A Million Tears (60 page)

He did not tell me where we were headed until after we had reached the sea. It was a fine day, with a steady breeze from the north west. We were running before the wind and soon after we cleared the Mississippi delta the muddy water turned a deep sea blue. We were using two working jibs, the main sail and an after mizzen. We flew along as the bow bit into the water, the spray thrown out either side. It was mid morning and the sun shone out of a blue, cloudless sky. At that instant ships, sailing and the sea seeped into my blood. I felt both exhilarated and excited.

‘Good, eh?’ asked Jake.

‘Incredible,’ I replied, my grin matching his.

Below decks there were two cabins forward, each with two bunks. A main saloon had two wood burning stoves, one for heating the boat and the other for cooking on; it was situated in the area known as the galley. Then came the office area as I called it, much to Jake’s chagrin, where he kept a few charts and books all connected with the art of seamanship and navigation, none of which he could read. But then his knowledge of the sea and the area made charts and books superfluous. Next to the office was the sunken steering position with the compass, wind indicator and close to hand most of the running rigging on the boat. Aft of that was the master cabin in which was a large double bed, neatly fitting cupboards and wardrobe, and a private sink with pump. The only other sink was in the cooking area, or galley as Jake insisted I call it. The
Lucky Lady
was fitted out to a degree of luxury I would not have associated with a work boat. It even had a water closet, or head, and one of my jobs was to empty the bucket.

I commented about the luxury onboard and he said, ‘True, but most of my customers expect it.’

‘What sort of customers are they?’

‘Rich ones who don’t like their native country no more. Or maybe the country don’t like them. Not that it matters either way. The end result is the same. They come for a ride to some other place.’

‘Where are we going now?’

‘Cuba.’

‘What for?’ I asked excitedly. I had always wanted to see Cuba and I said so to Jake. I did not think I was being funny but evidently he thought so.

‘We aren’t stopping and all you’ll see is a dark coastline with an occasional twinkling light. At least, that’s all I hope we see. Before you ask what we’ll be doing there I’ll tell you. We’re picking up two men, some crates of ammunition and rifles and getting the hell out of there. And don’t ask me where we’ll be going because I don’t know. And I won’t know until the men get on board.’

‘How on earth do you arrange all that sort of thing?’ ‘Contacts,’ was his only reply.

‘How long will it take to get there?’

‘It all depends,’ he replied looking around the horizon. ‘From the look of the weather and wind I’d guess about four days. We’re heading straight across the Gulf for Cape San Antonio. Once past there we’ve got another six or eight hours to sail. We’re going to a little beach I know which has deep water almost to the shore and a steep cliff at the back which is awkward to climb whether you go up or down. We can be pretty sure that if we get the right signal it’ll be our passengers and not the bloody soldiery. It’s all that any smuggler could ask for, minimum effort by us, maximum for them. Haul down on the shroud there,’ he pointed. ‘Get it good and tight.’

So my introduction to life at sea began. The more I saw the more I liked it. Jake was very patient during those first few days, explaining time and again what each piece of gear was used for, giving it its proper name and how to maintain it all. The thing that impressed me most was the constant vigilance required, watching the compass, gauging the wind, getting the most speed from the boat. The first time we jibed I made a hash of things but soon got the hang of it.

My injuries wereI was mending by leaps and bounds and I put it down to the fresh air, the sun and the good food. When it came to provisioning the boat Jake had left nothing out. He was proving more and more adept at spending my money as time went on. I insisted on keeping a proper record – somewhat to his chagrin – and told him the operating expenses would be deducted from the profits before the share out. I seemed to remember he called me something along the lines of a skinflint, but I let it wash over my head.

That first evening was something to remember for the rest of my life. Running with the wind as we were, there was little breeze across the deck, the sun was setting in a shimmer of gold and orange, the clouds a halo in the sky and that brandy the best I could recollect drinking. We sat in the cockpit swapping tales about our lives, though to me Jake’s was far more interesting. Mine seemed mundane and boring by comparison. He was interested in the university and Harvard while he regaled me with stories of foreign countries and unusual customs. I told him he ought to write a book.

‘I will one day,’ he replied dryly, ‘if I ever learn to read and write.’

