Mack Reynolds: Equality: In the Year 2000

The door was not locked. He opened it and peeked inside. The curtains were drawn at the portholes and the room very dim, but he could make out his father’s form in the bed, though not his mother’s. He could hear water running in the bathroom. Hesitantly, he crept in to check if Barry West was still asleep.

He approached the side of the bed quietly.

And then the door to the bath opened and a woman came out, a woman who was completely naked. At first he thought it was his mother but then he realized with a shock that this woman was a brunette; his mother was blonde.

He shrank back. A closet door, half open, was immediately behind him. She hadn’t seen him as yet. He backed into the closet and softly closed the door until it was only open a crack. Where was his mother?

Humming softly, the woman approached the bed. The air conditioning wasn’t on, since nights were cool on the ocean, but the sun had come up by now and Barry West, who habitually slept nude, had pushed aside the bedsheet.

Julian could recognize her now. It was Mrs. Simmons. She was younger than the other guests, and Julian had thought her very pretty. She had done a good deal of gushing over him when he had been presented to her, but he had liked her anyway. Most grown-ups gushed; you got used to it.

His eyes rounded and he held a hand over his mouth when she reached down to touch his father.

Although Julian couldn’t see his eyes open in the dimness, his father evidently awoke. He jerked into a half-sitting position and yelped, “Why, you little devil you! Didn’t you have enough last night?”

Mrs. Simmons giggled and said something in a low, husky voice that Julian couldn’t hear.

Where was his mother? Could she possibly be in some other cabin—doing things like this with one of the other guests?

He was about to dash out of the closet and away from the room. But just then a perfunctory knock came at the door and before Mrs. Simmons could jerk away, the door opened and Edward came in, carrying bedding.

He stood there a moment in confusion, then stammered, “I’m sorry, sir. I thought you were topside, sir. I… I…”

Mrs. Simmons had turned her head away and put her hands over her face.

But Barry West, in a high rage, scrambled from the bed and stood up. He roared, “Get out of here, you goddamned ass! Get out! Get out!”

Edward whirled and stumbled out, hurriedly closing the door behind him.

Julian closed the closet door completely and backed as far into the closet as he could, trembling all over.

In the stateroom beyond, he could hear voices, his father’s shaking in anger, but with a tone of soothing reassurance. And he could hear clothing rustling. He hoped beyond all hope that there would be no need for Barry West to get something from this closet.

His prayer was answered, since after about ten minutes there were no more sounds from the cabin. Julian carefully edged the door open just a trifle. There was no one in the stateroom. He crept out and hurried for the door.

As he ran down the corridor, breathing heavily, his mother came out of one of the guest cabins. She was dressed in a night robe, and, as always, looked so pretty to the young boy.

She eyed Julian with surprise. “Why, Jule, what are you doing up and around?”

He stuttered a bit and managed to say, “I… I was just going up to the bridge, Mama. Uh, to see if the captain would let me steer.”

She looked at him. “Well, run along. I’ll be up for breakfast a little later.”

When he got back up to the sundeck, he was still terribly shaken. They were entering the beautiful Nassau harbor, heading for the Prince George Wharf. He had been to Nassau once before and knew the routine. The captain would be on the bridge now, directing the docking, asking for port instructions on the FM-UHF marine radio, handling the wheel himself. He would have no time for little Julian, who would only be in the way. Julian remained where he was, watching.

A docking always fascinated him. Jack was up forward and the other crewman in the stern, both with coils of rope in their hands. As they came in slowly, neatly, to within a few yards of the dock, the crewmen heaved their lines and the shore hands on the dock grabbed them up and dropped the loops over the iron bollards. The deck winches grumbled and took in the slack of the lines and slowly snubbed the length of the yacht against the wharf. More lines went out. The deep groaning of the engines stopped. The two crewmen hurried midship and shortly the gangplank was swung out and latched.

His father joined him. He was scowling, obviously still irritated. And Jules knew the reason. He was dressed in yachting clothing, including an officer’s cap.

He asked, “Have you had breakfast, Jule?”

“No, Daddy.”

“Don’t call me Daddy, for Christ’s sake, it makes me feel old. Call me Father. Come along, we’ll get something to eat and then go ashore. I have some things to do before it gets too goddamned hot.”

They went into the small dining room, across from the galley, and the cook himself served them.

“Where in the hell’s that stupid bastard Edward?” Barry West demanded.

“I don’t know, sir,” the cook told him.

Julian suspected that Edward was keeping as far away from his father as possible, hoping the ship’s owner would cool off.

Barry West at the age of thirty was a handsome man, although there was a somewhat petulant quality about his mouth. However, when he had a hangover, or was more than ordinarily upset about something, young Julian hated to look at him. He was capable of bad tempers and on the few occasions he had physically punished his son, it had been more violent than the size of the boy warranted.

They ate their breakfast in silence, except for Barry West’s comment, “I don’t know why in the hell I’m letting you tag along. I suppose it won’t do you any harm to stretch your legs a bit.”

Julian didn’t say anything to that. He would just as well not have accompanied his parent, but he was afraid to say so for fear of irritating the other still further.

Ashore, they headed down the wharf and in the direction of Bay Street. The last time they had been in Nassau, it was his mother who had taken Julian ashore. She had had some shopping to do and his father had been too drunk to accompany them. In fact, he hadn’t gone ashore for the full time they had been on the island of New Providence.

The souvenir and other stores fascinated Julian. They had touristy names, and merchandise to go with them. The Trade Winds, the Island Shop, the English China House, Solomon’s Mines, the Nassau Shop, the John Bull. The bars had names such as Blackbeard’s Tavern and Dirty Dick’s. The souvenirs consisted of lots of straw things, hats, dolls, postcards, pillows with Nassau painted in large letters upon them, canes with Nassau burnt into their length, but above all, things of straw.

His father had him by the hand, hurrying him along through the pedestrians, impatient with the boy’s attempt to look at the store displays.

Then he stopped abruptly. “What in the hell are you doing off the yacht?”

It was Edward, a look of consternation on his face. He was carrying two packages.

He said, “The captain gave me permission, Mr. West. I had promised my wife I’d pick up a souvenir for her and one for my little girl.”

“Oh, he did, eh? Well, listen here, Mr. Peeping Tom, you can just go back to the ship and pack your things and get the hell off. Get what pay’s coming to you from Captain Fielding, but be the hell off the yacht by the time I get back.”

The other, a tremble in his voice, pleaded, “Sir, please. I need the job. I’ve been with you for a long time. Jobs aren’t the easiest thing in the world to get these days. Especially at my age.”