One for the Gods (The Peter & Charlie Trilogy) (37 page)

“What difference does it make? I want it.”

“We’ve just started our cruise. We may find houses all over the place. We can’t buy them all.”

“I love it here. Two hundred dollars, for God’s sake.”

Barstowe settled the question by pointing out that the owner was in Athens and the sale could hardly be completed by next morning.

“All right. At the end of the trip. If we haven’t found anything else. Promise?”

“Promise,” Charlie agreed. Barstowe wrote down the owner’s name and address.

A northerly wind was rising, whipping up the sea outside. They swam off rocks. They ate. They slept. They climbed steep steps to have drinks with the English couple and sat on a magnificent terrace overlooking the town and the sea. Peter kept talking about the great pile of masonry on the other side of the port. “The sunset must be glorious from over there,” he said. And, “It’s not as high as this house. Not so much of a climb.”

Charlie was aware that Martha was always at his side. He felt quite differently about her on land than on the boat; she seemed much more a part of real life. From this perspective, he was struck by how completely she had cut herself off from Jack since the start of the trip. All her points of reference were to Charlie. She was making them a couple. He was sure it must be noticeable to everyone. It was very agreeable to turn to this sweet, pretty young woman and find her eyes on him, ready to agree with him, eager to show him off in his best light to anyone they were talking to. The pleasant warmth she stirred in him became at times a surge of genuine desire. If the looks she gave him meant anything, she would probably make him a memorable bed partner.

He and Peter wandered around town after dinner with Will Barstowe and parted from him like old friends and went to bed early. They were up not long after dawn. The northerly wind was already picking up when they went down to the boat.

“Looks as if we’re going to get a blow,” Jack said as they came aboard.

“Yeah. We’ll get the old tub moving,” Charlie agreed with an eager light in his eye. A group of idlers gathered as they pulled in the gangplank and they all smiled and waved back and forth as they motored out of the port. The sea pitched them about as they struggled with the sails. Peter came running aft and helped Charlie trim the sheets as the bow lifted and bit into the sea. They looked back and had one last glimpse of the great amphitheater shining in the morning sun.

“We’ve got to come back here,” Peter said.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it? Maybe we’ll have time at the end.”

The wind grew stronger and rolled up big seas as they progressed. It was on the quarter, which gave them a clear reach to their destination, Mykonos, with a stopover in Siros that night. With all sails set, Charlie and Peter pushed the boat like a racer, heeling over and sending spray flying across the deck. They made good speed. By midday, they were approaching the islands of Kea and Kithnos, which formed a sort of portal to the Cyclades and between which they would pass. They had accomplished a bit better than half the day’s run to Siros. The sea was piling higher, battering them and knocking them over on their side.

“What happens if it gets worse?” Peter asked. He had to raise his voice to carry over the roar of the wind and the crash of sea.

“It’s beginning to kill our way. I’ve been thinking of getting the jib down, but then we’d really stop. The pilot book says there’s a current running against us between these islands. You see those rollers? I wonder.”

“Is it dangerous?”

“Good lord, no. It’s a goddamn bore. This nutty sea. You don’t know what it’s going to do from one minute to the next. You better get the master of the charts.” The land ahead of them was beginning to have an appeal even for Charlie.

Peter scuttled across the deck to the companionway, one knee crooked oddly to compensate for the slant of the deck. Jack appeared with Peter following. They careened into the cockpit.

“We’re going to have a hell of a time getting through here,” Charlie shouted. “Is there any shelter on this side?”

Jack pointed to the southern tip of Kithnos. “It looks good. I didn’t want to butt in. There won’t be any hotels.”

“Don’t let’s get an obsession about hotels. I’m ready to pack it in.” He turned to Peter. “OK, Slugger. Let’s ease the sheets. We’re going to fly. Keep clear, Jack.” Charlie pulled the helm over and they fell off the wind as he and Peter played out the sheets.
Cassandra
rose and raced in a long slide down the slope of a wave. Charlie grappled with the wheel. “Hell and damn. Whenever I give in, I always wish I hadn’t. We probably could’ve battled our way through.”

