Marcia Talley: Sing It to Her Bones

“Get back behind the wheel!”

I melted back into the shadows.

In the scuffle Connie’s shirt had ridden up, exposing her bra. Without embarrassment she tugged it down over her slacks and did as she was told. From behind the wheel, she glared at Hal with undisguised hatred.

Hal’s voice was controlled and edged with menace. “You’ve killed her, you realize. Even if she survived the blow, we’ll never find her out here in the dark.” Since Hal clearly had no intention of going back to look for his partner in crime, I found his sentiment a little cheap.

Connie at least was honest. “Frankly, Hal, I don’t give a shit.”

Connie couldn’t know it, but she’d nearly killed me, too, with her well-timed jibe. As I crouched in the V-berth entertaining fantasies of rising to the rescue like Superwoman, Craig’s tackle box had come sliding across the cushion and fallen to the floor, narrowly missing my head. With all the crashing going on up on the deck, Hal hadn’t noticed the racket it made as it landed at my feet.

Back in the forward cabin after my aborted plan to tackle Hal, I lifted the tackle box to my knees. I remembered that lovely sail on the bay, and I remembered the lures. My mind fastened on the bright, shiny spoon Dennis had demonstrated only days before, and I wondered what kind of weapon it would make. I eased the latches open, praying they wouldn’t creak. Where was the spoon? Working in the dark, I felt around the upper tray, pricking my fingers on hooks, stifling the urge to cry out, silently sucking blood from a tiny puncture in my thumb. It wasn’t on top. Carefully I lifted the top tray and began feeling around in the compartment underneath. I encountered the soft plastic of a surgical eel, the wiggly jelly of something squidlike, and then my fingers closed around it, the silver spoon with the big, ugly hook.

I withdrew the lure from the box and cradled it in my palm, feeling the cool metal, the ornamental feathers, and the hook, now safely capped. I admired the balance and the way it fitted snugly in my hand; thoughts of Peter Pan and Captain Hook rose, unbidden, to my mind. Quietly I reassembled the trays, fastened the lid and pushed the box into the head, where I wouldn’t trip over it in the dark.

Now what would I do? I knew that if I appeared on deck, brandishing my lure, one or both of us might be shot. But we’d be floating in the bay anyway if I couldn’t come up with an idea soon. Okay, if I couldn’t get to Hal, how could I get him to come to me?

I crept into the head and sat on the toilet seat, turning ideas over in my mind, wishing I had paid more attention in sailing school. I couldn’t sabotage the electrical system; we were sailing without power. Maybe I could set the boat on fire! But I had no matches; I could think of nothing combustible nearby that I could lay my hands on. I cursed Connie for being so damn fastidious. Tie it down. Turn it off. Put it away. That damn checklist!

My prior experience with operating systems aboard Sea Song was limited primarily to the bilge. What if …? I knelt and ran my hand over the floorboards near the V-berth, feeling for the opening I knew would be there. The varnished teak felt smooth and clean underneath my fingers, but the boards fitted together so snugly, each butting against the next piece so smoothly, that I couldn’t feel the seam. My fingers eventually found the hole, about the size of a quarter. I inserted my index finger and carefully pried the floor panel upward, holding my breath, afraid that it would groan or scrape, alerting Hal to the fact that I was up to something down below. I eased the panel out of position, leaving a rectangular hole.

Even in the daytime, when I could see what I was doing, I felt uncomfortable rooting around in the dark places under the floor. Gingerly I eased my hand into the bilge and felt around until I located the narrow, cylindrical apparatus that controlled Sea Song ’s speedometer. A dangerous little gizmo, Connie had said, which needed to be installed in a hole drilled clear through the hull. I’d assisted one time as she’d pulled it out and cleaned it of algae. But this time I wouldn’t be standing by to cram a temporary plug into the hole while she brushed green gunk off the wheel. Holding my breath, I wrenched the fitting out of its hole.

Water fountained into the boat like Old Faithful, wetting me completely. In less than a minute the rising water covered my shoes, and I swallowed hard, fighting back my panic, knowing that I’d need to stay quiet down below for my plan to work.

Perched back on the toilet seat again, I wondered how far into the bay we’d have to sail before Hal decided we’d gone far enough to dump us overboard. I wondered how long I could tread water, how far I could swim with my sore chest and bum arm. Hal would have to make it appear like an unfortunate accident with him as the only survivor. I’d drowned trying to save poor Liz, that would be his story, and Connie had gone in after me. Such a tragedy! We’d make the front page of the Chesapeake Times for sure.

Sea Song began to slow. “What’s wrong?” Hal sounded unhappy.

“I don’t know. I haven’t changed course. The sails are full. Suddenly it’s like sailing a bathtub.”

From the cockpit I heard the click-click of the flashlight, and its beam sliced through the dark into the cabin below. I sat quietly, hardly breathing, trying to merge with the darkness in the head.

“The goddamned boat’s sinking! She must have pulled one of the through-hulls!”

From above, I heard Connie laugh.

Hal scrambled into the cabin, flipped on the cabin lights, and began wading in my direction. “Which one was it, damm it?”

I waited where I was, with the door ajar. Soon he would notice that I wasn’t where he had left me.

“Hannah?”

I extracted the lure from my pocket and gripped it in my right hand. With my left, I removed the red plastic plug that protected the hook and dropped it into the water. I didn’t think I’d be needing it again.

“Hannah?”

Naturally, Hal expected to find me in the forward cabin. As his profile appeared in the doorway, I lashed out, sinking the lure deep into his neck.

Hal screamed, a hideous sound that will haunt me forever, and dropped the gun. It sank to the floor, but neither one of us dived for it. Hal was too busy bellowing and clutching his neck, and I was staring in horror, appalled by what I had done. At first there was surprisingly little blood. Then Hal tried to remove the hook, but the barb held fast and began to tear his flesh. “Hannah!” he cried. The man was in agony. He fell back against the cushions of the V-berth. I couldn’t bear to look into his eyes.

I turned and floundered away, moving as quickly as I could in my waterlogged shoes. I headed for the pilot berth where Connie kept the life preservers.

Connie’s head appeared in the hatch. “Connie!” I yelled. “Is it too late to cork it?”

“Oh, God, yes.” She jumped onto the seat by the navigation station.

Connie flipped on the ship’s radio, punched the button that activated Channel 16, and spoke more calmly than I could believe into the microphone. “May Day, May Day, May Day. This is the sailing vessel Sea Song . We’re about two miles off Holly Point near the shipping channel, taking on water fast. Three… uh… four adults. One overboard. We’re abandoning ship now.” The radio crackled, hissed, then went silent. “Damn!”

“What’s wrong with the radio?” I was looking around for the flashlight, but who knew where Hal had dropped it?

“I don’t know,” Connie moaned. “It’s gone dead. Water probably shorted out the wires.”

Standing in water nearly up to my knees, I held out the life jackets. Connie threw them into the cockpit and pushed me up the ladder. She slipped her life jacket over her head, snapped the buckles together across her chest and waist, and helped me do the same. I held up the third life jacket. Connie sucked in her bottom lip and shook her head, but I couldn’t do it. Just before the rising water shorted out the electrical system and all the lights went out, I tossed it at Hal. “You don’t deserve this, you son of a bitch!”