Long Voyage Back

  And finally the other thing that made her feel out of place in Charlotte-Amalie was the absence of Neil. With him staying so often on the boat or off on other people's boats she had no heart for the land. Neil was a major part of any new home, and if he were rejecting St Thomas then she must too.

  And so, after six days, she felt herself back where she had been on day one: on a ship without sufficient food to leave and without sufficient food to stay; unable to live with the man she loved because it would destroy the family that was her new world. And her children, whom she had vowed to save, to whom she felt she wanted to dedicate her life, grew steadily thinner, and Lisa steadily more remote. The climax came one afternoon when Lisa was preparing to go ashore with Jim to visit their Park Square friends. She confronted Lisa down in their cabin as Lisa was changing from the wet clothes she'd worn earlier seining for bait along the shore with Olly, Jim and Tony.

  `Lisa, sweetheart,' Jeanne said to her. 'I hardly see you these days. What do you do in the city every day?'

  `We don't do anything, Mother,' Lisa answered, slipping out of her one-piece suit and into panties and shorts. As she did Jeanne noticed that Lisa seemed to be trying to show that she was unaffected by her own nakedness, not hiding her breasts as she'd done for most of the last two years.

  `For seven-or eight hours?' Jeanne asked, regretting her accusatory tone.

  `There's not much to do, you know,' Lisa replied, not looking at her mother. 'This isn't exactly Washington.'

  Ì know, I know,' Jeanne said, trying to get away from the confrontational mood. 'What do you talk about?'

  `Lots of things,' Lisa answered, pulling a blouse over her head. She no longer wore a bra, partly because the only one she'd had with her was worn out.

  `But what are some of them, sweetheart?' Jeanne persisted. Ì'm interested in your life, remember?'

  Òh, Mother,' Lisa said with a sigh. 'It's hard to tell you. About lots of things. The way you adults messed up the world. About how to scrounge for food. About what we want to do with our lives.'

  `How do most of your friends manage to get food?' Jeanne asked, handing Lisa the brush she knew she was glancing around for.

  `Some of them fish,' Lisa answered, beginning to brush her hair. 'Garbage cans outside rich white people's homes. A few go house-to-house begging.'

  `Your friends beg?' Jeanne asked.

  `Certainly, Mother,' Lisa snapped back. 'There are no jobs and no food. What do you expect?'

  `Don't their parents manage to provide food?' `Sometimes,' said Lisa. 'But most of us want to be independent of our parents.'

  `By begging?'

  Ìt's better than blowing the world apart.'

  Ì don't see how parents here are responsible for the war,' Jeanne responded, feeling annoyed with Lisa's self-righteousness.

  `Some of them are white, Mother,' Lisa said, as if that explained it. 'And Robby says all whites started it with their super-rationality.'

  Àh,' said Jeanne, knowing she was too annoyed to enter reasonably into an abstract discussion. 'I see.'

  `That's why music is so important,' said Lisa.

  `Yes . . said Jeanne, standing uncertainly in front of Lisa, who was ready to leave. 'Tell me, sweetheart, is Jim your lover now?'

  Lisa, who was about to escape, stopped, her eyes on the floor. In front of Jeanne she slowly raised her eyes and faced her. 'Yes, Mother,' she answered quietly, without defiance or apology.

  Jeanne, who'd been holding her breath, let out a sigh. see.' `You and Neil . . .' Lisa began. Ìt's all right, honey,' Jeanne said, biting her lip and averting her face to look out the window. 'I . . . Jim . . . Jim is ... a fine man.'

  Ì love him, Mother,' Lisa said in a low, uncertain voice.

  Ì know, honey,' Jeanne said and went forward and hugged Lisa to her. 'I know.' They held each other for half a minute until Jim's voice called Lisa from the dinghy alongside Vagabond.

  Tut Lisa,' Jeanne said releasing her daughter but blocking her path. 'I don't want you abandoning the boat. Stay here. Make love here if you must.'

  It's not that,' she said, and, inexplicably to Jeanne, she became irritable again. 'You don't understand. There's no life for us on the boat. Nothing but more of the violence that Neil and Frank seem to believe in. Some of the people in Amalie are different, and Jim and I are interested in finding a better world.'

