And the Sea Will Tell (12 page)

Half an hour later, ankle-deep in fetid swampy waters, a drained Mac stopped and wearily looked around. Another bunker lay shrouded in vegetation. Was this it? More hacking…and then he cleared the open doorway, took one look inside, and grinned like a Cheshire cat.

He felt certain he’d found the hidden treasure, though it certainly didn’t live up to Jack’s constant bragging. In fact, the only things Mac took back with him that day were a ball of copper wire, a decrepit but intriguing oak water keg, and a clear glass Japanese fishing ball for Muff. But Mac Graham the adventurer had found what he was searching for, and there was satisfaction enough in that.

Palmyra was a puzzle, a welcome challenge, and he was equal to it. A man was free here to do…just about anything. The possibilities of the place seemed to unfold endlessly.

J
ENNIFER CLIMBED INTO THE
Iola
’s dinghy, rowed the fifty feet or so to the
Journeyer
, and shouted hello.

Bernard Leonard peered down haughtily at her from the deck of his sailboat. He was a reed-thin fellow fond of wearing white Bermudas and long socks rolled down to mid-calf below two of the knobbiest knees in the Pacific. Buck always imagined a little plastic propeller spinning from the top of a peculiar beanie Leonard wore on his high-domed head. Leonard told Jennifer he was a high school math teacher on summer vacation. From their few conversations, she’d decided that he was one of those people who greatly enjoy the sound of their own voice. She could picture him droning on self-centeredly to a roomful of captive, drowsy teenagers. His wife, Evelyn, was sometimes friendly, then suddenly distant. She and Jennifer had rendezvoused ashore a few times so that their lap-sized dogs could play together. Puffer was crazy about the Leonards’ pooch, Windy.

“More coconut butter,” Jennifer announced, grasping the
Journeyer
’s ladder to keep the dinghy from bumping the side.

“We so much enjoyed your last batch,” said Bernard Leonard courteously. “Did you by chance remember to bring Euell Gibbons?”

“Yep. Got it right here.” Evelyn had asked to borrow the book so she could read up on preparing some coconut dishes.

Leonard reached down to get the book and jar of butter from Jennifer. “I’ve some books for you,” he said. “I’ll bring them by tomorrow.”

Jennifer was reading more than she ever had in her life. At least a book a week, sometimes two. It was terrific to have this influx of new titles. All yachties looked forward to trading books with other boats.

She pushed off and went back to the
Iola
for Buck, who had wanted to avoid Bernard Leonard. “Lord Leonard has a petty mind and an overbearing sense of his own importance,” Buck had complained.

Jennifer thought Buck was being too harshly critical. “He’s one of our
few
neighbors,” she pointed out. “We should make an effort to get along.”

Besides, the couple on the
Journeyer
were among the few people they might barter with for food, an increasingly important consideration to Jennifer, who watched nervously as the food supply on the
Iola
continued to dwindle. This was made all the more critical because Buck was turning out to be not much of a fisherman, routinely returning to the
Iola
empty-handed.

Buck took over the rowing for the longer trip to the
Sea Wind
, about two hundred yards up the western shore of Cooper Island. As usual, he was shirtless. His uniform of the day consisted of a pair of shorts and flip-flop sandals.

Jennifer made a mental note to try to remember to call him Roy in front of the Grahams. A week earlier, Buck had blown a fuse when he read her entries in the log. “I’ve told you, I don’t want ‘Buck’ in writing. Use ‘
Roy
’!” “Why don’t you tell people that Buck is your nickname,” she said. “You’re not exactly hiding the tattoo.” But Buck would have none of it. In an effort to keep the peace, Jennifer started referring to him as B in her entries, but he didn’t like that any better. Her final compromise was to call him R in the log. When she imagined she was writing a B without closing the bottom loop, it seemed less contrived. She couldn’t understand Buck’s sensitivity about his name. No one was looking for him on Palmyra.

She had not yet seen the Grahams’ boat close up. Anchored alone in the protected cove, the
Sea Wind
looked like a blue blood, sleek and proud. The sturdy dock and landing Mac had built seemingly overnight were entirely fitting, Jennifer thought. This boat merited that kind of respect.

Jennifer could see Mac on deck. She waved at him. “Coconut butter,” she said, holding up a container.

