David Vann: A Mile Down: The True Story of a Disastrous Career at Sea

“He says they cannot connect to the house banks,” Seref said. “He says the engines are only twelve volts and the house banks are twenty-four.”

“What?” I asked.

Seref talked with the man again, then repeated the news to me.

“Seref, you told me the engines were twenty-four-volt. I had the panels built, the switches ordered, and the entire system designed around twenty-four-volt engines.”

Seref looked bewildered. “No,” he said. “Just a moment.”

He talked again with the man, who started gesturing. I didn’t feel like waiting.

“What was he doing in putting together the whole wiring plan, Seref? None of it made any sense if the engines were twelve volt. What are these switches doing now?”

Seref put his hand up. “Calm down, David. Really. You mustn’t talk like that. Really.”

I tried not to get upset. I tried just to listen and explain. But none of this boded well at all.

“I don’t know how he make this mistake,” Seref said finally when the old man had gone. He had his hand rubbing the top of his head. I decided to back off, but then I remembered the engines.

“We should talk about the engines, too, Seref.”

“Ecrem is working on the engines. He will arrange all.”

“There are no siphon breaks. The engines could be flooded with saltwater. They were supposed to be added by the yard before the boat was moved out here.”

“They are coming, in the next week or two, they will do this. They know about this. They have not forgotten. Or I will have Ecrem do it. I take care of this. You don’t worry. Come. We go.” He walked up on deck and I followed. Before going down the ladder to the ground, though, I wanted to see the crew quarters. “Nothing has happened in the crew quarters,” he said. “Let’s go.”

On the drive back to Bodrum, Seref did not want to speak to me. I looked out at the water passing, at the large boats, the new hotels, the bougainvillea and whitewashed patios, the castle on the point. This beautiful place.

“I have a charter in six weeks,” I said. “If everything is not done, and done right, I will fail, and then I will not bring more guests or build more boats. There will be no more business from me.” Seref made a considerable amount from my guests, since he arranged hotels, cars, flights, and tours for them before and after my charters. He was receiving commissions from everything I spent, too. That’s the system in Turkey. He never did admit to me that he was taking commissions every time we bought anything for the boat, but I was fairly certain he was.

“It is your first night in Bodrum,” Seref said. “Have dinner with my family tonight. We will pick you up from your hotel at eight o’clock.”

We didn’t say anything more the rest of the drive. He dropped me off at a hotel that was not fancy, since I had asked for something cheap. I wanted to sleep on the boat but that would not be possible for some time, probably not until after launch.

The room was small, with bare dirty carpet, a small bathroom, and no air-conditioning. It was hot but I didn’t care. I opened the window to a view of small houses on a hill, bright in the sunlight with white walls, red tile, and purple flowers. I could hear the latest Cher song blasting from some corner club, “Do you believe in life after love, after love, after love, after love…?” Nancy and I loved Turkey for its obnoxious waterfront clubs. I flopped down on the bed exhausted and set my alarm to sleep for two hours. In a few minutes, as I was drifting off, I heard the loudspeakers from the minarets start up from three mosques. The Arabic chanting over the pop music, the tones leading up toward Allah, the praise and subjugation in it and the sound, too, of bitterness and defeat, of human disappointment. Maybe I was making up that last part. I was still tired from the flights.

I awoke slowly, heavy with jet lag, and was whisked off to a magnificent garden with tables set beneath the trees. Seref’s family was gathered at the bar, chatting with friends, and when we arrived, Seref’s wife greeted me first. She was beautiful, with bright eyes and a genuine laugh.

“Welcome back to Bodrum,” she said. “The lucky owner of a beautiful new boat.”

“Thank you,” I said, then turned to greet the next and the next, all very friendly and kissing me on both cheeks. They really were a wonderful group of people, Seref’s family and friends.

We sat at a long table for twelve and, without ordering, several large plates of mezes (appetizers) were passed around.

“I can’t wait to run the charters,” I said to Seref but really to the group. “All of the delicious mezes and other Turkish dishes.”

“The cook, Muhsin, is very good,” Seref said. “You will meet him tomorrow.”

“I can’t wait,” I said. There were fifteen or twenty men working on the boat. One of them, Ercan, I recognized as one of my crew members. I had met him in April. The other two had signed on since then.

“I must give a toast,” Seref said. He picked up his wine glass and we all picked up ours. “To David, who is very special to me, with him I am building not only a beautiful boat but also a lasting friendship.”

Seref’s charm was hard to resist. I thanked him and we all clinked and drank. I began talking then with Nazim, Seref’s best friend, sitting beside me. He spoke very good English and was a pleasant man. He had long curly hair and round glasses, like a rock star. He was the Camel cigarette distributor for the Bodrum area and smoked like a fiend.

“Your boat,” he said. “People are talking about it. They say it will be worth a million dollars when it is finished.”

Despite what I had originally hoped, there was no universe in which the boat was worth a million, especially here in Turkey. Still, I didn’t want to sound nasty. “Well,” I said. “It isn’t finished yet.”

“Yes, I know, but it will be finished. Seref is building this boat for you like it is his own boat. He goes to it every day since the winter, and he is trying to make everything perfect.”

I studied Nazim. He seemed genuine. He seemed to believe what he was saying, and it really was possible he did believe. It was even possible that Seref believed he was building the boat as if it were his own. This was what frustrated me about doing business in Turkey. I couldn’t know what to believe. Had Seref purposely ignored many of my requests and allowed shoddy work because he knew he could get away with it, because my time and finances were limited and I would have no legal recourse here in Turkey? Had he lied to me from the first about the cost of the boat, and was he putting the screws to me now because I was trapped and he thought I could raise more money?

I knew the original purchase of the hull and engines had been a bargain, but I couldn’t be certain of anything that had happened since.

“I know Seref is doing everything he can for the boat,” I said. “And I’m grateful. But I’m still worried we won’t be ready on time.”

“Have faith, my friend. I have known Seref a very long time. He will come through with what he has promised.”

I decided this man just didn’t know. He probably did believe Seref was doing his best. Or he was planted next to me at this dinner table to brainwash me. It didn’t change anything, either way. “Let’s drink to that,” I said.

After dinner, I walked down to the harbor, which is magical at night. Hundreds of wooden masts and carved sterns, the peninsula on the southern side with its maze of restaurants, shops, and clubs. The castle, its walls lit, defending the entrance and the bay. A true medieval castle, intact with its towers from the crusades, one for the French, one for the English, one for the Germans, etc.; each of the European nations warring in the name of Christianity stayed here and kept building. No major battles, except among themselves. At one point some treachery in which dozens were killed by their own and buried in a common grave. When the castle at Rhodes finally fell, they scampered away without a fight. The only bombardment came in World War I from a French ship. Then it became a prison. Now it’s a museum, specializing in underwater archaeology, and flies a Turkish flag. We live in better times than most.