and attacked and burned the oil storage tanks, black smoke and flames billowing into the sky like a volcanic eruption …
He’ll row out to sea like the Dutchman did. Just sit in the lifeboat waiting out there for a real ship to pass like the Dutchman must have, pick him up, give him work, wash dishes, anything, get his life going again just like that! The
Urus
has a lifeboat, and another embarkation deck where another lifeboat should be. Not like they’ll be needing lifeboats anytime soon, no? One afternoon a few weeks after they’d arrived, Capitán Elias suddenly ordered a lifeboat drill. They’d already spent much of that heat-torched day repairing the jammed, rusted winches that cranked the lifeboat davits forward and back over the embarkation deck—and finally succeeded! Seven ordinary seamen, including Esteban, hands, arms, and clothing black with warm lubricating grease,crowded in and sat in the boat waiting like nervously grinning astronauts for it to drop. But el Capitán stood by the release lever just watching, his lids partly lowered over something like contemptuous amazement in his eyes, thin lips pinching a paper clip smirk into his cheek, until an oppressive suspense filled the boat with a weight heavier than water. Capitán Elias, who was usually so polite and even friendly! Suddenly helpless rage had flooded Esteban like waves of nausea before vomiting: in a flash he’d understood that Capitán Elias had only ordered them into the lifeboat because he was frustrated and bored and for some reason had decided it would be amusing to see them sitting there—as if seeing them sitting there like that somehow confirmed some idea he already had about them! But the crew had been excited and eager to test the lifeboat because they were frustrated and bored too, and at least they’d fixed the winches! Capitán Elias then coolly said that that was enough, what did they think, that he was really going to drop the lifeboat? How were they going to bring it back up? Did they want to dive into that steamy muck and swim around, haul it out and carry it back up themselves? And when el Capitán turned away, he laughed, a high-pitched, short yelp of a laugh. They remained sitting in the boat, humiliated and stunned, as if each was privately wondering what he could do to recover his pride
right now
and coming up with nothing. Then, without uttering anything but a few low curses, they climbed out one by one …
Sometimes, when Esteban is alone in the cabin and is sure that Bernardo is busy in the mess or with some other chore, he reaches into his suitcase and pulls out the dirty green sock which by now is his cleanest and most intact sock but which he has sacrificed to the wristwatch he keeps hidden inside—when capitán or primero isn’t there, it’s the only working watch or clock onboard now, the two clocks the crew has left being useless since they have electrical cords attached. It’s a little Mickey Mouse watch, with a red plastic strap, and though it still works, he’s never even adjusted it for the time zones passed through flying to New York. Sometimes he stares at the time as if at a mildly interesting insect wriggling in the palm of his hand. Usually he lies back on his bed andholds the watch to his nose, his lips, the worn-smooth plastic back of this watch, which holds no lingering scent or taste of her though it rode against her skin for however long she owned it before she gave it to him. Just as the time it counts, ticking forward, holds no trace of her either. Often he goes more than a week without taking the watch out and looking at it. Sometimes he just reaches into the suitcase, squeezes the sock, thumbs the hard little shape inside.
Sometimes it drizzles for days at a time, the sky a cold sponge of gloom pressing down on the ship, frigid puddles seeping into their cabins—they miss the warm, sudden downpours of summer falling like hammer blows all over the ship, the thunder and lightning that
He’ll row out to sea like the Dutchman did. Just sit in the lifeboat waiting out there for a real ship to pass like the Dutchman must have, pick him up, give him work, wash dishes, anything, get his life going again just like that! The
Urus
has a lifeboat, and another embarkation deck where another lifeboat should be. Not like they’ll be needing lifeboats anytime soon, no? One afternoon a few weeks after they’d arrived, Capitán Elias suddenly ordered a lifeboat drill. They’d already spent much of that heat-torched day repairing the jammed, rusted winches that cranked the lifeboat davits forward and back over the embarkation deck—and finally succeeded! Seven ordinary seamen, including Esteban, hands, arms, and clothing black with warm lubricating grease,crowded in and sat in the boat waiting like nervously grinning astronauts for it to drop. But el Capitán stood by the release lever just watching, his lids partly lowered over something like contemptuous amazement in his eyes, thin lips pinching a paper clip smirk into his cheek, until an oppressive suspense filled the boat with a weight heavier than water. Capitán Elias, who was usually so polite and even friendly! Suddenly helpless rage had flooded Esteban like waves of nausea before vomiting: in a flash he’d understood that Capitán Elias had only ordered them into the lifeboat because he was frustrated and bored and for some reason had decided it would be amusing to see them sitting there—as if seeing them sitting there like that somehow confirmed some idea he already had about them! But the crew had been excited and eager to test the lifeboat because they were frustrated and bored too, and at least they’d fixed the winches! Capitán Elias then coolly said that that was enough, what did they think, that he was really going to drop the lifeboat? How were they going to bring it back up? Did they want to dive into that steamy muck and swim around, haul it out and carry it back up themselves? And when el Capitán turned away, he laughed, a high-pitched, short yelp of a laugh. They remained sitting in the boat, humiliated and stunned, as if each was privately wondering what he could do to recover his pride
right now
and coming up with nothing. Then, without uttering anything but a few low curses, they climbed out one by one …
Sometimes, when Esteban is alone in the cabin and is sure that Bernardo is busy in the mess or with some other chore, he reaches into his suitcase and pulls out the dirty green sock which by now is his cleanest and most intact sock but which he has sacrificed to the wristwatch he keeps hidden inside—when capitán or primero isn’t there, it’s the only working watch or clock onboard now, the two clocks the crew has left being useless since they have electrical cords attached. It’s a little Mickey Mouse watch, with a red plastic strap, and though it still works, he’s never even adjusted it for the time zones passed through flying to New York. Sometimes he stares at the time as if at a mildly interesting insect wriggling in the palm of his hand. Usually he lies back on his bed andholds the watch to his nose, his lips, the worn-smooth plastic back of this watch, which holds no lingering scent or taste of her though it rode against her skin for however long she owned it before she gave it to him. Just as the time it counts, ticking forward, holds no trace of her either. Often he goes more than a week without taking the watch out and looking at it. Sometimes he just reaches into the suitcase, squeezes the sock, thumbs the hard little shape inside.
Sometimes it drizzles for days at a time, the sky a cold sponge of gloom pressing down on the ship, frigid puddles seeping into their cabins—they miss the warm, sudden downpours of summer falling like hammer blows all over the ship, the thunder and lightning that
Similar Books
