Then he says, I was wondering. Would you and your wife need an extra hand aboard?
All sorts of alarm bells go off in my head. Can barely hear myself.
When you sail her back, you’ll really need more crew, he says. Beating upwind for days. You can hardly imagine how tiring it is.
That’s really nice of you, Harry, I say. But that’s a ways away. As per our agreement, I’m not due back to Connecticut ’til August. (I remind him.) I get a whole year. There’s places we want to see. Cuba, the DR.
Sure, but you’ve got to come up through the Bahamas long before August. Have you thought of that? Nobody but idiots are sailing through the Bahamas after July. That’s a death wish.
Well, I have until June, then.
That’s around the corner, he says.
It’s only the beginning of April, Harry.
Most people leave the Caribbean in May, he says.
We can’t leave too early either, I say. We’ll get back up to the Intracoastal and it’ll still be cold.
You’re sailing into the wind. That makes the trip longer.
You’re boxing me in, Harry.
I’m keeping you safe.
I thought you wanted me to feel the burden of carrying my own life, I say.
That shuts him up.
Let’s talk about it over dinner, he says. Have you people checked out the Bazurto? We could meet there later and we can have a beer. You can tell me all about the boat. Dinner’s on me.
Here’s what I should have said: We are sailing to Jamaica tomorrow & we don’t want you around. We don’t want to see you & you are creeping me out. Screw off.
Instead, I kick my feet up on the cockpit pedestal.
Sure, I say. I can meet you in the Bazurto. Corner of Fish & Pork there’s a bar. OK, Harry?
Great, he says, tentative now that I’ve made myself available. Righto. See you.
I hang up.
After a couple minutes of staring out at the anchorage, the boats all nosing around in the sunshine, everyone going about their day, I realize I’m angry. People won’t leave you alone. There’s always somebody trying to take the good things you’ve worked hard for. You escape one vampire only to jump into the arms of another.
My dad used to call it “the tyranny of the infirm.” Those who play sick/weak/incapable, just to rope you into serving them at your own personal expense for years of your life.
Harry Borawski. I should push the old fucker into Cartagena Bay. That would shut him up. And I know he can’t swim. He bragged about it. He was like, “Real sailors don’t know how to swim, Mike.” Implying I’m not a real sailor because I swim for fun, rather than saving it up for drowning. Plus, I hate when people call me Mike.
My dad was right. My dad was always right. Tyrants don’t always look like tyrants. Sometimes they look like friendly old guys in baseball caps. Sometimes they look like your mom’s friend’s new boyfriend who wants to take you on drives in the country in his nice clean car and then sticks his fingers inside you and haunts you for the rest of your goddamned life.
I take out some of my anger by drilling eyebolts into ‘Juliet.’
If it’s not one thing then it’s the other.
When will we be allowed to just live?
W/out being undermined.
My beautiful wife pops her head out of the companionway.