Tim Curran - Dead Sea

Cushing figured she wasn’t used to it, but with this bunch, she’d have the chance. That was for sure. Fabrini kept looking at her as if he just didn’t believe there could be something like a woman. But every time she looked in his direction, he averted his eyes like a shy schoolboy. Not so with Saks. He was eyeing her up and down like she was fresh off the grill and he was hungry. Like maybe he wanted to stuff an apple in her mouth and cut himself a slice. She saw it, too. It was hard not to. And the look she gave him… well, Cushing figured Saks was lucky she didn’t have a gun in her hand.

Gradually, the talk turned to more serious matters.

It was confession time. What happened and to who and what the hell did you do when the ship went down? Then it seemed like everyone was talking at once.

“Soltz?” Menhaus asked.

George just shook his head. “No. What about Cook?”

Menhaus shook his head this time.

Pollard was filling Crycek in on their shipmates. “Yeah, Marx.. . the chief. Squid got him and Gosling, too.”

“The First? Oh, shit,” Crycek was saying. “Not the First, not the First.”

George sketched basically what had happened to Gosling and Crycek told him about someone named Hupp, that George did not know. Whoever it was, you could see that Crycek felt the pain of his loss as he felt the loss of Marx and Gosling.

Saks was the only one unmoved by any of it.

He seemed oddly at ease with it all. But maybe that was because the gears were already turning in his head. Gosling would have definitely stood in his way, but without him? Maybe there was still hope to rein this bunch in.

All in all, the stories that passed now were grim. They had all survived the seaweed sea and its innumerable terrors. And you could tell by the way they told those stories that they knew damn well that none of it was over with just yet.

About that time, when there was a lull in the horror story competition as it were, Elizabeth announced. “You men must be hungry. I’ll get you some food. Will you help me, Mr. Cushing?”

That got Saks laughing. “Mister Cushing. I like that.”

Cushing smiled and went into the galley with her. He had things to say and George could see that, but he wasn’t ready just yet.

When the door was closed to the galley, Saks said with his usual subtlety, “Cushing? He banging that shit?”

“Jesus Christ, Saks,” Fabrini said.

George just laughed. Saks. Always the sentimentalist. “Could be. She’s taken a real shine to him. She’s okay, Saks, don’t give her a hard time. Wait till she brings out the food… better than that survival shit.”

George explained to them how Elizabeth was something of a professional scavenger. All the food she had stockpiled, the garden she had growing on a barge somewhere.

“Jesus,” Menhaus said, rubbing his hands together. “Real vegetables… sweets… goddamn bacon and bread, you say?”

“Well, don’t be in any hurry, Menhaus,” Saks said. “Cushing’s probably putting the meat to her right now.”

“They always go for the big Viking types, don’t they?” Fabrini joked.

Saks grinned. “Maybe we need to put more men on the job. Maybe I better go in there, show dumbfuck Cushing how it’s done.”

“Maybe you better just keep it in your pants, Saks,” George warned him. “This lady is tough, she don’t fuck around. You keep it in your pants or she’ll cut it right off. Trust me.”

“Listen to you,” Saks said. “You even got a dick, George?”

“Your wife thinks so.”

Saks flushed, looked like maybe he might go after George, but he kept it in check, offered up a little hollow laugh. And maybe his laugh was hollow, but Fabrini’s wasn’t… it was loud and booming. Menhaus was laughing, too. You could see that Saks didn’t like that. You didn’t go around laughing at Al Saks.

“Now listen to me,” George said. “I’m not trying to give you shit, Saks, but you’ve got to remember a few things here. This woman is letting us stay here and she don’t have to do that. And don’t give me that ah-she’s-just-a-fucking-broad look. This girl is tough. She’s a survivor. She knows how to survive. You cross her and you’ll find out. She’s been living here for years, fighting to stay alive. You think for a minute she won’t slit your throat she sees you as a threat, guess again. Leave her be. That’s all I’m saying. She likes Cushing and that’s the way it is. He gets some and you don’t, too damn bad. Go fuck your hand. Because you get out of line and you might screw it up for all of us. And I tell you what, Saks, I won’t put up with it.”

“Oh, you won’t?”

George gave him back his look. “No, I won’t. You don’t think so, try me.”

Fabrini was eating it up. Menhaus just looked tired by it all. Like maybe he’d been living on a steady diet of this kind of shit and the only thing it did now was fatigue him.

Saks smiled then, because it was all a joke, couldn’t they see that? Cushing was throwing the pirate-girl the old bone? More power to him. It was okay with Saks; he wasn’t the sort of guy to shit on a romance. “Okay, George,” he said, very calmly. “Don’t get your pecker hard, I was just kidding around.”

“Sure,” Fabrini said, touching the bandage at his ear. “Saks is like that. He’ll kid you right to death. See if he don’t.”

And, damn, what passed between those two… it wasn’t good. Like homicide put on ice, George was thinking. He didn’t need Menhaus spelling it out for him, because he already had a pretty good idea of what it had been like in that lifeboat. Saks and his mouth. Fabrini and his short fuse. It must have been really something.

“Well, Captain,” a voice said, “I see you’ve wasted no time in inviting your drunken cohorts aboard?”

Aunt Else. Fresh from her nap and ready to charge. She looked over the new faces and grimaced, apparently wasn’t caring much for what she was seeing.

“Who’s the old bag?” Saks said, around the back of his hand.

George made a quick round of introductions, but Aunt Else wasn’t exactly listening. Her eyes were sharp, but her mind was dull and drifting. She had, no doubt, already assigned Saks, Menhaus, Fabrini, and Crycek roles in her fantasy and that was enough for her.

“So, what now?” Fabrini said. “We’re all here-”

“And some of us are queer,” Saks said.

“Queer? Queer?” Aunt Else was looking over at the bar. “There’s a great many things queer, I would think. I’m finding this entire voyage queer. I’m finding your actions, Captain… or lack of them… certainly queer.”

“You tell him, sister,” Saks said, enjoying it.

She turned and looked at him. “I find you extremely queer, sir.”

Fabrini burst out laughing. “Yes, ma’am, old Saks… he’s as queer as they come.”

“I should say so,” she said.

George nodded. “Without a doubt. Good Mr. Saks was in the Navy, you know. I’m certain he was doing a lot of queer things in there. Tell us about it, Saks, tell us how queer you were in the Navy. I bet you were about as queer as they came. Yes, our Mr. Saks, he’s a queer sort, all right.”

Menhaus was giggling. “Queer. I like that. Queer. She’s saying and you’re saying and… ha, ha, that’s pretty good.”

“Shut the hell up, you moron,” Saks told him.

“Like I was saying,” Fabrini began, “we’re all here… what now? Where do we go from here? We got ourselves a nice base here, but I’m not about to kick my feet up and take root.”

“Oh, you’d take any root offered,” Saks said.

George shook his head. Christ, it was like being in the tenth grade locker room. Maybe not even that sophisticated, you came right down to it.