Timothy of the Cay (15 page)

Instantly, four high-powered binoculars were focused on the dim outlines of a ship.

"She's not too big," said the watch officer, ordering speed decreased. Then he summoned the commanding officer from his bunk below.

In a few minutes the young
Kapitänleutnant
came up through the conning tower in his shorts and took a look, agreeing that the target was not as large as he would have liked. But his patrol had already been very successful. He'd killed ten Allied ships, the last one a big tanker seven hours ago.

Low on fuel and food, he was headed home to the U-boat's base in Nazi-occupied Lorient, France, and had two greased torpedoes left in the bow tubes. Scanning the outlines of the ship, he decided to save one for the future and use one for this unexpected target. He sent the boat to battle condition. Ringing bells rudely awakened those who were asleep below. Half-naked men ran to their stations throughout the slim hull.

The First Officer always fired the torpedoes when the U-boat was surfaced, as it was now, and he was on the bridge within three minutes, yawning and rubbing his eyes.

The
Kapitänleutnant
said, "We take what we can get," almost apologizing for the size of the target. "Just use one. We can come in closer." The night would hide the submarine. Many of the Allied ships were still unarmed.

The U-boat began to maneuver to get into proper firing position.

***

At two o'clock Timothy had been relieved of bridge duties to go astern and spend the rest of the watch on the
Hato's
fantail, on lookout. He'd steered for an hour, then stood bridge lookout for another hour.

He went by the galley to fix a cup of hot coffee and take it out on the stern. Because of wartime conditions and the U-boat menace, the captain had ordered nighttime lookouts fore and aft.

Timothy didn't mind the graveyard watch from twelve to four because he didn't sleep all that much, anyway. Old age, again. He spent the time slowly pacing, watching the stars when the sky was clear, watching the flying fish spring out of the sea and glide away on the ship's passage.

The little ship was blacked out and everyone aboard was asleep, except those on watch. Timothy hadn't counted the passengers but thought there were seven or eight aboard. The
Hato
would discharge most of them in Panama. He'd heard several would go on to Miami, the ship's next port of call.

Timothy was glad to be back at sea, even if he wasn't on a sailing ship. The diesel engines in this one pounded, and the exhaust, swooping down from her stack, stank. But he felt the sea under his feet and by moving forward a few feet he could avoid the exhaust smell. It was good to be a sailor again.

Though it had been fourteen years since the
Hettie Redd
rolled over and came apart in the wild seas between Antigua and Nevis, seldom a week had gone by that he hadn't thought of Jennifer Rankin and the other passengers who'd drowned out there.

There'd been a British board of inquiry at Antigua, the members concluding that Captain Timothy Gumbs had not been advised that a hurricane was approaching. No warning had been issued by the port authorities. Therefore, he was not responsible for the sinking of the
Hettie Redd.
The hurricane was a weather condition over which Captain Gumbs had no control.

But Timothy clearly knew he shouldn't have sailed that day. The glassy look of the sea, the heat, the smell of the air, the gathering clouds, all told him he shouldn't sail. He'd gambled and lost.

On nights such as this one, he thought of beautiful Jennifer Rankin, grieved for those who had died, and asked to be forgiven.

***

The U-boat's First Officer shouted that the forward starboard torpedo tube was ready, bow cap off. It was wet, and the torpedo needed only the impulse from the bridge to be unleashed.

"Bridge control," said the First.

The attack sight, the target bearing transmitter, was on, the
Hato
in the center of the crosswires, aimed just aft of the midship house.

"Lined up," said the First.

The
Kapitänleutnant
nodded. Everything was going well. He knew that within a few seconds the attack table would be connected with the gyrocompass and the attack sight. After that, it was almost automatic. So long as the crosswires of the attack sight held the target, the apparatus would do its job.

The torpedo was set at a running depth of twelve feet, to tear out the target's bottom. Speed of thirty knots.

"Stand by for surface fire. Fire at five hundred meters..."

The order was acknowledged from below. "Tube One ready..."

The
Kapitänleutnant
said, "Fire when ready..."

The First Officer intoned, "Ready, on, on, on..." Finally, he said, "FIRE!"

The firing button was pushed, the torpedo motor started, and two seconds later the "eel" was on its way toward the
Hato.