  Jeanne felt herself stiffen again at Lisa's oversimplified

  rejections and a frightened sadness at her daughter's need to escape from the boat and the adults on it. Their world was falling apart. Tut, honey . . .' she began. Ì'm going,' Lisa announced and brushed past Jeanne and left the cabin. Jeanne followed and as Lisa climbed down into the dinghy she wanted to call her back or issue some warning, but couldn't articulate even to herself what she feared. 'Lisa,' she called down to her. 'I . . . I want you to find a better world, but ... just he certain it is a better world.'

  For a moment Lisa pretended to busy herself with helping Jim get an oar in the oarlock, but then she looked up at her mother defiantly. 'It can't be any worse than the one that's sent us here to starve to death,' she said.

  Jeanne, feeling she had nothing better to offer Lisa, could only look down in shocked silence. Jim, smiling up at her awkwardly, shoved off and slowly rowed Lisa away. For Neil, after a week on St Thomas, land was again enemy territory. After their first few days anchored in the harbour he let any or all of the others go ashore to try to find food or a house or whatever it was they thought they wanted. He believed that each of them would soon conclude the hopelessness of finding here a haven. Every time he left Vagabond he was ill-at-ease, constantly looking back at the water towards the white trihulled form of his ship, his home. Except when he was with Jeanne; together they carried home with them.

  The idea of settling on St Thomas was against his instincts. He feared Vagabond's being pirated; feared the plague; feared putting himself under a governmental authority that itself was little better than piracy. His reaction to the appalling conditions on St Thomas was ambivalent. While he sympathized with the native islanders and resented the rich whites flying or sailing off to other havens, he knew full well he was one of the lucky ones who had a vehicle to flee with and knew he'd be happy to use it. Indeed, was constantly scheming to be able to use it.

  Yet that alternative, all the alternatives, were, as always, heartbreaking. Somehow, some way they had to get in sufficient food for a voyage even longer than the one they had just completed. Somehow, some way they had to obtain more weapons to protect themselves against pirates and eventually, Neil speculated, against foreign navies and air forces. Somehow, some way they had to find a place on the planet where they could feed themselves and be free of the great leaning grey weight of the nuclear holocaust. Somehow, some way. It was life.

  He talked with as many sailors as he could and although many said they wanted to flee, all were as stuck as he. The only difference was that many of them had lost confidence in themselves or in their boat and were waiting, waiting, stuck in their own stuckness. Philip and Sheila Wellington were exceptions. They were determined to get away, and since their thirty-foot catamaran's mast was cracked they were trying to work out a deal with a man named Oscar White who owned an old fifty-five-foot sloop but had little skill or experience at sailing. Philip had become increasingly edgy over the week Neil had known him; he was convinced that St Thomas was about to explode and that they had to get away.

  On their eighth day on St Thomas Neil met Philip again, this time on Oscar's sloop, Scorpio. The ship was an old racing boat, once queenly, now old and unmaintained, still solid it seemed to Neil, but with much gear in need of repair and all its varnish and bright work needing attention.

  The three sat in the huge airy open cockpit in front of the beautiful mahogany wheel, alone polished and gleaming. Oscar was an intense, smallish man in his thirties, with wild long blond hair, a big handlebar moustache and narrow blue eyes. A former real estate broker he had left his job, wife and
family for a fling in the Caribbean on a cheap yacht he planned to fix up and sail off into the sunset. The war had interrupted his idyll after less than two months.

  His crew consisted of two young men who'd latched on to him in Fort Lauderdale. Gregg and Arnie were both wiry young men, much more laid back than Oscar, and apparently happy to go along with whatever he decided. They were also friends of Jim, Lisa and Katya. There were usually two or three young women aboard Scorpio but none showed up for the conference, nor did Gregg and Arnie, content to remain fishing off Scorpio's stern.

  Philip and Oscar sat on one side of the cockpit and Neil on the other. Ìt's no use, Neil,' Philip said as each of the three sat holding a tall glass of water as they once would have held gin and tonics. 'There's no non-violent way to do it. Believe me, I'

  ve tried.'

  Neil stared gloomily at his drink of water. Philip was one of the few men he'd met who saw the situation since the war as he did: a struggle to the finish for individual survival. Or rather group survival, for Neil was committed not simply to himself but to Jeanne and to all who sailed on Vagabond, and now, although the commitment was unspoken, indeed perhaps unconscious, he was committed too to Philip and Sheila. 'But much as he liked Philip he was less enthusiastic about getting involved with Oscar and Scorpio, although if Philip were to become Scorpio's captain he would go along.