I apologised, wishing I had kept my big mouth shut. I realised how embarrassed he was and suggested I taught him. ‘After all, you’re teaching me a lot more than I could teach you. And this would mean that I wouldn’t feel it was all one-way.’

‘Well, I don’t know . . .’ he stroked his chin.

He didn’t put up much resistance especially when I got one of his books and read some of the interesting facts found in it. We would start the next day.

The night that fell was like none I had seen on land. There was no moon, the air was clear and the stars appeared brighter and closer. At first I could not understand why it was so different but slowly it all made sense. The emptiness was something I had never experienced before; it was only to be found at sea. The wind whistled gently through the rigging and the water lapped, and slapped the side of the boat as we sped along. There was a luminosity in the water that I had never seen before, little sparks of green and blue which according to Jake were plankton, the food of the fish. Whatever it was, it added to my sense of well-being, sitting in the cockpit, my hand on the wheel, attempting to steer south, south east. A feeling of peace stole over me. I wished with all my heart Gunhild was there to share it with m - it was the sort of thing I knew she would appreciate.

‘It’s unbelievable, isn’t it?’ Jake broke a long silence. ‘The feeling of being alone in the world, the peace and contentment of it. I still feel it after all these years but I can’t describe it, not even to myself,’ he added.

We got into a routine in those first few days of sharing the night. He would take the first half, usually until about one o’clock, and then I would have it until dawn. Jake was adamant that I call him if the wind changed by more than two points of the compass or if I had difficulty holding the course. It was the evening of the fourth day when Jake sniffed the night.

‘Do you smell it?’

I sniffed too, but was unsure what I was supposed to smell. ‘What?’ I asked with a frown.

‘It’s a mustiness . . . no, that’s the wrong word. It’s rotting jungle, it’s the smell of fresh earth, perhaps flowers. It’s the smell of Cuba after four days at sea,’ he shrugged, unable to suggest any other description.

Now I too could smell it. Two hours later there was a darker smudge on the horizon which persisted and hardened in the light from the stars and the first sliver of a new moon. Cuba. My heart began to pound at the thought of adventure.

We passed about two miles off shore and rounded the cape. I had no appreciation of the feat of navigation and seamanship shown by Jake in getting us there.

We followed the coast until I saw the headland directly in our path. Jake lowered the main sail while I held the tiller and we crept in close. We changed places and I stood ready to hoist the sail as fast as I could heave on the tackle and to duck as we went about if we had to get the hell out of there.

We were now moving slowly. Jake took a lantern and flashed two long, three short and another long flash at the shore. Two short flashes, three long and one short came back. Jake grunted in satisfaction.

‘We’ll stop about a hundred yards off, perhaps more if there’s too much of a lee and the wind can’t get to us. Keep her moving with just a little headway, and if there’s any trouble get the hell out of here. Come back at midnight every night for the next week to get me,’ he said softly.

‘Hang on,’ I whispered back. ‘I can’t handle the boat that well. You stay here and let me go,’ Jake hesitated. ‘Don’t be stupid Jake. If there’s any trouble I’ll try and swim back. If I don’t make it don’t bother coming for me another night because I won’t be returning.’

He nodded slowly in agreement. ‘When you get close, say to the men there “Jesus Christ” and they will say “The only one”. Have you got that?’

I looked at him as if he’d gone daft.

‘I didn’t make it up. I was told to use it.’

We launched the small dinghy and awkwardly, with stifled curses and ineptitude, I rowed towards the shore. I could see nobody nor hear anything above the noise of the surf.

When I was close in three shadows detached themselves from the towering cliff face and approached.

‘Jesus Christ,’ I called out, and received the reply, which did nothing for my hammering heart.

I landed on the beach, my senses alert. At the slightest untoward sound or movement I was going to dive into the sea and swim for the
Lucky Lady
. Nothing happened.

We greeted each other with suspicious handshakes. The three men put down their rifles and returned to the foot of the cliff. When they returned they were carrying a long box each. Three of these and the boat was full, with just enough room for me. One of them gave me a shove off and I made my way back to the
Lucky Lady
. I made the trip eight tines, the last time with two of the men.