Peter laughed. “You kill me when you turn into an old salt.”

Martha appeared, looking radiant, and joined them in the cockpit. “We’re going in? I wasn’t frightened. Honestly. I never am with you. But I can’t pretend I enjoyed the last hour. Shall I fix you some food?”

“If you think you can on this roller-coaster. We won’t be in for an hour or more.”

Cassandra
lifted and went scudding down the side of another wave. “This is rather fun after what we’ve been doing. I think I can manage.” She waited for her moment and made a dash for the companionway. Jack was standing in it with a chart, gazing at the coast ahead. Charlie noticed how she seemed to shrink as she squeezed around him to go below. Jack turned and nodded.

“You’re about on it,” he called. “It shouldn’t be difficult to find.”

It wasn’t. They sailed into a deep, wooded, deserted bay, passing in a matter of moments from the wild turbulence outside into still waters. The sudden peace of it was paralyzing. Charlie turned the motor on briefly to get into shallower water. The anchor chain rattled. Silence enfolded them. Charlie stretched to ease his tense muscles and became aware of the nervous hum of cicadas. A good land sound. They all joined in getting the sails down and furled. Peter jumped overboard.

“Ohhh,” he groaned when he surfaced. “It’s bliss. Everybody in.”

“We can still get to Mykonos tomorrow,” Charlie said to Jack. “There’s nothing special about Siros, is there?”

“Not that I know of. We can give it a miss and go right on. It was very sporting of you to put in and not attempt the impossible. It shows consideration for the rest of us, even though you’d like to do it differently. I admire that.”

“Thanks, Jack.” Charlie felt sorry for him. He had become so completely irrelevant. He wondered why he had been so bothered by him at the start. Charlie hung the swimming steps over the side and jumped in after Peter. Martha joined them.

As the afternoon wore on, Charlie began to find the boat cramped and confining. When they were at sea, handling the wheel and the sheets, there seemed to be plenty of room, but now Martha filled every corner of it. It made him restless. He avoided her eye and her touch. There was something explosive in all four of them being crowded together like this. He would have to study their itinerary more closely and make sure that they didn’t leave port unless they were sure they could get to a hotel at the end of the day.

They were off at dawn in a quiet sea, but with a breeze rippling over it that Charlie knew was going to build. By midmorning conditions were the same as they had been the day before, and later, when they had Siros off their starboard beam, their progress had virtually come to a halt in the heavy sea.

Jack was frowning when he came above. “This isn’t much fun,” he said as he fell into the cockpit. “I’m getting bloody bored with this
meltemi
or whatever it’s called.”

Charlie shrugged. “I couldn’t agree with you more. Maybe we’ll never get to Mykonos. Do you want to put in at Siros, after all?”

“I think you made the right decision yesterday. Things are about the same today.”

“You make your point clear,” Charlie laughed. Siros was a big town and there would be hotels. “All right. I’ll put her on a broader reach for another half-hour and then I’ll jibe her over. I want to show Peter how to do it. Come back if you want to see some fun.”

“It doesn’t seem ideal for sailing lessons, but I’m sure you know what you’re doing.” Jack staggered to the companionway and went below.

Peter eased the sheets as Charlie adjusted the helm for a more southerly course. The movement of the boat smoothed. They picked up speed. The town of Siros slowly came into view: two humps on a camel’s back, densely packed with white cubes of houses, stark without majesty. When Charlie judged that they could make the port on a comfortable starboard reach, he squeezed Peter’s knee.

“OK, baby. Let’s do this right. Make sure your lines are clear. That whacking, great boom will be coming at us and swinging over to the other side. When it starts in, take up on the sheet like mad so you control it every second. Once it’s over, you can let the sheet run, but not too fast. Keep control of it, baby. We don’t want to strip Jack’s decks for him.”

Peter saw the light of excitement in Charlie’s eyes and laughed excitedly in response. “Nobody knows how to control a sheet like I do. All set.”

“Right. Let’s go.” He pulled the bow slowly off the wind. The boat pitched and rolled as the sea took her. The mainsail flapped warningly and the boom started its swing. Charlie released the starboard jib sheet and lunged for the one to port and simultaneously shouted, “Now. Get her in fast.”

