to her in the middle of the night. Look where we are. Look what you have now. All that is over. All that is behind you.
* * *
—
I woke to the sound of the halyard slapping the mast. The berth was dark, the hatches closed. A breeze came down the companionway. Where was I? I felt alone to the point of vanishing. I pressed my hands against the portlights. The black sea rose and fell. I checked my watch. Three-thirty. I peeled off my sweaty tank top and felt my way into the head. There I confronted myself in the harsh light. Lips swollen from crying. A sunspot developing on my left cheek. I brushed my bangs with my fingers. I peed. Splashed water on my face. Sweatshirt. Windbreaker. Harness.
Maybe I’m heartless. Maybe I am literally handicapped.
A man with a heart would never have said those things to her, knowing what she’d been through.
What I don’t know about sailing could fill encyclopedias. But I’m cautious, & I’m handy, & I’m respectful of the sea. I can solve problems, & I can stay calm. I’ve led us this far w/ only a few snafus.
But my wife? W/ her, I’m all thumbs. Juliet is the unreachable waypoint.
* * *
—
It’s very beautiful, you must understand, at night on a boat. When the sky is clear, the moon is as bright as a muted sun. You can read the face of a watch. You can apprehend the expression of a person clear across the boat. The moon flatters the sea. It electrifies the spindrift. It animates the clouds, riming their humped edges white. In its lambency, the clouds mount and tumble. Everything churns so hugely.
In the cockpit, my daughter was sleeping under a blanket, her head resting on her stuffed rabbit. Michael and I watched her, not speaking. The breeze was gentle. It grazed her hair.
Burua, I said.
What? Michael asked.
Burua. That’s the Guna word for “wind.” I just remembered it.
He didn’t say anything. He didn’t comment on the word burua. He didn’t know what to say. And I couldn’t look at him.
Conditions are perfect, he said, after a while. The sea’s really calm. Of course, the swells out here feel giant anyway. Now and again, the wind is a touch shifty.
What does that mean? I said.
Well, sometimes the wind comes around from a new direction. Then the mast starts doing big circles up there. If it comes around, you’ll have to steer more to the sails than to the destination.
Fear coursed through me. What does that mean?
So. The fuller the sails are, the better they will move the boat—
I know that, I said.
OK, he said, hands open. I honestly don’t know what you know.
I know that. You know that I know that.
What I’m saying is, if you want to steer by hand to keep her moving, you can. If we head a little off course during your watch, it’s all right. Just keep her moving. Experiment. Or, if you want to just sit here and stargaze, with the autohelm on, that’s fine too. Your only real job is to look around. Every fifteen minutes, do a scan. If you’re worried, if you see something, come get me. You might not see a thing. But come get me if you see anything funny.
I nodded.
If you figure out the meaning of life, come get me.
I did not smile.
Once you get used to the moonlight, it’s almost as bright as the—
You should get some sleep, I said.
Right. Just an hour or two. That would do it.
He took a step toward me.
Go to sleep, I said. I’ll take the full watch. It’s my turn.
I tried. I tried to hold the hurt with her. But living w/ a depressed person is hard. It’s like being married to the tide.
A depressed person keeps changing. When you leave the room, things are OK, but when you return, she’s