Within moments of returning to the yacht we had the dinghy on board, I was hauling up the main mast and we were headed for the open sea.

42

An hour later, after showing our two guests to the forward cabins, I sat in the cockpit with Jake. ‘Aren’t you wondering where we’re going?’ he asked.

‘Naturally. I figure you’ll tell me soon enough. We’re headed west and from what I already know of your other, eh, operations, I guess we’re going to Mexico. If my memory serves me right we’ll be in the Yucatan Strait shortly and if we carry on we’ll get to Yucatan itself.’

He nodded. ‘That’s exactly where we’re going – to a little cove south of Cozumel Island. We’ll land these jokers there with their guns and head on out to Jamaica, I reckon.’

‘Why? What are we going there for?’

‘We’re about half way already. With the money we get from this trip we’ll buy some of that nectar known as Jamaican Rum. We sell it back in New Orleans for half again what we pay for it. Hell, having that stuff is better than money.’

‘Don’t be fooled and don’t get careless, Dave. We get paid so much because the risks are there. Tonight could happen for the next ten, twenty times. And then somebody talks. Then they’re waiting for you. And before you know it you’re dead or worse. So believe me we earn our money.’

It took a day and a half to cross the Strait and passed Cozumel. We kept out to sea and out of sight of land until just before midnight. Then we sailed directly to the cove we wanted. The signal and password were the same again. I rowed the men ashore and followed with the guns. This time we were in closer and so I did not have so far to go, and furthermore I was becoming more adept at rowing. There was a welcoming committee of a dozen or more men who appeared for one heart stopping moment just as I beached the dinghy the first time. Relief flooded through me when I saw the manner in which they greeted my passengers. When I had the last box ashore I was given a bag of coins.

‘Here’s your blood money. One thousand dollars,’ hissed the swarthy and heavily moustached individual. ‘I hope you do not enjoy it,’ he spat at the pebbles beneath my feet. To say I was startled was an understatement. ‘We will contact you in the same way. Tell that to the Gringo, Jake. And tell him I hope we meet in hell one day.’ With that he turned on his heels, barked commands at his men in Spanish and stalked up the beach, the pebbles crunching underfoot.

I climbed back into the boat and returned to the
Lucky Lady
. Once more with a fair wind and a heel to starboard, we headed east. I told Jake what the man had said.

He laughed. ‘That’s Miguel for you. As ungrateful as hell and twice as bad.’

‘What was he on about?’

‘He, like a lot of them, believe we should help their cause for nothing, or shall we say for the betterment of mankind? Mind you, it’s only their ideas about mankind they care about. The things they do in the name of their revolution is terrible and I mean terrible. Do you know what was in that sack?’

‘Gold,’ I guessed.

‘Right, gold. And where do you think they got it from?’ Before I could answer he continued. ‘From robbing the poor, that’s where. They can’t get it from the government and seldom from banks or places like that. It’s too difficult and dangerous. So they do what the government does, and that’s take it from the poor and defenceless. If they don’t get given it willingly, which is rare, they take it. They rob, murder and rape like the rest of the bastards and the people in the middle, as usual, suffer.’

‘Get this straight. I didn’t ask you to come, and if you remember I didn’t want you to. Well, now you’re here and it’s too late to back out. You could have thought through all I’ve told you for yourself, you aren’t stupid. And who’s to say what difference another government would make. There are plenty of people who do believe in their revolution and are praying it’ll happen one day. And, I want to tell you something, there’s another side to the coin,’ he paused and hawked over the side. ‘Some of those men on the beach have been fighting for years and they know they’ll be fighting for many more. Can you imagine what that does to you? Knowing no peace, nowhere to rest for fear of being caught? They all started with good intentions. Can you imagine what it does to you when they ask for gold and jewellery to help them fight, and don’t get it? Don’t you think they get bitter when they go to a village where life may be hard and taxes a burden but at least the men there have a roof over their heads and a woman in their beds. The people want freedom without giving anything towards it. So the bandits force them to help whether they want to or not. And to do so their methods are as bad as those of the soldiers.’ His voice lost its intensity. ‘It’s sad but true. Then most of what I’ve seen of life is.’ He ended on a philosophical note.