The
Kapitänleutnant
looked at his stopwatch and counted aloud. An orange ball lit the dark sea, followed by a
boom.

"
Perfekt,
" he said.

***

Timothy was thrown to the deck by the explosion that drove the
Hato
sideways, and even before he could stagger up, the oil drums on the afterdeck were exploding, lighting the night with fire. A wall of it raged between where he was and the bridge. He heard yells and screams, and the agony of shearing steel.

He hesitated a moment, trying to think how he could get around the wall of fire and help those people midships. He knew they'd try to launch a lifeboat. But the flames grew hotter and higher. Abandon ship was all he could do.

The starboard stern life raft, sitting on a wooden incline, poised to drop into the sea, had already been launched by the impact of the torpedo. In the red light that surrounded the ship he saw it about fifty feet off the stern, and he climbed up on the after rail, diving down.

Surfacing, he swam toward the raft.

Our first stop, Isla de Providencia (13° 21' north latitude, 81° 22' longitude west), together with Isla Santa Catalina, rose silently as we approached, shaped like a sweet potato about ten miles long and three wide, taking in several cays, one of which was palm covered. Low mountains were on both islands.

Under a hot noon sun we soon anchored in Catalina Harbor, where the water was so clear you could see crabs crawling on the white-sand bottom. Bright-colored fish swam by. Nearby were a half dozen sea-worn turtle schooners. No one aboard them.

Looking around, my father said, "I don't believe this. We have to be at the edge of the world." I felt the same.

We'd gone to a strange place that few people knew of, a place so remote that its owner, Colombia, cared little about its existence. Neither did any other nation. It was just a tiny blue shape on a nautical chart. Two flashing lights marked it.

Several hundred yards away, on the beach, was streetless Isabel Village, a collection of weather-beaten shacks where the turtle fishers lived. There was little sign of life as we paddled ashore in our rubber dinghy. But life did exist there, thirty or forty grizzled fishermen.

The brown and black men of Isabel cackled and shook their heads when my father said we wanted to go to the Devil's Mouth. "Why go dere?" they asked.

"Dass right, why go dere?" they said. "Dom cays not wort de time 'n trubble..."

"Take some pictures," my father said.

The men cackled again. "Take pitchers cays 'roun' ere." Palm, Basalt, Low.

"Take Split Hill, Morgan Head, Alligator Point."

"Dass right."

It was not until my father said we'd pay for a guide that several became interested. Then coins were flipped.

***

Two days later, I stood on the bow of the
Audaz Adventurero
as it sailed northeast from Providencia. The weather hadn't changed, still sunny and warm. A few high white clouds were to the west over Nicaragua, just enough breeze to belly-out the mainsail and jib. The sea was indigo, five or six shades darker than the sky's blue. A beautiful day in the tropics. War was not talked of or thought about.

White-haired Egaltine Evermond, the turtle fisher we'd hired, stood with the tiller between his knees, silently looking out from beneath his battered straw hat. My father sat beside him. Captain Evermond was taking us to Boca de Diablo, the Devil's Mouth. He didn't know why he was taking us. He didn't care. Fifty dollars and a bottle of rum were what brought him there.

Caribbean sun had turned his wrinkled blackness into chocolate. He was a small man, missing most of his teeth; we'd guessed he was in his sixties. But his eyes were fish-hawk sharp. He said he'd been netting green turtles since he was big enough to climb into a "cotboat." He was from Grand Cayman Island, to the northeast.

By midmorning I knew we were getting near the horseshoe of coral that harbored Timothy's cay. I didn't know how I knew it. I just felt it, the way you feel the neighborhood in which you live.

About forty minutes later, Captain Evermond said, "Boca de Diablo," and nodded ahead. We were coming in from the east, the same way the raft had drifted.

Taking off my glasses, I put the binoculars to my eyes. Tops of palm trees clustered on the horizon. The island wasn't visible as yet.

My heart began to thud as I counted the palms. If there were fifteen, it was my cay, our cay. I knew there were fifteen because I'd climbed each one. I could only count seven now but I knew others were tucked in behind them.

My father was standing. "Is that it?"

"I think so." My heart drummed.

