Sea-Spray

Sea-Spray

With a diesel engine back up, the three-sail fishing smack, ‘Sea Spray,’ yawed and rolled in the violent storm winds, throwing Nick from the wheel to the deck. Nick got up and tied a rope around his waist, fixing the other end to a nearby capstan. As he struggled to stand, he heard an ominous crack and, looking up, saw the topsail mast snap. It fell on his radio antenna, which buckled like a dehydrated flower.

         Then the boat viciously rolled, and much of his precious cargo of mackerel slid off the deck. Nick swore at his carelessness. “Fuck, that’s a month’s income gone.” Another vicious wave rocked the boat, and fat droplets of rain from the ominous, bloated clouds fell on his head as the wind whipped at the de-masted sail. Soon, the clinker-built wooden deck Nick had varnished became as slippery as a mackerel trying to escape capture.

          Nick tried to move, but his sea boots slipped, slamming him down with a sickening thud. He groped his way back to the cabin with his heart hammering like a caged bird’s wings. Nick found the instrument panel in darkness with no radio signal. He switched to the generator and the ship’s single engine, but the weak light made little inroads into the gloom and was no help to his radio. Nick felt in his pocket for the flashlight, but it was missing, fallen when he hit the deck.

 With his engine chugging along, Nick took the wheel and steered the boat toward the distant horizon, glowing dark red at the edge of the ochre cloud bank. Suddenly, a loud bang emanated from below, and the wheel spun in his hands. He tried to steady the wheel, but it refused to obey, turning the boat to starboard. “Fuck, has the port-side prop sheared? There’s no way I can get down to the engine room in this storm.” Defenceless, he shrugged his shoulders and dropped anchor. But in the mountainous waves, it did not hold, and Nick’s boat drifted like the Marie Celeste in the dark, fathomless, storm-riven Atlantic Ocean. Nick had never felt so alone and let off a distress flare, blown away by the wind, which lit the sky in an eery yellow glow. An agnostic since the age of eleven, he prayed.

Nick and his wife Juliet on St Patrick’s Day in one of Boston’s Irish pubs, where live bands played folk music. Nick was dazzled by the deep emerald-coloured eyes of the girl sitting next to him at the bar. She had thick strawberry roan tresses that tumbled about her slender shoulders. A tinkling laugh at a comment made by the bartender entranced him. The dazzling eyes danced in tune with the music and began a conversation. Soon, the couple were deep in talk, music, baseball, and the Boston Bruins.

Juliet felt comfortable with this new man. He was different to the boys she knew. Raw-boned and muscled, with a chiselled jaw, he had deep chestnut eyes that swallowed Juliet up. He was in Boston from the fishing port of Gloucester, celebrating his twenty-first birthday. His big birthday present came from his Pa - a fishing boat. Nick’s Pa was a deep-sea fisherman who bought Sea Spray from an old retired friend.

Within weeks, Nick went down on one knee outside Boston’s Public Park, away from the sleeping deadbeats high on LSD, and said, “Juliet Dineen, will you marry me?”

“Yes, please.” Her eyes danced as her tresses blew in the wind around her oval face, thoughts of college replaced by visions of chubby, chestnut-eyed babies.

     The following week, the couple found their first home, a four-bedroomed clapboard house beside an enormous maple tree.

      “The rent is cheap because of its distance from Gloucester’s fishing port,” said Nick as he signed the lease.

      Julie’s green eyes shone. “I love that Maple tree. Its leaves will provide much-needed shade.

After their June wedding,  the couple left for their new home. Moonlight cast shadows on the pale green pained woodwork and polished oak staircase as they climbed to bed. The night passed in a haze of passion; the bed creaking under strain. They fell asleep, legs entwined as the grandfather clock in the expansive hall struck four.

       Their desire for each other unabated, intense lovemaking continued for the next three days and nights. In the late afternoon, they walked along the shore. Afterwards, Nick barbecued pork chops or steaks to accompany the enormous salads and potatoes with sour cream Juliet prepared. Their brief honeymoon ended when the phone rang one evening. Nick answered it. “The mackerel are running. I must get Sea-Spray out to sea.” He donned his fishing gear while Juliet prepared sandwiches and a flask of spicy tomato soup. Nick kissed his wife, took his provisions, climbed into his truck, and drove off.

That night, Juliet sat alone in the living room watching television. Her fertile imagination saw ghostly apparitions as the air conditioner whirred. These spooky visions kept her wide awake, and Juliet sat watching the moonlight on the dancing waves. Juliet forgot the apparitions when she was entwined in Nick’s arms. But they became more ethereal with each night she spent alone. Voices seemed to whisper, but Juliet could not discern the words. Nick noticed her pale cheeks and haunted eyes. “What is it, honey? Does something scare you when I am at sea?”

 “Yes, I hear these voices, and I cannot sleep. I sit by the window, waiting for you to return.”

“They are in your imagination, honey. I will ask my sister to sleep over.”

Over breakfast one morning, Juliet, nauseous, said, “I’m pregnant, Nick.” 

