Pescador's Wake (11 page)

‘You're amazing, Joan Summers,' Margie chuckles, wiping away happy tears and reaching over to embrace her friend.

‘What, for liberating a beetle from a fate worse than death?'

‘That and a lot more.' Margie holds Joan by the top of her well-muscled arms. ‘Can I mind Bethie again for you soon? To give you a break.'

‘That'd be great. But let's wait until Dave is back. You don't need more on your plate right now.'

Margie, grateful for such a friend as Joan, gives her another hug. Over her shoulder she sees Beth, still completely absorbed by what her nose has produced. The insect, now sufficiently dry to become airborne, leaves Beth's pink hand and makes for the open louvred window. It negotiates the glass panes perfectly and escapes outside.

She is in my heart, so deeply that I sometimes cannot breathe. When I close my eyes it is her face that I see, her voice that I hear. I am starting to wonder if I will ever be able to touch her again.

Manuel is at the helm when Carlos creeps playfully into Eduardo's cabin. The first mate is lying on his bunk writing in his logbook, his back to the door. Curious to sneak a glimpse at the early notes for his novel, Carlos waits until he is only a metre away before declaring himself, the hint of a joke in his voice. ‘Let me guess, love poems?' he teases.

The
Pescador
hits a trough and Carlos watches Eduardo's pen slide across the page, drawing a line through several neat entries. Carlos, emphasising his jest, cranes his neck forward, pretending to read what Eduardo has been writing, but Eduardo claps the book shut.

‘It's nothing,' Eduardo answers hastily.

Confused by his friend's coyness, Carlos presses on. ‘How long have we known each other now? Twenty years.'

An almost shameful expression breaks over the first mate's face and Carlos instantly regrets his intrusion. He had hoped that, by making light of it, Eduardo might feel more inclined to confide in him some of his prose, but it is clear that these notes are personal. He has overstepped the mark and struck a raw nerve. Perhaps Eduardo's logbook doubles as a diary, a place to purge himself of thoughts and feelings that he is
unable to share, or perhaps he believes that sharing them would help no one and get him nowhere. Eduardo never complains, but Carlos knows his friend must also be aching for home.

‘It's okay. You can admit to me that you're missing Virginia,' Carlos says, gently. ‘I'm sorry I interrupted.'

Eduardo rubs his eyes, and Carlos thinks he sees relief.

‘Do you remember what you said in your speech at our wedding?' Carlos asks.

‘Which part?'

‘You said that finding love was the most precious gift we are granted, and that it happens only once.'

‘
Si
.' The emotion returns to Eduardo's face.

‘Well, you were right. I don't think I ever told you that.' Carlos smiles. ‘We will get back to them and to our children. It's all going to work out.'

The boat pitches suddenly and is buffeted by a succession of waves, as if Manuel has let go of the helm. Carlos grips the door frame of Eduardo's cabin, and feels the boat settle on to a new course. Through the porthole he reads the direction of the seas. The
Pescador
is heading northeast. He thinks he sees something like fear cross Eduardo's face. It's the first time he has seen the expression.

‘Oh no!' Eduardo covers his face with the logbook, hitting it hard against his forehead. ‘The idiot!'

‘What does he think he's doing?' Carlos says. ‘He knows to talk to us before changing course. We're back-tracking.'

‘It's not Manuel,' Eduardo says, standing up and throwing the logbook on his bunk. He looks directly at Carlos. ‘I think Dmitri might've taken matters into his own hands.'

‘But we were heading to Namibia. He agreed.'

‘He never gave up on Mauritius.'

‘The stupid fool! It's out of the question. We'll cross the path of the Australian boat. We have to assume they're armed and capable of boarding.
¡Maldito!
' Carlos pounds his fist against the frame of the door. ‘He listens to you. Come on.'

Carlos turns to leave, but Eduardo grabs hold of his jacket, stopping him. ‘He might have a gun,' Eduardo tells him.

‘What?' Disbelief is written across Carlos's face.

‘I've been hoping he's bluffing, but Dmitri told me a few days ago that he has hidden weapons on board.'

Carlos regards Eduardo with a deep, confused frown. ‘You should have told me.' The master's voice is measured and quiet. Disappointed. He stares back through the porthole and out to sea, at the waves rushing at them from behind, pushing them towards Dmitri's preferred destination. An albatross keeps pace with the boat and turns its head momentarily towards him. He finds himself wishing that he was the bird, free to plot his course home to his mate. ‘We have no choice. We have to change his mind, guns or no guns.'

