Truth in Advertising Page 0,115

sailor and Aki, in Japanese, and the three of them laugh. He turns to us and says, “I do not mean to be rude, speaking Japanese. I say to them that it is strange that the son of a Japanese shipping empire gets seasick.”

Larry smiles. Swede Walker stares out the window.

Keita leans over to me. “Fin. I do not feel very good. I must lie down.”

He and Aki leave the bridge. I feel awkward, sense that the captain wants me to leave.

I ask Larry how he likes working on a cargo ship.

“Awesome, sir.” He laughs. “Ya know. The people. The quiet. Like, the ocean, right?”

I ask him where he’s from.

“Nova Scotia. So I kind of have to be around the ocean, sir.”

I ask him if he sees himself doing this for a while. He laughs.

“No big plan. Just kind of working my way around the world. Have you seen the aurora borealis?”

I shake my head no.

“You have to see it.”

I envy his easygoing nature, his ease with the unknown future.

The Japanese sailor excuses himself. It’s just Swede Walker and James Taylor now. Swede stands behind a large chair looking at a bank of computer screens, arms folded.

Swede says to the computer monitors, “So what is this shit show?”

Larry says nothing, knows that Swede isn’t talking to him.

I say, “What do you mean?”

I know exactly what he means but I ask to annoy him. He reminds me of my father at his worst, of temperamental bosses who like to instill fear, who operate by intimidation. My reaction to that is always the same; to be intimidated and then to feel profoundly unmanly for feeling intimidated, to feel that I have done something wrong.

He says, “What the hell are we doing out here?”

I say, “My father died. He wanted his ashes scattered here.”

Larry turns, surprised, and says, “Did you consider a smaller boat, sir? There are fishing charters.”

Swede is looking at me—the disgust palpable—but turns back now, looking ahead, out the window. He says, under his breath but clearly audible, “Un-fucking-believable. If you’re rich enough you get to do anything.”

My stomach tightens and I turn to leave. He’s someone who thrives on confrontation and anger. But I don’t leave. Instead I stop, turn back around, and say, “He wasn’t rich.” It’s the way I say it. You know nothing. Go to hell.

Swede, excitement in his voice now. He turns and stares at me. “What did you say?” He’s looking for a fight. And he’s much better at intimidation than I am.

But I’m not backing down. Not today.

“I said he wasn’t rich. And you don’t know what you’re talking about, pal.”

“Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to? This is my ship and—”

I don’t know where the anger comes from, on those rare occasions when it does come. I have always been afraid of anger, seen it as a weakness, a fault. I saw so much of it in my father, in Eddie, saw the result. I have tried to pretend it didn’t exist in me. But all that has done is bury it deep, letting it fester over time, until it erupts in strange, unexpected ways. I cut him off at the knees.

I say, “Fuck you. It’s not your ship. It’s Keita Nagori’s father’s ship. And I needed a favor. And I have no idea what I’ve done to ruin your day, but my guess is most of your days are ruined by someone. So I don’t know what your fucking problem is with me, but I don’t have time for it today. And don’t assume you know anything about me or my father.”

It’s the last line that surprises me. I feel drained and tired, as I always do after it happens. I looked it up once. The body releases adrenaline. A turbo charge, then a crash.

He looks at me and I think he’s going to come over and kick my teeth down my throat.

I say, “And he wasn’t rich. He was a cop. He was in submarines in World War Two. His sub was here. The day the war ended. He was here.”

He stares at me. “Your old man was in subs?”

I just stare, eager to leave because for some reason I suddenly feel like crying.

I’m waiting for the line but it doesn’t come. He just looks at me. Then he says, “You ever been in a World War Two sub?”

I shake my head.

He says, “I have. Took a tour at Groton. Wouldn’t wish it on anyone.”

No one says anything