Ken Douglas - Scorpion

Once the mainsheet was tightened and the boom’s violent motion curtailed, Dani went back to the button that operated the main’s roller furling gear. The boat was still rocking and slamming, but a lot of the fury had been tamed. He watched as the main again started to disappear inside the mast. Then it stopped.

“ It’s jammed,” she said.

“ Oh, fuck,” Earl said. The main was three quarters of the way in and still flapping.

“ I’m going to have to let it out and try again,” she shouted.

“ Hurry,” Earl shouted back.

She pushed the opposite button and the sail came out a bit. Then she pushed the other and Earl sighed loud enough to wake the dead as the sail retracted into the mast. “Are you taking it all the way in?”

“ No, we’ll need to keep some of it out for stability,” she shouted, but the ripping sound told them that the sail had gotten caught again, only this time the motor overpowered the canvas. There was nothing for her do to but to keep her hand on the button and get as much of the torn main in the mast as possible.

“ I talked to a friend of mine on the radio this morning,” Ramsingh said. “He’d just made the crossing between Trinidad and Grenada.”

“ You’re a HAM operator?”

“ Not licensed, but I use it every now and then to keep track of my cruising friends.”

“ Isn’t that against the law?”

“ Not for the prime minister.”

“ What did your friend say?”

“ He said that it was the worst crossing he’s made in the seven years he’s been in the Caribbean.”

“ Swell,” Broxton said.

“ This isn’t going to be like our last sail together. Then we were on a much bigger boat and the wind was just horrible. Tonight will be a lot worse.”

“ How much worse?”

“ You can’t imagine.”

“ But you can?” Broxton said.

“ Sure. I’ve lived a good part of my life on boats, remember? I’ve sailed around the world twice, been in three hurricanes, several tropical storms and more squalls than you can count.”

“ Hurricane winds out there tonight?” Broxton asked.

“ No.”

“ Tropical storm?”

“ No.”

“ Then I’d say I’m in pretty good hands.”

“ I was twenty-five years younger.”

“ Are you trying to scare me?”

“ No, just trying to prepare you. It’ll be a fast crossing for Gypsy Dancer. We won’t reef, so we’ll be fighting the wheel the whole way, so I think it will be a good idea if we take hourly shifts throughout the night. That seem okay to you?”

“ Sure.”

Ramsingh smiled. “Keep her pointed northwest. We’ll go between the point and the prison island. Then we’ll head straight for the first Boca,” he said, before going below.

Broxton looked toward the prison island, Trinidad’s version of Alcatraz. It was less than a quarter mile from shore, but the current between the small island and the mainland was so treacherous that only one man had ever survived the swim. And he was caught as soon as he hit the road, picked up hitchhiking by a prison guard.

Forty-five minutes later Ramsingh started the engine as they approached the Bocas. “We’ll lose our wind for the next fifteen minutes, then we’ll hit confused seas, so I’ll take the wheel till we’re clear. Then I’ll show you how to ride the waves without putting the mast in the water.”

“ You’re the boss.” Broxton relinquished the wheel. He sat down in the cockpit, staring at the giant rock in the center of the channel.

“ The deeper water’s on the right side,” Ramsingh said and he maneuvered the boat dead center between the giant rock and the mainland. There’s supposed to be a flashing light on the rock, but apparently it’s out.”

When they were abreast of the rock Broxton saw the boiling sea ahead and the swells beyond. “We can sail in that?”

“ We can,” Ramsingh said, then they were past the shelter of the mountains and the wind filled the sails. Ramsingh switched the engine off and they were in it.

“ Turn to port, left, left, left!” she shouted and Earl started cranking the wheel, bringing the boat around toward their original course. “Too far, back, back,” she said, and he pulled it back a little to the right. “Good, that’s good, hold it there.” His hands shook on the wheel and although it was cold as a Texas winter sweat still dripped down his back, his hands were clammy and a river was leaking from under his arms.

The boat was heeled to port again, but not like before. Earl didn’t feel like he was about to fall off. The rails weren’t in the water, but a quarter of the torn main was hanging out of the mast, cracking like thunder, sending chills to the back of his neck. He didn’t know if he’d be able to stand it all night.

He cast a shivering look over his right shoulder and saw a wave coming toward him at eye level. He thought it was going to capsize them, but the boat rode over it. The bow broke to port, but he pulled it back on course. A few seconds later another wave rode under and he pulled it back on course again. Then another, taking the bow to the left, he corrected, then again, then again. He was going to be plenty tired by sunup.

She moved back toward him, bent low, holding on to the cockpit combing as she scooted along. She straightened and grabbed onto the binnacle and faced him. “I’m going to swing around next to you and set the autopilot,” she said, her face inches from his.

“ Fine by me,” he said.

She kept one hand on the binnacle as she moved behind the wheel. He saw numbers dance across some of the instruments as she started pushing buttons.

“ You can let go now, the autopilot has us.” Earl obeyed, amazed as the wheel turned back and forth. “It’ll take it a minute or so to figure out the wave pattern,” she said. Earl stepped away from the wheel and grabbed onto the backstay for support. The wheel turned less with each wave until the boat was making steady headway. “The autopilot is programmed into the GPS, and I’ve set in the lat and long for Grenada. Barring problems, our job is over. We’re passengers now.”

“ But it’s so rough.”

“ I screwed up. I had too much sail out. This is a strong boat, she can handle seas a heck of a lot rougher than this.”

“ Seems plenty rough to me,” Earl said, looking out at the black waves, and as if to punctuate his thoughts, a wave crashed over the side, showering them with spray.

Then she shut the motor off.

“ Why’d you do that?”

“ We don’t have enough fuel to motor all the way to Grenada.”

“ What?”

“ Relax. It’s a sailboat, remember?”

Earl looked up at the torn and flogging main.

“ It’s not our only sail. We’ll make it just fine with the jib alone.”

“ How come we didn’t gas up first?”

“ Because my father doesn’t like to buy diesel from the fuel dock, he thinks it’s dirty fuel. He has a man jerry jug diesel from a gas station whenever the tank gets low.”

“ Who does he think you’re sailing with?” Earl asked, as she grabbed the binnacle again and swung around it so that they were facing each other with the wheel between them.

“ Friends, he’s not worried. I’ve sailed up island and back without him before. He plans on flying up to St. Thomas and sailing on back with us.”

“ But you don’t have any friends on board?”

“ I have you.”

“ You know what I mean.”

“ I’ll tell him they left for Europe on another boat, it won’t be a problem.”

“ Then it’s your fault we got no gas.”

“ Has anyone ever told you that you have a one track mind?” She was staring straight into his eyes, their faces inches apart. He saw the fire there, felt the chill in her heart. This was not Maria and he sure as hell didn’t want to piss her off.