      Nick’s fork halfway to his mouth said,” What did you say?”  Then, dropping his fork, he got up and whirled her around the room, making her more nauseous. “Whoopee. I’m gonna be a father. My clever, clever wife.”

 “Put me down,” protested Juliet and rushed to the kitchen sink, where she heaved up the contents of her stomach.

 Nick’s brow creased. “Sorry honey, I should have thought of that.” He rubbed her back as she wiped her mouth.

 They returned to the table, and Juliet said, “I tried the Drano test yesterday, and it turned green.”

    “What does that mean?”

    “That it might be a boy. But it is superstition.”

    “Shall we name him Robert James after our grandfathers, then?”

   “What if the Drano test is mistaken, and it’s a girl? How does Caroline Anne sound after our grandmothers?’ 

   “Both sound good.” Nick pulled his wife onto his lap and kissed her belly.

At the end of October, Nick sailed alone for a last trawl. Juliet retired to bed after he left and curled up listening to a transistor radio playing the Beatles. But weather forecasters did not predict the storm that blew up out of nowhere around midnight. The wind howled, and the old house creaked under strain. Lightning flashed, and thunder roared, petrifying Juliet, who lay curled into a foetal position, her heart beating like a drummer at taps. Then she heard an ominous, deafening crack outside. “Oh my God, has the maple tree blown down?” Juliet got up and padded to the window, pulling up the shade. But, with rain streaming down the darkened panes and clouds obscuring the sky, she could see nothing.

       Juliet crawled back under the covers and lay curled up with a pillow over her head, trying to block out sounds. Wind and rain continued to batter the house, and sea waves grew mountainous, crashing on the shore like a hundred rocks. As the grandfather clock in the expansive hall struck four, Juliet saw two ethereal ghosts, an adult woman and a small girl. The woman’s disembodied voice said, “Lost at sea, lost at sea, they’re lost at sea.”

      The woman repeated the words several times, and the child said, “Papa, Papa, don’t drown.”

        Juliet’s heart fluttered like a feeding hummingbird’s wings and filled with fear. She got out of bed, fell to her knees, and prayed. “Oh God, please stop the voices and keep my husband safe. I love him so much.”  She found her rosary and returned to bed. Chanting the familiar prayers helped allay the voices, whispering in time to the ticking bedside clock. As dawn broke, exhausted, she looked out of the window. The maple tree stood, but a huge branch had broken from among its boughs and shattered on the sidewalk. Juliet padded barefoot to the kitchen, made herbal tea, and waited, trembling. At seven o’clock, she phoned the Harbourmaster.

        “Mr Barratt, sir, is there any news of Sea Spray?” Her voice quivered.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I have heard nothing from her all night. She has not called in from anywhere along the coast.”

  Juliet shivered as an icy chill ran down her back. “Is any other boat unaccounted for?”

 “Yes, ma’am. The Coast Guard is searching for two boats. But they have sighted neither boat nor any wreckage.” He paused, picturing the pretty girl in his mind. “Juliet honey, try not to worry. Sea-Spray is a tough boat, and so is her captain. Maybe the antenna is down, and Nick is put in to shelter in an isolated cove. I’m sure we will have news for you soon.”  His voice was soothing but did not feel as optimistic as he tried to sound.

The girl put down the phone and fell onto the sofa. Her heart raced like a hot rod car, and her mouth tasted drier than sandpaper. Then the phone rang, and she picked it up, her heart threatening to jump from her mouth.  

“Hi honey,’ said her mother’s smooth, melliferous tones. "Is everything okay with you? I just heard on the radio that Cape Ann had it real bad.” 

Tears blinded Juliet’s eyes, running in rivulets down her pale cheeks. “He’s missing, Mom,” Juliet whispered in a frog-like voice,

“He put to sea last night?” Her widowed mother’s voice held a note of incredulity.

“Yeah, there was no storm warning, and he left home around nine.” Juliet’s voice broke as her composure fell. 

“I’m coming over, honey. I’ll be with you in an hour.’

Juliet hung up and buried her head in a cushion she’d crocheted, sobbing.

The boat continued to creak in the wind while the waves battered her hull, but she did not capsize. Nick could no longer work out his coordinates with his navigation system bust and the sky too cloudy for stars. But as dawn broke, he saw he had drifted into the big trawler sea lanes. A ship, maybe a Russian trawler, passed in the distance, and Nick’s mind raced with dire possibilities. The Russian boat could pick him up if he set off another distress flare. But Nick knew there was no telling what Ruskies might do since Khrushchev had tangled with Kennedy over Cuba, and he did not want to lose Sea Spray. Nick had clambered below deck to the cabin’s couchette in the night, his body freezing and his mind whirling as the dreadful storm raged and thought, “Sea–Spray is our living. I need the Coast Guard to take me in tow, and I must stay strong for Juliet and our baby’s sake.”

