Sloan Wilson - Ice Brothers

“Paul! I’ve been dying for you to call. What’s happening?”

“Well, I got on the ship and everything’s going fine. It looks like I won’t be going anywhere for a few weeks, and I should be able to get home about one night out of three.”

“Wonderful. Are you coming home now?”

“I have the duty now. Tomorrow or maybe the next night. I’ll let you know as soon as I can.”

“Oh, Paul, I miss you so. I’ve been going crazy alone here. I’m sorry I’ve been so bitchy and terrible!”

“Honey, you’ve been fine, Wonderful.”

“No, I’ve been crazy. It just hit me today that you’re going away for a very long time, months, maybe years .”

“We’ll have a few days together.”

“None of this seemed real to me until you actually left. Paul, this may sound crazy, but I wish I was pregnant. I want to have a baby while you’re gone. Hurry home and help me with my problem.”

This sudden passion bewildered Paul, and he felt a tingling sensation in his groin that was almost enough to make him take a taxi to Wellesley immediately, despite Coast Guard regulations. No, that really would be all wrong. Sneaking away for a few minutes while he had the duty was bad enough.

“Tomorrow,” he said. “I should be able to get home around six or seven.”

“That seems like ages. Paul, something’s happened to me. I feel the way I did that first night for us on the boat. The hell with the future. We only live once.”

“That’s right. Look, I had to sneak away to make this call and I have to get back to the ship. Tomorrow night!”

“I’ll be waiting. We’ll have the house to ourselves. Dad’s taking mother to the symphony. I’m going to give them tickets.”

“Great.”

“I love you, Paul. I’ll prove that to you.”

“I love you too,” he said, and forced himself to hang up. While he hurried back to the Arluk , he tried to imagine why one day of loneliness had worked such a considerable transformation in Sylvia. Was she afraid of losing him forever, and was this her effort to keep him, or did she really love him as much as she had said? No matter — she was still in character. Sylvia had always been the most unpredictable person he had ever known, and now he could hardly wait to get home to her.

As he climbed across the Nanmak toward the Arluk , he saw that there was some kind of disturbance at the gangway of his ship. Two men were grappling with each other while a third tried to separate them and all were shouting. Naturally something would have to happen during his brief run ashore!

Boarding the Arluk , he saw that two seamen were now holding the arms of Cookie, who was struggling and yelling. The Swiss chef’s fury was so great that his voice was incomprehensible. Suddenly Paul realized that he was speaking German, a language Paul had learned both from his father and at college.

“Now, my friend, what’s the matter?” Paul asked in German.

“Tell those bastards to let go of me,” Cookie yelled in German.

“Let him go,” Paul said to the two seamen in English.

“He’ll go wild again,” the taller seaman said. “He’s crazy.”

“Will you quiet down if they let you go?” Paul asked in German.

“I’ll kill them if they don’t. I’ll shit in their soup,” Cookie said in German.

“What the hell kind of language is he speaking?” the taller seaman asked.

“He’s talking Swiss. Let him go. He’ll be all right.”

The seamen took their hands from Cookie’s arms. He stood limp and trembling. Suddenly he sat down on the deck.

“You have to realize my situation,” he said in German, sounding curiously calm and reasonable.

“Explain it to me,” Paul said in German.

“How come you’re talking German?” Cookie said in German. “Are you a fucking Nazi?”

“I’m talking Swiss the same as you are,” Paul said in German.

“Well, you look like a goddamn Nazi. Have you any identification?” Cookie said, suddenly switching to his broken English. Paul realized that he was not only crazy, but drunk. It also happened that he did not have any identification on him. His orders had been taken by the quartermaster.

“Never mind that,” he said in English. “What’s all the trouble here?”

“I insist on seeing your identification,” Cookie said in English with dignity. “You look like a Nazi and you speak perfect German.”

Figuring that the man was so drunk that he wouldn’t know the difference, Paul took a card showing that he was a member of the Boston Yacht Club from his wallet and showed it to him. Cookie blinked at it in the dim light.

“All right, you’re not a Nazi. Try to understand me. I’m a chef . I’m not a goddamn sailor. There’s no reason why I can’t go ashore when my work is done.”

“Mr. Farmer assigned him to the third watch,” the taller seaman said. “Tonight the third watch has the duty.”

“You goddamn ignorant bastard!” Cookie yelled in German. “I’ll shit in your soup.”

A bright floodlight suddenly illuminated the well deck. It came from the Nanmak , and looking up, Paul saw a tall, husky lieutenant j.g. standing on the wing of that ship’s bridge looking down at them. He looked aloof and his voice was disdainful when he said, “I thought you might want to see what you’re doing.”

“Thanks,” Paul said, and to Cookie added in German, “You’re too drunk to go ashore tonight. If you don’t quiet down and go to your bunk, we will have to lock you up.”

“You’ve got no place to lock anyone up,” Cookie said in German.

“I’ll find a paint locker,” Paul said in the same language. “Be good, Cookie. We are trying to take care of you.”

“If you lock me up, I won’t cook,” Cookie said in English.

“Cookie, we all have to follow regulations.”

“Then I’ll follow the regulation Coast Guard cookbook. If you go by the book, so will I. How will you like that?” Cookie started to struggle to his feet.

“Cookie,” Paul said, reaching out a hand to help him and putting his arm around him. “We all know that you’re the best cook a ship ever had.”

“I’m not a cook, I’m a chef. ”

“You’re the best chef a ship ever had. Even the French Line never had a chef like you. I want to take care of you. Now let me help you to your bunk. Tomorrow we’ll get this matter of standing watch all straightened out …”

Grumbling alternately in English and German, Cookie allowed Paul to help him to the forecastle. Struggling free, he went to the galley, took a quart of gin from a flour bin, dusted it off, took several swigs, and carried it to the bottom bunk nearest the galley door. Paul helped him to climb in and took off his shoes. Cookie half sat up in an attempt to finish his gin and passed out, leaving the open bottle on his chest. Paul grabbed it before much spilled, took a swig himself, located the cap on a galley counter and put the bottle back in the flour bin.

When Paul emerged onto the brightly lit well deck, the husky officer was still standing as though at attention on the wing of the Nanmak ’s bridge.

“You can put your light off now,” Paul said with irritation, and stopped himself from adding, “Show’s over.”

“Do you mind if I come down and talk to you for a minute?” the officer said. The bright light stayed on.

“If you want,” Paul said.

The officer went into his pilothouse and soon emerged on the well deck of his ship, where he leaned on the rail without coming aboard the Arluk . He had a broad, freckled face and his eyes looked pink.

“You’re a reserve officer, aren’t you?” he said to Paul.