Red Sea by Diane Tullson Page B

draining the water. And no power is no good.” I grunt as I hurl the water out into the cockpit where it drains away. “So I’ll bail.” I fill another pail. And another. The work mesmerizes me. The pain in my arms and shoulders gives me something to bite into. Pail after pail after pail of water goes overboard. I stop to rest and I hear it.
    Something is bumping against the hull. Thump. Bump. Bump. Thump. Bump. Bump.
    I bail. It erases the noise. But when I can no longer hoist the pail, then I stop. And I hear it.
    â€œYou know what that is, don’t you?” I go over and nudge my mother.
“Don’t You?”
    I cover my ears, but I feel it if I don’t hear it. Thump. Bump. Bump.
    I clear the companionway in two steps.
“I know it’s you!”
I scream at the sea behind the boat.
“You’re dead. D. E. A. D. Leave me alone!”
    Thump. Bump. Bump.
    I lean over the stern rail.
“Don’t do this to me.”
In the rising sun, the sea is grayish green, the breaking waves are gone, leaving behind deep smooth troughs between ten-foot swells. His shape is yellow, a watery yellow in the green of the sea, just below the surface. His hood hangs forward, the arms waft out to the side. But Duncan wasn’t wearing his yellow jacket, so it can’t be Duncan. I must have thrown his jacket overboard. Other stuff I’ve tossed overboard lingers in the waves. There’s the lasagna container, bobbing empty now, and a tin in which we keep saltines. The empty yellow jacket sleeves undulate. Theymotion to me. The reflective tape on the jacket flashes in the new sun.
    Thump. Bump. Bump.
    â€œYou’re free now.” I wave my arms at the jacket. “Ashes to ashes.” With a suddenness that makes me gasp, the yellow of the jacket disappears below the surface. “Duncan!” I search the water and maybe there is one final small flash of light, but maybe I just want it so I see it. He was never there. Duncan was never, ever, there.

EIGHT
    â€œI F YOU THINK ,” I HURL a bucket of water out of the cabin into the cockpit where it drains away, “that this changes anything,” I refill the bucket, “then you’re crazy.” My arms are burning with the effort of hoisting bucket after bucket of water. “I have enough to do, thank you very much.”
    I know she can’t hear me. Even if she could, what’s she going to do? Jump out of her bed and rescue us? Still, I talk to her. It fills the emptiness. “Yes, we have the radio. But the radio battery is low. Low, low, low.” My pail scrapes against the floor as I bail. I’ve got almost all of the water out of the boat. “And who knows where the charging unit is. Maybeone of the pirates is putting it on his mantle right now, like a trophy.” I hoist the bucket out. “We have to get closer to our friends, closer to anyone, before we call for help.” No one is hearing us where we are. No one except the pirates. I quickly squelch that image. “So if you just want to lay there, fine. But don’t expect me to keep you company. It’s that simple.”
    I remove the last of the water with a mop. At least I can see the floor again. The boat still looks like hell. I’ve managed to cram everything back into place, but it reminds me of cleaning up the house after a party when nothing looks quite like it did before. I found an opened package of cookies that escaped the water, and I take these and the milk carton and sit on the bench beside my mother.
    â€œYum. Hobnobs. You love these cookies.” I break a bit of the cookie into my mouth. The buttery sweetness makes my mouth water. Even the milk tastes good, and normally I hate Tetra Pak milk. UHT , ugly horrible taste, but it lasts forever. I eat the cookie, then pry another from the pack. “I’ll try to save some for you.”
    I lean back so that I can see her face. The cookie snaps in my