

She put on one of the bathrobes Frieda had given her and went downstairs to have lunch with Hilton. But he was lying on the couch in his den, his face to the wall. She wondered if he was dead, so she touched him on the shoulder. It was like switching on one of the mixing machines Cook kept in the kitchen. Hilton began to shake all over as if he were being ground up inside, his liver and heart and stomach and appendix, all ground up into hamburger. It took away her appetite.

She went into the kitchen to see if Cook would let her watch television with her. But Cook shooed her away like a chicken, flapping her apron at her and making chicken sounds. So she sat at the long dining room table by herself, thinking about Hilton’s insides being all ground up. She left most of the food on her plate untouched and ate only a muffin. Then she went back into the den.

“Hilton?”

“Go away.”

“I have nowhere to go.”

He was still shaking but not nearly so much, and his voice had no tremor at all. He just sounded very tired.

“Ted died,” he said. “The bullet taken out of him was a twenty-two. It came from your gun.”

“I don’t believe it. You’re trying to scare me.”

“You shot him. You shot my son, Ted.”

“Honestly I didn’t. I only held the gun. I only held that teeny little gun. You can’t blame me.”

“I don’t blame you. I blame myself.”

“That’s silly. You weren’t even there.”

“Go away,” Hilton said. “Go away.”

She returned to her room, thinking that Hilton’s brain, not merely his liver and stomach and heart, had been ground up in the mixer because he was imagining that Ted had died and that he himself was to blame. It was too bad. Hilton used to be awfully smart.

She brushed her hair, still wet, and put on the freshly laundered jeans and T-shirt, and wondered where mermaids went when they came up from the sea. There didn’t seem to be a place for them.

She asked Valencia, who didn’t understand the word, and Cook, who said, “Never you mind about mermaid. March back in there and finish your vegetables.”

Then she walked down to where Troc was barbering the juniper and she asked him about mermaids.

Troc gave her a peculiar look. “Are you having one of them foggy moments of yours?”

“All I did was ask you a question.”

“I’ll go fetch the boss. You wait here, girl. You wait right here.”

She waited only long enough for him to disappear around the bend. Then she ran down the rest of the driveway to the street. She felt very light and airy, moving with the wind like a silk sail. And suddenly, magically, she knew what mermaids did when they came up from the sea. They went down to it again.

She could see the harbor in the distance and she kept running toward it. Everyone on the Spindrift would be very surprised to see her and they would all have a party to celebrate, Manny Ocho and the crew, and Donny and Ted and the young man who told her about voting and some of her other rights.

None of that seemed important anymore. She was going to a party.