The
Audaz Adventurero
seemed to be creeping along, but slowly the island grew. First the palms, then the whiteness of sand below them, rising to what Timothy had said was the height of the island, about twenty feet.

I put the binoculars down and wiped my eyes. The lenses were fogging up. My hands shook.

I shouted back to them, "I'm sure that's it!..."

When I looked through the binoculars again I saw the hut to the right of the palms.

"It is!" I shouted. "I see the hut!" Though I'd only touched it before, I was certain it was the one I'd rebuilt.

My father joined me on the bow and took a look. "This cay's smaller than the one you described."

Timothy had told me it was about a mile long and a half mile wide. Now that I saw it, it was less than a half mile long and less than a quarter mile wide. I suddenly realized he'd done that on purpose, to make me feel better about being there. I wondered what other little lies he'd told me to push away fear.

Now, I could see some low brush and sea grape. "'Tis a beautiful cay, dis cay," Timothy had said. He was right.

Soon, we were within a hundred yards and the water was becoming shallow, coral heads visible beneath us. I only glanced at them, held by the sight ahead.

Captain Evermond shouted, "Drop de anchor!" and I tossed the Danforth over the side as the mainsail came down. My father quickly lowered the jib and within a few minutes the sloop rode at anchor.

"Go," my father said, and I passed the binoculars to him, grasped my glasses in my right hand, and dove.

Even the warm water tasted the same as I kicked toward the beach. Finally, my feet hit bottom. I remembered a little shelf and was glad I had tennis shoes on. Sea urchins lived on that shelf and their sharp spines were painful.

I waded in and took off my sneakers, digging my toes into the familiar warm, soft sand. I saw the remains of my fire pile. Nine months of wind had not entirely erased the charred wood.

I walked along east beach, remembering, remembering.

Then I went uphill, to the palm trees and our crude but strong hut, and Timothy's grave.

I looked down. The coral stones and shells were still where I'd left them.

I stood there for a little while, feeling very close to him, shut my eyes, then said, "Dis b'dat outrageous cay, eh, Timothy?"

On the wind that was rustling the palms I thought I heard laughter, and a voice from above that said, "Dis be it, Phill-eep..."

I wasn't dreaming.

1. After he is rescued, Phillip decides to risk a serious operation so that he might see the cay where he was stranded for three months. Why do you think Phillip wants to return so badly? Do you think it's a good idea? Explain.
   
2. When Phillip first meets Timothy, he looks down on him because of the way he talks and because he can't read and write. But as he gets to know the older man, Phillip realizes that Timothy is an incredibly smart man. What do you think makes someone intelligent?
   
3. As a young man, Timothy lies about his age to become the cabin boy on the
   Gertrude Theismann
   , and as an old man, he pretends to be younger so that he can join the crew of the SS
   Hato.
   How do you feel about his lies? What are the consequences of his choices?
   
4. Phillip is only eleven, but his parents allow him to make the decision about whether to have life-threatening brain surgery to restore his vision. Do you think the risks of death, brain damage, and infection are worth the slim chance of Phillip regaining his sight? Do you think Phillip is old enough to make a life-and-death decision?
   
5. For the rest of his life, Timothy regrets going out to sea on the day the
   Hettie Redd
   sank. Is it his fault that the boat sinks? Is there any truth to his superstitions?
   
6. Phillip and Timothy couldn't be more different, yet they become dear friends. Have you ever become friends with someone who was very different from you?
   
7. In his first job as a sailor's apprentice, Timothy tries to prove himself by climbing the two-hundred-foot-tall mast of the
   Gertrude Theismann.
   But halfway up the mast, he becomes petrified with fear, too scared to climb another step on the ladder. Have you ever had a lofty goal only to stop in your tracks because of anxiety or fear? What can you do to overcome your fear and achieve that goal?
   
8. Both Timothy and Phillip have dreams that seem impossible at first. Phillip dreams of being able to see again, and young Timothy dreams of being a ship captain against all odds. What do you think motivates each of them to keep his dream alive, and in what way does each contribute to his own success?
   
9. As a boy of fourteen, Timothy leaves everything he knows behind so that he can pursue his dream to become a sailor, and blind Phillip survives alone on the cay for weeks until he is finally rescued. Are independence and self-reliance inherent qualities, or are they skills learned as a result of necessity as people get older?