The Triangle and The Mountain: A Bermuda Triangle Adventure (25 page)

He disappeared into his cabin and returned with a watertight
zip lock folder.

“What’s that?” asked Madeleine.

“Ship’s papers,” said Grant.

“You are not inspiring confidence.”

“I don’t want to scare you,” Grant said, “but we have to be
prepared to move very fast should the need arise. A wave like that can fill up
the inside of a boat in seconds if it finds a way to break in.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes.”

“Has it happened?”

“Oh yes. I know about a guy who was drowned in his boat by a
freak wave because it came in by a single hatch that was open. If a hatch or a
skylight gives in, we will have to very quickly decide whether it is worth
bailing with the buckets or whether we grab the emergency beacon and go for the
life raft.”

“I don’t want to be in a life raft in these seas.”

“Neither do I, but we have to be prepared. Why don’t you get
some emergency supplies ready while I keep on pumping? We need a few bottles of
water and some food, like cans of stuff and don’t forget a kitchen knife. The
only other thing we’ll need is the box with the fishing tackle. I’ll grab that
on the way out.”

“I don’t understand. I thought your boat was so strong,”
called Madeleine as she packed items in plastic bags.

“I can promise you that eighty percent of all boats afloat
would have gone to the bottom by now if they were subjected to the same
treatment. There is only so much that any yacht can handle, however strong.
Even this one. Who knows what comes next?”

As if in answer to his question they heard it rumble once
more above the howls that kept it up in the rigging.  Crossing herself was now
part of Madeleine’s routine. She tied up her bags and each one retreated to his
corner to wait what the next few minutes would bring. Thankfully nothing caved
in, although they were subjected to the usual brutality. They silently nodded relief.
Life all of a sudden appeared in an altogether different light. Every second of
it was precious and had to be positively acknowledged.

“There is something I need to ask you,” said Madeleine, as
they once more manned the bilge pump and the hoses.

“I’m not very religious,” said Grant. “I see you are …”

“Catholic. I would not talk about it if we were not in this
situation. Even though we might be dead in the next few minutes, it is still
hard for me to say this, but there is something that happened to me today while
I was steering. I saw people.”

“You saw people?”

“Yes. I saw my parents like I see you and I talked to them
and they talked to me.”

“Oh yes. What about?”

“Just personal things. How much they care for me and so on.”

“Ok, I suppose that is not too weird.”

“Wait for this, and I’ll hurry up before the next wave
comes. I also saw my uncle. My dead uncle who disappeared around here in the
Triangle. We are far inside the Triangle, are we not?”

“Yes, we are.”

“Well, my uncle also talked to me and told me how he missed
seeing me and his family. He spoke about you also. He said he knew about you.
This entire hurricane had only one purpose and that was to drive you into the
Triangle. He said it was such a pity that I was with you because something very
bad was going to happen with you here. My question is this. Do you know
anything about this or was it all just a hallucination? Answer quickly because
I can hear it coming.”

Grant answered as they took their positions. “There is
something,” he said. “Something stupid. And it is not from me. It is from what
I was told on St Martin.”

When they the survived the violence once more, Madeleine
prodded him. “If I’m going to die with you, I want to know. I
need
to
know. Do you understand that? What happened on St Martin?”

“All right. Do you know a chap called John Douglas?”

“Not that I can recall.”

“What about Terence and his mate Jimmy, waiters at the
Bistrot
Caraibes
?”

“No, I’ve never met them.”

“Sure?”

“Sure. Why?”

“Because your story about your uncle and their stories kind
of coincide. What about this woman on the Dutch side who pretends to be a
voodoo priestess?”

“I imagine there are quite a few women like that, but I
wouldn’t know them.”

“Are you really who you say you are?”

“I am. What is your problem?”

“I just find it so hard to believe,” said Grant. “I thought
this was all a conspiracy to make me sell my boat. If it wasn’t that we are
going to be hit by another monster wave right now, I would not have believed
you, I promise you.”