Carlos turns once more in the direction of the wheelhouse, aware of Eduardo's silent presence behind him. He thinks again of Julia and María. He has never felt more vulnerable, or out of control, and can imagine nothing worse than leaving his wife and daughter without a husband or a father. He forces his feelings for his family from his mind as he hauls open the wheelhouse door.

Dmitri is at the helm, a semi-automatic weapon slung across his body with a strap. José, the young Peruvian, is similarly armed. Manuel is lying on his side on the floor, blood seeping from a wound just above his eye. José takes a few steps back, the gun held awkwardly at the ready. He could be a child who has just wet the bed.

‘You stupid fool,' Carlos says to Dmitri, who meets his eyes and replies with a defiant smirk. ‘What game are you playing?'

The young Peruvian, his gun still cocked, takes a step towards the vessel's master.

‘It is all right,' Dmitri says to the youth, ‘
Capitán
Sánchez and his friend are going nowhere.'

‘I thought more of you than this,' Carlos tells the engineer, flicking a glance at Eduardo, frozen in the doorway.

The normally humourless Russian is wearing a cold smile. ‘From now on you might take my suggestions on our course a little more seriously.'

Carlos is struck by the sudden improvement in Dmitri's Spanish. His deception. He wants to fly at him for what he has
done to Manuel, but as he steps forward he is held in place by the barrel of José's gun. He looks through the rear windows of the wheelhouse and sees the Australian patrol gaining on them.

‘We already have our enemy. They're behind us, on another boat.' Carlos reaches for the Peruvian's gun, as though attempting to confiscate a child's toy. José jerks the gun away and fires a shot into the wheelhouse wall in panic. Carlos almost feels sorry for the misled fool. But his sympathy is short-lived as José digs the weapon into his chest. ‘
¡No me jodas!
' Carlos curses at the youth with half his wind.

‘You've let me down,' Eduardo says, his voice remarkably steady as he glares at the Russian.

‘And you me,' the Russian metes out the words like punishment.

‘And what exactly is your plan now, big man?' Carlos asks. ‘Are you going to just hide behind this boy with a gun?'

‘We are going to Mauritius as first planned. I'm going to sell the entire catch there. And, of course, the guns. There are more where these came from. Anyone who helps me to get the boat safely to port can have a share of the profits. Manuel tried to stop me but I think he has learned his lesson.' Dmitri kicks Manuel in the stomach to bring home his point. Manuel coughs and draws his knees to his chest.

‘Enough!' Carlos shouts. ‘What will you do if he dies? You
can't use the autopilot the entire way. Don't think Eduardo and I are going to help you.' He looks again at Manuel, who is motionless on the floor, and then back to the Russian. ‘How dare you bring guns on to my boat!'

‘It's
my
boat now.' Dmitri smirks. ‘And you can ask Eduardo about the guns. They were
his
idea,
his
business on the side.'

Carlos doesn't bite. Doesn't even acknowledge Eduardo's protestations.

‘Didn't he tell you? There are hundreds of them under the floor, right where you are standing. They are worth a lot more in Mauritius than fish.' Laughter erupts from the Russian, who uses the back of his index finger to wipe away a smear of foamy saliva from under his bottom lip.

‘Don't listen to him,' Eduardo says, his voice carefully controlled.

‘I'm not a fool,' Carlos tells the Russian. ‘Do you think I'd believe anything you tell me?' Carlos hears Eduardo step forward. The first mate stops beside him. ‘Eduardo is my oldest friend,' Carlos maintains. ‘He's like my brother. You think you can drive a wedge between us with a blatant lie?'

‘I am no fool either,' Dmitri says. ‘I know about your unrecorded catch. Twenty tonnes, wasn't it? You were going to sell it in Mauritius. To a Russian buyer. Am I right?' He is speaking quickly in fluent, slightly formal Spanish, as if he has learnt the language from a book.

Carlos is caught off-guard but tries to hide it. Perhaps
Dmitri overheard them talking. He clearly understands Spanish better than he let on. ‘Eduardo organised the sale. He didn't discuss with me who the buyer was. I left it to him.'

‘The buyer is me.' Dmitri beats his chest triumphantly, as if declaring a winning hand. He plucks a small flask from his jacket pocket and takes an ample swig. When he talks again, Carlos smells vodka. ‘It was Eduardo's idea. I was to fall ill and leave the boat in Mauritius. But instead of finding a hospital, I was to onsell the twenty tonnes,
your
twenty tonnes.' He takes another swig from the flask. ‘Along with the guns, of course. My buyers are South African. Everything was planned.'