He waved back cheerfully. “I’ve got a couple papio for you.”

“Great.”

It wasn’t the first time Mac had shared a catch with Jennifer and Buck. He had a much better track record catching fish than Buck did, because the motor on his Zodiac made it possible to troll in the lagoon. The darting movements of the lure in the water quickly attracted fish. A hearty meal from out of the lagoon waters was the best gift anyone could give them these days, and Jennifer was grateful.

“Come aboard,” Mac offered, as Buck aimed the dinghy with powerful and precise strokes.

The Grahams had been at Palmyra more than a week now. The two couples had run into each other ashore a few times and chatted amiably each time. Mac had done them a big favor a few days earlier by coming over in his Zodiac to help turn the
Iola
around to better protect her stern from the wind that occasionally whipped across the lagoon. Jennifer and Buck spent most of their on-deck time in the stern’s cockpit.

But Jennifer knew that the Grahams and the Leonards had been socializing even more frequently, getting together regularly for dinner, becoming real buddy-buddy. That made sense. It wasn’t just because of the age difference between the Grahams and Buck and her (Mac and Muff were forty-three and forty-one, Buck and Jennifer thirty-six and twenty-eight); the Leonards, closer to the same age as Mac and Muff, undoubtedly held many ideas and values in common with them, including some that Jennifer and Buck had in recent years rejected. Too, she figured that the older couples considered her and Buck the have-nots of Palmyra, as well as not up to the mark in social refinement.

Although sunset was approaching and Jennifer and Buck had planned to bathe before dark, they did not turn down Mac’s invitation. For one thing, they’d heard tantalizing descriptions of the
Sea Wind
from others who’d been aboard her, and were frankly curious. Once on deck, Jennifer was dazzled by the boat, understanding that no superlatives could adequately describe its showcase quality.

Mac ushered them below. Entering the
Sea Wind
’s snug, wood-paneled cabin was like walking into a warm embrace. Muff greeted them shyly and poured chilled white wine into long-stemmed globlets, which she set on a table inlaid with foreign coins and lacquered to a smooth and mirror-bright finish. When Jennifer admired this galley table, Muff explained that they had collected the coins in many ports of call on their world cruise some years earlier.

Jennifer was astonished by the plush carpeting and rich furnishings. Most sailboats are fitted out in utilitarian fashion, but the interior of the
Sea Wind
was elegant, and the decorative appointments around the cabin, which included many objects of tribal art from their travels, added an air of worldly sophistication.

Jennifer noticed right away that every household object was resting in its assigned place. Each pot or pan had its own enclosure in the galley. The chess set was on a special made-to-fit shelf, as was the two-way radio. Small, caring touches by a couple who took pride in their home on the water were evident everywhere.

When an official tour was suggested, it was clear Mac had ushered admiring visitors around countless times before and that doing it again was no chore. They started out in the bow, where Mac showed off his workshop.

Buck was obviously impressed with the collection of tools, which included a metalworking lathe for making screws and other metal parts. Mac even had an acetylene torch, which he used for making new fittings and repairing riggings.

From bow to stern, the tour took twenty minutes, ending with a technical inspection of the
Sea Wind
’s auxiliary engine, a powerful inboard that riveted Buck’s attention but meant little to Jennifer. Along the way, Mac had pointed out all the detailed work he’d done himself in the past few years, especially the woodwork he had fashioned by hand.

“Everything is so beautiful,” Jennifer sighed when they had returned to the living quarters. “And comfy.”

“We rough it some by living aboard a boat,” Mac said, “but there’s no reason for our life to be
too
rough.”

Jennifer admired the refrigerator and its small freezer compartment. “Don’t the lights and refrigerator drain your batteries?” she asked.

Mac explained that when the
Sea Wind
was in a port like San Diego they ran everything—including electrical lighting and the “freezer”—off shore power. “We just
plug
in,” he said breezily. At sea, or in a remote location like Palmyra, they ran their utilities off four heavy-duty marine batteries—recharged every couple of days by their top-of-the-line gas-powered generator. Sometimes, during long periods at sea, they conserved battery power by using kerosene lamps for light.