The wave thundered over them, pushed the yacht sideways,
then down but once more the unbelievable happened and they survived.

“I don’t know how much more she can take,” said Grant while
setting up the pump once more.

“I’m not part of any conspiracy,” said Madeleine while
following the ever changing water level with the receiving hose. “Clearly
something else is going on. What did these people do?”

“These people are members of my old crew. They went to this
voodoo woman who told them that there is a curse on me. Anybody who comes with
me into the Triangle will drown. She said I must sell my boat and go home.”

“And you ignored it?

“Of course I ignored it. What stupid nonsense is this? Why
should I sell my boat?” he rasped, short of breath from the exertion.

“Obviously I wish that you had told me this when we met the
first time.”

“Would you have come with me?”

“No.”

“Well, I don’t believe in these things. Why would I have
bothered you with it?”

“Maybe there is something about the combination of you and
your boat. What did this woman look like?”

“Just normal, actually.”

“I think she could have been a Vodun priestess.”

“What is that?”

“A person who communicates with a spirit or spirits.”

“Do you know about these things?”

“A little bit. Everybody on the islands knows a little bit
about it.  Did she say anything about this curse?”

“I asked her and she said it was the Curse of the Mountain.”

“The Curse of the Mountain? What is the name of the mountain
where you have your farm?”

“It’s the Kamberg.”

“Which is also the name of this yacht?”

“Yes.”

“I think you had better tell me everything you know about
this place.”

“What is there to tell? It is a mountain.”

“It must have a history. What have you heard?”

“Nothing. Except what my friend’s mother told me.”

“What was that?”

“Her father was born on that farm. She told us stories that
he told them as kids. Just little stories of magic and things, children’s
stories.”

“Such as?”

“Well, there is the story of this old man who came every
year to look after the flock of sheep on the mountain.”

“What was his name?”

“No, that I can’t remember.”

“What about him?”

“My friend…”

“Whose name is?”

“Otto.”

“Yes?”

“Well, Otto’s grandfather said that he liked to go with this
old shepherd up the mountain, because it was all so interesting. The old man
knew where people had lived long ago. Indigenous people. He showed the boy
where the huts stood and they dug out stone implements. He also knew every
bush, flower and herb. He had an indigenous name for everything and he told
Otto’s grandfather what they could be used for. Some you could eat, some were
good for stomach ache, some for headache and so on and so on. There was a story
about each little plant and according to Otto’s mum her father told them some
of the amusing ones that he could remember. They actually dug up some roots and
cooked them and ate them up there on the mountain. This old man only came in
summer. In September he was there and then he disappeared again in March. Every
year. Over this time he collected a whole number of bags with leaves and roots
and things.”

“And that’s it?”

“I suppose so. Talking about leaf collection, though, there
was one very special place where he always went to collect leaves. It was from
a very old fire-scarred tree that grew at the entrance to a cave at the bottom
of a steep cliff face. He told his young companion that he should never go
there alone. The shepherd told him that the leaves from that old tree had more
power than all other plants together. There was a secret way to extract the
power and only he knew how to do it. The reason he came to the mountain every
year was because of that tree. He also showed the boy loose rocks on the side
of the mountain. These, he said, were graves and that they should not be
disturbed. The shepherd spoke softly and told the boy to answer him softly. He
said that people who disturbed the peace around these graves brought trouble on
themselves. Never, he said, should he hunt and kill an animal on the mountain.
Just then there was an aeroplane flying close by, making a noise. The old man
pointed up at it and said that the pilot was risking his life. Otto’s
grandfather never forgot that and always afterward felt uncomfortable in that
part of the mountain.”

“Have you disturbed these graves?”

“No. I don’t even know what they look like or where they are.”

“You must have done
something
.  Did she say anything
else about the mountain?”

“Otto’s mother? Not really. Just that it was a bad idea to
name my boat after it.”

“Why?”

“Because it was bad luck. Apparently an airline named a
plane after it and it crashed mysteriously. She said it was not a good idea to
name any vessel, sailing or flying, after the mountain but she refused to tell
me why. Old wives tales, you know. The moment you ask for facts none are
forthcoming.”