  `So what dishonest ways are there?' Neil replied. 'I haven't seen much on St Thomas worth stealing.'

  Ì've been thinking about our situation a great deal,' said Philip. 'As Samuel Johnson said, the prospect of hanging concentrates one's mind wonderfully.'

  Ànd?' asked Neil.

  `Both of us have two basic necessities: a large supply of food for a long voyage and weapons and ammunition,' said Philip. `Without these two there's not much hope in setting out.'

  'Especially food,' said Oscar. 'We're already starving.'

  'Weapons as well,' said Philip, flushing slightly but continuing to address Neil opposite him. 'To get south we're going to have to run the gauntlet: the twenty or so islands of the Antilles, each of them having a pirate ship or two operating out of them.'

  'How can you know that?' Oscar asked.

  I've been listening to the shortwave for a month. I've witnessed ships arriving stripped of everything but one sail. I've heard Maydays from vessels under attack. I haven't remained here because I'm afraid of the sea or of starving. I'm afraid of the land, of the men who come from it.'

  All right,' said Neil, 'but where in God's name can we get

  weapons? I thought you told me there wasn't even a black market for them.'

  `We get weapons, old boy,' said Philip, brightening as if at last he'd come to what he wanted to talk about, 'from the pirates.'

  Neil examined Philip's glowing face.

  `How?' he asked simply.

  Ì've discovered one of the pirate ships,' he answered, becoming serious again. 'It's a forty-two-foot Hatteras docked at Martin's Marina. Knowing what ships have been hit and when, and where Mollycoddle was at the time, I figured it out. That plus rumours in town and the unexplained wealth of her captain and crew.'

  `Mollycoddle?' asked Neil.

  Tit of a larky name for a pirate ship, what? Yet Forester and the others, with no assets other than that ship, never lack for petrol, food, liquor or barter goods necessary to buy women. They live like kings in a large estate they've taken over outside the city. Their sudden prosperity has only occurred since the war began, since the breakdown of government has made piracy almost a risk-free crime.'

  `You plan to get weapons from them?' Oscar broke in.

  `Precisely. We'll hit their ship,' Philip replied.

  Ìs this Forester - Michael Forester? An Englishman?' Ì believe so.'

  `Jesus Christ, count me out. That guy and his gang are killers. I mean they've shot people on the streets of Charlotte-Amalie and no one does a thing. Even the blacks are afraid of them.'

  can understand your concern,' said Philip, flushing, 'but when you hear my plan perhaps you'll change your mind.' `You plan to raid their ship?' Oscar persisted.

  `Yes.'

  `They'll outgun us three to one,' said Oscar.

  `Not when there's only one or two men aboard.' `When is that?' asked Neil. Èvery night that the-ship's in port,' said Philip, again looking at Neil. 'They live on their estate. They always leave a guard on the Mollycoddle, often two, I think, but I don't consider one or two overconfident guards an insurmountable obstacle.'

  `Do they have radio contact with the estate?' asked Neil. Ì believe they probably do, yes, in fact,' agreed Philip. `You think they keep their weapons aboard?'

  `Some certainly,' said Philip. 'Some on the estate. But the ship will be much easier to hit.'

  'Food?'

  Ì'm sure the Mollycoddle is kept well-stocked.'

  `You steal the ship's weapons and food and then what?' `We sail off into the sunset!' said Philip triumphantly. Neil frowned, considering.

  `You're crazy,' said Oscar. 'There'll be a dozen well-armed pirates with a twenty-twoknot Hatteras chasing us to give us a cheery goodbye.'

  'We scuttle the Hatteras,' said Philip confidently. `They have other boats,' suggested Oscar.

  `They're not certain who hit them,' countered Philip. Oscar shrugged, scowling.

  `Let's hope so,' said Neil.

  Àlso, we are now two ships, both armed to the teeth, sailing side by side. A rather undelectable target.'

  `Not when someone's mad,' said Oscar.

  `True,' said Philip, flushing, 'There are risks involved in piracy. my boy.'