Jennifer and Buck relaxed on a settee while Mac and Muff sat across from them in matching overstuffed chairs. This was almost like a sudden trip home, far from the daily inconvenience of Palmyra and the
Iola
. Mac segued from talking about the virtues of the
Sea Wind
to recalling highlights of their round-the-world cruise. Jennifer and Buck felt like favored guests that night—their hosts were so cordial and entertaining. Mac, a natural spinner of yarns, mesmerized them, leaping up or moving around to illustrate his points. He broke out a fifth of Jamaican rum, Muff opened a can of pineapple juice as mixer, and the four drank together like the best of friends. When it began to grow dark, Muff switched on a shaded table lamp, just as if they were in her living room in San Diego, and the soft glow of the light filled the cabin. She slowly began to open up, joining her husband in recounting their adventures. Once, when Mac found himself standing next to Muff, he casually put his arm around her and drew her nearer. Jennifer could see he was a man who was confident of himself and sure of the love of his wife.

“So, what are your plans?” Mac abruptly asked.

“We’re going to be staying,” Jennifer answered innocently.

Mac and Muff were silent, but their reaction was clearly written on their faces.

“We don’t know for how long,” Buck added, amused.

“Two friends are going to be joining us the end of August,” Jennifer continued. “They’re bringing provisions. We have to make do until then. We’re supplementing our stores with what we can trade for and what we can find on land. I’m trying to get a vegetable garden going. What about you guys? How long are you going to stay?”

“A year anyway,” Mac said without hesitation. “We brought enough provisions.”

More than enough, Jennifer thought, by the look of the chockfull shelves.

As the evening wore down and Jennifer and Buck were leaving, Mac gave Buck a tin of tobacco and a package of papers so he could roll his own cigarettes.

“Mac, you don’t know what you’ve done,” said Jennifer, smiling. “You’ve got a friend for life now.”

J
ULY
16, 1974

O
N HER TWENTY-EIGHTH
birthday, Jennifer woke up alone and lingered in the bunk, wondering what her mother was doing at that moment. If she had been at home, a chocolate cake would be baking in the oven, and her mother would be whipping up vanilla butter icing, Jennifer’s favorite.

She was by herself now because Buck had moved off the
Iola
the day before. It had been a purely practical decision. He was too tall to stand completely upright in the
Iola
’s cabin; this way they could both have more elbow room. And she sure enjoyed not sharing the boat with Buck’s two big dogs, especially since she usually got stuck cleaning up after them. He had originally asked her to move ashore with him, but there was no way she would sleep on or near the ground, what with all the land crabs and rats crawling around.

Buck had set up a livable camp. He’d found an old cot and mattress for his tent in one of the abandoned buildings, and had a lantern and Coleman stove. The food, though, remained on the
Iola
, where he and Jennifer prepared and shared their meals. She had hoped that with Buck living ashore, she could exercise tighter control over their supplies. But it wasn’t working out that way. Buck indifferently continued to chow down like a famished wolf, and her nagging did no good. She couldn’t fathom why he didn’t seem to appreciate the seriousness of running out of supplies. What were they going to do? Their food stores were already lower than they should have been when they arrived on Palmyra, and with each passing day the situation was growing worse.

Aside from this irritation, however, Jennifer was not unhappy with Buck and did not consider their living apart a true separation. When they wanted to spend the night together, they did.

Soon after Jennifer dressed, the Leonards came by to announce they were leaving that morning. Bernard brought her more books, and Evelyn was carrying a small jar of cooking oil, a sack of flour, and some rice pudding.

Jennifer was touched—and surprised—by Evelyn’s generosity. Just a few days earlier, the older woman had flatly refused to barter, explaining that after a long cruise, they didn’t have enough food left on the
Journeyer
to give or trade away.

Evelyn asked to take Jennifer’s picture before they departed. She posed on the
Iola
’s bow—a sunnily smiling, dimpled birthday girl in flowery shorts and a bikini top—cradling Puffer in her arms. She looked happy.

The Leonards were soon on their way. As the
Journeyer
nosed out into the lagoon under power, Bernard waved broadly. “Goodbye, Jennifer,” he hollered. “Have a happy birthday and a wonderful year.”

“Thank you, Bernie. Have a good trip.”

He wasn’t really a bad guy, she thought. A little stuffy and self-important, but not the hopeless jerk Buck made him out to be.