only thing coming from the tower. Out over the water, floating on the breeze, was music from Hector’s blaster. As the water rushed under the hull, the Lucretia seemed to ride not only on the waves but on the music. The Garifuna crew sensed it immediately and began to tap out the rhythm with their hands on the deck, masts, and spars, and I started to sing along with Jimi Hendrix:
Will the wind ever remember
The names it has blown in the past,
And with this crutch, its old age and its wisdom
It whispers, “No, this will be the last.”
The yachties from America joined us in the chorus, and a beat later, the Garifuna descendants of slaves, Indians, and pirates put their own icing on the psychedelic cake. As we all sang “The Wind Cries Mary” repeatedly, we steered down the path laid out by the Mayans, past the markers deposited by Cleopatra, on the guitar riff of Jimi Hendrix, out the cut into deep, deep water.
“Twelve knots,” Mr. Solomon called out.
“Take her through, Mr. Mars. It’s your channel,” Cleopatra commanded.
I was startled, but this was not the time or place to politely decline. It had not been worded as an invitation, but as an order. Sometimes you just have to step up to the plate.
I handed Cleopatra my conch shell and took the wheel.
“Where’d you get this Lister’s conch?” she asked. “I haven’t seen one of these since the last time I was in Calcutta.”
This was not the time for the Johnny Red Dust story as I looked at ninety feet of hauling-ass schooner in front of me, threading its way through a narrow channel lit up by a Mayan calculation that hopefully would guide us through a coral reef. “I’ll tell you later,” I said.
“I take it this is your good-luck charm?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” I answered.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Cleopatra rubbing the shell in her hands. “Well, let’s hope to hell it hasn’t run out of luck. Just watch the bowsprit against the horizon, and use a light hand.”
I did as Cleopatra instructed. The wheel was amazingly light to the touch. The Lucretia knew where she was headed, and I was just along for the ride.
Holding on to the wheel of the Lucretia with the wind on the beam and all the sails aloft, curved and contoured to give us a forward speed of fourteen knots, I now knew why certain astronauts sometimes longed to stay in outer space forever.
Fourteen knots is just a little less than twenty miles an hour. In land terms, that is about the speed you are allowed to travel through a school zone in your car. It does not seem very fast, but at one time, it was as fast as any vehicle on earth traveled.
It seemed like the blink of an eye since Cleopatra had offered me the wheel. The lights in El Castillo had been extinguished by the rays of the rising sun, and the navigator announced that we were less than an hour from dropping anchor in the bay in front of Lost Boys.
My time aboard the Lucretia had not lasted long enough. It had been less than twenty-four hours since I had left Lost Boys, but it seemed as if I had been to the moon and back. Like the astronauts, I did not want to go home, but I knew I had no choice.
I stayed at the wheel as we paralleled the shore, running due south. I gobbled down a scrambled egg sandwich for breakfast with one hand while the other guided the ship. The salt air and the spray from the bow wave cleared my head. Today I was determined that I was not going to think about the loss of Donna Kay but instead appreciate the fun things we had done together. I would not forget our past, but I wouldn’t regret it either. There was a big lesson in all of it for me. I wanted to learn how to be a better communicator and how not to live my life in fear of relationships. I felt optimistic. From the wheel of the Lucretia, the future looked very promising indeed. I felt as if I had shed my victim skin back in that mud puddle only a morning ago and willed my way from the beach to this boat. I smiled the entire time at the idea that I was actually on the boat, not to mention driving it.
But the party