  Philip was looking at Neil, his face glowing with excitement, while Neil watched the two young crew men aft become agitated as one of them reeled in a fish. Its too dangerous,' said Oscar.

  'There are risks to piracy,' Philip repeated, looking at Neil,

  'but not as many as in being the victims of pirates.'

  'Screw it,' said Oscar. 'Those guys won't bother me. I

  haven't got anything worth attacking.'

  Grimacing, Philip continued to look at Neil. 'I'm depending on you to iron out the military wrinkles in my little plan,' he said to him. but point the way.'

  Àny particular time-frame?' Neil asked after a silence.

  WI, yes, that,' said Philip, suddenly frowning. 'I'm afraid we may decide there's a bit of a rush. Three things. First - I heard a rumour today - just a rumour so far - that quite a few cases of that plague have appeared right here in the city.' Neil stared at him in dismay.

  `Not too pretty,' Philip went on. 'Secondly, let's face it, we're none of us getting any fatter. Our larders are already bare. I believe we should strike as soon as we can.'

  Neil nodded. 'And the third thing?' he asked.

  `The luxury cruise ship, the Norway, is scheduled to arrive here later this afternoon.'

  `My God,' said Oscar. 'How do you know?'

  `Fred Turner on the Spright told me an hour ago. The Norway had been hung up in Santo Domingo since the war began but the US Navy has given her a huge supply of diesel fuel from its supply on Vieques, and the Norway is now carrying about 500 Navy personnel.'

  `What's it doing here?' Oscar asked.

  `Well .. that we can only surmise. But clearly it will be taking on passengers. The sight of more rich people sailing off on a lovely white cruise ship is not likely to be greeted with enthusiasm.'

  `Maybe we could get aboard?' suggested Oscar. Neither Neil nor Philip commented. Ìt would be a lot safer than messing with Michael Forester,' Oscar persisted. Ì wouldn't count on it,' said Philip.

  `Well, all I know is that if it's a choice of starving or warring with pirates, I'll choose starving,' said Oscar, standing up.

  Ì understand, Oscar,' said Philip. 'I respect your decision. But . . . if things work out, do you still want me to assume command of Scorpio?'

  `You get me food and guns, Buddy, and you can sail Scorpio for the rest of your life.'

  `Good,' said Philip.

/>   Oscar wandered aft to check on the fishing.

  `Well, Neil?' inquired Philip, leaning forward.

  Neil shrugged, then smiled and raised his now empty glass. Ì'd like to see both the Mollycoddle and their estate,' he said. Ìs that possible?'

  Òh, absolutely,' said Philip, grinning and standing up quickly with surprising grace for such a bulky man. 'Sheila spent the morning casing the estate, and the Mollycoddle is moored at Martin's Marina. We've borrowed three bikes for the occasion.' Philip was grinning triumphantly.

  `Rather sure of me, weren't you?'

  `You're a sailor, Neil. This hunk of filth called St Thomas could no more hold you than a cinderblock could hold Vagabond at anchor.'

  `You think I'll drag out to sea, do you?' asked Neil, smiling and standing.

  `Drag, old boy?' said Philip, coming forward to clap Neil on the shoulder. `No, sir. You'll fly.'

  `From the sound of your plan,' he said, 'I'd better.'

  That night Neil explained to Frank, Jeanne, Tony and Macklin the plans he and Phil were developing for raiding the Mollycoddle for food and weapons. Although Macklin indicated approval, Tony, irritable, found half a dozen weaknesses in the plans. Frank, looking fatigued, simply didn't feel the possible gains justified the risks. After Tony and Macklin had gone down to the main cabin to prepare a small meal for themselves, Neil continued to pressure Frank.

  `No, Neil,' Frank said, 'I just can't see it. Someone would get killed. Your whole plan scares me.'

  `Frank, we've got to leave,' Neil insisted. 'There's nothing for us here. St Thomas is close to exploding. Hundreds of people will leave on the .Norway .

  `There's St Croix, there's Puerto Rico . .

  `Don't bullshit yourself!' Neil exploded. 'In these islands there's only chaos, revolution, starvation, madness and war. That's all we've found, that's all there is. It'll only get worse.

  '

  Ànd you think pirating another man's ship will improve things!'

  Ì want all of us to survive. And without food and weapons we won't make it.'