Carlos remembers Dmitri's earlier threat that if Eduardo didn't tell Carlos then he would. So, this was the secret: Dmitri was the buyer from the start. But surely Eduardo would have raised the alarm if he'd known about the guns. Carlos feels a surge of anger towards his oldest friend, but tries to conceal it.

‘Your wife didn't want you involved, did she?' Dmitri eyes Eduardo suggestively and leers back at Carlos. ‘I know about the promise Eduardo made to her.'

Carlos takes a moment to try to understand what Dmitri is insinuating. He looks at the picture of Julia. At the warmth in her eyes.

Eduardo puts his hand on his back. ‘I'll explain it all later.'

Carlos shakes his head in dismay and turns to leave.

‘Sit down!' Dmitri shouts. ‘You are staying here.' Again the gun is pointed at Carlos. José, no doubt promised a share of the sale, is fast if nothing else. Eduardo steps forward, but Carlos pushes him back.

‘¡
Jódete!
' Carlos swears again at the Peruvian. As master, he has always prided himself on the loyalty of his crew and the camaraderie on board. Until now, their boat has stood apart from other pirate vessels. But with Dmitri at the helm, the
Pescador
is like all the others with its drunken captain and downtrodden crew. He turns reluctantly towards Eduardo, the friend he thought he knew, and reads the regret on his face. ‘So let's hear this plan of yours,' he says to the Russian. ‘Do you think we'll still be allowed to unload in Mauritius with the attention this chase will have attracted?'

‘Of course. They rely on these illegal catches. If they make a public outcry about us, what message does that send to other pirate ships wanting to offload in Port Louis? Much better for them to keep us happy and keep the ships, and the fish, rolling into port.' Dmitri makes a small adjustment using the manual helm, ensuring that the
Pescador
is making a direct route to Mauritius, before flicking the steering back to automatic. ‘It is free advertising.'

Carlos knows it's true, and was counting on the same welcome, if not in Mauritius, then in Namibia. ‘What if the Australians catch up with us and want to board?'

‘They won't have weapons. They're just a patrol vessel.' Dmitri is grave again.

‘So you're prepared to use your guns? They're not just for show? A little prop to make a small man feel larger?'

‘You think I haven't killed a man before now?' Dmitri's face contorts into a derisive mask.

‘Fine. Good luck. The crew won't help you. And neither, of course, will I. You're asking us to become murderers now, as well as thieves. I—we—will never do that.'

‘That is your business. Just do not get in my way. Or a bullet may get in yours.'

Manuel moves on the floor, rising to his knees. Carlos, relieved to see that he is again conscious, takes a better look at his injury, which has caused his eye to disappear into the swollen flesh around it, like a wounded barnacle retreating into its broken shell.

‘Go and cover the name of the boat, before the Australians see it,' Dmitri orders Manuel. ‘And then come straight back here.'

‘They've already seen our name, you idiot,' Eduardo says.

‘Do as I say!'

‘He isn't up to it. Have you gone blind?' Carlos shouts, helping Manuel to his feet.

‘I am in charge now.' Dmitri aims an outstretched finger at Manuel and then at the door, indicating that he should leave.
When Manuel reappears half an hour later he is saturated and shivering uncontrollably.

‘The Australian boat is close behind us. Our name is covered,' Manuel reports through blue lips.

Carlos shakes his head. ‘You really have no idea, do you, Dmitri? All you're doing is giving away what rights we have left. And confirming our guilt. Without a name, anyone can board at any time, and it's not considered an act of piracy. Why do you think we didn't do it in the first place?'

‘All right. Manuel, you heard what the good
capitán
said. International law dictates that we display our name. You had better get out there again. We do not want to be bad international citizens, do we?'

Carlos sees the Russian's delight at the frigid torture he is meting out to the Spaniard and realises that Dmitri doesn't care if the ship's name is displayed or not. The mutineer is interested only in showing them the lengths he will go to to assert his authority.

Manuel turns unsteadily to go back outside, to singlehandedly uncover the name of the boat in conditions that would make it difficult for two able-bodied men to accomplish.

‘Manuel, wait. I'll help you.' Carlos makes to stand up.

‘No. You stay right there,
Capitán
!'

‘
¡Condenado!
' Carlos swears. He struggles out of his jacket. ‘Here, take my coat,' he tells Manuel. ‘You're saturated.' But
the Spaniard ignores him. Carlos wonders what game he is playing. Perhaps he is bluffing compliance, biding his time until they can talk in private. Unless, Carlos considers, after hearing Dmitri's accusations against them, his loyalties are now elsewhere.