The boat dipped breathtakingly as Charlie hauled in on the jib sheet and the boom swung in amidships. Peter had the sheet taut as it continued its swing with a crack of blocks, almost yanking Peter off his feet. He played the line off without releasing it. The bow swooped giddily and Charlie wrestled with the wheel to steady her. When they were able to look, Siros was off their starboard bow. They sat back and laughed.

“Wow. That thing’s got a kick in it,” Peter exclaimed. “Was that all right, captain?”

“Just about perfect, mate.”

Jack came above. “I didn’t want to get in your way. It seemed to go very smoothly, considering. I must admit my heart was in my mouth.”

“I almost spat mine out at one point,” Charlie said. “This sure feels like a hell of a lot of boat when you’re doing tricks with it.”

When the time came, they grappled the sails down and motored into a busy commercial port and moored stern-in to a crowded quai. Peter and Charlie decided to have lunch ashore and they left the Kingsleys after promising to check in later. They went reeling down the quai, unable to control their legs after two days of rough seas. They didn’t get far before they were picked up by a smiling young man who reminded them of Costa. He had a taxi. He insisted that they get into it and drove them a block to a citified but charming square with stylishly pruned trees in it. He indicated a hotel of heavy nineteenth-century grandeur. They discussed having a swim as they pulled out money for the short ride. Their driver heard and understood and stretched out a hand to them and pointed at himself and repeated
“bagno”
several times. They gathered he wanted to take them somewhere.

“Ecky fie?”
Peter asked, persuaded that he was speaking Greek. After a moment’s bafflement, the driver grasped his meaning. He beamed as he made gestures at his mouth for eating and patted his stomach. They went in and took a room and returned with their swimming things. They drove up through the town over the saddle between the two humps and down through a pastoral scene of timeless beauty to the other side of the island. The driver accomplished the trip twisted around in his seat addressing his passengers, who understood only snatches of what he was saying. Occasionally he glanced at the road.

He pulled up at a small whitewashed building at the edge of a long, deserted, sandy beach. They all got out of the car and the driver escorted them around under a grape arbor and introduced them to the proprietor and his family. When they offered the driver money, he was able to postpone the ugly moment of payment by indicating that he would come back for them later.

They had a simple meal, under the arbor, of tiny fish they could eat whole and eggs and salad. Small children stared at them and the proprietor shooed them away from time to time. They drank a good deal of retsina and drifted into a state of dazed euphoria unaware that the Greeks had invented the word.

They swam and lay out under the sun and dozed. They drank more retsina and swam again and lay side-by-side on the sand as the sun lowered toward the sea. Peter had been aware of Charlie’s eyes on him insistently all afternoon. It thrilled him to be the prolonged, uninterrupted center of his attention. He felt for his hand and held it. Charlie rolled over against him and propped himself up and kissed him gently on the lips.

“Golly,” Peter murmured into his eyes. “Right out in public. I must be an exhibitionist at heart. I hope the gods are sitting upon Mount Olympus watching us.”

“It’s exciting, isn’t it?” There was a curious melancholy in his voice. He ran a finger over Peter’s lips. “Come on, baby. I suppose we’ve got to get dressed. That crazy taxi will be along any minute.”

They were dropped off at the hotel and they bathed and dressed for the evening. Their driver was waiting for them in the square and they indicated that they would be back. They strolled down to the port to see the Kingsleys. Charlie was struck by how stirred up the water was. All the boats were rolling at their moorings. Men were shouting at each other and hauling on lines. Two sizable fishing boats were on the verge of disaster, hopelessly entangled and crashing against each other while men ran about their decks to no apparent purpose. The sun had dropped behind the humps and a sinister yellowish-gray light bathed the scene. Charlie’s pace quickened and Peter matched it. As they got farther along the quai, the wind hit them with angry force. Ahead of them,
Cassandra
was rolling with the others, her great mast describing a slow arc against the darkening sky. Charlie and Peter hurried down the gangplank and found the Kingsleys forlornly drinking martinis in the cockpit. Martha brightened and rose.