        He stayed in the cabin until a pink dawn tickled the waves on the far horizon. Nick estimated he was drifting south towards Marblehead. “I must set off another flare.” He clambered to the deck, holding the object and wearing the rope, but the boat lurched, slamming him into the footwell before he had taken two steps, and he dropped the flare, which rolled out of reach. Nick struggled, but the boat lurched again with less of a thud and more of a push. Nick’s eyebrows shot up his forehead. “It moved on purpose. It’s not drifting. What the hell could make it do that?” Nick took a chance and untethered himself to look over the stern. He could see only angry grey waves, but the boat moved through the still-raging sea and turned towards the coast.

        “What the hell is happening? I’m sure that something is moving Sea Spray from the stern?” Nick returned to the cabin and checked his instruments, which remained dark and useless like his radio. He sat on the couchette, puzzling over this conundrum. “There must be a rational explanation.”

He clambered up to the deck again and gazed through his binoculars. In the distance, he saw the flippers and the wake of a pod of dolphins. “They can’t be the answer, can they?” 

Nick struggled to the stern, spotting the outline of a bottle-nosed dolphin below the waves. Then another. Two bottle-nosed dolphins pushed Sea Spray forward. Two more swam alongside, one to port and one to starboard. “Dolphins are intelligent animals, but not this intelligent?” Nick was dumbfounded.

  He remembered the dragging anchor and moved to haul it up, but it was lost beneath the waves. “No wonder the dolphins can push the boat.”

 Sea Spray picked up speed, and Nick reckoned she made four to five knots. Not fast, but enough to plough on. The dolphins alongside replaced those at the stern turn and turn about. Astonishment lit his stubble-speckled face, and Nick reckoned they had kept their routine up for about three hours. Then, the Sea-Spray slowed down, and he saw a Coast Guard boat in the distance.

    Nick let it off the flare, and a yellow cloud lit the still ochre sky. A second flare glowed pink. He saw the Coast Guard’s boat approach at speed through his binoculars. The dolphins soon vanished, leaving a trail of wash in the distance. “Did I dream it? Nobody will believe me.”

  The Coast Guard came alongside and hailed him via their loudspeaker. “Is anyone hurt?”

“No. I’m alone and unhurt. Please take me in tow.” Relief washed over Nick like waves on the deck. The coast guard came alongside and threw him a rope. Secure, they set off at twelve knots. The Princetown coast guard radioed he had taken a boat in tow.

Around nine in the morning, Nick moored his boat at the end of the Princetown pier. Two others as battered as Sea Spray lay alongside. He climbed off the ship, walked to the Harbour Master’s office, and asked to use the phone. It rang as Juliet’s mother finished washing up. Juliet, who had fallen asleep on the sofa, woke and picked up the receiver, her heart beating like a hummingbird’s wings.

“Juliet, it’s me. Are you okay, honey? I’m safe and moored in Princetown. I have an unbelievable story to tell you when I get home.”

At first, Juliet could not speak; then she said, “I... I... am okay. Mom’s here. Are you hurt?”

“No, thank God. Something saved me. I'll be home as soon as the boat is repaired." He sailed back to Gloucester three days later and drove home like a fiend. He pulled into the driveway as Juliet, recognising the truck’s throaty roar, opened the door. Mom stood in the shadows and said, “Welcome home, son. I am so glad you are safe.” She did not tarry and left for an appointment in Boston. The young couple, wrapped in each other’s arms, never saw her go.

 “Where’s my Mom?’ said Juliet after the couple spent some time on the sofa.

        “I think she left after I arrived home.!

 “That’s not like her. I must phone to say thanks. The last few days would have driven me mad without Mom.”

 While Nick showered, Juliet set about cooking her husband a big breakfast. She brewed a fresh pot of coffee and placed it on the stovetop. Hungry, she fixed her favourite bagels.

Nick sat down to his big brunch and said,  “I have such a story to tell you.” Between mouthfuls, he began.

 Juliet’s eyebrows shot up under her bangs, showing genuine disbelief. But then she opined that with God, all things are possible. “I prayed all night for your safety. Strange voices whispered, ‘Lost at sea.’ They frightened me, but Mom said they were in my imagination.”

Nick sipped his coffee and looked at his wife’s beloved emerald eyes. “Those voices. I did not want to scare you, but locals say they are the wife and daughter of a Sea Captain. His boat went down in a storm in 1830, and they never found the bodies.” He paused and took another sip of coffee. “Some folks say they come warning others. I did not want to tell you, but they lived in this house. It’s why we got it cheap. You know I am agnostic. Well, I prayed, too. God answered my prayers.”

“He did.” Juliet placed her fingertips together, her body shaking.

“I will come with you to church next Sunday.”

“You should do that,” said Juliet, putting down her cup and stroking his face, wondering how he would take her news. “We need to find another rocking chair.”

Nick looked at her dancing eyes, “What do you mean, was the other damaged in the storm?”

 “No, that’s not my news, can’t you guess?” Juliet had not told him the obstetrician’s comments.

Nick looked at her with a puckered brow. “No, what do you mean. I have had enough conundrums to last a lifetime.”

“The doctor says I am expecting twins.”

Instead of a gleeful smile, Nick’s face paled, and he put down his cup as he sat bolt upright. ‘Twins, did you say? That Sea Captain had twins, a boy and a girl. The boy drowned with him.”

    Juliet’s face paled, too, and she fainted.