“Did any of the little planes that buzzed around the
mountain ever crash?”

“Her father said so, yes. Apparently there was this plane
one day that went around and around the mountain and all of a sudden the wings
fell off. Nobody could ever figure out why the wings just fell off. It stayed a
mystery. That is what he told his kids when they were small. I’m not even sure
that it was true.”

“You must have done something up there, Grant. Think! Have
you been hunting?”

“No. I’ve done nothing like that. I love the place. I like
to walk around there, do a bit of rock climbing and a bit of paragliding to get
off again. It’s a beautiful place. I fell under its spell.”

“So it has a spell?”

“Oh yes, it has. Unlike any other place I have ever been
to.”

“Have those two old farm people said anything about the
mountain?”

“Nothing, except to offer me the farm up there. Oh, my
word!”

“You’ve forgotten the old lady’s birthday!”

“Exactly. It was yesterday. Let me get to that computer
straight away so I can send an email.”

Grant was disrupted at the computer when another massive
wall of water dropped onto them with its full weight, but eventually he finished
the job.

“What did you say?” asked Madeleine, once Grant had returned
to his pumping station.

I said ‘
Happy Birthday. Sorry to miss it. Held up by
hurricane. Speak later when it is over
.’”

“Telegram style. Has it gone?”

“Yes, I saw it going. Listen Madeleine, I don’t know what more
to tell you. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too. If this storm is here for you, somebody must
hate you so very much.”

“But why?”

The question hung unanswered in the saloon. Life became a
routine of holding on and pumping when they could. Since speaking to Grant,
Madeleine redoubled her praying. She unashamedly uttered non-stop prayers to
God and several saints and crossed herself with her free hand. Grant kept count
of her saints at first and then lost it. She had many he had never heard of.

As for himself, as he registered blow upon blow he believed
that he could feel it – the murderous intent, ruthless, merciless, aiming for
him. He clung to the table post and harnessed all his mental resources in
opposition to it.  Every time they popped up on the surface, the undying drive
to survive provided the energy for another stint at the pump, even though Grant’s
arms were feeling as if they were falling off. And then the next wave announced
itself.

***

Day five. The breaking sixty foot waves only gave up their
relentless battering after dawn had broken grey though the skylights. It took a
while before they noticed the lengthening amplitude. They measured the distance
between the monsters individually without commenting on it, lest they were
wrong. Gradually, tenuous hope grew stronger.

When he checked the time Grant was surprised to find that it
was already mid-morning. The cloud cover was dense and kept them in
semi-darkness. The rain never stopped and neither did the demented shrieks of
the wind in the rigging. But the barometer was much higher. It showed nine
hundred and ninety millibars, heading for a thousand. They were getting close
to the edge of the hurricane. The wind was backing to the south.  The rearing
monster waves reverted to their forty foot and later thirty foot selves with
loose tops that smashed into them rather than onto them. Only then did they
allow themselves cautious optimism.

“I think we could make it,” pronounced Grant, talking for
both of them.

Still, they pumped. It was mainly the incessant rain that
found a way through many secret and not so secret means, some old and some new,
but it was less than before and they managed to keep the water below floor
level. Everything in the yacht was soaked. The idea of dry clothes belonged to
another universe. The gas cooker was still working and they were able to make
instant coffee and prepare some food, just cereal with warmed-up long-life milk,
nothing elaborate. Neither of them dared to sleep, though, even after the
sparse light disappeared and night came once more. The wind slowed in velocity
to lower hurricane speeds, a hundred and fifty to a hundred and twenty
kilometres per hour. The waves were lower but still violent. They continued to
toss the yacht about as if it was a toy. Picking yourself up from the floor was
simply routine. Falling down seemed to happen more frequently as fatigue
brought with it loss of concentration and coordination. The days melded into
one another. At last, having been at it for thirty six hours, they figured that
they had won the decisive battles in the war. They collapsed in their clothes
and slept.