Get rid of me, he said. I’m a corpse. Throw me overboard. Just don’t sink the boat. Please don’t sink the boat.
Why not? Is it because of money? Your debt to Harry? Your stupid Ponzi scheme?
It has nothing to do with that! he cried. Just don’t sink the boat. I couldn’t take knowing. Keep it for yourself! I don’t care—I’ll be dead.
I put my hands to my ears and groaned. I can’t believe I’m having this debate with a man who is hallucinating.
I’m not hallucinating!
He’s not hallucinating, says the well-dressed man sitting on the settee.
Holy crap, I say. It’s you.
* * *
—
What did you say?
Nothing.
You’re not in your right mind, Michael.
He turned away in frustration. I could see the rash on the back of his neck. When he faced me again, he looked almost like himself, the Michael I knew, but his face was swollen and pinched with pain.
You said you would not give up, he said. Do you remember? In the Plaza de Domingo? You said, I don’t want to give up.
We both stood looking at each other.
On the countertop, the phone rang. Its screen illuminated both of our faces in the dark cabin.
Hello?
Captain? This is Jones on Magpie. The crew and I were just talking. There is one more thing, another option. We wanted to share it with you.
Please.
Speaker, whispered Michael, flapping his hands. Speaker.
I’m putting you on speaker, I said.
You could call a private boat in Kingston, Jones explained. A powerboat. You could hire this boat on your own. It would get to you quickly. A powerboat can cover a hundred miles in a fraction of the time a sailboat can. It could travel thirty or forty knots. Instead of your five or six.
Michael looked at me with encouragement, eyebrows raised.
You could even hire a Jamaican doctor to be on the boat, Jones continued. And your mother-in-law could come. We can’t be responsible for any of those people, but that is not to say you can’t do it on your own. You could, in effect, organize your own rescue.
How would I find this charter boat? I asked.
There are dozens of sportfishing outfits in Kingston. Very nice boats. With refrigeration, television. Comfortable. We’re getting you some numbers. But you could also have your mother-in-law assist in chartering one, since she’s ashore.
Would the powerboat take the children? I asked.
It’s up to you. You’re looking at better weather to Kingston. You don’t have far to go. But you know how it is out here….It’s up to you.
I looked at Michael.
All this to save a boat? I asked him.
It’s not “a boat,” he said.
OK, stop trying to explain what you mean, I said.
We have some phone numbers for you, Jones said.
* * *
—
The night deepened, dark as a well, and time fell into it. I remember only the feeling of sheer, mindless effort, as if the boat were already in shards and the concerns of hunger or sleep were second to survival. I stayed on deck all night—there was no questioning this—but I was not “on watch” in the sense that I was scanning for another vessel. I was on watch for a hint of dawn light, for a basic narrative ending. Bits of sleep and stupor were interrupted every hour or so by the ringing of the SAT phone, as Michael’s mother, Beth, updated me on the status of our powerboat rescue. I apologized for keeping her up all night, but she said she couldn’t sleep anyway. Around three a.m. she called with the name of the sportfishing company. They would leave at first light. I remember the mechanically calm sound of my voice as I tried to reassure her; I must have sounded insane. But she was the clearheaded one, and she did not want assurance. I was surprised and relieved